Chapter Nineteen
Longbourn
Elizabeth
“Come, Lizzy!” Kitty hurried into her bedchamber, rousing Elizabeth from her nap. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy are downstairs.”
Elizabeth sat up too quickly and rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy? Downstairs? Now?”
“This very moment. Mama has been in a perfect flutter trying to order the drawing room and scold Lydia about her hair at the same time, and Hill has already brought out the good tea things.” Kitty caught at Elizabeth’s sleeve, plainly delighted to be the bearer of such intelligence.
“Do hurry. I do not know how long they mean to stay.”
Elizabeth swung her feet to the floor and reached for her shoes with rather more haste than dignity.
A glance in the small glass above her dressing table revealed loosened hair and cheeks still flushed from sleep.
That Mr. Bingley had called so soon after the assembly interested her chiefly on Jane’s account, and she wondered what her sister had made of such early attention.
That Mr. Darcy had accompanied him produced an interest of a different sort.
Three dances had left Elizabeth curious about the gentleman and with more questions than answers.
As she restored her hair to some order, she found herself rather pleased that another opportunity to judge him had presented itself so soon.
“Is Jane downstairs already?”
“Jane has been there this quarter hour, looking perfectly composed as always, which only makes Mama more anxious that the rest of us will disgrace her by comparison.” Kitty was already halfway to the door. “Do come, Lizzy. I do not wish to miss anything.”
Elizabeth followed her downstairs, smoothing her skirts as she went.
The drawing room had already been brought into something resembling order.
Mrs. Bennet sat with the particular attentiveness she reserved for company of consequence, Jane composed beside her, while Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy occupied chairs opposite.
Mary sat somewhat apart with a book upon her lap, while Lydia had stationed herself near Kitty and was plainly more interested in observing the visitors than pretending otherwise.
“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said from his favourite sofa when she entered. “How good of you to join us. Between the attractions of sleep and society, I had begun to wonder which would prevail.”
“Papa.” Elizabeth gave him a reproachful look before turning towards their guests.
“Miss Elizabeth.” Bingley rose immediately, his smile as open as it had been at the assembly. “I hope we have not called at an inconvenient hour.”
“Not at all, Mr. Bingley. You have only interrupted my sleeping through a perfectly fine afternoon, which I assure you was no great loss to anyone.”
Mr. Darcy had risen with his friend. Elizabeth found his eyes upon her again, though without the astonishment which had marked their first introduction.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” he inclined his head briefly.
There was nothing remarkable in the greeting. Elizabeth was nevertheless conscious of that same peculiar attention she had noticed at the assembly, as though he regarded her with rather more interest than their brief acquaintance ought reasonably to have produced.
Mrs. Bennet, unable to leave the silence unoccupied, immediately resumed her duties as hostess.
“You must have some tea, Mr. Bingley. And you too, Mr. Darcy, of course. Hill has only just brought it in. I do hope you have found Netherfield to your liking, Mr. Bingley. It is a very fine house. We were all excessively pleased to hear it had been let at last, were we not, girls?”
“Excessively,” Elizabeth agreed with a perfectly straight face, earning a quick glance from Jane.
“I have found it a very comfortable house indeed, Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley replied, apparently missing the exchange between the sisters. “Though I confess I have not yet seen half of it properly. There always seems to be some fresh room my housekeeper insists I have neglected.”
“A house of that size must require a great deal of inspecting,” Mr. Bennet observed. “I trust you have found the library adequate to the business of avoiding the rest of it, Mr. Bingley, should the inspecting grow tiresome.”
Bingley laughed. “I confess the library is rather smaller than I might wish, sir, though I have never been a very diligent reader. Darcy is quite the opposite. He once told me that the library at Pemberley has been several generations in the making, which makes my own family’s efforts appear rather poor by comparison. ”
“Several generations?” Mr. Bennet turned his attention towards Darcy with greater interest. “That argues either a great devotion to learning, Mr. Darcy, or a great difficulty in deciding what to read. Which was it in your family's case?”
“A little of both, perhaps, sir.” The faintest smile touched Darcy's expression. “My father added considerably to the collection. I have added rather less, though I hope what I have chosen has justified its place.”
“A sensible principle. Most men add books to their shelves as they add acquaintances to their circle, indiscriminately, and discover too late that they have little use for half of either.”
Darcy smiled more visibly this time. “Then perhaps greater care ought to be exercised in both.”
Elizabeth looked between them with some amusement. Her father, she suspected, had expected to find entertainment in testing their grave visitor and seemed instead to have discovered someone perfectly capable of understanding him.
“I confess I am curious what so careful a man chooses to keep,” Mr. Bennet continued.
“Whatever rewards a second reading, sir. There is a great deal published that scarcely survives the first.”
“You are fond of reading yourself, I believe, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said, turning towards her.
Elizabeth hesitated. They had touched upon the subject of books at the assembly, though never at any great length. His sudden turn towards her caught her somewhat unprepared, and she became conscious, quite absurdly, of every eye in the room seeming to follow his attention to her.
“I am,” she answered. “I read whatever catches my interest, or whatever my father recommends to me. Though I cannot claim our collection has been assembled with anything like your family’s patience. Longbourn’s library owes rather more to circumstance than design.”
“There is something to be said for a collection assembled by circumstance. It is more likely to contain surprises.”
“Or disappointments.”
“Those too.”
“Then I begin to suspect your library is preferable after all.”
Darcy's mouth curved. “I should not like to recommend it before you have had an opportunity to judge for yourself.”
The words were perfectly civil, yet Elizabeth found herself wondering whether she had somehow been invited to Pemberley without either of them quite noticing it.
“Books are all very well,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, having plainly endured the subject long enough, “but Mr. Bingley, you must tell us whether you mean to give a ball at Netherfield. Lady Lucas says the ballroom there is exceedingly fine, quite the finest in the neighbourhood.”
“I have thought of it, Mrs. Bennet, though nothing is settled.” Bingley glanced towards Jane. “I enjoyed the assembly far too well not to wish for another opportunity of the same kind.”
“Then you must give one! Jane is remarkably fond of dancing, are you not, Jane?”
A faint colour rose in Jane's cheeks. “I enjoy it very well, Mama.”
“Modesty,” Mr. Bennet remarked, “is not our most abundant family possession, though I observe it has collected almost entirely in my eldest daughter.”
Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye.
He was smiling.
It disappeared almost immediately, but she had seen it, and something about the expression gave her the oddest feeling. He had not merely understood her father's humour. He had seemed to expect it.
There it was again.
That same curious impression from the assembly, the sense that Mr. Darcy was not becoming acquainted with them so much as confirming opinions already formed.
Elizabeth looked away before he could notice her scrutiny.
Whatever else might be said of Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth was beginning to think that further acquaintance with him might prove considerably more interesting than she had expected.