Chapter 16
JANE RECEIVED MISS Bingley’s invitation with a pleasure she tried, and failed, to conceal. Elizabeth watched her read it twice before folding the note.
“She invited both of us,” Jane said.
“So she did.”
“It is kind of her.”
Elizabeth did not answer. Miss Bingley’s kindness was often visible only after careful examination, but Jane had turned toward the window with the expression she wore when determined to think well of someone.
“She says Mr. Bingley has had the south walk cleared,” Jane continued, “and wishes to know whether we might come tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then Mr. Bingley has removed every excuse for staying indoors.”
Jane looked at her. “You will come?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I have no objection to seeing whether Netherfield’s south walk deserves the attention.”
Jane’s relief was immediate enough to make refusal impossible even had Elizabeth intended it.
The following afternoon brought pale sunlight and a wind strong enough to stir the leaves above the drive. Jane and Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield just after three. Caroline, Mrs. Hurst, Bingley, and Darcy greeted them in the drawing room.
Bingley crossed the room before the servant had finished announcing them.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth. I feared the wind would discourage you.”
“It takes more than that to discourage my sister,” Elizabeth said.
“And you?”
“I am discouraged by very little when Jane wishes to go somewhere.”
Jane colored, and Bingley looked delighted.
Caroline came forward and offered Jane her hand. “My dear Miss Bennet, we have been longing for you. Louisa declared the room too dull this morning, and I told her all it lacked was agreeable company.”
Her sister smiled from the sofa but did not deny the charge.
Caroline turned to Elizabeth. “And you have brought Miss Eliza. How fortunate.”
Elizabeth accepted the greeting without attempting to decide whether Caroline considered her presence fortunate or useful.
Darcy remained near the fireplace, his attention on Elizabeth when she looked toward him.
“Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Darcy.”
His coat showed no trace of dust, and she wondered whether he had ridden that morning or now kept to wider lanes. The thought almost made her smile.
“How is the gate?” he asked.
Caroline’s gaze moved between them.
“Hung and fitted with a latch,” Elizabeth said. “My father’s man repaired it yesterday.”
“And the sheep?”
“Disappointed by their loss of liberty.”
Bingley laughed. “Darcy said they were troublesome.”
“He said little,” Caroline said. “We were obliged to question him as though he had returned from some secret campaign.”
Darcy’s expression did not change. “There was little to tell.”
“Only a frightened horse, a broken gate, half a flock in the lane, and Miss Elizabeth directing the whole affair,” Bingley said. “I consider that enough for one afternoon.”
“It was six sheep,” Elizabeth said.
“Then I withdraw half the drama.”
Jane looked from Elizabeth to Darcy, and Elizabeth moved toward the nearest chair before her sister could ask anything.
A maid brought tea, and for a time the conversation was general.
Louisa spoke of a new mantua-maker in London, Caroline complained of the roads, and Bingley attempted to persuade Jane that he had improved the south walk beyond recognition.
Darcy was quiet, though Elizabeth noticed more than once that his attention returned to her when she spoke.
Caroline noticed it as well.
“We have not finished the walk,” Bingley said, “but the view from the far end is worth seeing. The trees open toward the west, and there is a rise from which you can almost see Longbourn.”
“Almost?” Elizabeth asked.
“Darcy says the roof is visible.”
“He notices what others overlook,” Caroline said. “It is one of his advantages.”
“I had the advantage of standing beside him,” Bingley replied.
Jane’s eyes dropped to her cup.
“You must let me show it to you,” Bingley said to her. “The ground is dry enough, I think, and we need not go far.”
Jane glanced at Elizabeth.
“Go,” Elizabeth said. “I am curious whether the south walk deserves all Mr. Bingley has said of it.”
“You could come with us,” Jane said.
“Go,” Elizabeth said. “Do not stay on my account.”
Caroline set down her cup. “Miss Eliza must remain with us. It will give us an opportunity to talk.”
“That is true,” Elizabeth said. “And I should not wish to deprive you of the opportunity.”
Darcy looked down, but not before she saw amusement touch his face.
Bingley extended his arm to Jane. She hesitated a moment before accepting it, and they left by the terrace door.
Louisa watched them cross the lawn. “Charles might keep her out until dinner.”
“He loses all sense of time,” Caroline said.
“Miss Bennet may not object.”
“She will forgive him.”
There was affection in the words, though resignation as well. Caroline had accepted her brother’s attachment, if not all that might come with it.
Darcy moved toward the writing table and gathered two folded sheets.
“I must finish a letter before I miss the post.”
“To Georgiana?” Caroline asked.
“To my steward.”
When Elizabeth glanced at him, he met her eyes, perhaps aware that the answer contradicted Caroline’s expectation.
“You are industrious in your correspondence,” Caroline said. “I hope Mr. Stewart understands how much of your time he consumes.”
“He has yet to complain.”
“Do tell him I envy his privilege.”
Darcy nodded and left through the door beside the book room.
Louisa remained by the window until Jane and Bingley disappeared behind the clipped yews, then returned to the sofa and took up her needlework.
Caroline poured more tea for herself, though her cup was not empty. “You and Mr. Darcy appear to have reached an understanding about the gate.”
Elizabeth looked at her. “An understanding?”
“He spoke of it with unusual concern.”
“He objected to its condition.”
“As any responsible landowner would.” Caroline stirred her tea. “A neglected gate can be dangerous.”
“So it can.”
“And appearances, though less dangerous, may also be troublesome.”
Louisa’s needle paused. Elizabeth suspected she knew what was coming and had no wish to interrupt.
“I have always thought,” Caroline continued, “that country society encourages a freedom which is charming in the right circumstances. People meet without ceremony, walk wherever they please, and speak with a frankness that would surprise those accustomed to more formal circles.”
Elizabeth settled back in her chair. “You make Hertfordshire sound almost savage.”
“Not savage. Unstudied.” Caroline smiled. “That is often its attraction.”
“And its danger?”
“I should not call it danger. Only the possibility of being misunderstood.”
“By whom?”
“By anyone unfamiliar with local habits.”
Elizabeth waited, and Caroline took her silence for encouragement. “You are fortunate in possessing confidence, Miss Eliza. Many young women would not give orders before a gentleman or manage livestock.”
“Mr. Darcy seemed grateful for the orders when his horse required them.”
“He admires competence.”
The compliment sounded too deliberate for Elizabeth to trust it.
Caroline continued. “But unusual circumstances can mislead admiration. A gentleman may admire conduct he would not expect from a lady without considering it suitable in every setting.”
Elizabeth looked toward Louisa, who was bent over her embroidery with increased attention.
“Have I claimed otherwise?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course not.” Caroline’s tone softened. “I would never suggest you had. We sometimes judge women for impressions they never meant to create.”
“And you believe I have created one?”
Caroline laughed. “My dear Miss Eliza, you are determined to make my concern sound severe.”
“I am trying to discover what concerns you.”
“The world is not always charitable.”
“That is true.”
“Small things draw notice. The way a woman enters a room, how much attention she accepts, even the care she gives her appearance.” Caroline’s glance passed over Elizabeth’s gown. “None of these things should matter, but they do.”
Elizabeth examined the dark green muslin she had worn many times without distress. “Have I chosen the wrong color?”
“Not at all. It suits the country.”
Louisa drew her thread through the linen and pulled it tight.
Caroline continued before Elizabeth could answer. “Fashion is less a question of expense than judgment. A simple gown may be elegant, just as an expensive one may expose every fault in the wearer’s taste.”
“I shall remember to distrust anything costly.”
“You make light of me.”
“I am trying to understand whether you invited me for tea or instruction.”
Caroline smiled as though Elizabeth confirmed some private conclusion. “You require very little instruction. That is why I am candid with you. A timid woman would mistake advice for criticism.”
“And a confident one?”
“May recognize its value.”
Elizabeth lifted her cup. “Then confidence appears to be another dangerous freedom encouraged by country society.”
“Only when it prevents reflection.”
Although the answer carried every appearance of concern, Elizabeth began to understand the purpose of the conversation. Caroline had not meant to discuss dress or country manners; she was naming faults so that the warning to come might seem generous, not presumptuous.
“A young woman may think herself open and unaffected while others find her forward,” Caroline said. “She may accept attention as ordinary civility when those around her suppose she encourages it.”
Elizabeth understood then. Caroline had not brought her toward the insult by accident. She chose every graceful turn to make it seem inevitable.
“Whose attention have I accepted that I ought to have refused?” she asked.
“I never said that you had.”
“Then we may dismiss the matter.”
Caroline’s smile tightened. “You are too intelligent not to understand me.”
“And you have enough experience of society to say what you mean when you choose.”
Louisa placed her embroidery in her lap. “Caroline.”
“It is no insult to caution a friend.”
“Are we friends?” Elizabeth asked.
The question stopped her.