Page 137 of Near Pemberley

His thoughts darkened only once during the evening. Jane Bennet. He had deliberately sought her company. Not because he particularly wished to speak, but because someone ought to have done so.

The previous evening, he had written a short note to Bingley that the next day would be an excellent day to visit Longbourn. Yet his friend did not appear in the morning. He postponed thinking about his friend for another day.

Miss Bennet, as always, received him with unaffected kindness. For a moment, his old thought prevailed about her detachment, but then, remembering Elizabeth’s observation that Jane’s reserve was often mistaken for indifference, Darcy ventured to speak of Bingley himself. He did so as evenly as he could, yet left the conversation dissatisfied. Bingley ought to have been there.

Later, when the ladies withdrew after dinner, Mr. Bennet looked over the rim of his wine glass. “Come, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy followed him.

“I suppose you ought to see the room everyone appears so determined that I should abandon.”

There was no bitterness in the remark. Only dry amusement.

The book room proved very much what Elizabeth had led him to expect.

Books occupied every available wall.

Additional volumes rested upon tables, chairs, and even the window seat. Newspapers lay folded beside journals half-read. A comfortable armchair stood before the fireplace with another smaller table beside it, carrying an assortment of spectacles, letters, and bookmarks whose purpose only their owner could possibly have understood.

The room possessed none of the formal elegance of Pemberley’s library. It possessed something else. It had clearly been lived in.

Mr. Bennet looked around with unconcealed satisfaction.

“I daresay this is not high fashion.”

“No.”

“But I know where everything is.”

Darcy smiled. “I have no difficulty believing it.”

Mr. Bennet ran a hand affectionately along the back of his chair. “My wife believes I spend far too much time in here.”

“I imagine she is correct.”

“Undoubtedly.”

The admission surprised them both.

For a while they examined several shelves together.

Mr. Bennet spoke animatedly of one history, dismissed another as intolerably dull, praised an obscure volume Darcy had never encountered, and confessed that half the books had probably not been opened in twenty years.

Only after some time did Darcy return to the matter occupying both their minds. “Mr. Bennet.”

He turned.

“I hope you understand that I spoke seriously.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrow.

“The house at Ramsgate is entirely at your disposal.”

Mr. Bennet studied him.

“I do not offer it merely for a few weeks’ convenience.” Darcy met his gaze steadily. “If your family remains there for a month, I shall be content. If for a year, equally content. If longer…” He paused almost imperceptibly. “Then longer.”

Silence settled between them.