CHAPTER FIVE
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Elizabeth found a seat at the end of the parlour after breakfast. She had a small book in her lap and Pippin at her feet, the little spaniel’s tail wagging lazily in time with her mistress’s voice.
“A lady should cultivate her mind with gentleness and propriety,” Elizabeth read aloud, her tone dry, “and never allow her opinions to appear too decided, lest she discourage the admiration of men.”
She lowered the book, arching a brow at her four-legged companion. “Well, my dear Pippin, I am sure Mr. Darcy, and perhaps our cousin as well, would think most highly of this author. A man who prefers obedience to wit must find such counsel exceedingly sound.”
Pippin gave a brisk bark, as if in lively protest.
Elizabeth smiled. “Ah, so you agree. Obedience does not suit everyone. Let us hope Mr. Collins will be more forgiving of lively spirits than this writer supposes. Though if I must be admired for silence and meekness, we are both doomed.”
Pippin thumped her tail once in cheerful agreement, clearly untroubled by the prospect.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said, closing the book with mock solemnity. “I think only Mary could take delight in Mr. Fordyce’s lectures. Perhaps I should leave the reading to her. I daresay we are already accomplished enough in humility to frighten away every sensible man in Hertfordshire.”
Pippin tilted her head, tongue lolling, as if to say she found that no tragedy at all.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “You and I shall do very well without them.”
The moment’s peace was short-lived.
Lydia, who had been idly knitting by the window, suddenly sprang up, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Lizzy! Did not Papa say Mr. Collins was not to arrive until Saturday?”
Elizabeth looked up, startled by both her sister’s sudden movement and tone. “He did. Why?”
Lydia pointed toward the window, eyes wide. “Then why is there a carriage coming up the lane?”
At the word carriage, Pippin leapt to her feet, barking in sudden alarm. Elizabeth rose and joined her sister at the window. Sure enough, a fine carriage was turning into the drive of Longbourn, its wheels crunching over the gravel.
“Strange,” Elizabeth murmured. “Who could be arriving in a carriage so early? Mr. Collins cannot have mistaken the day, surely.”
Just then, Mr. Bennet appeared at the parlour door, spectacles in hand, his expression mild. “Ah, I see our guest has arrived.”
Elizabeth turned. “Our guest, Papa?”
“Indeed,” he replied, slipping the spectacles into his waistcoat pocket. “Mr. Bingley sent a note this morning. It seems he has chosen to pay his respects in person.”
Mrs. Bennet, as if summoned by the very name, swept into the room at that instant, her cap ribbons fluttering. “Mr. Bingley? Calling here? Today?”
“He is here already, I believe,” Elizabeth said, nodding toward the drive.
“Good heavens!” Mrs. Bennet cried, clasping her hands. “Why did no one tell me sooner? Hill must be called at once. We have nothing prepared! Lydia, fetch Jane this instant; she must come down immediately. Lizzy, do stop that dog from barking or we shall seem a pack of savages!”
Elizabeth, suppressing a smile, stooped to calm Pippin, who wagged her tail as though she too were eager to greet the visitor. “Peace, Pippin,” she whispered. “You shall have your introduction later.”
But Pippin had other ideas.
Before Elizabeth could catch her collar, the spaniel darted toward the open door, her claws clicking on the polished floor as she disappeared into the hall.
Moments later came Hill’s voice from below. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, ma’am!”
Elizabeth froze halfway down the stairs. Mr. Darcy? Her heart gave an involuntary leap of startled disbelief.
She descended slowly to the drawing room, where Mrs. Bennet immediately began her most elaborate curtsey. Jane, serene and lovely as ever, stood beside her mother, while Lydia and Kitty whispered excitedly behind their hands.
Mr. Bingley’s countenance brightened as he bowed. “Mr. Bennet, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir. Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennets, what a delight to see you again.”
After the introductions were made, tea was served, and the gentlemen took their seats.
“I have not yet called since taking residence in Hertfordshire,” said Mr. Bingley, “and since Mr. Bennet was absent from the assembly, I thought it proper to pay my respects in person. I persuaded Darcy to accompany me on the drive.”
“It is a delight to finally meet the man every mother in Meryton is talking about,” Mr. Bennet replied in his usual dry tone.
Elizabeth swallowed what should have been a laugh and looked at the man sitting beside Mr. Bingley. Darcy appeared grave, though with less of the chill severity she recalled. His greeting had been courteous and measured, not proud.
As they conversed, Pippin, who had been lying at Elizabeth’s feet, suddenly barked again, tail wagging furiously.
Mrs. Bennet’s glare was immediate, but before she could scold, Darcy rose slightly, glanced toward the door, and said with quiet composure, “You will forgive me, Sir and Ma, if my companion joins us. Apollo grows restless when left alone.”
“Ha! Yes. Lizzy mentioned seeing your dog yesterday. I did not know he accompanied you,” said Mr. Bennet.
“It is the sole reason we came by carriage instead of horseback,” Mr. Bingley replied with his usual good humour. “Darcy was determined that Apollo should enjoy the outing.”
“Any companion from Netherfield is welcome at Longbourn,” Mr. Bennet said dryly.
With approval thus given, Darcy inclined his head to Hill, and at his word, the door was opened. In bounded a sleek greyhound, silver-coated and elegant, his bearing as composed as his master’s.
“Apollo has been restless of late,” said Mr. Darcy. “Yesterday, after encountering your Pippin, he was in better spirits than I have seen him for some time. I thought perhaps a visit might further improve his temper.”
Indeed, Pippin was circling Apollo with unmistakable delight, her tail wagging like a banner. The greyhound bore it with noble patience, lowering his elegant head to sniff her as though greeting an old friend.
Mrs. Bennet gave a nervous titter. “Dogs, Mr. Darcy! When Elizabeth mentioned meeting you and your dog yesterday, I was quite elated, I assure you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. The remark had its effect; every sister turned at once, their surprise barely contained.
“I think,” said Darcy, glancing toward Elizabeth, “that Apollo and Pippin are well matched, for all their differences.”
Elizabeth, recovering from her mother’s indiscretion, met his gaze. “So it seems,” she said, smiling. “Though I assure you, sir, Pippin’s enthusiasm is not always so well received.”
“Then Apollo is fortunate,” he said simply.
For a moment, the words lingered—not awkward, but unexpectedly sincere. Then Mr. Bingley, all good humour, turned the conversation toward the beauty of the countryside, the quality of the roads, and the fine prospects around Longbourn.
Mr. Bennet joined in with his usual wit, while Mrs. Bennet fluttered between pride and eagerness, speaking so rapidly that only Jane’s calm composure restored order.
Elizabeth, meanwhile, observed Darcy more closely. He spoke little, yet there was no coldness in his reserve; rather, it was the quiet watchfulness of a man who preferred to think before he spoke.
He kept his eyes on the dogs, who were now circling one another in a gentle, unhurried dance—Pippin darting forward with bright curiosity while Apollo bent his sleek head in quiet indulgence, their movements strangely graceful in their play.
When Darcy looked up, his gaze met Elizabeth’s across the room, and she was surprised to find his eyes not distant but unexpectedly thoughtful.
“Miss Bennet,” he said after a pause, “your Pippin has a singular charm. I cannot recall Apollo taking so ready an affection to anyone before.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Then perhaps he, too, admires a lively spirit. There seems to be a shortage of them among the gentlemen of Hertfordshire.”
His lips curved faintly—barely a smile, but enough to startle her. “A deficiency I shall endeavour to remedy, if only to satisfy your spaniel.”
Elizabeth turned instinctively toward her father, who was watching with amused attention. His raised brow said plainly that he found the exchange quite diverting.
She looked away at once, her cheeks warming despite herself.
Mrs. Bennet’s call for more tea broke the moment, and the conversation soon shifted back to safer topics.
Two hours later—the greater part of which Mr. Bingley had spent in conversation with Jane—the gentlemen rose to take their leave.
Jane's eyes shone with quiet happiness; Mrs. Bennet glowed with triumph; and Pippin had once more stolen a farewell wag from Apollo, who inclined his noble head in parting grace.
Just as they stepped close to the door threshold, Mr. Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “I hope,” he said quietly, “that Apollo may enjoy Miss Pippin’s company again soon.”
Elizabeth met his gaze steadily. “I believe she would like that very much—and perhaps even her mistress.”
For an instant, surprise flickered across his features. Then he bowed and followed his friend out.
Elizabeth lingered by the window, while Pippin, leaning on the chair beside her, pressed her nose against the glass. Together they watched as Apollo leapt gracefully into the carriage. The little spaniel gave a soft whine when the wheels began to turn.
“Well,” Elizabeth murmured, bending to lift her. “You have made quite the impression, my girl.” Her smile deepened, touched with irony. “I suppose I cannot deny you a new acquaintance—though, between us, his master is not quite so dreadful as I had believed.”
Pippin licked her chin in cheerful agreement.
Elizabeth laughed, setting her down. “No, do not look so pleased with yourself. I am not persuaded yet. But I shall admit,” she bent to stroke her dog’s silky head, “that Mr. Darcy, like his greyhound, is not without his redeeming qualities.”
Pippin barked once, as if declaring victory, before curling up contentedly at her feet.
Elizabeth gazed through the window, where the morning light caught the faint trail of the departing carriage. “Very well,” she said softly, half to herself, “we shall see what becomes of it.”
***
MR. BENNET RETURNED TO the parlour a few minutes after seeing their guests off, his expression one of mild amusement.
“Well, my dear,” he said, settling into his chair, “Mr. Bingley is a most agreeable young man, and his friend, though less given to conversation, appears to possess more sense than pride, despite general opinion to the contrary.”
Mrs. Bennet looked up from where she was straightening the tea tray. “Nonsense, Mr. Bennet. Everyone knows Mr. Darcy is the proudest man in England. Did you not see the way he holds himself?”
“I did,” Mr. Bennet replied, “and I have seen men hold themselves so only when they wish to avoid being trampled by their neighbours. He strikes me as quiet rather than proud. There is a difference, though the world seldom allows it.”
Elizabeth, who had been standing near the window, turned thoughtfully. “He told me as much when we spoke yesterday, that he dislikes attention. Perhaps that explains his manner. Still,” she added, her smile turning wry, “it does not excuse the insult he gave at the assembly.”
Jane looked up, her brows knitting in gentle surprise. “An insult?”
Elizabeth hesitated, but Mrs. Bennet was already leaning forward, eager. “What insult, Lizzy? You never said a word of it!”
“It was nothing of consequence,” Elizabeth said lightly. “Mr. Bingley had suggested his friend dance with me, and Mr. Darcy replied that I was ‘tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him.’”
The room fell into an instant hush. Lydia let out a gasp. “How horrid!”
Mary frowned. “Such arrogance ought to be pitied rather than met with anger. Pride is a weakness of the soul.”
Mrs. Bennet pressed a hand to her heart in outrage. “Tolerable! Oh, I shall never forgive him. Such insolence, at our very first assembly too. And you did not tell me, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth’s tone was amused but steady. “I did not think it worth the retelling. I have no wish to be laughed at for failing to tempt a man who seemed determined not to be tempted.”
Mr. Bennet chuckled. “Quite right, my dear. The best revenge on such a man is indifference. And if you can laugh at him, so much the better.”
“I cannot laugh,” Mrs. Bennet declared indignantly. “But I care not for Mr. Darcy’s good opinion. Mr. Bingley is all that matters, and if enduring that man’s company is the price of Jane’s happiness, I shall bear it most heroically.”
Jane blushed. “Mama, please.”
Lydia giggled. “I still think Pippin has better manners than Mr. Darcy.”
Pippin, hearing her name, raised her head from the hearth rug and gave a single, approving bark.
Elizabeth smiled down at her. “There, you see? Even Pippin has an opinion on the matter.”
Mr. Bennet laughed softly. “Then let that settle it. Darcy may be proud or merely silent, but Pippin has judged, and I, for one, would trust her instincts.”
As the laughter subsided, Elizabeth glanced toward the window once more, her smile faint but thoughtful. “Perhaps he is not so proud as he appears,” she murmured to herself. “Yet if he is only silent, it is a silence that speaks too loudly for comfort.”
Pippin rested her head on her paws again, and Elizabeth reached down to stroke her fur. “Come, my girl,” she whispered. “We shall not think of him further—at least not until he gives us reason.”