Page 52 of Dear Friend

Yet his mind supplied another consideration without invitation.

Elizabeth rarely allowed an event she considered worth relating to Julia to pass unwritten for very long. The previous evening had certainly given her something to relate.

And so, instead of resolving to tell her the moment he saw her, Darcy found himself hoping her letter was already on its way to Willowbrook. He wanted, before he was obliged to account for how much he already knew of Elizabeth Bennet, to discover what she had made of him.

Chapter Nineteen

17th October 1811

Longbourn

Elizabeth

“Come, Lizzy!” Kitty hurried into her bedchamber, rousing Elizabeth from her nap. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy are downstairs.”

Elizabeth sat up too quickly and rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes. “Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy? Downstairs? Now?”

“This very moment. Mama has been in a perfect flutter trying to order the drawing room and scold Lydia about her hair at the same time, and Hill has already brought out the good tea things.” Kitty caught at Elizabeth’s sleeve, plainly delighted to be the bearer of such intelligence. “Do hurry. I do not know how long they mean to stay.”

Elizabeth swung her feet to the floor and reached for her shoes with rather more haste than dignity. A glance in the small glass above her dressing table revealed loosened hair and cheeks still flushed from sleep. That Mr. Bingley had called so soon after the assembly interested her chiefly on Jane’s account, and she wondered what her sister had made of such early attention. That Mr. Darcy had accompanied him produced an interest of a different sort. Three dances had left Elizabeth curious about the gentleman and with more questions than answers. As she restored her hair to some order, she found herself rather pleased that another opportunity to judge him had presented itself so soon.

“Is Jane downstairs already?”

“Jane has been there this quarter hour, looking perfectly composed as always, which only makes Mama more anxious that the rest of us will disgrace her by comparison.” Kitty was already halfway to the door. “Do come, Lizzy. I do not wish to miss anything.”

Elizabeth followed her downstairs, smoothing her skirts as she went. The drawing room had already been brought into something resembling order. Mrs. Bennet sat with the particular attentiveness she reserved for company of consequence, Jane composed beside her, while Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy occupied chairs opposite. Mary sat somewhat apart with a book upon her lap, while Lydia had stationed herself near Kitty and was plainly more interested in observing the visitors than pretending otherwise.

“Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said from his favourite sofa when she entered. “How good of you to join us. Between the attractions of sleep and society, I had begun to wonder which would prevail.”

“Papa.” Elizabeth gave him a reproachful look before turning towards their guests.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Bingley rose immediately, his smile as open as it had been at the assembly. “I hope we have not called at an inconvenient hour.”

“Not at all, Mr. Bingley. You have only interrupted my sleeping through a perfectly fine afternoon, which I assure you was no great loss to anyone.”

Mr. Darcy had risen with his friend. Elizabeth found his eyes upon her again, though without the astonishment which had marked their first introduction.

“Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” he inclined his head briefly.

There was nothing remarkable in the greeting. Elizabeth was nevertheless conscious of that same peculiar attention she had noticed at the assembly, as though he regarded her with rather more interest than their brief acquaintance ought reasonably to have produced.

Mrs. Bennet, unable to leave the silence unoccupied, immediately resumed her duties as hostess. “You must have some tea, Mr. Bingley. And you too, Mr. Darcy, of course. Hill has only just brought it in. I do hope you have found Netherfield to your liking, Mr. Bingley. It is a very fine house. We were all excessively pleased to hear it had been let at last, were we not, girls?”

“Excessively,” Elizabeth agreed with a perfectly straight face, earning a quick glance from Jane.

“I have found it a very comfortable house indeed, Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley replied, apparently missing the exchange between the sisters. “Though I confess I have not yet seen half of it properly. There always seems to be some fresh room my housekeeper insists I have neglected.”

“A house of that size must require a great deal of inspecting,” Mr. Bennet observed. “I trust you have found the library adequate to the business of avoiding the rest of it, Mr. Bingley, should the inspecting grow tiresome.”

Bingley laughed. “I confess the library is rather smaller than I might wish, sir, though I have never been a very diligent reader. Darcy is quite the opposite. He once told me that the library at Pemberley has been several generations in the making, which makes my own family’s efforts appear rather poor by comparison.”

“Several generations?” Mr. Bennet turned his attention towards Darcy with greater interest. “That argues either a great devotion to learning, Mr. Darcy, or a great difficulty in deciding what to read. Which was it in your family's case?”

“A little of both, perhaps, sir.” The faintest smile touched Darcy's expression. “My father added considerably to the collection. I have added rather less, though I hope what I have chosen has justified its place.”

“A sensible principle. Most men add books to their shelves as they add acquaintances to their circle, indiscriminately, and discover too late that they have little use for half of either.”