Chapter 12
Dangerously Comfortable
Darcy began calling at Longbourn with a frequency that would have alarmed the matchmaking mamas of the ton if they knew. At first the visits appeared quite defensible.
Bingley wished to call on Miss Bennet with great frequency, despite his sister’s protests.
Mrs. Bennet had extended invitations with genuine warmth impossible to refuse without discourtesy.
Mr. Bennet proved unexpectedly engaging company during discussions of estate improvements, tenant management, and agricultural experiments, particularly when fortified with good port and an audience willing to appreciate dry wit properly delivered.
Then there were the boys.
Darcy attempted not to dwell overmuch upon the fact that Thomas and Toby Bennet greeted his arrivals with more enthusiasm than many gentlemen received from lifelong friends before they were ushered off to the nursery.
Still, the truth remained unavoidable. Longbourn had become comfortable. Dangerously comfortable.
Netherfield, though elegant and well managed, increasingly felt like a temporary residence occupied by restless people forever arranging themselves around one another’s expectations.
Longbourn, by contrast, possessed the warmth of genuine family life.
Tea was bustling noise without descending into vulgarity.
Conversation moved naturally between subjects.
Affection existed openly there, not performed but lived.
Darcy found himself observing it constantly.
Mrs. Bennet impressed him more with every visit.
She governed the household with a steadiness both gentle and firm, managing daughters, guests, servants, and twin sons with remarkable composure even when chaos plainly threatened beneath the surface.
She neither indulged foolishness nor crushed liveliness from her children.
The result was a household far happier than many considerably grander ones Darcy had known.
And at the center of it all, whether consciously or not, stood Elizabeth, belonging so naturally to the rhythm of the family that Darcy increasingly could not imagine Longbourn without her within it.
She listened when Mary spoke seriously of books no one else had read.
She steadied Lydia’s excesses with humor instead of sharpness.
She teased Kitty kindly enough to avoid hurt.
The twins adored her with absolute devotion, and Elizabeth loved them back with a warmth free from impatience despite the disasters they regularly inspired.
Darcy saw all of it. And every observation deepened the danger.
On a gray November afternoon scarcely a week after the infamous salted tea incident, Darcy arrived at Longbourn under the exceedingly reasonable pretense of returning a volume Miss Mary had lent him regarding medieval English history.
The fact that he had finished the entire book in two evenings merely to justify a quicker return ought perhaps to have troubled him more.
Bingley accompanied him, naturally eager for any excuse involving Jane Bennet.
Mrs. Bennet received them warmly in the drawing room where Miss Bennet worked quietly beside the window while Miss Mary attempted embroidery with visible dissatisfaction.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said pleasantly, “Mary will be delighted to know her book survived your criticism.”
Darcy smiled kindly. “It proved far more informative than I anticipated.”
Miss Mary lit up. “I told you the section regarding Henry V was particularly compelling.”
Miss Kitty, rising to leave the room as her mother directed sighed. “You say that about every section.”
“History is compelling.”
“Battles are compelling,” Miss Kitty corrected as she gathered her things.
The exchange drew a smile from Elizabeth, who sat near the fire with correspondence spread beside her.
Darcy’s gaze found her before he could prevent it. As always.
She raised her head and smiled in greeting. The effect upon him had become alarmingly immediate.
Bingley, meanwhile, had already crossed toward Miss Bennet with such transparent eagerness that even Mrs. Bennet appeared amused.
“You are much improved today,” he said.
Miss Bennet smiled. “I believe Mama intends to stop treating me as an invalid by next week.”
“A reckless decision.”
“Mr. Bingley thinks everyone fragile.”
“Only people worth worrying over.”
Darcy directed his attention elsewhere before private affection embarrassed them both.
The twins burst into the room at that moment carrying what appeared to be half a dismantled toy ship between them.
“Mr. Darcy!”
“You have arrived!”
Mrs. Bennet looked up. “Gentlemen.”
The twins halted.
“We are walking,” Thomas corrected.
“With speed,” Toby added.
“And indoor voices,” Mrs. Bennet replied.
The boys lowered their volume by perhaps one degree before hurrying toward Darcy anyway.
“You must come see our fort,” Toby announced.
“In the orchard,” Thomas clarified. “We have improved it.”
Darcy suspected improvement might be a dangerously flexible term where the twins were concerned.
“I fear,” he said gravely, “that my expertise in military architecture remains limited.”
“That has never stopped Papa.”
Mr. Bennet shifted in his chair near the hearth. “A cruel but accurate observation.”
Elizabeth laughed.
Darcy became aware, not for the first time, how often he found himself seeking that sound now.
The afternoon proceeded with familiar ease after that. Conversation drifted naturally between books, weather, and local society while the twins periodically interrupted with alarming updates regarding the structural integrity of their orchard fortress.
At one point Mr. Wilson entered unexpectedly.
Darcy felt the shift in himself and disliked it thoroughly.
Wilson greeted the room with his usual hearty energy, though his expression altered almost imperceptibly upon seeing Darcy already installed comfortably beside Elizabeth’s chair.
Interesting.
The man noticed.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Wilson said with controlled civility. “You seem practically established at Longbourn these days.”
The remark carried enough meaning beneath its surface to sharpen Darcy’s attention instantly.
Before he could answer, Miss Lydia burst into the room.”
“Oh! Cousin Wilson, Mama wished to ask your opinion regarding the mill roads near Meryton.”
Mrs. Bennet raised her brows. “I did?” Something like suspicion laced her tone.
“Yes,” Miss Lydia said smoothly. “You said yesterday no one understood such things better.”
Mr. Wilson grinned. “Very true.”
Miss Lydia crossed toward him. “And I wanted to ask whether machinery truly explodes as often as Thomas claims.”
“It does not explode,” Thomas objected.
“Only occasionally,” Toby amended.
Miss Lydia managed somehow to sweep Mr. Wilson out of the room through sheer force of enthusiastic questioning.
Darcy watched the maneuver with growing suspicion.
Elizabeth appeared to notice as well. Their gazes met briefly. Amusement flickered unmistakably between them.
Mr. Wilson remained occupied outside of the room for nearly twenty minutes, likely trapped by Miss Lydia’s insistent questions. Darcy suspected none of it accidental. Meanwhile he found himself drawn once more into quieter conversation with Elizabeth.
“You are observing my family very intently today,” she murmured at one point.
Darcy came toward her. “Do I?”
“You have the expression of a man attempting to solve a puzzle.”
She was not incorrect. “A troubling accusation.”
“And inaccurate?” Elizabeth raised a brow.
He hesitated slightly. “Perhaps incomplete.”
She regarded him curiously. “What conclusion have you reached so far?”
Darcy glanced around the room before answering. “That your household possesses unusual loyalty.”
The softness entering her expression affected him more than it ought. “We are fortunate in one another.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “You are.”
The words lingered between them.
Just outside the room, Mr. Wilson guffawed loudly at something Miss Lydia said. The sound jarred oddly against the warmth gathering around Darcy’s thoughts.
He became increasingly aware, during subsequent visits, of how often Wilson attempted to monopolize Elizabeth’s attention—and how naturally Elizabeth evaded him whenever possible.
That realization pleased Darcy far more than reason permitted.
Several days later he arrived alone under the excellent excuse of delivering books for Miss Mary from Netherfield’s library. Bingley had ridden elsewhere on estate business, leaving Darcy free to pursue what he firmly informed himself was simple neighborly civility.
Nothing more. Certainly not longing. He found Longbourn in mild disorder upon arrival.
A large, muddy wolf hound had escaped the kitchens and raced through the lower hall while the twins pursued it armed with towels and catastrophic confidence. Mrs. Bennet directed servants with calm efficiency despite obvious temptation toward despair.
Darcy found himself laughing before he could stop it.
Elizabeth turned at the sound.
For one suspended moment they simply held each other's gaze across the chaos of barking dog, shouting twins, and muddy footprints.
Elizabeth then began to laugh as well.
Something inside Darcy settled unexpectedly into place.
Comfort.
That was the dangerous truth of Longbourn. He was comfortable there in ways he had not anticipated possible.
Mr. Wilson entered moments later and stopped short at the scene.
“What in heaven’s name—”
“The dog escaped,” Toby explained while skidding past.
“Again,” Thomas added.
Mrs. Bennet winced in mortification. “Gentlemen.”
Mr. Wilson froze in visible dismay.
Darcy found himself absurdly pleased by the contrast.
Because Elizabeth belonged perfectly within this warmth and disorder.
And Darcy increasingly wanted to belong there too. The realization deepened later that afternoon when he discovered Elizabeth in the library helping Mary reorganize shelves while the twins argued over whether Julius Caesar or Nelson represented the superior military commander.
“Nelson is not even dead,” Miss Mary objected.
“That does not mean he cannot already be great.” Thomas folded his arms stubbornly.
Darcy lingered in the doorway watching them longer than propriety probably allowed.
Elizabeth spoke first. “You are smiling, Mr. Darcy.”
He had been.
The awareness startled him enough that the expression faded in an instant. “Your brothers conduct historical debates with alarming seriousness.”
“They conduct everything with alarming seriousness.” Elizabeth chuckled. The warmth of the sound washed over him.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I have noticed.”
Wilson appeared shortly afterward. Again.
Darcy’s satisfaction diminished instantly upon seeing him cross toward Elizabeth with obvious purpose.
Wilson noticed Darcy too.
Feeling somewhat pleased, Darcy thought he detected genuine irritation beneath the man’s hearty manner.
Interesting.
Very interesting indeed.
The afternoon concluded eventually with tea and general conversation, though Darcy found himself increasingly aware of Wilson’s attentions toward Elizabeth and increasingly displeased by them.
The emotion arrived slowly enough at first that he almost mistook it for ordinary irritation.
Then Wilson leaned too close while showing Elizabeth some ridiculous sketch of mill machinery.
Elizabeth smiled politely.
Wilson smiled back with unmistakable satisfaction.
And something sharp twisted unexpectedly beneath Darcy’s ribs.
He went very still.
Jealousy. The realization fell with humiliating clarity.
Darcy lowered his untouched teacup slowly while across the room Elizabeth chuckled at something Wilson said without genuine warmth.
It should have reassured him. Instead, he found himself thinking only that Wilson had made her laugh at all.
A thoroughly irrational response. And perfectly undeniable.