Chapter 25
THURSDAY ARRIVED BEFORE Longbourn was ready for it. By four o’clock, Mrs. Bennet had found fault with the poultry, warned Hill not to ruin the fish, rejected Mary’s choice of song, and noticed that Kitty’s eyes still reddened whenever anyone mentioned Meryton.
“What has come over that child?” she asked for the third time, while Jane adjusted a ribbon at her mother's shoulder.
“If an officer cannot call once, there is no reason to sit as if nothing could amuse you. When I was a girl, I had more spirit. I never pined over any man who had not offered for me.”
Lydia laughed. “You pined after Papa, Mama. You have said so yourself.”
“That was very different. Your father had an estate.”
Bennet looked up from his paper. “Thank you for the constancy of your affection, my dear. It warms my heart to know it rests upon a foundation no romance could shake.”
Mrs. Bennet told him not to be provoking and resumed her instructions to Hill. Having heard enough of poultry and romance, Elizabeth went to the window. The road from Netherfield was visible where it bent near the far hedge, and every sound of wheels drew her attention.
The dinner was arranged as a courtesy, but Mr. Wickham’s note to Kitty and the matter of the hired mare changed Elizabeth’s expectations.
She did not have to defend Mr. Darcy, though she could no longer dismiss everything he said as pride or self-interest. Mr. Wickham had taken that certainty from her without Darcy’s help.
Kitty entered a little before the carriage arrived, dressed with unusual care and showing none of her usual satisfaction in being observed.
Lydia examined her gown and declared it pretty, then spoiled the compliment by asking whether she dressed for the gentlemen or in case Mr. Wickham heard how well she looked.
“Lydia,” Jane said.
“I only ask.”
“Then ask less,” Elizabeth said.
Kitty looked as if she might cry again, but pride came to her aid. “I am not thinking of Mr. Wickham.”
No one believed her and for once, no one said so.
The Netherfield carriage stopped before the house, and Mrs. Bennet hurried to receive its occupants.
Bingley came first, eager and bright, with Darcy behind him, and the Hursts and Miss Bingley following.
Caroline entered Longbourn as if determined to find it charming and already injured by the effort.
Her gown was too fine for a family dinner in Hertfordshire, and the precision of her smile matched the scrutiny she gave the room, the carpet, the chairs, and Elizabeth.
“Mrs. Bennet,” she said, “how kind of you to have us.”
Mrs. Bennet received the compliment as if it were a tribute to the house rather than her own exertions. “You are very good, Miss Bingley. We are always happy to receive Mr. Bingley and his party.”
“And Mr. Bingley himself, I hope,” Bingley said, bowing over her hand with the warmth that made every formality seem personal.
Mrs. Bennet was delighted. Jane colored, and Elizabeth knew Caroline had noticed.
The party moved into the drawing room. Bingley had not been there five minutes before he was beside Jane, asking after her morning, her music, her walk, and whether the lane by Lucas Lodge had recovered from the last rain.
The questions were trifling, but the attention was not.
Jane answered with her usual composure, but the color in her cheeks remained, and her eyes lifted to his often.
Elizabeth watched them with a tenderness made sharper by fear.
Jane guarded herself even in happiness. She still spoke as if nothing was decided, as if Mr. Bingley's preference might be kindness and her own pleasure mere gratitude.
Yet her restraint could not conceal the truth from one who loved her.
Jane was happy because Bingley was near, and he was happy because she was.
Caroline drew Mary into a conversation about music, and though her manner did not call for a reply, Mary supplied one anyway.
Hurst settled near the fire, while Louisa observed Bingley with an attention stripped of its former indulgence.
She no longer seemed to regard his interest in Jane as a passing enthusiasm.
Darcy stood near the mantel, speaking with Bennet. Elizabeth heard the words “lease” and “roads,” followed by her father’s dry response to something about county management. Darcy listened without impatience, which made him more difficult to dismiss.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Caroline said, after Mary's opinion on Italian songs had carried them farther than she wished to go, “I understand you were in Meryton this week. You must find the town a great resource in the country.”
“It has its uses.”
“No doubt. A milliner, a circulating library, and a regiment provide ample entertainment.”
Lydia, who heard only the part that interested her, said, “The regiment supplies the most.”
“So I have heard,” Caroline said.
Kitty lowered her eyes. Elizabeth saw Darcy's glance move, not to Kitty with blame, but to Caroline with warning. It was slight and gone at once. Caroline either missed it or chose to ignore it.
“We are fortunate in our officers,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Such agreeable young men, though some are more attentive than others.”
Elizabeth wished her mother had left the subject alone. Caroline's attention sharpened.
“Indeed? Has Hertfordshire found fault with its officers?”
“Mama means nothing,” Jane said.
“I mean that when young men say they will call, they should,” Mrs. Bennet replied, unwilling to let the matter go.
Bingley looked from Jane to Elizabeth, then to Darcy. “Has someone failed to call?”
“No one worth naming,” Elizabeth said.
Darcy’s eyes met hers, but he asked nothing. Elizabeth was grateful, which annoyed her.
Mrs. Hill announced dinner before Mrs. Bennet answered. Bingley offered Jane his arm with an ease that looked accidental to no one. Darcy sat beside Elizabeth, though Mrs. Bennet had likely intended only to honor the wealthiest guest and had not considered the consequence to her second daughter.
At the table, Bingley’s attention to Jane became impossible to mistake.
He watched her glass, shifted a favored dish within reach, noticed when the candle troubled her eyes, and spared her the worst of Mrs. Bennet’s praise, though none of it seemed deliberate.
Jane thanked him with fewer words than usual, and Elizabeth understood the reason.
Caroline set down her fork before speaking. “Charles, you seem acquainted with Miss Bennet’s preferences.”
“I hope I know a few of them,” Bingley replied. “One should learn what pleases one’s friends.”
“Friends,” Caroline repeated, with a smile for Jane. “A most useful word that covers so many kinds of attachment.”
Louisa looked at her. “And a harmless one.”
Caroline's smile hardened. “Of course. I meant only that Charles is generous in applying it.”
Hurst, occupied with the fish, said, “It is better to be generous than suspicious.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said nothing against you, Caroline. Friendship is harmless when dinner is good and nobody asks me to dance.”
Bennet appeared amused. Bingley laughed, and Jane’s answering smile drew Caroline’s attention. Elizabeth noticed the change in her expression, and so did Louisa.
The first disaster Caroline feared was plain enough. Bingley was not amusing himself, or trying on a country admiration for a season before returning to London and sense. His regard for Jane had settled into habit, and that, in a man so open and affectionate, was close to intention.
The second disaster sat beside Elizabeth and spoke little.
Darcy had said nothing to invite Caroline's concern.
He did not lean toward Elizabeth and neglect the rest of the table.
He answered Mrs. Bennet when she addressed him, Bennet when he made a dry observation, and Mary when she asked whether Derbyshire parish music differed much from Hertfordshire.
Yet his restraint had changed its object.
He was not avoiding Elizabeth. Worse, he steered the conversation away from details while his attention returned to her.
Caroline could not bear it. Hertfordshire was tolerable while it remained a novelty she could manage.
She enjoyed the local calls, the attention paid to Netherfield, and the ease of presiding among people she considered beneath her.
Now she could no longer praise Jane and dismiss her, Elizabeth was impossible to overlook, Bingley’s attachment had escaped her control, and Darcy, worst of all, continued to notice Elizabeth.
“I wonder,” Caroline said, “whether country society is always so quick to form attachments. In London one sees more people and is less inclined to settle upon one.”
“That may be,” Bennet said. “In the country, we cannot forget one another in a crowd. We must either like our neighbors or remember why we do not.”
“A severe alternative,” Darcy said.
“Not severe enough, perhaps. It has never cured my wife of inviting half of them to dinner.”
Mrs. Bennet protested, Bingley declared that he counted himself fortunate in her hospitality, and Caroline looked as if hospitality was another of Hertfordshire's offenses.
“I am sure,” Louisa said before her sister could answer, “that every neighborhood has its inconveniences. We have found many kindnesses here.”
Bingley turned to her with gratitude. “Indeed, we have.”
Caroline’s color rose. Louisa had done worse than oppose her by accepting the possibility Caroline refused to admit: Charles’s happiness might matter more than their plans, and they might no longer judge the Bennets as temporary acquaintances before returning to town.
Elizabeth noticed the exchange without understanding all of it: Caroline expected support and received none, Hurst remained occupied with his dinner, and Louisa offered courtesy, which Elizabeth suspected Caroline regarded as desertion.