Chapter 10
The First Scheme
Dinner at Longbourn began with an air of expectation that Elizabeth found impossible to ignore.
The Netherfield party arrived at the appointed hour, bringing with them the usual mixture of warmth, elegance, dissatisfaction, and appetite.
Mr. Bingley entered with ready pleasure, his eyes seeking Jane almost before he had completed his greeting to Mrs. Bennet.
Miss Bingley followed with polished civility, Mrs. Hurst with a more subdued expression, and Mr. Hurst with the general air of a man willing to endure any society that promised a competent dinner.
Mr. Darcy came last, as he usually did. Elizabeth ought not to have noticed that his gaze found hers. She noticed it all the same.
Mr. Wilson stood near the hearth when they were introduced, his manner eager enough to be mistaken for amiability by anyone not required to receive the whole of it.
He shook Mr. Bingley’s hand with hearty approval, bowed to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst with carefully practiced formality, and greeted Mr. Darcy with a degree of respect that bordered upon overexertion.
“Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire, I believe?” Mr. Wilson said. “A great pleasure, sir. I have heard the name, naturally. One hears such names.”
Darcy smiled. “You are very kind.”
Elizabeth saw the restraint in that answer and lowered her gaze to conceal a smile.
Mr. Wilson then returned to her side. “I was only telling Miss Elizabeth,” he said, though no one had asked, “how well I remember her as a little girl. Always a lively child. Great, intelligent eyes, and a deal of spirit.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened briefly around her fan. “I fear your memory is better than mine, sir. I was very young.”
“Ah, but I remember enough for both of us,” Mr. Wilson replied with a laugh. “Your father used to say you had a temper when crossed.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “That does not sound like an observation he would have shared freely.”
“Perhaps not freely,” he said, leaning closer than she liked. “But family hears things.”
Darcy’s gaze sharpened.
Elizabeth stepped slightly toward Jane. “Then family must also learn discretion.” Her reproof fell on deaf ears.
Mr. Wilson chuckled again, though it came a moment late.
Before he could answer, supper was announced.
There was the usual ordering of the party, the gentlemen offering arms, the ladies moving toward the dining room with the practiced ease of habit.
Elizabeth expected Mr. Wilson would claim her attention there as well.
By ordinary precedence and by connection, she had assumed her mother would place him near her.
Mr. Darcy, as the gentleman of highest rank and consequence among the guests, ought naturally to sit near Mrs. Bennet, either at her right or left according to the balance of the table.
When they entered and the place cards became visible, Elizabeth stopped for the barest instant. Mr. Darcy’s card stood beside hers. Mr. Wilson’s was farther down the table, near Mary.
Across the room, Mrs. Bennet studied the arrangement with unmistakable surprise, then glanced toward the chairs the twins usually inhabited with a sudden narrowing of the eyes. The twins, dining in the nursery, had nevertheless found some means of influencing the evening.
Elizabeth ought to have been angrier. Instead, relief rose so swiftly she barely contained it.
Mr. Darcy drew out her chair. “Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she returned, seating herself. “It appears we are neighbors this evening.”
“So, it does.”
“Are you pleased or resigned?” Her curiosity demanded satisfaction. Now that he had apologized, would his interest in her wane?
His mouth curved. “Must those be opposed?”
“They often are in society.”
His smile broadened into a grin. “Then I am pleased.” The warmth of the answer reached her before she could defend against it.
Dinner began. For a few moments, the general conversation occupied the table. Mr. Bingley asked after Jane’s health with transparent concern. Mrs. Bennet answered with grace, Jane with blushes, and Miss Bingley with a smile that suggested the entire matter had already received too much attention.
Mr. Wilson, from farther down the table, attempted conversation with Mary, though his attention kept returning to Elizabeth with such frequency that she became conscious of every glance.
Darcy noticed. “Your cousin appears determined not to waste distance,” he murmured.
Elizabeth turned to him sharply, then caught the glint of humor in his eyes. “Distance is a virtue he has not learned to value.”
“Then I admire your patience.”
She smothered a scoff. “You mistake necessity for virtue.”
Darcy acknowledged her words with a nod. “I am often guilty of admiring what others consider accidental.” The words were simple enough. Their delivery was not.
Elizabeth lowered her attention to her plate, aware of warmth rising in her face. “You are in an unusually flattering humor, Mr. Darcy.”
“I am attempting to be honest.”
She raised her brows. “That is more dangerous than flattery.”
“Only when the truth is unwelcome.”
Elizabeth flicked a glance toward him, her spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. “And is yours?”
“I hope not.”
Something in his gaze held hers a moment too long. Elizabeth broke the connection first, though not because she wished to.
From down the table, Mr. Wilson’s voice intruded. “Miss Elizabeth! You must tell Mr. Darcy how you once frightened the housekeeper by climbing atop the kitchen wall.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly.
Darcy’s brows lifted. “Did you?”
“I was seven,” she replied. “And I deny nothing except the relevance.”
Mr. Wilson guffawed loudly. “A spirited child, as I said.”
“And now, a spirited woman,” Elizabeth said before she could stop herself.
Darcy’s expression warmed. “Indeed.” The implication landed between them with astonishing force. He did not sound disapproving.
Elizabeth took a sip of wine simply to occupy herself.
Mr. Wilson, apparently unaware that he had been thoroughly outmaneuvered, returned his attention to his plate.
After a moment, Darcy spoke in a quieter tone. “You know him only slightly.”
“No. I scarcely remember meeting him as a child. He was already in his second decade when my father died, and he must be at least twelve years older than I am.”
“Then his familiarity rests on very little foundation.”
“No.” The word emerged with more frankness than she had intended. “And I find it decidedly unwelcome.”
Darcy’s expression grew serious. “Does it trouble you?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “To be addressed as though a childhood acquaintance confers present intimacy? Yes. Somewhat.” She shook her head. “I apologize for his manner. I do not believe he intends vulgarity, but—”
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She stared at him.
“No one can be held responsible for every relation.”
A subtle smile touched her lips. “You speak with conviction.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “I speak from experience.”
“Indeed?” Could the proud and distinguished Mr. Darcy truly possess relations capable of making him blush?
Darcy glanced briefly toward the far end of the table before returning his attention to her.
“My aunt, Lady Catherine, once devoted half an hour at dinner to instructing a viscount’s wife on the proper arrangement of her nursery, despite having little fondness for children and only one daughter of her own. ”
Elizabeth nearly snorted into her glass. “And how did the viscount’s wife respond?”
“She listened with admirable fortitude, then informed my aunt that the nursery would be arranged exactly so as soon as Lady Catherine agreed to take charge of its inhabitants.”
Elizabeth’s laughter escaped before she could prevent it.
Warmth entered Darcy’s eyes at the sound.
“And Lady Catherine?”
“She considered herself deeply insulted. It is a frequent occurrence with my aunt.” His smile turned wry.
“Is it? How unfortunate.”
“Extremely.”
Elizabeth regarded him with fresh delight. “Mr. Darcy, I would never have suspected you of taking pleasure in the defeat of your relations.”
He leaned a little closer. “I do not take pleasure in it as a general rule.”
She unconsciously mirrored the movement. “Only when it is deserved?”
“Only when it is artfully accomplished.”
Their heads were so near that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
The conversation continued in this manner throughout much of the meal, moving easily between wit and candor with a naturalness that agitated Elizabeth far more than Mr. Wilson’s attentions ever had.
Darcy asked questions and listened carefully to her answers.
He spoke sparingly of himself unless encouraged, though whenever he did, he revealed flashes of dry humor and thoughtful judgment that made her eager to draw him out further and learn more of his mind.
The realization startled her.
When the ladies rose to withdraw, Elizabeth felt the separation more keenly than she wished. She moved with the others, but at the door she glanced back.
Darcy was watching her.
His attention was discreet enough to avoid notice, though unmistakable to her.
Their eyes met and held.
A tantalizing warmth stirred in her chest and rose upward until she feared it must be visible in her face.
At last she turned away, only to catch, from the corner of her eye, Mr. Wilson’s distinct frown.
The drawing room received the ladies with less comfort than usual.
Mrs. Bennet took her accustomed place. Jane sat near the fire, still recovering her strength. Mary moved toward the pianoforte but refrained from playing. Miss Bingley arranged herself with deliberate elegance, her gaze sweeping the room before settling upon Elizabeth.
“What an amusing cousin you possess,” she said.
Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “Mr. Wilson is certainly energetic.”
“How charitable.” Miss Bingley smiled. “Naturally, Jane and the other Bennet sisters can hardly be blamed for his manner. Connections are often uncertain, particularly in a family arrangement so… unique.”
The room grew still.