Page 62 of The Briar Bargain
"Well," Bingley said, finally returning his attention to the game, "I must say I am proud of Louisa. And of you, Hurst. It cannot have been easy to confront such an established arrangement."
"It was the easiest thing in the world," Hurst replied. "I am not married to Caroline. I simply needed to remind Louisa of that fact." He lifted the mace, preparing to resume the game that had been suspended by their conversation.
"And now?" Darcy asked.
"Now," Hurst said, moving to the table with renewed energy, "I plan to treat my wife well enough that she will have no wish to be reunited with her sister."
"Well done," Darcy murmured.
Hurst took his shot. The cue ball rolled smoothly across the felt, struck the red with a satisfying click, and sent it gliding directly at its intended target.
Chapter Twenty
The parlour at Netherfield was a room well designed for gatherings, with comfortable chairs arranged in conversational groups and small tables positioned for the convenience of those taking refreshment. This morning, it seemed particularly welcoming, the autumn sunshine lending warmth to what could sometimes feel like an intimidating space.
Elizabeth had claimed a chair near the window and resumed her work, this time stitching a baby gown for the Anson’s infant.
Jane sat nearby, her own needlework lying idle in her lap as she listened to Mr. Bingley's account of his plans for improving the estate's tenant cottages. Elizabeth was pleased to see her sister looking so well pleased in his company.
Mr. Bingley himself was in particularly fine spirits, addressing his remarks principally to Jane, though he maintained the fiction of speaking to the company at large. Elizabeth was learning that his good nature was never more apparent than when he was speaking with her sister, and Elizabeth found herself hoping that he would make Jane an offer before they left for Longbourn.
Mrs. Hurst occupied her usual place near the fire, her manner suggesting that she found this morning assembly somewhat tedious but was resigned to enduring it. She had brought her own needlework, though she made little progress with it.
Mr. Darcy sat somewhat apart, a book open in his hands but his attention clearly divided between its contents and the conversation around him. Elizabeth was growing accustomed to his habit of appearing absorbed in reading while listening to everything that passed, and she suspected that very little escaped his notice.
Miss Bingley had positioned herself with her customary calculation, close enough to the centre of the room to participate in any conversation, yet with a view of all the principal players. Her manner was engaged as she presided over the tea service.
When Mr. Bingley, speaking to no one in particular, turned to Jane with a smile that was all sunshine and sincerity, Elizabeth felt her needle pause mid-stitch.
"Miss Bennet, I must tell you again how delighted I am that your stay continues."
The declaration was so open, so unguarded in its admiration, that Elizabeth found herself glancing around the room to gauge its effect. Jane coloured prettily and murmured her thanks with her characteristic modesty, her eyes cast down but a smile of genuine pleasure playing about her lips.
Mrs. Hurst shifted slightly in her chair, her expression suggesting mild disapproval of her brother’s public display of partiality. Mr. Darcy looked up from his book with what might have been interest, his gaze moving between Bingley and Jane with an unreadable expression.
But it was Miss Bingley's reaction that caught Elizabeth's attention most forcibly. For just an instant, her composure slipped, and her grip on the teapot turned briefly white-knuckled before she mastered herself.
"How gallant of you, Charles," she said with a forced laugh that rang slightly hollow in the sunny room.
There was a sharpness to her voice that Elizabeth doubted the others detected, but which seemed to cut through the agreeable atmosphere like a blade. Mr. Bingley, however, remained entirely unconscious of any undercurrent.
"Not at all," he said without taking his eyes off Jane, his meaning unmistakable.
Elizabeth's mouth twitched with amusement. Mr. Bingley might not be as clever as Mr. Darcy, but he knew where his affections lay, and he was now unabashed in expressing them. The transformation from the uncertain gentleman of their early acquaintance to this confident suitor was remarkable, and Elizabeth could only approve of the change. She disliked thinking it, but her mother had been right in one sense; Mr. Bingley had required more time to know Jane better.
She caught Jane's eye and was rewarded with a look that spoke volumes. Her sister's happiness was evident in every line of her face, though she maintained her customary serenity. Elizabeth felt a surge of protective satisfaction. Whatever Miss Bingley's intentions might be, they had clearly failed to shake Mr. Bingley's attachment.
"Indeed," said Miss Bingley, her gaze sweeping across the room and landing upon Elizabeth with what appeared to be renewed energy. "And some amongst us, no doubt, would argue that the charm of Hertfordshire surpasses even the glories of Town. Mr. Darcy, you must tell us. Which do you prefer: London sophistication or country simplicity?"
The question was posed with studied casualness, but Elizabeth detected the calculation behind it. Miss Bingley was attempting to draw Mr. Darcy into expressing a preference that would, she clearly hoped, favour the society in London over the provincial attractions of Hertfordshire, and, by extension, over the provincial attractions of the Bennet sisters.
Mr. Darcy looked up from his book. His eyes flicked to Elizabeth, who returned his gaze evenly, curious to hear his response but determined not to feel any anxiety over it.
"There is merit in both," he said carefully. "There are more opportunities for society, for education, and for entertainment in town. However, I find the countryside far more conducive to peace."
"How surprising," Miss Bingley replied, her smile becoming more fixed. "I had thought you a great admirer of refinement."
"I admire what is genuine," he said with quiet conviction. "Wherever it may be found."
