Chapter 6
TWO MORNINGS AFTER the assembly, Netherfield’s breakfast parlor held the leftovers of the morning’s meal.
The table ran with the remains of bread and ham, a bowl of fruit bruised by indifferent handling, the silver coffee pot losing its heat to the indifferent air.
Hurst had left the roll on his plate after a single bite, its glaze dulled and the crust softened by the slow bleed of juice from the oranges.
No one had touched the compote, and the toast was cold and hard.
Sunlight reached Caroline’s untouched teacup and gleamed along its gold rim.
She traced the cup’s handle with two fingers, then let her hand rest against the tabletop.
Caroline traced the cup’s handle with two fingers, then let her hand rest against the tabletop while she considered Longbourn and everyone in it.
The exercise was the final sorting of evidence gathered over the past forty hours: Jane Bennet, the eldest, sweet, a little too artless in her manners, but not the blank her mother seemed to wish for her.
The second, Elizabeth, sharp and, more troubling, aware of the sharpness.
Her manner carried the edge of a private joke even when her face was grave.
The other daughters had not impressed. Lydia talked like a parrot after wine, Kitty repeated whatever Lydia said, and Mary spoke in proverbs while managing to appear both present and absent in every room.
Across the table, Louisa turned a spoon in her tea with such caution that the clink never varied. Her reluctance to offer opinions until she knew how they would be received made her a reliable, if unexciting, ally.
The sisters understood each other well enough to divide the labor of public life, though not to inspire mutual confidence. Louisa accepted this; Caroline demanded it.
Bingley entered the room in a rush, the ends of his cravat loose and the waistcoat under his coat unfastened at the second button.
His boots showed the morning’s mud in streaks above the polish, and a wildness in his hair made him appear several years younger than the man who had praised local society with such solemn enthusiasm.
“Good morning, good morning,” he said, not so much to greet them as to announce that he still existed. He sat at the table and picked up the coffee pot. Finding it empty, he called for more, then swung the pot by its handle as though to shake out a stubborn drop.
Caroline pressed her lips together. The sight of her brother at breakfast seldom improved her view of the day.
“Did you ride out?” Louisa asked.
Bingley grinned. “I did. The air was brisk, and the chestnut was fresh. I met two of the Lucas boys on the way to the lane, and the younger almost fell from his pony trying to keep up. I returned by the west meadow.”
Caroline watched him, careful not to comment on the effect of a dawn ride on his appearance. She preferred to let the silence draw his attention to it, which, with Bingley, could take an hour or better.
He set down the cup. “I passed Longbourn and saw one of the Bennet girls walking. I think it was Miss Elizabeth. She recognized me and gave a bow, though I was going fast enough that I may have imagined it.” He reached for a slice of cold ham and paused.
“The western pasture is wet in places, but the path is passable.”
Hurst wandered in with his coat thrown across his shoulders and went straight to the food. “Wet ground dries.”
Bingley, with a mouthful of ham, resumed his thought: “I wish to call at Longbourn, perhaps tomorrow. Is it too soon?”
Caroline set her cup down. “It is customary to wait at least a week after an assembly before calling. Otherwise, the house is unprepared, and neither party benefits.”
Hurst, who had loaded a piece of bread with three varieties of meat, did not look up. “You could wait a month, and Mrs. Bennet would still expect you.”
Louisa smiled behind her napkin. “I am sure Mrs. Bennet would not object to a prompt call.”
Bingley looked relieved. “Then tomorrow it is,” he said.
Caroline refrained from sighing. Instead, she steered the conversation to the subject at hand.
“If you call at Longbourn, you will see for yourself the truth of what I said after the assembly. The eldest Miss Bennet is pretty, and her manners are superior to her family’s, but I find her too gentle.
One could push her into a corner and never hear her protest.”
“She is not so mild as you think,” Bingley said. “Though not in the way you mean, she speaks her mind without arguing or yielding.”
Caroline arched an eyebrow, inviting him to elaborate.
“She disliked the arrangement of the dance at the assembly. The musicians were too slow, she said, and a Scottish reel had more life than a country set. Her candor made it impossible not to agree. The remark alone improved the evening.”
Louisa made a sound of agreement. “I found her pleasant.”
Bingley turned to Hurst, who had moved to the sideboard. “And you, Hurst? What did you think?”
Hurst chewed his food with the leisure of a man who viewed digestion as a competitive sport.
“I think the younger ones are too loud,” he said at last. “Miss Mary is the only one who kept her mouth shut, and she looked as though she meant to keep it that way. The rest talked until my ears rang. But Miss Bennet is a beauty. Even you can see that, Caroline.”
Caroline accepted the compliment with a gracious tilt of her head. “I do not dispute her beauty. My objection is to her family. You cannot blame the daughters for their mother, but neither can you ignore her.”
Louisa looked at her hands. “Mrs. Bennet is not genteel, but then neither is Lady Lucas or Mrs. Long.”
Caroline shook her head. “There is a difference between provincial and uncivil.” She let the words settle, then, as if absolving herself, added, “It is not my judgment alone. Miss Elizabeth made the same observation at the assembly. She said her mother talks through every set and keeps her and her sisters forever on guard.”
Bingley’s mouth twitched. “She said that?”
“Yes, to Louisa and me, after the third set. She is not blind to her family’s failings.”
Louisa nodded. “She is sharper than her sister. More aware.”
Hurst, done with the bread, poured himself a glass of the white wine left from dinner and drained it. “Miss Elizabeth was the one who danced with the Lucas boy,” he said.
Bingley considered. “I thought her the best dancer among them.”
Caroline lifted her cup and said nothing.
The door at the other end of the room opened, and Darcy entered with his coat buttoned and his hair still damp from the basin. He crossed the room and took his seat at the table.
Caroline’s gaze flicked to Darcy’s face, then to his hands, which rested on the table, fingers interlaced, as he waited for the coffee tray. She noticed the tension in his jaw, though his voice gave no sign of it.
Bingley turned to Darcy. “Did you see the girl this morning? Miss Elizabeth Bennet was out in the west meadow. She walks a mile or more every day, even in the wet.”
Darcy’s eyes moved to Bingley, then back to the coffee tray as it arrived. “I was in the stable, and saw no one.”
“She does it every day, no matter the weather,” Bingley said.
Darcy nodded.
At the assembly, Darcy had looked at Elizabeth often enough for Caroline to notice. He never mentioned her, but she suspected his interest annoyed him.
“I am surprised, Mr. Darcy, that you have not remarked on the young woman’s composure. You have an eye for these things.”
He lifted his cup. “She has more confidence than her sister.”
Bingley said, “Miss Elizabeth is livelier, but Miss Bennet has a gentleness I prefer.”
Louisa watched them both. “Everyone seemed to like Miss Bennet. She gave no one cause for offense.”
“Not even you, Caroline,” Bingley teased.
Caroline allowed herself a smile. “I am not so easy to offend,” she said, though the evidence to the contrary was ample and close at hand.
Bingley, who had tired of the conversation, rose from his seat and paced the room. He picked up a newspaper, set it down, then walked to the window and looked out. “I have decided to call at Longbourn tomorrow.”
Caroline fixed her gaze on Darcy, who was not reading the paper in front of him, but holding the page in his hand without turning it. He met her eye, then lowered his gaze to the table.
She said, “Then we shall come with you. I hope you will join us as well, Mr. Darcy. It would not do to have our party divided.”
He nodded, offering nothing more.
Hurst had returned to the bread. “I will go if there is food.”
Bingley laughed. “There will be food.”
Louisa said, “I think it will be pleasant to see them again.”
Caroline flattened the letter beneath her palm. Hurst’s knife scraped across his plate.
At last, Bingley returned to the table. “Miss Bennet said the assembly reminded her of harvest feasts, and that the best ones always end with a dance under the apple trees.”
Louisa said, “That sounds lovely.”
Bingley grinned. “Perhaps I will suggest it to her. We have an orchard, and I am sure the neighborhood would not object.”
Caroline closed her eyes for a breath. The thought of her brother arranging a public dance on his own property, inspired by the whim of a country girl, provoked in her a sensation she could not name without risk of laughing.
She composed herself, then looked at Darcy, who had finally turned a page in the paper.
He glanced away, and Caroline took the retreat for caution.
She smiled.
“Miss Elizabeth is sharper than her sister, but less careful with what she says. I think she noticed more at the assembly than she let pass.”
Darcy did not answer, but his jaw tightened.
Bingley, oblivious, asked, “Do you think she would enjoy the library here? Is it too forward of me to ask if she cares to see it?”
Caroline said, “You may mention the library, Charles, but inviting her to see it is premature.”
He thought about this. “I will mention it anyway,” he said. “I am sure she reads as much as any of us, perhaps more.”
He pushed back from the table, leaving a fresh chaos of crumbs, and left the room whistling a tune from the dance.
Hurst wiped his mouth and set down the knife. He narrowed his eyes at Caroline. “You will have to work harder to stop him, if that is your intention.”
Louisa poured a last half-cup of tea and sipped it in peace.
Caroline watched Darcy as he read, though his eyes had not moved down the page.
Hertfordshire would require more vigilance than she expected. She let her gaze rest on Darcy a moment longer, then turned to her tea, which had gone cold.
Louisa turned her spoon through the tea while she considered the family’s prospects. Hurst lingered over the cold ham, cutting another slice. At the end of the table, Darcy held the county paper open before him while his coffee cooled.
Caroline sat back. Louisa had withdrawn into thought, Hurst cared only for his breakfast, and Darcy had not turned a page in several minutes.
Bingley’s departure left the room quiet.
Louisa said, “Did you find the company at the assembly less tedious than in Town?”
“It was much as I expected. Miss Bennet was the best, but there is little variety. One sees the same manners from family to family,” Caroline said.
Hurst, working a sliver of orange from the rind, said, “Nothing repeats like a mother with five daughters.”
Louisa’s spoon slowed. “I feel for Mrs. Bennet. She is so eager to see them well settled, though she struggles to direct them.”
Caroline’s smile tightened. “She directs nothing. Her voice is everywhere, but her daughters do as they like.” She let the words land, then added, “It is a failing.”
“Miss Bennet is pleasing,” Louisa persisted.
Caroline allowed it. “Yes, she has excellent prospects. She will marry, if not well, at least to someone respectable.”
Darcy’s gaze flicked from the paper to the table. Caroline waited for him to speak, but the silence grew until Hurst, fork in hand, filled it.
“The second is the sharper one. Miss Elizabeth, the one with the dog.” He popped a morsel of ham in his mouth and chewed with relish. “She would have made a better officer than a daughter.”
Louisa’s eyes brightened. “I liked her. She makes one feel at ease, without trying.”
Caroline frowned. “She puts you at ease because she misses nothing. You will see. Miss Elizabeth does not take direction well.”
Darcy, still reading the same page, said, “She observes everything, but says little.”
Caroline shifted in her chair. “She watches everyone and forms her opinions. I do not care for it.”
Louisa was unmoved. “She is not so formidable.”
“Then you did not see her after Mr. Darcy’s remark,” Caroline said. “She made nothing of it at first, but I do not think she forgot it.”
Hurst smirked. “She put Darcy in his place last night. Ignored him, and he could do nothing about it. That is more than half the men in Town ever managed.”
Caroline glanced at Darcy. He had not moved, but his fingers had closed around the cup.
Louisa softened the moment. “It was very funny. She never raised her voice, not once.”
Darcy said, “Miss Elizabeth is quick. She turns everything to a jest.” He paused, set the cup down and closed the paper. “It does not always please.”
Caroline concealed her satisfaction. She looked at Louisa, hoping for the old easy alignment, but found her sister’s expression neutral. “You admire her, Louisa?”
“I think I do,” Louisa said. “But I like Miss Bennet better. She is... quieter.”
Caroline nodded, and for a moment the table was at peace.
Bingley returned, cheeks flushed from the wind, his hair still uncombed. He carried a book under one arm. “I thought I might take this with me. Do you think Miss Bennet would care for it?”
Louisa glanced at the title. “Perhaps.”
He beamed and set the book on the table. “I thought she might enjoy something from the Netherfield library. Is that too much, do you think?”
Caroline said, “It might be premature, Charles. You do not yet know her.”
He thought it over, then shrugged. “I will mention it anyway. She can refuse if she likes.”
Louisa smiled. “She is too polite to refuse.”
Hurst set down his fork. “A wager, then. I say she accepts, and Darcy must deliver the book himself.”
Bingley laughed, delighted. “Done.”
Caroline said nothing, but saw the way Darcy’s hand hovered an instant over the book before he folded it back into place. It was not a large gesture, but she caught it.
The discussion turned to other matters: the parish news, the state of the hedgerow, the merits of local cheeses compared to those of Yorkshire. Hurst weighed in on the last with the gravity of a man who ate both in bulk.
Darcy withdrew into silence, the air around him colder than the morning’s chill.
Caroline watched him stare at a patch of sunlight on the table.
She fixed her gaze on Darcy as he turned a page of the newspaper he had not read, and allowed herself a smile that did not reach her eyes.