CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN THE DINNER bell was rung, the Bennet sisters descended together, their light steps softened by the carpeted stair. A maid carrying candles preceded them, and from below came the hum of voices and the faint clatter of china.
At the foot of the staircase they met their father, mother, and the Gardiners, and together followed a servant toward the dining room. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened as the doors opened and candlelight spilled into the hall.
The table was already full. To Elizabeth it seemed every place shone with consequence, every face that turned toward them carrying more weight than it ought.
The fragrance of pine and polished wood mingled with the warmth of roasted meats and candle wax, a domestic comfort that only heightened her unease.
There sat Mr. Bingley and his sisters, the Hursts beside them, Colonel Fitzwilliam farther down, and to her astonishment, Mr. and Mrs. Collins. At the head of the table, nearest Darcy, sat Miss Darcy, her gentle countenance brightened by welcome surprise at the sight of Elizabeth.
As they entered, Caroline Bingley’s fork slipped sharply against her plate. Her eyes flew wide, fixing on Elizabeth and Jane with such naked surprise that for a heartbeat she seemed bereft of speech. Mrs. Hurst gasped, a hand rising to her throat.
Caroline recovered first. “I had heard that Pemberley was entertaining unexpected guests,” she said, her voice a shade too high. “I did not know it was Miss Eliza Bennet and dear Jane. And Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, how very... delightful.”
Mrs. Hurst’s laugh was thin. “Indeed, Caroline. The entire family has braved the snow. Quite a feat of devotion.”
At this, Mr. Collins rose, nearly upsetting his glass. “Cousin Bennet! My cousins!” He bowed deeply. “My dear sir, what felicity to meet beneath so distinguished a roof. I had no notion, none whatever, that you were in Derbyshire.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him with mild amusement. “Nor I that you were, sir. What brings you to Pemberley? I trust Lady Catherine’s approval follows you wherever you go.”
“Indeed it does!” cried Mr. Collins, his chest swelling. “Her ladyship herself, in her magnanimity, insisted that Mrs. Collins and I spend the Christmas season here among her noble relations. It is the greatest honour of my life. Lady Catherine is, I believe, to grace the table this very evening.”
He frowned slightly. “Though it is not like her ladyship to be late. Her punctuality is universally admired. Still, Providence must have intended that the Bennet family should dine beneath the same roof as Lady Catherine de Bourgh; it is most edifying.”
Darcy inclined his head toward Mr. Bennet. “I must beg your pardon, sir. I should have mentioned earlier that your cousin and his wife were here. The day’s confusion quite drove it from my mind.”
Mr. Bennet smiled. “Think nothing of it, sir. Six Bennet women arriving unannounced might make any man forget a clergyman.”
Elizabeth, though outwardly composed, felt a flutter of surprise. That he should forget to mention Mr Collins or even Lady Catherine—how much their arrival must have disordered him.
Just then, Mrs. Reynolds entered and curtsied.
“Pardon, sir. I thought it best to allow introductions before troubling you with the rest. Her ladyship and Miss de Bourgh will not be joining dinner this evening. Her ladyship insists the journey still fatigues them. Captain Ashford, too, begs to be excused, though he hopes to appear tomorrow.”
“Poor Ashford,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam lightly. “He has the constitution of an ox in the field and a child at table. I daresay something disagreed with him at breakfast this morning.”
“Thank you, Mrs Reynolds,” said Darcy. “See that they want for nothing.”
Elizabeth’s curiosity stirred. Captain Ashford.
The name meant nothing to her, though the title suggested a friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s—or perhaps a military acquaintance of Mr Darcy’s.
The respect in Mrs Reynolds’s tone marked him as someone of consequence.
And then the rest of her words struck home.
Lady Catherine—here. Her mind flew back to Kent: to long sermons, to Charlotte’s quiet patience, and to Lady Catherine’s unwavering scrutiny.
To dine under the same roof again—surely Providence could not mean to test her so soon.
If Lady Catherine and her daughter were not to dine with the party that evening because of fatigue, when had they arrived?
Mr Darcy himself was said to have come to Pemberley only some days prior.
When, then, had the Bingleys come? Were there yet other guests residing in the house?
Several such questions pressed upon Elizabeth's thoughts, though she could answer none of them.
As the housekeeper withdrew, Mr. Collins turned to his cousin. “And what brings you so far north, Cousin Bennet?”
"Christmas alone, Mr Collins, possesses sufficient authority to dislodge me from my own fireside.
" Mr Bennet spoke with perfect equanimity to his cousin, whose countenance betrayed utter bewilderment as to how the Bennets had come to be invited to Pemberley, or indeed why Mr Darcy should wish to invite them at all.
Perceiving his distress, Mr Bennet continued with barely concealed amusement, "We came as common tourists, nothing more. The snow has proved less accommodating than Mr Darcy's housekeeper. Should Providence smile upon us tomorrow, we shall be gone before you have finished your morning prayers."
A ripple of laughter travelled the table. Darcy seized the moment to restore order. “I believe, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, you are acquainted with most of the company, save my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and my sister, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana rose slightly and curtsied. “I am very glad to see you again, Miss Elizabeth, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner too. It was such a happy summer when you were here before.”
Elizabeth’s smile came from the heart. “We have often thought of it, Miss Darcy.”
Jane’s hand brushed hers beneath the table, a fleeting touch, light as a breath yet steadying.
Caroline Bingley’s voice broke the moment. “Truly, Miss Bennet, the weather has done you a kindness in keeping you here. Pemberley is a far pleasanter refuge than any country inn.”
“Yes, Caroline. Had the snow not worsened, I daresay they would be back to Lambton by now, or so I hear from the servants.” Mrs. Hurst added.
An awkward pause followed. Darcy’s gaze moved to the sisters. “It seems my servants have grown too free in their conversation. They will be reminded that my guests’ affairs are not for discussion.”
Caroline flushed and applied herself with great attention to her white soup. Mrs Hurst found herself remarkably absorbed by the fish upon her plate.
Bingley spoke then, softly but with feeling. “For my part, I am glad the snow decided otherwise.” His glance flickered toward Jane. “It has been far too long since we all met together.”
Mrs. Bennet beamed. “So it has, Mr. Bingley. What a marvel we should meet again under such elegant circumstances.”
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s glance across the table, brief, unreadable, yet enough to set her pulse into disorder.
The party gradually resumed their dinner, though an air of constraint had settled over the table. Footmen appeared at Elizabeth's elbow and those of her family, laying their places with swift, silent efficiency. The rich scent of roasted pheasant and wine sauce hung in the air.
Elizabeth thanked the servant who served her portion, though she scarcely tasted it. Her attention drifted from the gleam of silver and crystal to the hum of voices surrounding her.
Across the table, Mr Bingley's gaze sought Jane again and again. Once, when she spoke, his smile softened with unmistakable affection, and Jane, though she kept her composure, coloured faintly and lowered her eyes.
At the head of the table, Georgiana Darcy conversed gently with Mrs. Gardiner, her tone sweet and attentive. Elizabeth found herself watching her with quiet admiration. There was something so unstudied and sincere in her manner that it made the grandeur of the room feel almost kind.
Not every countenance was so pleasant. Caroline Bingley and Mrs Hurst exchanged pointed glances over their wineglasses, their expressions speaking volumes.
Their smiles remained fixed and civil, but Elizabeth noted the coolness in their eyes and understood its meaning well enough.
The presence of the Bennet family at Pemberley was a circumstance they had neither anticipated nor welcomed.
She pretended not to see, but her efforts were only half successful. More than once she looked up to find Mr. Darcy watching her, his expression grave, then swiftly composed as though he had not been caught. That brief, unguarded moment was enough to send her heart fluttering in confusion.
The conversation at length grew easy again. Elizabeth smiled when civility required it, though her mind was elsewhere. How strange to sit at Darcy’s table, surrounded by his relations, his friends, his entire world—to be there by chance, and yet to feel that every glance might betray her thoughts.
She wondered whether anyone else felt the strangeness of it all—the storm beyond the walls, the brightness within, and herself caught between them, uncertain which she feared most.
***
When The Last of the dishes had been cleared and the ladies rose from the table, Mrs Bennet declared herself too fatigued for further company.
She praised the excellence of the meal with unfeigned delight, yet her eyes were already on the doors and the promise of a good fire above stairs.
Mr Bennet, who had never cared for after-dinner conversation, agreed readily that they had intruded enough for one evening.