Chapter 3
Observations and Improprieties
The gentlemen were already assembled in the lower drawing-room at Netherfield and had been so for some minutes before any of the ladies appeared.
Mr. Bingley, impatient to be gone and in excellent spirits, stood near the window, looking out upon the drive and declaring, for the third time, that the evening promised to be remarkably fine.
Mr. Hurst occupied himself with little more than the hope of dinner, and Mr. Darcy, though outwardly composed, paced once or twice across the room before settling near the fireplace, his gloves laid neatly upon the table beside him.
“Caroline will be but a moment,” Louisa Hurst said at last, with a glance toward the door and a tone of habitual indulgence. “She is never ready until she is perfectly satisfied.”
Bingley laughed. “She must not keep us waiting too long, or Mrs. Bennet will think us already unpunctual.”
Louisa rose with a resigned air. “I will fetch her. Otherwise, we shall never arrive.”
She left them, and the gentlemen decided to wait in the hall, ready to go.
Upstairs, Caroline Bingley stood before the glass, adjusting a ribbon which had already been adjusted twice.
Her gown had arrived only the previous week; its colour became her exceedingly, and the arrangement of her hair had been studied until no curl appeared accidental.
She examined herself with a critical eye, turned slightly to one side, then the other, and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
Louisa entered without ceremony. “Caroline, they are waiting.”
“Yes, yes,” Caroline replied, without moving. “I am coming.”
She gathered her shawl, took a breath as though preparing for an entrance of some consequence, and descended the stairs at a measured pace.
Yet she did not go on at once. Instead, she paused at the top, just within view of the gentlemen below, where the light from the chandelier fell most favourably upon her.
She knew very well that they would look up.
And they did.
Mr. Bingley turned first, his face brightening as it always did at the appearance of his sister. Mr. Hurst followed, from habit if not interest. Mr. Darcy looked up too, as civility required, his expression attentive for the briefest instant.
Caroline met his eye – and held it.
But if she expected more, she was disappointed. Darcy’s glance, having performed its duty, moved away again at once. He reached for his gloves, drew them on with deliberate care, and turned slightly aside, as though the matter were already concluded.
In that instant – so brief he might have denied it had he been asked – another image intruded upon him: a face animated not by design but by feeling, a look unstudied and therefore far more unsettling.
He dismissed the thought at once, with some impatience at himself, and tightened his hold upon the gloves as if so small an act might restore order.
Caroline descended the remaining steps with her composure perfectly intact, though a sharper observer might have detected a faint tightening about her mouth. “Well,” she said lightly, “I hope I have not detained you beyond endurance.”
“Not at all,” Bingley replied cheerfully. “We were only remarking upon the pleasantness of the evening.”
“Indeed?” Caroline smiled. “I had not noticed. One becomes so accustomed to fine weather here.”
Darcy offered her his arm with polite correctness. “Shall we?”
She accepted it at once.
As they moved toward the door, Caroline cast a final, calculating glance in the mirror opposite the stairs. Her reflection faithfully returned her look: elegant, composed, and very much as she wished to be seen.
What it did not return was the satisfaction she had hoped to feel. They had not admired her gown. Mr. Darcy did not even blink at her appearance.
Darcy, for his part, stepped into the carriage with a mind already turned elsewhere, and a determination – unacknowledged even to himself – that whatever the evening might bring, he would conduct himself with all proper civility, and nothing more.
***
The carriage wheels were scarcely still upon the gravel before Mrs. Bennet was in motion.
Mr. Bennet followed at a more deliberate pace; his expression composed into that look of tolerant resignation which long practice had perfected.
Together they took their place in the drawing-room, where candles burned brightly, and the air seemed charged with expectation.
Elizabeth stood a little apart with Jane and Charlotte Lucas, her posture easy, her countenance animated by a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
Jane, pale but serene, held herself with quiet composure; Charlotte observed everything with a thoughtful seriousness that contrasted with Elizabeth’s lively attention.
The door opened.
The Netherfield party was announced.
Mr. Bingley entered first, all warmth and readiness, bowing with unaffected pleasure. His sisters followed, Caroline with studied grace, Louisa with languid civility. Mr. Hurst drifted behind them, already casting a glance toward where refreshment might later appear.
Mr. Darcy entered last. His eyes moved instinctively across the room – and stopped.
Elizabeth.
She stood just as he remembered at gatherings: animated, unconstrained, engaged in conversation. Her face was bright with expression, her manner entirely at ease. For a moment, he forgot the company, the ceremony, the evening itself.
Then she turned her head, felt his gaze upon her, and met it.
The recognition was immediate. Elizabeth’s lips curved – not into a smile precisely, but into something that acknowledged him without invitation. Darcy inclined his head, formal and restrained, and looked away at once – annoyed to find that the impression remained.
Mrs. Bennet advanced with effusive delight. “My dear Mr. Bingley! How excessively good of you to come! And Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy welcome, welcome to Longbourn! I trust you had the pleasantest drive. We are lucky with the weather.”
Bingley assured her that nothing could have been finer. Darcy bowed with proper civility. Caroline smiled as if conferring a favour.
Before the introductions could proceed in any orderly fashion, a figure detached itself from the far side of the room, leaving the local parson, Mr. Johnson, and advanced with alarming determination.
Mr. Collins did not wait. He stopped directly before the two gentlemen, clasped his hands together, and regarded them with solemn eagerness.
“Pray forgive me,” said he, “but may I inquire which of you is Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley? I should be mortified beyond expression were I to mistake one gentleman for the other, particularly when one of you is so nearly connected to the illustrious Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose name…”
There was a moment of absolute stillness.
Bingley blinked, surprised, then smiled, entirely good-humoured. Darcy stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Elizabeth moved at once.
She crossed the room with a speed that left no doubt of intention and placed herself beside her cousin, her smile bright and decisive.
Darcy had not expected her to come to him, and the surprise of it was felt before he could master it. Her approach, so direct and unembarrassed, arrested his attention at once. Her steps were light, and he was conscious of composing himself anew.
“My cousin, Mr. Collins,” she said quickly, “allow me to spare you the difficulty. This is Mr. Bingley, of Netherfield, and this gentleman is Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley. Mr. Collins is our relation,” she added, turning to the gentlemen, “and the clergyman of the parish of Hunsford in Kent.”
Darcy recognised at once the skill of her intervention, and he felt his irritation settle where it properly belonged – upon the officiousness that had forced it.
Mr. Collins bowed deeply to both, quite undeterred.
He half turned to Elizabeth, but really, he spoke to the gentlemen.
“I am exceedingly obliged to you, cousin. Indeed, exceedingly. I should not have forgiven myself had I failed in my duty to distinguish between gentlemen of such consequence. Mr. Darcy, permit me to express the highest respect for your noble aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, whose beneficence toward me…”
Darcy inclined his head; his countenance composed into an expression of grave civility. “I am acquainted with my aunt’s habits,” he said.
Bingley bit his lip to suppress a smile.
Elizabeth saw the restraint it took both gentlemen to listen to Mr. Collins with proper civility. She could not blame them. She, satisfied that disaster had at least been contained, was about to step back toward Jane and Charlotte, but Mr. Darcy engaged her.
“It was very kind of your parents to invite us,” said Darcy. “Mr. Bingley was particularly happy to accept.”
That he did not seem offended by her cousin’s unsolicited approach, and that he now addressed her with such composure, was proof that, when he chose, he could be perfectly civil.
“I imagine he would be,” Elizabeth replied. “He finds pleasure wherever it may be had.”
Darcy met her look. “I am not in the habit of declaring my enjoyment.”
“I suppose nothing,” said Elizabeth lightly. “I only observe.”
Mr. Darcy bowed to her.
Mr. Collins, who had been watching the exchange with an air of grave attentiveness, now stepped forward again, clearly dissatisfied with having remained so long silent. He clasped his hands once more and inclined his head toward Darcy with solemn eagerness.
“Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” said he, “it gives me the greatest satisfaction to observe the perfect harmony that subsists between all parties present. Such ease and cordiality are the surest signs of a family – and a connection – founded upon mutual esteem.”
Mr. Darcy turned to him, his countenance composed but alert, as one bracing himself against an approaching inconvenience.