Chapter 8 Dinner At Mr. Bingley’s
A quarter hour later, the butler entered the drawing room and announced that dinner was served.
Mr. Bingley led Jane into the dining room. Miss Bingley immediately claimed Mr. Darcy’s arm as a wife might do. The others followed behind.
“My brother tells me he met you and your family at the Tower of London,” Mrs. Hurst said pleasantly. “How came you to be in that part of town?”
Elizabeth studied the woman. Mrs. Hurst appeared near Charlotte’s age, perhaps seven and twenty, with a mild expression and eyes that suggested genuine curiosity.
“My younger sister and I arrived in town yesterday,” Elizabeth replied. “My aunt wished to take us on an excursion since Lydia had never visited London before. My nephew has a great fondness for the Royal Menagerie, and that is how we came to be at the Tower.”
Mrs. Hurst said, by way of furthering the conversation, “My brother’s solicitor keeps offices on Mark Lane, and there were matters that could not be delayed. Grain, mostly.”
Elizabeth’s interest was immediately engaged, and the two women spoke of trade and markets until they were seated beside one another.
“You are very well informed on the subject,” Elizabeth observed.
“I ought to be,” Mrs. Hurst replied with a smile.
“I assisted my father until his death two years ago. Charles still looks to me for guidance, and he leans heavily upon Mr. Darcy as well. Between the two of us, we hope to make him a man of business, though he intends to sell his interests and purchase an estate instead.”
At this point, they were interrupted by Miss Bingley’s loud laugh, which to Elizabeth sounded perilously close to a snort.
They turned to see Miss Bingley lightly swat Mr. Darcy’s arm.
Elizabeth concluded they must be betrothed, or very nearly so, for the lady would not otherwise take such liberties with a gentleman who sat stiffly in his chair and frowned at her down the proud line of his aristocratic nose.
The first course was served, and Elizabeth discovered to her delight that it was turtle soup. She began to understand that Mr. Bingley’s fortune must be considerable, for such a delicacy was rarely offered, particularly to so small and unremarkable a party.
“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said sweetly, “pray tell me whether the soup compares favorably with that which the Countess serves at her dinners.”
“It is excellent,” he replied. “Your chef has acquitted himself admirably.”
Miss Bingley looked gratified. “I know it is a favorite of yours. You dine with us so rarely that I wished this evening’s fare to be quite memorable.”
Mr. Darcy merely inclined his head and returned his attention to the soup.
Elizabeth had never tasted turtle soup before, and when she finished, she found herself wishing for more.
She smiled at her own indulgence, and when she looked up, she caught Mr. Darcy’s eye.
One corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly, and she could not determine whether the expression was prompted by the soup or by her.
Had he discerned her temptation to scrape the bowl clean? A warm flush rose to her cheeks.
The next course was salmon, delicately prepared and flaking beneath her fork. She ate every morsel with care, determined not to draw notice. When she glanced up again, she found Mr. Darcy watching her with clear amusement.
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, had scarcely touched her own plate.
“A gentlewoman must be careful,” she remarked, her eyes pointedly fixed on Elizabeth, “lest indulgence go straight to the waist.”
She did not remove her gaze from Elizabeth as she spoke, and Mr. Darcy raised an eyebrow at her before his smile widened into genuine amusement.
Elizabeth was charmed and returned the smile just as he finished the last of his salmon in a single forkful.
Miss Bingley caught the exchange and turned to frown at Elizabeth, but at that moment the footman returned.
The terrine that followed was equally well executed, and Elizabeth could not help admiring Miss Bingley’s talents as a hostess.
It yielded easily to her fork, and when she tasted it, she found it exquisitely seasoned, a mixture of pork and veal, with a small accompaniment of cold green peas.
Elizabeth raised her eyes to Miss Bingley with genuine admiration.
She knew very well how to set a table. Miss Bingley, however, had no attention to spare for Elizabeth; her entire focus was fixed upon Mr. Darcy.
“Tell me, sir, what do you think of my terrine? Is it superior to that which Lady Morris served at her dinner last week?”
Mr. Darcy took a measured forkful and chewed with care. After a sip of wine, he replied, “It is very good, Caroline. I commend you. I believe it is the very same delicacy that was served to us last week.”
Miss Bingley beamed. “It is. I told Cook I must have the receipt, and she managed to obtain it. You said you enjoyed it above all else that was served at Lady Morris’s table, and then I knew I must secure it.”
She laughed softly as his cheeks reddened.
“You need not have gone to such trouble,” he said. “I should have managed very well without it.”
“But why should you,” she returned lightly, “if a little exertion on my part might supply it for you at our modest dinner?”
Elizabeth perceived then that Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley were not yet betrothed, but if the matter rested with the lady, they soon would be.
And if any exertion on her part might bring about that happy state, she would not hesitate.
Miss Bingley knew her object well; the surest path to his heart appeared to run directly through his stomach.
The lamb that followed was carved by Mr. Bingley himself. Elizabeth declined the vegetables but accepted the meat, which proved irresistible.
“It appears our country maiden has not eaten in days,” Miss Bingley said. “She clears her plate as a beggar might.”
Elizabeth flushed, while Jane checked an involuntary gasp of embarrassment for her sister.
Mr. Darcy calmly responded. “Not at all. If one serves such a table, one must expect appreciation. I have eaten every morsel myself.” He glanced askance at her. “Does that make me a beggar as well?”
Miss Bingley colored. Mrs. Hurst frowned. Jane looked pained, and then, seeing her, Mr. Bingley cleared his throat.
“Caroline, pray remember yourself,” he said quietly.
Mr. Darcy regarded him with surprise, then conveyed a nod of approbation. Mr. Hurst merely snorted and continued eating.
Elizabeth met her aunt’s anxious gaze and offered a reassuring wink. When she raised her eyes, she found Mr. Darcy had observed the gesture, and far from taking offense, his smile deepened.
Dessert followed, a small tart adorned with raspberries.
By this time, Elizabeth was very full, almost uncomfortably so, yet she could not resist tasting the tart.
When the first forkful melted upon her tongue, her eyes closed, and an involuntary sigh of pleasure escaped her.
She knew at once she would eat all of it and was grateful it was a small portion.
It was exquisite. When she raised her eyes once more, Mr. Darcy was looking at her with an intensity she could not explain.
By the time they were excused from the table, she was more than ready to leave and wished she might take a turn about the house to aid her digestion.
The ladies withdrew and were once again shown into the drawing room, where Miss Bingley immediately seated herself at the pianoforte and began to play.
She was a skilled musician, and Elizabeth found genuine pleasure in the selections she chose.
Taking advantage of the interval, Elizabeth sedately walked the length of the spacious room, completing several circuits before the gentlemen returned.
When Mr. Bingley entered, he made his way directly to Jane, and Elizabeth seated herself beside Aunt Maddie, feeling the better for her exertion.
Miss Bingley played two further pieces and seemed quite prepared to entertain the company for the remainder of the evening, but her brother turned to Jane and asked, “Miss Bennet, will you play for us?”
“Sir, I neither play nor sing, but my aunt and sister are very accomplished.”
Mr. Bingley turned at once to the two ladies. “Would you do us the honor?”
Mrs. Gardiner rose, and Elizabeth followed. When they reached the pianoforte, Mrs. Gardiner asked quietly, “Shall you sing Earl Brand’s Ghost?”
“Yes, Aunt, though I fear I have eaten so much that I may fail at the higher notes.”
They both laughed at the jest.
“Very well,” Mrs. Gardiner said lightly. “Let us have it over with. I suspect Miss Bingley is eager to resume her place.”
Mrs. Gardiner was an accomplished pianist, and Elizabeth, gifted with a clear soprano, sang beautifully. When the song ended, Mrs. Gardiner rose, and Elizabeth was preparing to return to the sofa when Mr. Darcy spoke.
“I have seldom heard so fine a soprano. Miss Elizabeth, would you favor us with another?”
“Lizzy, please sing The Elfin Knight. It is my favorite above all others.”
Elizabeth smiled at her sister, grateful to see her so at ease, so contented in Mr. Bingley’s company.
Longbourn, Meryton, and Mr. Goulding seemed, in that moment, like a distant nightmare.
The two ladies remained at the pianoforte, and Elizabeth sang The Elfin Knight, and, at the company’s request, also sang The Three Ravens.
When the final notes of the haunting melody faded, the two ladies resumed their seats.
The room remained hushed, the melancholy air lingering, until Miss Bingley rose abruptly.
“I have heard quite enough. Cards, anyone?” Elizabeth observed the woman’s eyes turn imploringly to Mr. Darcy, but he turned away.
It occurred to her then that the attachment might lie wholly on Miss Bingley’s side.
The gentleman seemed as likely to wed Elizabeth, a veritable stranger, as to bind himself to that sour pickle.
Mr. Hurst accepted at once, and Mrs. Gardiner and Louisa joined them at the card table.
Mr. Darcy withdrew to a small desk in the corner and began to write upon a clean sheet of paper.
Mr. Bingley remained at Jane’s side, and Elizabeth found herself alone.
She reached for a book from a nearby table and opened it.
It bore his name.
On the front cover, written in bold, dark ink, was the name F. Darcy. Elizabeth’s interest was instantly engaged. What sort of reading might occupy so taciturn a man? Agriculture? Husbandry?
No. She held the tenth book of the Iliad.
A small thrill ran through her center. They shared at least one taste in common. She, too, was a student of Homer. With care, she opened the volume and searched for a favored passage. She had scarcely begun to read when a voice spoke beside her.
She started.
“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he said. “I did not mean to startle you. Do you read Homer?”
There was a note of incredulity in his tone. Elizabeth bristled at first, then reminded herself that most gentlemen would question such a thing. She answered politely.
“Yes, sir. I have read both poems. This passage is among my favorites from the tenth book, though I confess my preference inclines toward some of the more familiar portions of the poem.”
He leaned slightly to glance over her shoulder. “Which passage is that, ma’am?”
She recited the passage aloud, “If I may choose, I will not pass over godlike Odysseus; his heart is daring, his spirit keen.”
He raised a brow. “And what is it in that line that speaks so strongly to you?”
Elizabeth smiled. “At my home, I am known as an obstinate and headstrong girl, sir. I much prefer to think of myself as Odysseus is described here, with a daring heart and a keen spirit eager for adventure.”
A smile answered hers. “So you are neither stubborn nor willful, merely a lady in search of adventure?”
“Precisely. And if such adventures lead me into trouble, as they have done, then so be it.”
“There is a story hidden here. And now I must hear it.”
“I fear it is not in any sense heroic, sir. My best friend, Charlotte, and I once took a rowboat we had been forbidden to use. We carried our father’s best fishing rods and tackle with us, and the boat did not begin to sink until we were well into the middle of the pond.
All was lost. We escaped only because we are both strong swimmers, but none of the tackle could be recovered. ”
“And the consequences?”
“We were punished for three full months and set to labor a few hours each day in the fields under the watchful eye of our steward.”
He chuckled. “May I ask what sort of labor?”
“We were fit for very little,” she admitted. “We drew water from the well and carried it to the field laborers, and they put us to picking first plums, then pears, and finally we finished the harvest picking apples.”
“And how did you find such work?”
She answered, laughing. “I disliked it exceedingly. It is hard labor, and I gained a proper respect for those who perform it daily. But more than anything, I detest picking blackberries. My hands and arms were scratched and bleeding by the end of it.”
“And yet you survived.”
“My mother was convinced no man would have me. She declared I would bear the scars for life, and that no man would look at a woman twice if she was disfigured as I was.”
His expression softened. “And were you marked, ma’am?”
Elizabeth extended her arm. “Not that I can see.” Then she turned it slightly and pointed to a small scar on her wrist. “Only this. I fell from a ladder while picking plums. The wound was deep, but the apothecary taught me how to dress it properly, and now it is scarcely visible.”
He studied her arm as she held it out to him and then met her eyes. “I am glad for you, Miss Elizabeth. It seems your mother’s dire prediction did not come to pass.”
“No, sir, it did not.”
“May I join you, Miss Elizabeth? I should like to ask you more of the Iliad.”
She gestured to the sofa, inviting him to sit beside her.
“Gladly. I do not often find someone inclined to discuss the great poems. Only my father shares that pleasure with me,” she added.
They discussed their favorite passages until the evening drew to a close. Miss Bingley was plainly displeased, but as cards had been her own proposal, she was obliged to endure the game in silence.