Page 5 of A Most Unwelcome Acquaintance

“I am not claiming it does.” Elizabeth set the boot down beside its mate. The mud on the floorboards was drying to a fine, pale dust. “I am applying the same standard he appeared to apply to me. If he can look at a woman repairing a hedge and decide what sort of person she must be, then I can think somewhat less of a man who does it.”

Mary frowned. “That is not reasonable.”

“I agree.” Elizabeth brushed her palms against her skirt. The gesture was unconscious, a habit left over from the morning’s work. “But he offered nothing beyond that impression. He formed his opinion and rode away. If he wants me to judge him by more than one impression, he might consider making another.”

Mary held her ground. The book under her arm had slipped, and she repositioned it with a fussy precision that seemed to channel her frustration into motion. “You are splitting hairs,” she said.

“No, I am precise. There is a difference.”

“The difference is that you are using his poor judgment to justify your own.”

Elizabeth picked up both boots and set them side by side against the wall. The dried mud formed a uniform gray layer, and moisture stained the leather above it. They would need brushing before they were fit to wear again, and she made a mental note to attend to it later, when the house quieted.

“Mary,” she said, “if a man judges me by the mud on my hem and the dog at my heels, I am not obliged to search for hidden virtues he has taken no trouble to display. I shall return the courtesy.”

Mary closed her book with a snap, turned on her heel, and walked back to the parlor with her spine straight and chin level.

Elizabeth followed. There was no shawl, but she had not wanted one.

The parlor welcomed her back with its familiar noise. Mrs. Bennet stood in front of the fireplace, gesturing toward some invisible assembly room while she detailed, for what must have been the third time, the advantages of Jane’s sprigged muslin. Jane had not moved from her seat by the window, but her needle had stilled, and she was watching Lydia with the half-amused expression that meant she had surrendered to the spectacle.

Lydia had abandoned the settee and now stood in the middle of the room, both arms extended in what appeared to be an enthusiastic approximation of Sir William Lucas greeting an entire room at once. She dipped at the waist, swept one arm in an arc that just missed hitting the side table, and proclaimed, in a voice that carried the full force of her fifteen-year-old conviction, “Your most humble servant, madam! Your neighborhood is the delight of my existence, and your daughters are the very ornament of Hertfordshire society!”

Kitty covered her mouth with both hands, but her shoulders shook with laughter. Sarah remained asleep by the hearth, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Elizabeth returned to her seat by the window. The glass was cold against her shoulder, and the garden beyond had disappeared into darkness. Behind her, Mrs. Bennet resumed her plans for the assembly, Lydia kept Kitty laughing, Jane bent over her work, and Mary read.

Through the window, Elizabeth could see nothing of the garden or lane. The dark pressed against the panes, and the stranger returned to her thoughts: motionless on his horse, thirty yards away, watching as though a few minutes’ observation told him all he cared to know.

She had given him nothing but the work to watch, and that seemed to be enough.

Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose above the general noise, carrying some fresh detail about the assembly that Elizabeth did not catch. Lydia collapsed onto the carpet in a fit of laughter that shook the settee cushions, and Jane returned to her needlework. Sarah’s tail thumped against the hearthstone, and the sound traveled through the warm, cluttered room like a heartbeat.

Chapter 3

NETHERFIELD’S MORNING room caught the best of the day’s light. The east windows were open to the mild spring sun, and the warmth of a late breakfast clung to the air, undisturbed except for the rhythm of Bingley’s riding glove as he slapped it against his knee. He sat at the edge of his chair, coat undone, his hair damp from the wet brush he ran through it after dressing. His expression suggested he could resolve the affairs of the county, the estate, and the world by talking at a brisk pace and refusing to let anyone contradict him.

Darcy, who never sat when standing made a point, stood by the tall window, working the leather of his riding crop in one hand. His gaze moved over the grounds, and if he heard Bingley’s running commentary on the neighbors, the weather, and the prospects of the next hunt, he gave no sign of it.

Across from Bingley, his sister Caroline occupied the settee. She wore pale green, the sleeves and collar set with a level of embroidery more appropriate to a London drawing room than a house aired after six months’ vacancy. Her posture suggested that the furniture existed to display her, and the small, angled turns of her head showed that she expected frequent attention and approval. At her right, Louisa worked an embroidery frame, the needle moving through the fabric. Louisa’s husband, Hurst, who entered the room at the first scent of breakfast, sat in the armchair nearest the fire, within reach of the tea tray. He reached for the biscuits like a man who believed that if a tray existed, his duty was to empty it.

“—and I suppose we must call first at Longbourn, if only to satisfy local expectation,” Bingley said, continuing without waiting for agreement. “There is a certain order in these matters, and I have no wish to begin by offending every matron in the neighborhood. Besides, I am told Mrs. Bennet’s nerves are in a constant state of crisis. We may as well give her something to talk about.”

Caroline nodded, one eyebrow raised. “I am sure Mrs. Bennet will have plenty to say, regardless. Her reputation for conversation precedes her.” She glanced at Darcy, hoping for the flicker of a smile, but received none.

Louisa, intent on her embroidery, said nothing.

Bingley looked to Darcy. “You noticed the boundary. What did you make of it?”

Darcy’s eyes stayed fixed on the window. “The land is unremarkable, but serviceable. The western hedge needs replanting, and several posts have rotted through.”

Louisa’s needle stopped. “Did you test them?”

Caroline hid a smile behind her hand. Hurst ate his biscuit.

“The sheep tested them,” Bingley said. “They found the gap before we did.”

“A collie brought them back,” Darcy said.