Chapter 5
The Cost of Civility
Mr. Bingley entered the dining-room with an ease habitual to him, yet not without a degree of private anticipation.
He had already cast his eye once about the table, and though he would not for the world have appeared to calculate his happiness by such an arrangement, his spirits rose perceptibly when he discovered that his seat lay beside Miss Bennet.
He smiled at once, as if relieved of a small anxiety he had not entirely acknowledged to himself.
Jane, perceiving the direction of his glance, coloured faintly and took her place with quiet composure.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” said he, as he drew out her chair, “I cannot sufficiently thank your mother for this kindness. I had feared she might seat me at the far end of the table, where conversation becomes a matter of conjecture rather than certainty.”
Jane smiled. “Mama is very attentive to the comfort of her guests.”
“She has shown it admirably,” he replied. “I assure you, I am exceedingly obliged to her – and not only for the dinner, which already promises to be excellent.”
Jane laughed softly. “You are very good to say so.”
“I am only sincere, I assure you,” Bingley returned. “And sincerity, I believe, is safest when one has the good fortune to sit beside agreeable company.”
Jane bent her eyes to her plate, but her smile remained.
After a moment, Bingley glanced down the table and hesitated.
“I fear Mr. Darcy has not been so fortunate,” he said, lowering his voice. “And being seated so near Mr. Wickham.”
Jane followed his look. “Oh, that is not where…” She paused, looking more closely, then turned. “Lizzy, did you arrange this?”
Elizabeth, seated on Mr. Bingley’s other side, looked up with perfect innocence. “What? I? Why should you suspect me?” she asked lightly. “Must I be accused in the presence of Mr. Bingley?”
Bingley laughed at once.
“Only you would think of such a thing,” Jane said quietly. “You have done it before.”
Elizabeth placed her hand to her heart. “I? Never.”
Jane looked again toward the other end of the table. “What can Mr. Darcy possibly find to speak of with Mama? Let us hope that Charlotte will save the situation?”
Elizabeth followed her glance and shrugged. “I suppose he must exercise his talents.”
“Oh, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, not without feeling, “I do not know what to think of you. You are cruel.”
Elizabeth smiled – not unkindly, but without repentance.
“I prefer to think of it as instructive.”
Conversation at the table soon became general, yet Bingley’s attention returned to Jane with a readiness that was unmistakable, though never obtrusive.
He spoke to her of trifles at first – the pleasantness of the weather, the neatness of the table, the cheerful appearance of the room – all subjects which required no effort and invited no embarrassment.
Yet even in these light remarks, there was a tone of preference which Jane could not mistake.
“You must think us quite efficient,” she said, after a moment, “to contrive such an evening at so short a notice.”
He replied warmly, “I admire it exceedingly. You make it seem effortless. There is something particularly pleasant in feeling that one is welcome without ceremony.”
Jane met his look then, and something in his expression – open, grateful, and unguarded – made her answer with a sincerity equal to his own. “We are glad you are here.”
Bingley seemed struck by the simplicity of the words. “So am I,” he said, after a pause. “Very glad.”
There was no necessity for more.
Throughout the meal, he addressed her often – never so frequently as to attract notice, and never with a warmth that could be thought improper – yet always with a consideration that placed her at ease.
When she spoke, he listened as if she had said something of consequence; when she hesitated, he supplied encouragement rather than interruption.
Jane, for her part, found herself speaking with an ease she rarely enjoyed in company. His manner asked nothing of her beyond what she was already inclined to give: kindness, attention, and good humour. There was no need for wit, no fear of being misunderstood.
Once, as the conversation at their end of the table paused, Bingley leaned a little closer and said in a lower voice, “I am glad we shall meet again before long – at the ball, I mean.”
Jane smiled. “It will be a lively evening, I am sure.”
“I hope so,” he said and – then, after a moment’s reflection, added, “Yet I confess I am already quite content with this one.”
Jane felt her colour rise again, but she did not look away.
***
The ladies, having withdrawn under Mrs. Bennet’s direction, the gentlemen remained at the table. Legs were stretched after the long seating, chairs were drawn closer, the decanters passed with greater freedom, and conversation – freed from ceremony – took on a looser, more speculative turn.
Mr. Bennet resumed his seat with visible contentment. “Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I congratulate you. My wife is persuaded that the dinner has been a triumph, which ensures that it shall be remembered as such.”
Bingley laughed readily. “It was excellent indeed. I have not dined so comfortably as a guest for some time.”
“I am glad. My wife will be happy to hear it,” Mr. Bennet replied. “Comfort is an undervalued virtue. I am devoted to it.” He seemed pleased with his own observation.
Darcy smiled faintly and inclined his head. “Your table was most generous, sir.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Bennet, “you are fortunate to be seated where you were. My wife is rarely content unless she believes she has secured the admiration of her most consequential guest. Though I would have thought you would have been better placed where conversation was more to your liking, perhaps.”
Darcy suspected as much – and suspected also whose hand had placed him there.
Mr. Bingley, whose spirits had risen with the dinner, poured out a glass of port for Darcy with cheerful readiness and sat down next to his friend. “Well,” said he, smiling as he did so, “I must congratulate you, my friend. Few men can boast of having been placed in a position so… strategic.”
Darcy raised his brow slightly. “I am not certain I follow you.”
“Oh, come,” Bingley laughed. “Miss Elizabeth must not like you very much to punish you so ingeniously. Seated beside her mother, opposite her own watchful eye – why, it was an arrangement worthy of a general.”
Darcy allowed himself a short breath of amusement. “If it was intended as a punishment, it was at least executed with elegance.”
Mr. Bennet, who had been listening with one ear while examining his glass, looked up at this. “My daughter,” said he dryly, “has always been fond of conducting quiet experiments. I am glad to see you survived it.”
Darcy inclined his head. “With no lasting injury, I assure you.”
“So, she was the culprit.” Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “You bore it with great fortitude. My wife’s conversational talents are not universally appreciated.”
Bingley laughed outright at this, while Colonel Forster murmured his agreement.
“She was a most gracious hostess and dinner partner, Mr. Bennet.”
Mr. Bennet regarded him with a look of mild contemplation. “You know,” said he, “you have been the subject of considerable discussion in this house already, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I hope not unfavourable.”
Mr. Bennet smiled faintly. “Oh, well, you will be the judge. It was most certainly memorable.”
Darcy waited.
“My daughter Elizabeth,” Mr. Bennet continued, “is not a young lady easily persuaded of a gentleman’s merits when he begins by declaring her tolerable.”
Darcy stiffened – not visibly, but enough.
“Nor,” Mr. Bennet added, “is she particularly inclined to forget being pronounced insufficiently handsome to justify the trouble of dancing.”
There was the briefest pause.
“If my wife treated you well, then in that case she was indeed gracious.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled. “Regard yourself, sir, as properly chastised. To say such falsehoods about my Elizabeth – why, it was quite imprudent.”
Darcy allowed himself a breath. “I am not accustomed to being reminded of my own folly.”
“No,” Mr. Bennet replied pleasantly. “Few men are.”
Darcy met his gaze, then bowed slightly. “I deserve the rebuke. In that instance, sir, my judgement was neither just nor accurate.”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes sharpened a fraction. “Fortunately, my daughter is fond of forming her own opinions. Unfortunately, she forms them very thoroughly.”
Darcy allowed himself a measured breath. “I hope to correct hers of me.”
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. “That would be a novel undertaking. I wish you success.”
Mr. Bennet, entirely at ease, leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Darcy was visibly thoughtful – and, for the first time that evening, unmistakably aware that he had been weighed not by Elizabeth alone, but by her father as well.
After exchanging a few polite words with the other gentlemen, Mr. Bennet returned to his seat beside Darcy, settling himself with an air of deliberate ease.
“You are from Derbyshire, I hear,” said he. “I travelled through Derbyshire once, when I was young enough to suppose that changing one’s scenery might improve one’s judgement. The scenery succeeded admirably.”
Darcy’s mouth curved, almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I can imagine it does that. I like to travel, and I have seen many places, but in that respect, scenery admits of little comparison.”
“Hear, hear. I shall not argue with you,” Mr. Bennet replied.
“I am fond of Hertfordshire; it has the merit of being my birthplace, and of offering comfort in abundance. Its rolling fields, arable land, and neat villages are quite sufficient for domestic happiness. Yet they do not rival the rugged wild of your county.”
Darcy inclined his head, accepting the distinction without vanity.