Chapter 16
A Campaign Advances
Netherfield had never felt less like Caroline Bingley’s domain. Darcy realized it soon after arriving downstairs for the engagement dinner.
The house itself remained elegant, of course.
Candles blazed warmly against polished silver.
Additional flowers had been brought into the drawing room despite the season, and the servants moved with practiced efficiency through every corridor.
The atmosphere differed markedly from Caroline’s preferred entertainments.
This was not a fashionable dinner.
It was a family celebration.
Bingley had insisted upon it.
“The whole family, Darcy,” he had declared three days earlier with irrepressible delight. “Jane would wish it, and I cannot deny her anything now.”
Darcy suspected Bingley never would again.
Accordingly, Longbourn arrived not in polished fragments but in full force.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet entered first with Jane and Elizabeth. Mary followed beside Kitty and Lydia, who appeared deeply pleased with her inclusion in grown society despite Mrs. Bennet’s repeated cautions regarding behavior.
Then came the twins.
Then the governess.
Then absolute chaos.
Thomas and Toby burst into the front hall arguing over whether Netherfield’s stair banister might support sliding.
“It absolutely would,” Toby insisted.
“Until you broke your neck,” the governess replied calmly.
“Then perhaps only once,” Thomas conceded.
Bingley chuckled outright before propriety could stop him. “Excellent. Excellent. My governess never allowed such discussions at my childhood home.”
Miss Bingley seemed appalled already.
Darcy, meanwhile, found his attention settling instinctively upon Elizabeth.
She stood near Jane removing her gloves, cheeks pink from cold, amusement already brightening her eyes at the twins’ behavior.
Unlike Miss Bingley, who visibly regarded children as decorative inconveniences at best, Elizabeth moved naturally within the noise surrounding her.
She steadied Toby automatically when he nearly collided with a side table.
She adjusted Lydia’s crooked ribbon while listening to Jane speak.
When Thomas began examining a decorative urn with alarming curiosity, Elizabeth merely touched his shoulder lightly and he stepped away.
The ease of it affected Darcy more than he wished.
Because it felt like home.
That thought arrived uninvited and lingered unpleasantly long afterward.
Wilson arrived shortly thereafter.
His expression altered the moment he entered the drawing room and saw Darcy standing beside Elizabeth listening to Lydia’s animated description of Meryton gossip.
Not jealousy precisely. Awareness.
The man had become increasingly watchful since Jane’s engagement.
Darcy disliked it.
Miss Bingley advanced to welcome the assembled guests, displaying a refined cordiality tinged with a noticeable sharpness.
“Miss Bennet,” she said to Jane with perfect elegance, “how delightful to celebrate such joyful news.”
Jane answered sweetly.
Caroline turned next toward Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth. You look quite prepared to join us as mistress of Netherfield yourself.”
The remark landed lightly enough for plausible innocence.
Darcy saw the flicker of surprise in Elizabeth’s face.
Wilson stiffened.
Mrs. Bennet’s eyes hardened instantly.
Darcy answered, “Netherfield shall have no finer mistress than Miss Bennet.”
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly.
Elizabeth turned away quickly.
The twins exchanged deeply suspicious grins behind the governess.
Dinner was announced before further danger emerged.
The dining room itself glowed with warmth and candlelight.
Bingley had ordered every effort made toward celebration, and the effect succeeded beautifully.
Evergreen ribbons wound along the mantel.
Crystal reflected soft gold light across white linen.
Even Miss Bingley could not fault the elegance of the arrangements, though she appeared determined to discover suffering elsewhere.
The twins had been seated lower along the table near their governess, though Bingley insisted they remain for the entire dinner despite Miss Bingley’s visible reservations.
“They are family,” he had said simply.
Darcy admired him for it.
Dinner commenced cheerfully enough.
Bingley scarcely removed his eyes from Miss Bennet long enough to eat properly.
Kitty glowed with excitement at participating in a true evening dinner.
Lydia contributed opinions upon every subject regardless of familiarity.
Mary attempted several earnest observations regarding marriage as a social institution before Mr. Bennet interrupted to preserve the remaining appetite of the table.
Wilson remained attentive toward Elizabeth throughout.
Darcy noticed every instance.
The man no longer overwhelmed her with constant conversation. Instead, he timed his remarks carefully now, drawing Elizabeth into discussions where her intelligence naturally engaged. Trade, estate management, books, tenant welfare—subjects substantial enough to interest her genuinely.
It was infuriatingly effective.
Darcy hated himself slightly for recognizing that.
At one point Wilson asked Elizabeth whether she missed London still.
“Rarely,” she answered. “Though I miss certain things connected to it.”
“Your father?”
The tenderness entering her expression struck Darcy unexpectedly hard. “Yes.”
Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “I know you remember him only somewhat, but you must know he was respected.”
Elizabeth nodded. “He worked very hard.”
“He built something lasting,” Wilson replied. “There is honor in that.”
Darcy swirled his wine in his glass.
Because Wilson understood something important there. Something many people would not.
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, watched the exchange with growing displeasure.
She waited until the next course before striking.
“I confess,” she said lightly while addressing no one and everyone simultaneously, “I continue to find trade discussions remarkably unfashionable for dinner conversation. Though perhaps country society differs from town in such matters.”
Silence threatened briefly.
Elizabeth’s posture altered almost imperceptibly beside Darcy.
Wilson stiffened.
Mrs. Bennet set down her fork with dangerous calm.
Before anyone else could respond, Darcy spoke. “I was unaware usefulness had become vulgar.”
Miss Bingley tittered delicately. “Surely you misunderstand me.”
“I think not.”
Bingley, sensing danger at last, attempted rescue. “My father spoke of business at dinner constantly.”
“Our father,” Miss Bingley replied carefully, “was hardly typical.”
The silence deepened further.
Elizabeth kept her eyes fixed steadily upon her plate though faint color had risen in her cheeks.
Mrs. Bennet directed an unmistakably approving glance toward Darcy.
Wilson appeared thoughtful.
Miss Bingley smiled again, though the expression no longer reached her eyes.
The conversation shifted eventually, though tension lingered beneath the remainder of dinner.
Then disaster arrived. Predictably. Inevitably. Exclusively through the agency of Master Thomas Bennet.
Dessert had just been served when Toby leaned toward his brother and whispered something clearly intended to remain private.
Thomas answered at normal speaking volume. “No, I think Mr. Darcy should marry Lizzy after Mr. Bingley marries Jane.”
Absolute silence fell across the table, the kind of silence that arrived so suddenly it seemed to suck all sound from the room in a trice.
Elizabeth froze. Miss Kitty inhaled tea directly into her lungs and began choking. Miss Lydia burst instantly into helpless laughter loud enough to echo against the dining room walls.
Poor Miss Mary appeared horrified beyond expression.
Mrs. Bennet tipped her face toward the ceiling, as though summoning divine patience. Mr. Bennet lowered his wineglass very slowly.
Darcy became abruptly aware that every person at the table had turned toward him.
Every person.
Wilson appeared stricken. Miss Bingley outright stared. Miss Bennet’s cheeks flooded crimson while Bingley seemed moments from laughing himself out of his chair.
The governess whispered sharply, “Thomas.”
The twins, realizing perhaps half a second too late what they had done, surveyed the table with growing alarm.
Elizabeth’s face had turned completely scarlet.
Darcy should have denied it without delay.
Instantly. Without reluctance.
Instead, his gaze found Elizabeth's.
And he forgot to speak.
Only for an instant. Perhaps two seconds—three at most. But it was long enough. Far too long.
Wilson noticed.
Darcy saw the realization settle visibly across the man’s features.
Miss Bingley noticed too. Shock gave way to outrage. “How extraordinary,” she said with a strained laugh. “Children do say the wildest things.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Bennet replied smoothly before anyone else could speak. “Particularly when allowed excessive imagination.”
Miss Lydia’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. Miss Kitty wheezed into her napkin.
Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair with the expression of a man receiving unexpected entertainment.
Bingley finally surrendered and snorted outright.
Darcy forced himself at last to answer.
“I think,” he said slowly, his composure held together more by habit than ease, “Master Bennet has perhaps spoken with greater confidence than propriety permits.”
The distinction landed instantly. Not denial. Anything but denial. Absolute silence followed.
Elizabeth’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. The room had already seen enough.
And Darcy realized he could not honestly bring himself to contradict the boy outright.
Elizabeth appeared mortified, though anger and offense were absent from her face. That distinction lodged dangerously inside Darcy’s thoughts.
Wilson recovered first among the gentlemen. “A natural mistake for a child,” he said, though strain roughened the edges of his voice. “Particularly when frequent company encourages familiarity.”
Darcy met his gaze directly. “Children are sometimes more perceptive than adults suppose.”
The silence deepened further.
Wilson’s expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
Across the table Miss Bingley went perfectly still.
Miss Lydia made a suspicious choking sound behind her napkin while Miss Kitty stared openly between Darcy and Elizabeth with widening eyes.
Thomas and Toby now seemed deeply uncertain whether they had succeeded brilliantly or doomed themselves permanently.
Miss Bingley rose with shaky composure. “I believe the ladies shall withdraw.”
The women stood almost in tandem.
Elizabeth avoided Darcy’s gaze as she crossed toward the door beside Jane.
Just before leaving the room, she glanced back once. Only once but enough for Darcy to see lingering embarrassment—
And something else beneath it. Not rejection.
The gentlemen remained behind.
Bingley attempted several times to regain control of himself unsuccessfully.
Mr. Bennet finally rescued him.
“Well, Darcy,” he drawled while accepting fresh wine, “you have now survived official endorsement from the younger branch of the family.”
Wilson did not laugh.
Darcy scarcely heard the remainder of the conversation afterward.
Because one thought repeated itself relentlessly through every passing minute.
Propriety dictated that denial should have come immediately. It had not. And somewhere in another room at Netherfield, Elizabeth Bennet undoubtedly knew it.