Chapter Six
Miss Bennet led Darcy into a cosy room. Mr. Bennet was already sitting at the head of the table, a newspaper neatly folded and placed to one side.
Darcy nodded at him, and Mr. Bennet nodded back.
Miss Elizabeth had been speaking with her mother who still appeared displeased with her, Miss Mary was already seated, and Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty were only just tripping over the threshold and into the room, appearing as though they had been forcibly rousted from bed.
They were dressed in bright colours, unusual for young ladies he most often saw attired in white.
He had to admit that they had chosen colours that suited them.
Raucous and unmannerly they might be, but seeing them freshly awakened, still sleepy and unadorned, they seemed younger.
A pang of conscience smote him. They were young.
Miss Lydia was even a little younger than Georgiana, and Miss Kitty only a little older.
They behaved badly, but it only proved they were too young to be out in company, and that was not entirely their fault.
Miss Lydia slumped into her chair. “Lord, I am so tired! I do love a ball, but it takes me so long to recover!”
Well, perhaps his initial judgement was not so very flawed. Miss Kitty, he noted, was more impressed by the visitor at table and remained quiet. There might be some hope for her.
Darcy was used to a rather sedate morning meal. Even when his sister was at her most excitable, she generally waited until he had consumed at least one cup of coffee and a bit of food. This experience, he expected, would be unlike any to which he was accustomed.
“Lizzy,” Miss Lydia called down the table. Miss Mary who was seating next to the youngest Bennet grumbled something as she buttered a slice of toast. “Shall we go collect pine boughs and holly today? We wish to decorate!”
“Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth admonished her, “it is too early.”
“It is the tradition,” Miss Mary confirmed with a bob of her head.
“Hang the tradition,” Miss Lydia declared.
Darcy wondered idly whether that statement might not one day be emblazoned upon Miss Lydia’s family crest.
“Lydia,” Miss Bennet said warningly.
“We always decorate for St. Nicholas Day,” Miss Lydia whined.
“We only put up the mistletoe,” Miss Elizabeth replied. She turned to Darcy. “It was a tradition in my mother’s family.”
Darcy bit his tongue.
“Pass the eggs, Mary,” Miss Lydia said, distracted. Instead of waiting, she reached out across her sister to take the platter.
He glanced at Mr. Bennet, who rolled his eyes and picked up his paper.
It was not how Darcy would have responded to an errant child at table, but this was not his house. He glanced over at Miss Elizabeth but did not allow his gaze to linger. Her eyes were on her plate, and he could tell she was blushing with embarrassment.
Miss Bennet took it all in and announced, “Mr. Darcy told me that Mr. Bingley greatly enjoys the festive season. When he is feeling better, Lydia, perhaps we could gather greenery and decorate his room while he is downstairs.”
Darcy blinked. He had not expected such a suggestion from demure Miss Bennet, but then, would it matter if Bingley was elsewhere? It was simply a thoughtful gesture for an invalid.
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Bennet sounded as though she were actually cooing, reminding Darcy of the pigeons in the park near his London house.
“That is a wonderful idea,” the matron continued.
“Mr. Bingley will be in residence for some time, and we should do everything we are able to make him feel as though he is at home.”
“Mamma,” Miss Bennet said, shaking her head. “Mr. Bingley’s injuries are thankfully of a temporary nature, but it would be a kindness to make his stay as pleasant as possible.”
“I believe Bingley would be grateful for the gesture, Miss Bennet,” Darcy said. “He is of a rather active disposition, and being kept abed will not be easy for him.”
From the other end of the table came a harsh intake of air that rather sounded like a donkey braying.
“Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth said, and Darcy could feel her frustration.
“Mr. Bingley sounds like you when you are ill, Lizzy,” Miss Lydia said as she lopped off an enormous piece of cake and placed it on her plate. Miss Kitty pressed her lips together at that but did not laugh aloud.
Darcy filed the knowledge away. Like Bingley, Miss Elizabeth was an active person, though she was more focused than his friend, whose mind often tried to tackle several problems at once, resulting in no more than a terrible tangle.
For the first time, he considered that Miss Bennet’s calm demeanour might be an excellent complement to Bingley’s more energetic nature.
When Miss Elizabeth held out the platter of eggs and murmured his name, Darcy realised he had not put anything on his own plate. “Thank you, Miss Elizabeth,” he said.
“Rather stunned by all the colour and pageantry, Mr. Darcy?” she asked, but there was a sort of warm teasing in the question.
“Pageantry?” Mrs. Bennet was exasperated. “What can you mean, Miss Lizzy?”
Miss Elizabeth’s groan was imperceptible to anyone other than Darcy. Mrs. Bennet might have gone on longer, but Mr. Bennet peered at his wife over the top of his paper and tipped his head once in Darcy’s direction.
Mrs. Bennet quieted but also frowned. If his presence at the table was preventing Mrs. Bennet from launching into a diatribe aimed at Miss Elizabeth, then he could only be glad he was here.
“I must compliment your cook, Mrs. Bennet,” he said to remove the woman’s focus from Miss Elizabeth.
“I must be loyal to my staff, of course, but I will say that beyond my own homes I have rarely enjoyed a meal so much as I have here.” It was entirely true.
The food at breakfast was much simpler than it had been at dinner, of course, but it was every bit as delicious.
Mrs. Bennet smiled and opened her mouth to speak, but her husband beat her to it.
“Give us time, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet said from behind his paper. “We are sure to disappoint eventually.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” cried his wife.
“Will Mr. Collins be returning today, Mrs. Bennet?” Mr. Bennet asked, reaching for his coffee cup.
Miss Bennet threw an annoyed look at her father.
Darcy had nearly forgotten about the rather strange young man who had introduced himself at the ball.
The dolt had danced the first two with Miss Elizabeth and only her lively steps had saved her toes.
Was he still a guest of the house, and if so, why was he visiting Lucas Lodge?
“I do not know that he shall ever return again!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Not when he has been so infamously used.”
Darcy hoped that was indeed the case. The man was simultaneously exempt from all common sense and puffed up with an overweening kind of pride. If the pompous pastor believed that Lady Catherine de Bourgh thought of him at all other than to issue orders thinly veiled as advice, he was mad.
“Just as he chooses, my dear,” Mr. Bennet replied, at last folding his paper and dropping it on the table. “If he would prefer to spend the rest of his visit at Lucas Lodge, so much the better.”
“Those artful Lucases,” Mrs. Bennet grumbled, but a gentle look from Miss Bennet stopped her yet again. After this, she applied herself to her food, but Darcy had never seen anyone eat so spitefully before. She stabbed her eggs and sliced her fruit with a zeal he found a little frightening.
“Will you walk today, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from Mrs. Bennet’s tiny massacre.
She smiled with what he presumed was relief. “If it is warmer, yes, I shall.”
Excellent. “I would accompany you if I may. You might show me around the gardens.”
She tipped her head to one side and gave him a quizzical glance. “I am afraid there is not much that remains to be seen this time of year, but as you please, Mr. Darcy.”
He nodded once.
A crinkling sound made him look up to see that Mr. Bennet had bent the very top corner of his paper down to stare at Darcy with one brown eye. When Darcy met his gaze, Mr. Bennet raised one eyebrow at him—just like his daughter.
Darcy was turned so entirely upside down that he might have laughed uproariously or wept profusely and not understood why he did either.
Of all the women in England and all the fathers!
It was just his luck, truly, that he should be attached to those who were the least influenced by his place in society.
“Kitty and I shall walk to Meryton,” Miss Lydia announced.
Miss Kitty appeared as though she did not relish such a trip, but she did not protest.
“You may stop in with my sister and give her our news,” Mrs. Bennet said airily.
A deep sigh came from the head of the table, and this time, the entire top half of the paper was folded over. “No one will be walking into Meryton today or any day this week.”
“But Papa,” Miss Lydia protested. She was interrupted.
“Mrs. Bennet,” her husband said evenly, “we have guests. Might I remind you that gossiping about Mr. Bingley’s misfortune is a certain way to lose his regard. Do you believe your daughters or your sister will remain quiet about events here?”
Mrs. Bennet’s horrified expression was rather entertaining. She turned a gimlet eye on Darcy, who quickly adopted his most disapproving expression. It was not made easier by Mr. Bennet’s grin and stifled laugh as he once again lifted his paper.
Coward.
“Mamma,” Miss Lydia complained.
“No, Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet replied curtly and reluctantly.
Darcy was sure he had earned the right to claim the other half of the paper, and Mr. Bennet did not protest.
The rest of the meal continued in blessed silence.
Fortunately, the weather had warmed enough that Elizabeth could walk in comfort, if not for any great length of time. After breakfast she truly required some time away from the house and her mother.
Lydia and Kitty ran around her and out the front door, bundled up and laughing.