Chapter 17 #2
Bingley crossed to her almost before she had finished her curtsy. “Miss Elizabeth, I hope Miss Bennet is improving?”
“She is no worse than she was this morning,” she replied. “She has slept a little, which I consider the best possible employment for a patient determined to declare herself not ill.”
Bingley smiled, relief softening his face. “Then I shall be satisfied for the moment, though I hope you will not hesitate to command anything she requires.”
“I shall be very despotic, sir, I assure you.”
Darcy looked briefly toward the mantel to conceal his smile.
Miss Bingley, seated upon the sofa with an elegant arrangement of silk and displeasure, observed that Miss Bennet was fortunate indeed in having such devoted attendance.
Mrs. Hurst murmured something suitable, and Hurst, who had been turning the pages of a newspaper without appearing to read a word, roused himself enough to ask whether the dinner bell had rung.
A few minutes later, it did.
Bingley immediately offered his arm to Miss Bingley, who accepted it with a look of restored consequence. Hurst rose to escort his wife, leaving Darcy standing beside Elizabeth with the most natural duty in the world before him and the most unreasonable sense of privilege attending it.
He bowed. “Miss Elizabeth, may I?”
Her eyes lifted to his, and for one brief moment, the room seemed to narrow to the space between them.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”
She placed her hand lightly upon his arm.
It was nothing. A courtesy required by the arrangement of a dinner party.
Yet Darcy felt the slight weight of her fingers through his sleeve as though every nerve in his body had been waiting for that particular touch.
He led her toward the dining room with as much composure as he could command, aware of Miss Bingley glancing back at them, of Bingley speaking cheerfully ahead, and of Elizabeth beside him, quiet but not uneasy.
At the dining room door, she said softly, “I hope your morning was less eventful than mine.”
Darcy looked down at her. “Less muddy, perhaps.”
Her mouth curved. “A distinction I am willing to grant.”
“Not necessarily an improvement.”
That startled a laugh from her, low and brief, and Darcy carried the sound with him into dinner like a private victory.
As the first course was served, the conversation remained where politeness placed it: Jane’s health, Mr. Jones’s opinion, the weather, the unfortunate state of the roads.
Miss Bingley contributed with an air of generous suffering, Mrs. Hurst with occasional languor, and Bingley with such earnest concern that Elizabeth’s expression warmed whenever she answered him.
When both the weather and Jane’s health had been thoroughly canvassed, conversation faltered for a few moments.
It may have continued to do so, had Bingley not possessed an almost heroic resistance to discomfort.
He turned, with the air of one determined to restore cheer, to the subject of Netherfield’s arrangements.
He spoke of the house, the grounds, the park, and finally confessed, with a laugh against himself, that he had not yet learned half the names of the farms attached to the estate.
“I thought leasing a place would be the simpler way of learning whether I suited the country,” he said. “Now I begin to think the country means to examine whether I suit it.”
Elizabeth smiled at him. “That is very likely. The country may be civil, but it is rarely careless in its judgments.”
“Then I must hope to make a good impression upon it. How does one begin?”
“With humility,” she said at once.
Bingley laughed. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not at all. Only practical. A new master of any estate would do well to suppose, for the first few months, that everyone knows more than he does.”
“I am told the western fields hold water after heavy rain,” Bingley said.
“Mr. Philips mentioned drainage in one of his letters, but I confess I have not yet understood whether it is a matter requiring immediate attention or merely one of those estate concerns which agents mention to frighten new tenants into sobriety.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “A little of both, perhaps. The lower western field is troublesome, but not hopeless. The ditch beyond Warren’s cottage has not been cleared as it ought, and when it floods, the water does not remain polite enough to ruin only Netherfield’s pasture.
It runs toward the lane and, in a wet season, makes trouble for Longbourn’s north meadow as well. ”
Bingley blinked. “You know all that?”
“Longbourn is near enough to Netherfield that our troubles sometimes introduce themselves to one another without waiting for permission.”
Darcy took a sip of wine to hide his smile.
Miss Bingley gave a light, brittle laugh. “How very attentive country families are. I had not realized young ladies of small estates were raised to inspect ditches.”
Darcy’s fork stilled. Elizabeth’s countenance did not alter beyond the faintest lift of her brows, but he had already learned that such small changes often concealed lively amusement—or sharper feeling.
“There are worse things to inspect,” she replied.
“Certainly,” Miss Bingley said. “Though I should have thought such matters belonged to stewards and tenants, not ladies.”
“My aunt, Lady Matlock, would disagree,” Darcy said.
Miss Bingley turned to him in surprise. “Surely a countess would not concern herself with such particulars?”
“Quite the contrary,” Darcy replied. “She knows the tenants attached to Matlock House and our Derbyshire properties very well. She is involved in cottages, schools, widows’ allowances, and half a dozen matters my uncle claims to understand only after she explains them to him twice.”
Elizabeth’s expression warmed. “Then Lady Matlock has my admiration.”
“She would return it, I think.”
He had spoken without thinking. Elizabeth looked down at her plate, and Darcy wished at once he had said less. Not because it was untrue, but because it carried more feeling than the table required.
Miss Bingley filled the silence with a light laugh. “How very industrious you all make country life sound. I confess, I had imagined estate ownership a more elegant occupation.”
“That is the advantage of not owning one,” Elizabeth said. “One may imagine it however one likes.”
Mrs. Hurst laughed softly, and even Hurst gave a sleepy huff of amusement.
Miss Bingley’s color rose. “Still, Miss Elizabeth, you speak with surprising confidence for one whose father’s estate is not, I believe, a large one.”
“It is large enough to have problems,” Elizabeth replied.
“That is generally sufficient education. Every gentleman’s daughter ought to be raised with some respect for the land and people that provide for her.
If she is not, she may enjoy the income without ever understanding the cost. And if a young lady wishes to be mistress of an estate, she should seek out the same education. ”
Miss Bingley’s lips tightened. Bingley, sensing danger but not yet knowing how to escape it, hurried to say, “Then I shall be grateful for any advice you choose to give. I have no wish to be one of those gentlemen who leases a house, enjoys the shooting, and leaves everyone else to manage the consequences.”
“That resolve alone will endear you to many,” Elizabeth said. “If you add timely repairs and fair dealing, you may become dangerously popular.”
“Excellent. I have always wished to be dangerously popular.”
“You are in a fair way,” Darcy said dryly. “You have been in Hertfordshire a week and already half Meryton has decided you are amiable.”
“Only half?”
“The other half has not yet met you.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That is not true, Mr. Darcy. The other half has met him and is waiting to learn whether five thousand a year is accompanied by respectable dancing, tolerable manners, and a willingness to subscribe to local concerns.”
Darcy felt laughter rise and was forced to take another sip of wine. Bingley made no such attempt to hide his amusement, and his eyes widened in delight. “Must I subscribe to local concerns?”
“Eventually,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Meryton will not demand it all at once, of course. We are not savages.”
“That is reassuring,” Miss Bingley said dryly. “After all, one would not wish a gentleman to be overwhelmed by every parish concern before he has had time to decide whether the neighborhood is worth so much exertion.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted. “Is worthiness to be determined before kindness is attempted? That seems a rather cautious charity.”
“I only mean,” Miss Bingley replied, with a thin smile, “that people are generally happiest when each remains within his proper sphere. Tenants have their concerns, neighbors theirs, and gentlemen theirs. Too much interference, however well meant, may easily become presumption.”
There was a moment of silence. Darcy’s fingers tightened slightly upon his glass.
Elizabeth, however, looked more amused than offended. “Then I suppose the difficulty lies in deciding where concern ends and presumption begins.”
“Precisely,” Miss Bingley said, as though she had gained a point.
“An excellent question,” Elizabeth continued. “Though I suspect those who are comfortable often draw that line much sooner than those who are cold, hungry, flooded, or ill-housed.”
Miss Bingley opened her mouth to respond, but Elizabeth continued. Darcy felt the old protective impulse rise, but Elizabeth was quicker than he.
“In the country, Miss Bingley, estates have a great deal to do with one another. We benefit together or suffer together more often than town residents may suppose. A poorly drained field does not ruin only the crop within its own fence. Water runs, cattle stray, sickness travels, roads wash out, and one neglected tenant family may become the concern of three parishes before winter ends. Nature does not recognize property lines merely because men do.”