Chapter 8 #3
“Yes, well,” Darcy replied evenly, “it was not merely a walk.”
“Indeed not. Quite unexpected, after last evening. But Mrs. Bennet would have been deeply disappointed had we refused.”
“And it afforded you a second opportunity to remain at Miss Bennet’s side.”
Bingley did not attempt denial. “Why, that was partly the inducement,” he admitted cheerfully.
After a pause, he added, “You should have seen how she looked at me. I think – I hope – I interpreted her expression correctly. She seemed pleased that we accepted. Oh, Darcy, Miss Bennet possesses the sweetest temper in the world! I do not believe I have ever known a young lady so entirely free of artifice.”
Darcy inclined his head. He could think of another. “Yes.”
Bingley glanced sideways at him. “Once again – thank you. I know such invitations are not always to your taste.”
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly. “Why is it universally assumed that I must object to a country table?”
Bingley laughed. “You would not ordinarily seek it.”
“That may be true,” Darcy said. “But it does not follow that I cannot value it.”
“Value it?” Bingley repeated with interest.
“Yes. There is a difference between simplicity and deficiency.”
Bingley smiled at that. “Then you were not suffering?”
“Hardly.”
Bingley’s expression grew more mischievous.
“And the company?”
Darcy kept his eyes on the road ahead. “The company,” he said after a moment, “presented an interesting tableau. Mrs. Bennet is rightly praised for her offerings.”
“I concur.”
The lane stretched before them, pale under the softened light. The frost was gone; the earth showed through in darker patches. Their horses’ hooves struck a steady rhythm against the road.
Bingley continued, untroubled by silence. “I find that I like the country. It was difficult to imagine what life here would be like, but it has proved to be quite tolerable. More than tolerable.”
“I am glad you think so.”
“I know there is much I still have to learn, but here the days seem longer. No matter how early I awake, the people here are already at work.”
Darcy almost smiled. “That is true. Animals and the land do not wait.”
“Yes. All this, and the advantage of agreeable neighbours, are largely lost upon my family. Hurst should be more at home here, but even he shows little enthusiasm unless we hunt or dine.”
“Your sisters will not be happy with us. We should have sent a note.”
Thinking of Miss Bingley, Darcy recalled with some discomfort how freely he had once spoken of Miss Elizabeth’s eyes.
What had prompted such unguarded speech?
He had been correct, nevertheless. It had not been beauty alone that fixed his attention.
He admired her understanding – and the ease with which she met him without deference or design.
He could not remember when last he had found a lady’s company so little effort and so much reward.
And when she had turned that attention upon him – that steady, assessing gaze softened by something warmer – he had felt a change that could no longer be dismissed as mere curiosity.
He was not a na?ve man. What he felt could no longer be dismissed as curiosity alone.
It had not come upon him suddenly, nor was it impulse. It had grown quietly in a challenge, in contradiction, in reluctant admiration.
Beside him, Bingley spoke on, unaware of the parallel reflections unfolding at his side.
Darcy listened. But his thoughts were only of Elizabeth.
***
By the time they reached Netherfield, the light had altered. The softness of the afternoon was about to give way to the cooler stillness of early evening. A servant opened the door before they had fully dismounted.
They had scarcely crossed the threshold when Miss Bingley appeared in the hall.
“You have been most punctual in your return,” she observed, though her tone suggested the opposite.
Bingley, still in high spirits, removed his gloves with cheerful unconcern. “We were detained by kindness.”
“Or by calculation.”
“Caroline, that is not very neighbourly.”
“Well, one hopes the delay was worth the sacrifice.”
Darcy removed his hat without haste. “I was unaware that luncheon constituted a sacrifice.”
Caroline’s smile did not reach her eyes. “For some of us,” she said, “a Sunday may be passed in a manner somewhat more… composed.”
Bingley laughed lightly. “Mrs. Bennet insisted.”
“I am sure she did,” she said.
Darcy’s gaze flickered briefly toward her, but he did not rise to the provocation.
Louisa appeared behind her sister, less animated but no less observant. “Charles, we were waiting for you, but you took so long we dined. Have you eaten?”
“Yes, I am sorry. We walked the ladies home, and Mrs. Bennet invited us in. We could not say no.”
“You could not say no,” corrected Darcy.
“Guilty. Sorry, Louisa.”
“I cannot be angry at you when you smile like that.” She turned to Mr. Darcy. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, that you were obliged to go with him.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were excellent hosts, just like yesterday. It was instructive,” Darcy replied.
“In what respect?” Caroline asked.
“In several.”
Bingley, unaware of any undercurrent, clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder. “You see? Even Darcy was not undone by country hospitality.”
Caroline’s brows lifted. “I am relieved to hear it. I had feared that prolonged exposure might produce permanent effects.”
There was a pause.
Darcy turned toward the stairs. “If so,” he said evenly, “I should consider them beneficial.”
Bingley, at last perceiving that some invisible contest had been fought and concluded without his participation, looked from one to the other.
“Well,” he said, with undiminished good humour, “I believe I shall retire to the library. I shall attempt to read that book Darcy provided me about crop rotation.”
As they mounted the staircase, Bingley leaned closer.
“I hope,” he murmured in confidence, “that my sisters will recover.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Darcy replied.
And for a moment – a very brief one – he understood the impulse to turn his horse and retrace the lane.