“I concur.”
The lane stretched before them, pale under the softened light. The frost was gone; the earth showed through in darker patches. Their horses’ hooves struck a steady rhythm against the road.
Bingley continued, untroubled by silence. “I find that I like the country. It was difficult to imagine what life here would be like, but it has proved to be quite tolerable. More than tolerable.”
“I am glad you think so.”
“I know there is much I still have to learn, but here the days seem longer. No matter how early I awake, the people here are already at work.”
Darcy almost smiled. “That is true. Animals and the land do not wait.”
“Yes. All this, and the advantage of agreeable neighbours, are largely lost upon my family. Hurst should be more at home here, but even he shows little enthusiasm unless we hunt or dine.”
“Your sisters will not be happy with us. We should have sent a note.”
Thinking of Miss Bingley, Darcy recalled with some discomfort how freely he had once spoken of Miss Elizabeth’s eyes. What had prompted such unguarded speech? He had been correct, nevertheless. It had not been beauty alone that fixed his attention. He admired her understanding – and the ease with which she met him without deference or design. He could not remember when last he had found a lady’s company so little effort and so much reward.
And when she had turned that attention upon him – that steady, assessing gaze softened by something warmer – he had felt a change that could no longer be dismissed as mere curiosity.
He was not a naïve man. What he felt could no longer be dismissed as curiosity alone.
It had not come upon him suddenly, nor was it impulse. It had grown quietly in a challenge, in contradiction, in reluctant admiration.
Beside him, Bingley spoke on, unaware of the parallel reflections unfolding at his side.
Darcy listened. But his thoughts were only of Elizabeth.
***
By the time they reached Netherfield, the light had altered. The softness of the afternoon was about to give way to the cooler stillness of early evening. A servant opened the door before they had fully dismounted.
They had scarcely crossed the threshold when Miss Bingley appeared in the hall.
“You have been most punctual in your return,” she observed, though her tone suggested the opposite.
Bingley, still in high spirits, removed his gloves with cheerful unconcern. “We were detained by kindness.”
“Or by calculation.”
“Caroline, that is not very neighbourly.”
“Well, one hopes the delay was worth the sacrifice.”
Darcy removed his hat without haste. “I was unaware that luncheon constituted a sacrifice.”
Caroline’s smile did not reach her eyes. “For some of us,” she said, “a Sunday may be passed in a manner somewhat more… composed.”
Bingley laughed lightly. “Mrs. Bennet insisted.”
“I am sure she did,” she said.
Darcy’s gaze flickered briefly toward her, but he did not rise to the provocation.
Louisa appeared behind her sister, less animated but no less observant. “Charles, we were waiting for you, but you took so long we dined. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, I am sorry. We walked the ladies home, and Mrs. Bennet invited us in. We could not say no.”
“Youcould not say no,” corrected Darcy.
