I stared a moment too long, failing to remove myself from the window when Miss Elizabeth raised her eyes and caught me. Her brows furrowed viciously as her vibrant eyes narrowed. I daresay this was not to be a pleasurable visit.
“Come, Bingley, let Caroline entertain her guests.” I drew the curtain, blocking out the vision of mother and daughter, along with a gentleman carrying a leather case. “I wonder what need Miss Bingley has for a solicitor.”
Bingley shrugged, straightening his perfectly acceptable waistcoat. “You don’t suppose she’s come about the drainage? Do the fields in question adjoin Longbourn?”
I did not dignify this with a response. Instead, I poured myself a brandy and settled in a leather chair in front of the plot maps.
Whatever I had thought to pursue was interrupted by a sharp knock, followed by Bingley’s butler appearing in the doorway. “A Mrs. Bennet, a Mr. Philips, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet to see Mr. Darcy, sir.” He presented the card on the silver salver.John Philips, Solicitor, Meryton.
“To see me?” I took the card.
“Yes, sir. Shall I show them to the drawing room?”
“Please.”
Bingley was at my elbow before the butler had cleared the doorway. “I’m coming withyou.”
“You are not.”
The butler vanished with evident relief, and Bingley studied me with the expression of a man attending a theatrical performance whose plot he had not yet grasped but was thoroughly enjoying.
“Mrs. Bennet,” he said. “Calling on you with a solicitor? What on earth did you do at that assembly, Darcy?”
“Nothing that warrants legal counsel,” I said, though even as the words left my mouth, I was no longer entirely certain.
I had replayed the assembly a dozen times and had counted my offenses, but the remarks about Miss Bennet’s tongue while ill-considered were defensible. The observation about her suitability as a companion was considerably less so, but hardly actionable. And Mrs. Bennet’s response had landed with the precision of a woman who knew exactly where to place a blade.
One hates to think of clever girls discarded once their usefulness fades.
“Then you had better have me witness this,” Bingley said. “Whatever this is, it’s clearly going to be fascinating, and I refuse to hear about it secondhand from Caroline.”
The mention of Caroline produced a secondary concern I had not yet had time to contemplate, but before I could address it, the lady herself appeared in the corridor.
“I heard callers,” she announced. “Who on earth arrives at Netherfield without prior arrangement?”
“Mrs. Bennet and her daughter.” Bingley moved toward the staircase with the irrepressible enthusiasm of a spaniel who has caught an interesting scent. “And a solicitor.”
“A solicitor?” Caroline’s voice achieved a register that suggested she found the concept of legal professionals calling at country houses roughly equivalent to discovering vermin in the larder. “Whatever for? Has someone died?”
“Nobody has died,” I said, though I was beginning to wonder if my reputation might be the first casualty.
We entered the drawing room with as much dignity as an unexpected call deserved. Mrs. Bennet stood at the window, her appraising gaze sweeping over the room. Mr. Philips, a compact andastute-looking man, occupied a chair near the door, exuding the watchful calm of one whose profession thrived on anticipating and profiting from trouble.
And there, near the fireplace, stood Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the cat still in her arms. Oh, she was furious, that one, but there was something else in her expression, wounded pride and another quality, as if she had accepted a wager she considered beneath her but intended on collecting or at least drawing first blood.
The cat regarded me impassively.
“Mrs. Bennet.” I offered a bow that satisfied propriety without extending warmth. “Miss Bennet. Mr. Philips. I confess your visit was not anticipated.”
“Was it not?” Mrs. Bennet turned from the window, and I was struck again by the intelligence in her eyes—that steady, patient shrewdness I had glimpsed at the assembly. “I should have thought a man of your perception would have anticipated it.”
There are sentences that function as both greeting and opening sally, and Mrs. Bennet had delivered one with the economy of a woman who had no intention of wasting powder on warning shots.
“I am not certain I follow,” I said, which was untrue. I was beginning to follow with terrible clarity. They were here to either press imaginary charges or to extort a gentleman for a perceived slight.
“You made a suggestion at the assembly, Mr. Darcy. Regarding my daughter. You observed that Elizabeth possesses a sharp mind and would suit admirably as a companion for your sister.” She gestured to the solicitor, who presented a document from his case. “We are here to discuss the terms.”
“A companion?” Caroline’s voice pierced with a painful register. Her gaze moved between Miss Elizabeth and me with the bright attention of someone watching a very satisfying scene unfold. “You offered Miss Eliza Bennet a position as Georgiana’s companion? How very… practical of you, Mr. Darcy. I had no idea you were seeking to fill that role. Had I known, I would have made enquiries amongst my acquaintances.”
