CHAPTER ONE #3
Mary had changed most visibly from the solemn child who once read sermons she did not understand.
Miss Harwood had discovered that she possessed a fine ear, then obtained a master who praised effort before display.
Freed from the belief that she must be wise because she was not beautiful, Mary became quiet rather than severe.
Her brown hair was dressed simply. Her eyes, behind light spectacles used only for reading music, were soft and observant.
She dreaded her coming presentation.
Elizabeth had been eligible two seasons earlier. She had delayed first because their grandmother Gardiner had fallen ill and died, then again because Mary confessed—one midnight, in broken whispers—that she could not walk into the Queen's drawing room alone after watching Jane do it so perfectly.
"Then you shall not," Elizabeth had said.
Their father had objected. Their mother had lamented. Elizabeth did not yield, and in the end Sir Thomas admitted that a presentation undertaken freely was worth more than one hurried for convenience.
Now the sisters would enter Court together in the spring.
"We shall dine quietly," Sir Thomas said. "Mr Bingley may bring those staying with him. I understand his sisters accompany him, with one sister's husband and a friend."
"What friend?" Lady Bennet asked at once.
"His name is Darcy."
Jane looked up. "Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy?"
"You know him?" Elizabeth asked.
"Only by sight. He attended the same concert at Carlton House last year. Miss Grant said he owns a large estate in Derbyshire."
"Ten thousand a year," Lady Bennet said reverently.
Sir Thomas buttered his toast. "Then he may be trusted to feed himself."
Charles Bingley arrived at Netherfield two days later in a blue coat, a high good humor, and precisely seven minutes of nervousness. The nervousness vanished when Sir Thomas asked whether the chimneys at Longbourn drew properly.
"Perfectly, sir. Better than the house we had in Scarborough, and my sister says the morning room has the finest light she has seen outside London. I hope you do not mind that we shifted the pianoforte. We have not scratched the floor—I made Hurst help lift it."
"Then I am already indebted to Mr Hurst."
Bingley laughed easily. He was handsome without appearing conscious of it, with fair hair, an open face, and the habit of leaning toward whoever spoke as if no other person deserved his attention.
Sir Thomas liked him and therefore became cautious.
"A house is meant to be lived in, Mr Bingley. Within the terms of the lease, you may arrange it to suit yourself. But Longbourn is connected to my family in ways not stated in a solicitor's inventory."
Bingley's expression sobered. "I understand. Or I hope to. My father built his fortune in trade, and we never had an old family house to leave. I would not willingly treat yours carelessly."
It was a better answer than Sir Thomas expected.
"Come to dinner on Thursday. Bring your party. Lady Bennet will wish to welcome her former curtains and may consent to welcome the present inhabitants as well."
Bingley's grin returned. "We shall be delighted."
Darcy did not accompany him on the call, a fact Lady Bennet considered suspicious until the Longbourn carriage arrived for dinner and he descended from it.
Elizabeth watched from the drawing-room window. Bingley came first. Behind him was a fashionable woman in orange silk, another lady with an indolent expression, a broad gentleman already glancing toward the dining-room doors, and last a tall man in black evening dress.
He paused upon the gravel and looked up at Netherfield.
There was nothing offensive in the action. Any visitor might admire the balanced stone front, the lit windows, and the portico added under Sir Thomas's direction. Yet something in the stranger's stillness suggested appraisal rather than admiration.
"That must be Mr Darcy," Mary whispered.
"Because he looks so wealthy?"
"Because he looks as if he would rather be elsewhere."
Elizabeth smiled. "Mary, I begin to fear you have acquired discernment."
The introductions were civil. Miss Bingley took in Lady Bennet's rose-colored satin, Jane's beauty, Mary's quiet dress, Elizabeth's steady gaze, and the room's elegant furnishings in one comprehensive sweep.
"How extraordinary it must be," she said, "to live so near one's former home."
Lady Bennet's smile remained fixed. Ten years earlier she would have explained the entail, the rent, the income, and the number of bedchambers in both houses before drawing breath.
"It is very convenient," she said. "I may remember my happiest years without being responsible for the attics."
Sir Thomas's eyes warmed. Elizabeth wanted to applaud.
At dinner Bingley sat beside Jane and forgot three times to eat what was placed before him.
Mr Hurst compensated on behalf of the company.
Mary answered Mrs Hurst's questions softly but sensibly.
Miss Bingley attempted to determine whether the Bennets' Court connections were significant and received nothing more useful than Lady Bennet's opinion of the Queen's taste in lace.
Darcy spoke little.
When Elizabeth asked whether he preferred town or country, he said, "Each has advantages which the other cannot imitate."
"A diplomatic answer."
"A true one."
"Truth and diplomacy are not enemies, then?"
His eyes turned fully toward her. They were darker than she had expected and more attentive.
"Not necessarily. Though they are not always introduced."
"Perhaps they require a mutual acquaintance."
For an instant, his mouth nearly softened. "And who would you appoint?"
"Good sense, if it can be persuaded to attend."
Across the table, her father lowered his wineglass to hide a smile.
Later, while the ladies waited for the gentlemen, Miss Bingley asked Jane about her presentation. Jane answered without vanity. Mrs Hurst recalled seeing her at a ball. Mary grew quiet when the coming spring was mentioned.
Elizabeth shifted closer until their sleeves touched.
Darcy entered in time to observe the movement. His gaze rested first upon Mary, then upon Elizabeth's hand lying near hers. Something in his expression changed—not warmth precisely, but reconsideration.
Elizabeth noticed because she had already decided he was a man who reconsidered very little.
When the party departed, Bingley pressed Sir Thomas's invitation to the Meryton assembly upon his sisters as though he had invented dancing.
"He is agreeable," Lady Bennet declared before the door had fully closed. "Very agreeable. And Jane, he scarcely looked away from you."
Jane's cheeks colored. "He was attentive to everyone."
"Not in that manner," Mary said.
All eyes turned toward her.
Mary looked up from behind her spectacles. "Was I mistaken?"
Jane laughed and kissed her cheek.
Sir Thomas remained near the window, watching the carriage lamps descend the drive toward Longbourn. His tenant was charming. His tenant's friend was proud, observant, and perhaps not quite as indifferent as he wished to appear.
The old Thomas Bennet would have retreated to his library and waited to be entertained by whatever followed.
Sir Thomas rang for Hill and asked whether Jane's mare had been exercised.