“Lizzy, do not tease me,” Jane whispered, though her colour deepened prettily.
Mrs. Bennet, however, was delighted. “Yes, indeed! Jane shall sing, and Lizzy will accompany her. Nothing could be more elegant. Mr. Bingley will be transported; I am sure of it.”
Mary, who had been waiting with solemn eagerness, now interposed, “If music is required, I shall also be ready to perform. A selection of my hymns would give the occasion a proper dignity.”
Mr. Bennet folded his paper at last, his eye glinting with mischief. “Indeed, my dear, nothing could better enliven the spirits of Mr. Bingley than a hymn or two to remind him of eternity. I only hope he will not carry Jane straight to the altar in gratitude.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to hide a laugh. Though even as she laughed, her thoughts returned, unbidden, to the prospect of the following evening – and to the uneasy curiosity it inspired.
Jane, half-smiling, half-distressed, murmured a protest. “Mary, why do I not help you choose an uplifting piece. This is going to be a sort of celebration of our neighbours, and a hymn may serve as a counterproductive element.” And she smiled at her in such sweetness that Mary could only nod.
Mrs. Bennet would hear none of it. “Now, Mr. Bennet, do not be provoking. We must all do our best. A dinner at Longbourn will show Mr. Bingley the merit of our family, and if I know anything, he shall be quite undone by it. Yes, Mary, play something uplifting.”
Mr. Collins, after a solemn pause, declared that such plans were in every way suitable to the honour of the house, and that he would write immediately to Lady Catherine to assure her of the excellence of his relations.
Elizabeth, unable to restrain a laugh, thought only that the following evening promised more than enough amusement, even without Lady Catherine’s approbation.
Mr. Collins took Elizabeth’s mirth as encouragement, and he added, with an air of formal civility. He actually bowed in his seat toward Elizabeth as he spoke. “I should be most exceedingly pleased to hear you sing, too, Miss Elizabeth. Your dear mother has praised your skill at the art.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded enthusiastically while she buttered her toast.
Mr. Collins, seeing her ready to protest, continued more solemnly, “I am quite certain you would not wish to deny us the pleasure which your performance must afford, nor todisappoint those who would so justly value such an elegant accomplishment.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but no reply was forthcoming. Why would her mother praise her singing to Mr. Collins?Had they nothing better to speak of?
“Well, Lizzy, how can you say no to such a request. You must oblige our guest. And I would hear you, too. You do have a nice voice. And you, Jane, I am sure you can oblige your mother; otherwise, you will not have rest until you do.” He put down his newspaper and took off his glasses. He turned to his wife. “I suppose you will ask me for funds for this promising event, my dear. I only hope the expense of feeding half the regiment and all of Netherfield will not leave us required to sup on cold mutton for the rest of the winter.”
Mrs. Bennet, quite unshaken, cried, “Nonsense, Mr. Bennet! It will be the finest dinner Longbourn has ever seen, and it shall pay for itself a hundred times over when Jane is mistress of Netherfield!”
Mr. Collins received this assurance with an air of grave satisfaction and nodded his head as if the matter had thereby been settled beyond dispute. “Indeed, my dear Mrs. Bennet,” said he, “I must entirely concur with you. Such entertainment, when so judiciously planned, may very properly be considered an investment of the most commendable kind. When one reflects upon the advantages likely to accrue to the family from a connection so desirable as that which you so happily anticipate, the expense becomes not only excusable, but positively prudent.”
Elizabeth caught her father’s eye across the table; the shared look between them was amusement enough to sweeten her tea.
“Kitty, finish your meal and meet me in the backroom. I would like you to write the invitations. John will need the horse, Mr. Bennet, to take them.” Mrs. Bennet was already thinking about execution.
Chapter 2
Restless Reflections
The same morning Mr. Darcy set out on horseback, eager to breathe the clear air and rid himself of the disquiet that had troubled his rest. Usually quite a good sleeper, of late, some uneasy current in his thoughts denied him the comfort of undisturbed slumber. It was not the management of Pemberley – that was ever on his mind, but never a torment. His estates were well-ordered, his tenants loyal, his steward capable. Nor was it Georgiana, whose welfare was his first concern, for she was safe at home, tenderly cared for by Mrs. Annesley. Her last letter gave hope that she was letting the past go.
No, the source of his unrest was of another sort – and he disliked owning it even to himself or even naming it with any precision. Indeed, he was not certain it ought to be owned at all; for to give such thoughts consequence was – perhaps – to grant them more importance than they deserved, and he was not yet persuaded they deserved any.
He had spent too many hours tossing from one side to the other. He was compelled to revisit scenes that should have held no consequence for him. It was a crowded assembly room in Meryton where the lively murmur of provincial voices, and among them a lady whose quick wit and unguarded eyes seemedto challenge his every reserve. Elizabeth Bennet had crossed his path but briefly, and yet her presence lingered – with a persistence that surprised him, and, he thought, ought not to have vexed him as much as it did. What was she to him, that her laughter should intrude upon his solitude – or that he should permit it to do so? Who was she that her look of indifference would trouble his composure? He could assign no sufficient reason for it – nor was he certain that he wished to find one.
He had endured the weight of public notice all his life, had stood immovable before admiration and censure alike. Yet, one country miss had succeeded in shaking his rest – a circumstance he would have dismissed, had it not been so very evident.
Darcy urged his horse into a brisker pace. Motion itself felt like it might scatter these thoughts. The fields stretched wide about him, and the ground was firm beneath the hooves. The air was bright and cold. He enjoyed the bite of it; it was weather that invited motion, not confinement. Yet he welcomed it, though the freedom of the open country did not entirely quiet his mind. He was not a man accustomed to weakness, least of all in governing his own thoughts – or so he had always believed – and the novelty of it was almost more offensive than the cause.
The morning air seemed a better cure than any further tossing upon the pillow. The country lay before him in sober late-autumn clarity; frost still silvered the fields, and the hedgerows held the season’s last leaves, unmoved by wind or rain. Such mornings had always suited him. He never shied away from the cold.
Riding always steadied him. It offered an escape from duty and society when it became too much. He recalled the long discipline of his youth, the weight of estate and family that had fallen uponhim so early, and the solemn promise he had made to himself never to fall short of the expectations bound to his name.
Yet even here, with the rhythm of his horse beneath him, his thoughts strayed where he had least intended, and he became aware of it too late to prevent it.
The memory of Miss Elizabeth Bennet rose unbidden – the arch of her brow when she caught his eye, the liveliness in her manner, the very readiness with which she would say something mocking. She would do it with such an innocent expression that no one would catch her.
He recalled when she had likened Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and himself to a group of three cows upon the path. She did not want to ruin the picturesque, she said. The ladies had no idea of the insult. He shook his head. He found it intriguing that she had known about Gilpin’s idea of the power of groups of three as desirable for aesthetic purposes. How many young ladies in Hertfordshire even thought of such things? Or elsewhere.
