The company had assembled in the parlour, and Lydia’s long-anticipated lesson began in the adjoining room in a manner far more lively than orderly.
Miss Darcy, though at first hesitant, had been persuaded to take her place at the pianoforte, while Lydia stood beside her with an air of importance wholly disproportionate to the extent of her instruction. Kitty hovered near, eager to contribute; and Mary, though outwardly composed, listened with a degree of critical attention she did not even attempt to conceal.
Mrs. Bennet moved about the parlour with restless satisfaction, pausing from time to time to remark upon Miss Darcy’s elegance, her touch, or the great advantages of early instruction.
Elizabeth, seated near the window, was only half attentive. Her eyes rose now and then, almost without her own knowledge, toward Darcy, who stood somewhat apart, though by no means disengaged.
If his manner was composed, it was not indifferent. Elizabeth was fidgeting, he noticed; and he could not help speculating what it was she had tried to communicate to him that morning.
“Mr. Darcy, how very good of you to visit us in such weather,” said Mr. Bennet, as he joined the others. “Though I believe my wife has taken the weather itself as a personal affront. Mrs. Bennet, what refreshments have you prepared for our guests? You have a most devoted hostess in my wife, Mr. Darcy. She has been considering all morning what might properly be offered to you – and I confess I am not sorry to profit by her cares myself.”
Darcy bowed to Mrs. Bennet. “You are more than generous, madam. We are quite spoiled.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy, you are very obliging. We are delighted by your company. Refreshments shall be brought directly.”
A sudden sound from the drive interrupted them.
“Another visitor!” cried Lydia from the adjoining room. “How excessively agreeable!”
Kitty was already at the window. “It is Mr. Bingley!” she exclaimed. “And – oh! – he is bringing a carriage.”
Elizabeth turned at once, though without Lydia’s eager delight. Darcy, however, had already moved nearer the window.
The carriage came fully into view.
He did not stir. Something in its appearance struck him immediately – the crest, the colour, the very air of it. Recognition followed at once.
His expression altered.
Not visibly to everyone, perhaps, but to Elizabeth, who was watching him closely, it was unmistakable.
“Miss Mary,” he said, without turning from the window.
His tone was quiet, but there was something changed in it.
Mary looked up, startled. “Yes, sir?”
“Did you, by any chance, write to Mr. Collins of… recent events?”
The room stilled.
Mary coloured deeply. “I did,” she said. “I thought – I did not mean any harm. I only supposed he ought to know. Have I done wrong?”
She looked so distressed that Elizabeth at once pitied her.
Darcy turned from the window. “You have done nothing that can be called wrong,” he said. “It was natural that you should write.”
Elizabeth had risen fully now. “What is it?” she asked.
Darcy looked again toward the window. The carriage had come to a stop. “I believe,” he said, with measured calm, “that Lady Catherine de Bourgh has done us the honour of a visit.”
A general exclamation followed.
“Lady Catherine!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Here?”
Lydia, from the other room, seemed delighted. “How very grand! Does she always arrive in such style?”
Elizabeth scarcely heard the rest. Her attention was entirely upon Darcy. “And she has come…”
