Chapter 11 #2
Elizabeth smirked. “That is a charitable description.”
“I strive toward charity where possible.”
His wry humor made her laugh. “You should be canonized.”
Darcy’s mouth curved. “Surely not for surviving Thomas and Toby Bennet.”
“You underestimate the challenge.”
Darcy glanced toward the twins racing ahead near Bingley. “They are unusually clever.”
Elizabeth’s expression brightened. “Exceedingly so. Sometimes I think they possess more intelligence than is safe for the rest of us.”
“Two heads are often more formidable than one.”
She grinned. “Particularly when they share identical thoughts.”
“A terrifying advantage.” Darcy turned and bestowed a glowing smile upon her.
She raised an eyebrow and smothered a chuckle. The sound seemed to please him. Elizabeth became aware of it and glanced away quickly toward the trees lining the lane.
“When I first came to Longbourn,” she said after a moment, “I thought the country unbearably strange.”
Darcy sounded surprised. “Truly?”
“I spent the first years of my life in town. Everything here felt enormous. Too much sky. Too much silence.” She smiled. “Now I cannot imagine preferring anywhere else.”
“What changed?”
“Freedom, perhaps.” She glanced toward him. “In town every movement felt observed. Here I could run wild across fields, and no one minded.”
“You sound happier remembering it.”
“I was.” She preferred freedom to confinement.
Darcy listened with an attentiveness that made further honesty dangerously easy.
“My father intended to expand the business greatly before he died,” she admitted. “Sometimes I wonder what life might have become had he lived.”
Darcy’s expression gentled. “You miss him still.”
“Yes. I miss what I knew of him.” The answer emerged more morosely than intended.
They walked several moments before Elizabeth spoke again. “You truly meant what you said at Netherfield?”
His gaze shifted toward her fully now. “Regarding what?”
“My father. Trade.” She wavered briefly. “You truly do not care?”
Darcy answered without pause. “I meant every word.” Something in his tone steadied her unexpectedly.
“I have known titled people completely and utterly lacking in character,” he continued, “and tradesmen possessing integrity, intelligence, and generosity in abundance. Birth may shape opportunity. It does not determine worth.”
Elizabeth stared at him seriously. No performance existed there. No fashionable broad-mindedness intended merely to charm. He believed it. That realization reached somewhere unguarded inside her.
They returned to Longbourn shortly afterward where Mrs. Bennet insisted both gentlemen remain for tea.
Mr. Wilson arrived only moments later, still somewhat irritated by his missing boots, though determined, it seemed, to recover both dignity and conversational command before the afternoon concluded.
Tea commenced pleasantly enough at first.
Mrs. Bennet poured with practiced grace while Bingley devoted himself happily to Jane’s comfort, insisting she take another cushion despite her assurances that she required none.
Darcy sat near Elizabeth but not so near as to invite notice, contributing occasional remarks to the general conversation while watching the room with that steady attentiveness she had begun to recognize in him.
Mr. Wilson, meanwhile, appeared determined to reclaim the ground lost earlier in the day.
He positioned himself opposite Elizabeth and resumed speaking regarding the expansion of northern roads and the advantages improved transport would bring to trade. Lydia listened with exaggerated seriousness that convinced Elizabeth of her guilt in something long before proof arrived.
Mr. Wilson reached for the sugar bowl while continuing his observations. “The difficulty with progress,” he declared, adding a generous spoonful to his tea, “is that most people resist it merely because it is unfamiliar.”
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair. “An argument applicable to many areas of life.”
“Precisely.” Mr. Wilson stirred his tea, took a hearty sip—And nearly choked. The sound startled everyone.
Jane looked up in alarm. Bingley half rose from his chair. Mary, who had just lifted the sugar spoon toward her own cup, froze mid-motion.
Wilson coughed violently into his handkerchief.
“Good heavens,” he gasped. “What on earth—”
Mary frowned and lowered the spoon without using it.
Mrs. Bennet extended her hand. “Mary, allow me.”
The room fell strangely still.
Grace Bennet took the spoon from her daughter, examined the contents briefly, then reached calmly for the sugar bowl itself. Her expression altered almost imperceptibly.
Elizabeth saw it at once. Not surprise. Recognition.
Mrs. Bennet rose. “I beg your pardon,” she said smoothly. “There appears to have been some confusion.” She crossed toward the door carrying the bowl with measured composure while an awkward silence fell behind her.
Mr. Wilson drank hurriedly from his water glass with the expression of a man personally attacked by refreshments.
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched dangerously.
Darcy lowered his eyes toward his untouched tea.
Bingley appeared deeply concerned. “Are you unwell?”
Wilson coughed once more. “Perfectly well. Though I confess I have never before encountered salted tea.”
Lydia made a suspicious choking sound that she disguised badly as a cough.
Elizabeth turned toward her sister at once.
The younger girl stared fixedly at the carpet with enormous concentration.
Thomas and Toby had not been seen since just before tea began. That fact now appeared deeply significant.
Mrs. Bennet returned several moments later carrying a different sugar bowl.
“It seems,” she said with perfect composure, “that salt replaced the sugar accidentally this morning.”
Her tone remained gracious. Her eyes did not.
Elizabeth had rarely seen her mother look so displeased.
Mrs. Bennet resumed her seat and poured Mr. Wilson a fresh cup herself.
“My apologies, cousin.”
Mr. Wilson recovered quickly enough once assured the replacement tea contained no further surprises. “No lasting harm done,” he declared gallantly, though lingering suspicion accompanied his glance toward the bowl.
Conversation gradually resumed, albeit somewhat unevenly at first.
Elizabeth attempted to focus upon Darcy’s observations regarding estate roads while privately reconstructing the likely sequence of events upstairs.
Lydia’s suspicious composure. The twins’ disappearance. The timing of the sugar bowl. And most tellingly of all, Mrs. Bennet’s expression.
Her mother knew. Or at least strongly suspected.
The realization should have alarmed Elizabeth more than it did. Instead, to her own horror, amusement pressed dangerously at the edges of her composure.
From somewhere near the doorway came the sound of suppressed laughter. Elizabeth gaze shot up sharply. For one brief instant she caught sight of Thomas and Toby crowded together behind the partially open door.
Lydia clapped both hands over her mouth. The twins vanished instantly. Elizabeth stared after them slowly. Then toward the sugar bowl. Then toward Mr. Wilson, who still approached his replacement tea with understandable caution.
Suspicion hardened into near certainty at last. Her brothers—and possibly Lydia—were organizing themselves. And somehow—far more disturbingly—Mr. Darcy appeared to be the intended beneficiary of their schemes.