Chapter 17 #2
Elizabeth sat beside her. “He is better than I first judged him.”
“That is good.”
“It would be easier if he were not.”
Jane’s expression gentled.
Elizabeth fiddled with the ribbon in her lap. “He brought papers with Papa’s signature.”
“Oh, Lizzy.”
“And he spoke sensibly. Humbly, even. He sees my father’s life without contempt. He knows what it is to be neither one thing nor another in society.”
Jane took her hand. “That matters.”
“Yes. It does.”
“And?”
Elizabeth pulled a loose thread from the ribbon and wound it around her finger. “And I found myself wondering what Mr. Darcy would think of him.”
Jane did not smile.
For that mercy, Elizabeth loved her.
“What do you suppose he would think?” Jane asked.
“That Mr. Wilson is practical, intelligent in business, and more observant than he first appeared.”
“That sounds generous.”
“It is true.”
“And is that all Mr. Darcy would think?”
Elizabeth peered toward the window.
The orchard lay beyond it, gray-brown beneath the winter sky. Somewhere below, Thomas shouted triumphantly, followed by Toby declaring injustice.
“No,” she said. “I suspect he would also dislike him.”
Jane squeezed her hand.
Elizabeth shook her head.
Downstairs, Mr. Wilson was likely speaking with Mrs. Bennet. Properly and sensibly, with every appearance of honorable intention.
No dread filled her at the prospect.
That concerned her less than the absence of joy.
Darcy arrived at Longbourn the following day with Bingley and a packet of books for Mary.
That was the excuse.
A decent one, in fairness. Mary had requested the second volume of a history from Netherfield’s shelves, and Darcy had located it himself, along with two others he thought might interest her.
He had even placed a ribbon in one to mark a passage concerning ecclesiastical reform, which had struck him as precisely the sort of thing Miss Mary Bennet would appreciate.
He mentioned none of this to Bingley.
Bingley would only grin.
The house welcomed them in its usual fashion, which meant the footman admitted them with an expression suggesting he had already seen three small disasters that morning and expected a fourth before tea.
Darcy removed his gloves in the hall and heard Elizabeth’s voice before he saw her.
“Thomas, if you have tied Toby to the chair again, you may untie him this instant.”
“I am not tied,” Toby protested from somewhere beyond the morning room. “I am imprisoned.”
“Unjustly,” Thomas added.
“Justice rarely requires curtain cords,” Elizabeth replied.
Bingley guffawed.
Darcy found himself smiling before he entered the room.
Elizabeth stood near the window with one hand on her hip, her dark curls loosening from their pins, her expression caught between exasperation and laughter.
Toby sat in a chair with curtain cord looped around his waist in a knot too elaborate for any innocent explanation.
Thomas stood beside him holding a wooden sword.
Mary sat at the pianoforte pretending not to watch.
Lydia, sprawled on the sofa with a fashion plate, offered no assistance whatsoever.
Mrs. Bennet entered from the adjoining room at precisely the wrong moment and took in the scene.
“Thomas.”
The boy lowered the sword. “It was a siege.”
Mrs. Bennet turned to Darcy and Bingley. “Welcome to Longbourn, gentlemen. We are, as you see, engaged in military affairs.”
“An impressive campaign,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth glanced at him, and the look she gave him nearly knocked the air from his chest. Amusement, apology, welcome. All in one second.
He stepped forward and offered the books to Mary, who rose with genuine pleasure.
“You found the volume?”
“And two others which may interest you.”
Mary accepted them as though he had handed her treasure. “That is very kind.”
Thomas had freed Toby by then, or perhaps Toby had freed himself through violent twisting. Both boys approached Darcy with solemn faces.
“Mr. Darcy,” Toby said, “may we speak with you later?”
Darcy lowered his gaze to the boys. “That depends upon whether the conversation concerns siege warfare or household sabotage.”
Thomas frowned. “Neither.”
“Mostly,” Toby added.
Elizabeth covered a laugh with a cough.
The boys drew themselves up in offense.
Bingley had drifted toward Jane, who had just entered with Mrs. Bennet. Their happiness had become almost embarrassing in its sincerity. Bingley glowed. Jane blushed whenever anyone noticed. Everyone noticed.
Darcy should have found it excessive.
Instead, he envied the clarity of it.
Wilson entered several minutes later.
The warmth in the room altered for Darcy. Not visibly, perhaps. The fire still burned. Lydia still turned pages. Thomas and Toby still stared at Wilson as though he had personally offended the monarchy.
But Darcy felt the change in his own body. A tightening between his shoulders. A sharper attention.
Wilson bowed to Bingley, greeted Darcy politely, then moved toward Mrs. Bennet.
“Madam, I thank you again for your consideration yesterday.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded her head. “You spoke with proper openness, Mr. Wilson. That is always to be respected.”
Darcy’s gaze moved to Elizabeth.
Her eyes had dropped to the work in her lap.
So, Wilson had spoken. The thought settled poorly, very poorly.
Bingley asked Jane something about Netherfield’s shrubbery walks. Mary opened one of the books. Lydia demanded whether anyone had seen a particular ribbon. The room continued as before, but Darcy’s attention had narrowed.