8. Eight

Eight

“ Y ou missed all the fun, Lizzy.” Lydia leaned over the table, banging her spoon accidentally on her glass. “Mr. Collins tripped on his way out of church last Sunday. Mary King said he nearly took old Mrs. Goodwin down with him.”

Kitty snickered. “And I heard his hat flew off into the mud. It took him three tries to pick it up.”

Mary frowned and reached for the butter. “Perhaps he was merely offering Mrs. Goodwin assistance in walking,” she said. “One should not jump to conclusions.”

“Oh, Mary, do pass the jam,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “And do not defend him! It was devilish funny. You would have laughed, too.”

Mr. Bennet glanced over the top of his spectacles, his gaze flickering from daughter to daughter. “And is this the most scandalous news our little town can boast of this week?”

Mary put up one hand as she was passing the teapot to Elizabeth. “Actually, I think Mrs. Lucas mentioned that the Wilkinsons are painting their front door bright green.”

Elizabeth poured herself a cup of tea, raising an eyebrow. “Bright green? How shocking. What will Meryton do with itself?”

“A fine joke, Lizzy, but you did not hear what shade of green. Kitty and me think it looks exactly like horse dr—”

“That will do extremely well, child,” Mr. Bennet sighed. “We are still at table, Lydia.”

Elizabeth and Jane traded amused smirks over their teacups. Ah, but it was good to be home again. London had certainly possessed its charms, but there was nothing to the loving chaos of Longbourn.

A few moments later, Hill entered quietly and made her way to Mrs. Bennet, bending down to whisper in her ear. Mrs. Bennet’s hand flew to her chest, and she gasped, looking over the table with wide eyes. “Oh! Girls—Mr. Bennet! Such news!”

Elizabeth’s eyes slid to Hill as she made her hasty exit, then she regarded her mother with open curiosity. “What is it, Mama?”

“Oh, it is everything splendid! Hill tells me she learned from Perkins, the stable boy—who, I might add, had it from the butcher when he went to Meryton this morning, and he heard it directly from Mr. Jackson at Netherfield—that two wealthy strangers arrived late last night asking to lease the property!”

Jane’s face lit up at once, and her eyes met Elizabeth’s across the table. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and returned Jane’s gaze, nudging her own food with her fork, determinedly feigning disinterest. Jane sat straighter, her lips parting as if she were about to explain the “strangers” in question. Elizabeth shot her sister a swift shake of her head, silently pleading for restraint. Jane’s mouth closed again, though a glimmer of delight remained in her eyes.

Mr. Bennet paused mid-bite, his mouth twitching in faint amusement. He looked between his wife and his two eldest daughters, chewing thoughtfully. Then, his eyes settled on Elizabeth, who caught his wry gaze and returned it with a look that all but begged for his mercy. He took his time finishing his mouthful, then finally spoke, his tone dry as he set down his fork.

“Well, Mrs. Bennet, I daresay these two mysterious strangers must be quite elderly and, quite probably, married as well. I see no reason to raise my blood over so little inducement.”

Mrs. Bennet clucked her tongue and fixed her husband with a fierce glare. “Nonsense, Mr. Bennet! You are always so quick to dismiss matters of importance. Why, Hill was told they are quite handsome, and there was no mention at all of wives. If they are, in fact, single and wealthy, I insist that you ride over to Netherfield and introduce yourself at once!”

“Introduce myself?” Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows, his voice laced with mock astonishment. “Why should I importune them so? They have been in the country less than a day. At least give them a sporting chance at leisure before I go knocking on Netherfield’s door.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bennet replied with conviction. “No one comes to a house and does not expect to meet new acquaintances! A proper gentleman would not leave the matter to chance. Think of our daughters, Mr. Bennet! If you introduce yourself first, why, our girls will have the advantage over all the other families in Meryton!”

Elizabeth stifled a smile and glanced at Jane, who had taken to delicately nibbling on a piece of toast. She raised a brow, and Jane took the hint, clearing her throat to change the subject.

“Did any of the militia officers dine here while we were in London?”

Lydia’s head snapped up, her face alight. “Oh, Jane, you cannot imagine! Captain Carter was here nearly every day, was he not, Mama? And Mr. Denny! He has the most charming waistcoat, and his buttons, la! Oh, and how well he looks in his white breeches—”

Kitty sighed dreamily. “And he asked me, personally, if he might take a second cup of tea.”

“Oh, yes, because Mr. Denny asks for seconds at every house!” Lydia shot back with a giggle.

“Such handsome officers!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted with a delighted clap of her hands. “I daresay we must invite them all to dine here next week. Who knows, perhaps we might soon see one of you settled, and with a husband in uniform, no less!”

Elizabeth hid a smile behind her teacup as the conversation spiraled from who had looked best at tea, to the color of the officers’ horses, to who had nearly tripped in the snow outside Meryton’s assembly hall. She shared a quick look with Jane, and after a few more rounds of tales, they each pushed back their chairs and excused themselves from the table.

“I believe I shall take a walk in the garden, even if it is snowy and cold,” Elizabeth announced lightly, as they started for the hall. “I could do with a bit of fresh air.”

Jane followed her, and the moment they were alone, Jane caught her elbow, forcing Elizabeth to turn around.

“Lizzy, why did you not let me speak of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy? Surely, everyone will hear of them soon enough.”

Elizabeth grinned, barely holding back a laugh. “You heard what Papa said. It is not sporting.”

“ G ood morning, Darcy!” Bingley greeted him with an almost indecent amount of cheerfulness, fastening his cuffs with quick, efficient movements. “I trust you slept well?”

Darcy glanced up from adjusting his coat, his expression carefully composed. “Quite well, though I might have slept better had we arrived before midnight. And if I had brought my valet.”

Bingley only laughed. “Ah, there it is. I know you are putting me on when you exaggerate like that. I say, this place—it is remarkable, is it not? A bit more… character than I anticipated.”

“That would be one word for it,” Darcy replied, casting a glance around the faded appointments in the sitting room. Despite the estate boasting “good bones,” as Bingley had put it last night, something about Netherfield felt slightly off-kilter, as if each item were meticulously selected but lacked the cohesion one expected in such a house. “Though I might prefer my adventures to occur at a reasonable hour.”

“Still so particular, I see,” Bingley teased, clasping Darcy’s shoulder with a friendly pat. “Come now, let us find breakfast. After last night’s welcome, I am more than ready to see what else the place has to offer.”

With that, he strode out the door, leaving Darcy to follow with a faint sigh. As they descended the staircase, Darcy took in the quiet morning light spilling through the tall windows, casting shadows across the walls and down the corridors.

When they reached the hall, a maid awaited them—a slight girl of no more than fifteen or sixteen, but she held herself with an almost startling composure for one so young. Her expression was one of polite reserve. “Good morning, sirs. Sir Thomas asked me to wait on you and show you to the breakfast room.”

“Oh, capital,” Bingley replied. “I daresay a bit of biscuit and cheese would not go amiss just now.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy and then led them down a hallway. As they entered the breakfast room, Bingley took an appreciative breath, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the long table laden with cold meats, cheeses, and pastries. With his usual buoyant enthusiasm, he immediately reached for a plate, piling it high with bread, ham, and a generous wedge of soft cheese.

“Do you know, Darcy, I am beginning to think this place has been waiting just for us,” he remarked cheerfully, adding a flaky pastry to his plate for good measure.

Darcy murmured a polite agreement, though his mind was elsewhere, taking in the quiet but unusual efficiency of the room around them. The young maid paused a few paces from the door, exchanging a few words with another servant—a girl who looked scarcely older than herself.

“Would you advise the master that his guests are at breakfast?” she said with an understated authority that Darcy found remarkable. Her tone was calm, almost… managerial.

The second maid responded with a quick nod. “Yes, Mrs. Jackson,” she replied, and hurried from the room, leaving Darcy blinking after her.

Mrs. Jackson? Darcy found himself looking back at the young girl who had led them here, assessing her with sharper scrutiny. Could she truly be married at her age? Or had he mistaken her age altogether? He could hardly keep himself from watching her, studying her demeanor for clues.

But if she noticed his attention, she gave no sign. With a brief curtsy, she left them to their meal, closing the door with a quiet click behind her.

Bingley didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the unusual encounter, lifting his glass in a silent toast to the food before him. He took a hearty bite of ham, humming appreciatively, while Darcy approached the table more slowly, selecting smaller portions than usual, still feeling oddly unsettled.

“I must say, the hospitality here has exceeded my expectations,” Bingley continued between bites, his eyes twinkling as he glanced around the room. “It’s as if they anticipated our arrival all along.”

Darcy merely nodded, his thoughts spinning. He took a small bite of bread, chewing absently as his gaze drifted to the large windows overlooking the grounds. Something about Netherfield—or rather, something about the entire establishment—seemed… out of place. Every servant they had encountered thus far held an air of competency, even pride, that struck him as both unusual and strangely admirable. Yet it felt almost as though he were seeing everything through the wrong end of a telescope, the familiar shapes and functions of estate life slightly distorted, though the essence remained the same.

“Is it just me,” Bingley said suddenly, looking over at him with a grin, “or have you never been quite so preoccupied at a breakfast table before?”

Darcy tore his gaze from the window, giving his friend a faint smile. “I cannot quite put my finger on it, Bingley, but there is something… unusual about this place.”

“Unusual, perhaps, but in a refreshing way, I think. Everyone is positively delightful, and I’ve not yet seen one thing amiss.” He leaned in conspiratorially, dropping his voice. “Perhaps it is simply the presence of such agreeable company yesterday that has left you in this pensive state.”

Darcy gave him a quelling look, but Bingley only chuckled, undeterred, as he continued enjoying his breakfast. Darcy cast one more look around the room before quietly returning to his plate.

Perhaps five minutes later, Sir Thomas entered the breakfast room with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up as he greeted his guests. “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley! I trust you both rested well?”

Bingley stood briefly to greet their host. “Very well, Sir Thomas, thank you. And might I say, we have not had such a breakfast spread since… well, since London, I daresay.”

Sir Thomas laughed as he filled his plate with some cold meats and bread. “I am glad to hear it. I must confess, this is the most pleasant company I have had in quite some time. My household tends to be… more reserved.” He took a seat, raising his coffee cup with a glint of genuine pleasure in his eyes. “It’s the bitter stuff for me. I trust you found a decent pot of tea, Darcy? You always were particular.”

“Indeed, very fine. My compliments on your selection.”

“Very good. Come, tell me—how have you both kept yourselves busy since I last saw you? I hear things now and then, of course, but my own time in London has been sparse these several years.”

Darcy inclined his head politely. “Bingley and I have… delved into business, as it happens. Investments, partnerships—keeping us both rather occupied.”

Bingley cut in with a grin. “Occupied? Good heavens, Darcy, don’t undersell us! Sir Thomas, Darcy is something of an alchemist. He has a talent for turning the driest of business contracts into gold.” He winked. “And I do my best to keep up with him.”

Sir Thomas’s eyes crinkled with interest. “Is that so? Trade, Darcy? I expect your father was… pleased with that.”

Darcy cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “I place the blame squarely at Bingley’s feet, Sir Thomas. Whatever fool notion he takes into his head, somehow, he obliges me to muddle through with him.”

Sir Thomas laughed heartily. “I suppose I should not be surprised. You were the clever chap of the whole lot in France. And Bingley, you always were both quick to seize an opportunity, even under the most trying circumstances.”

Darcy allowed himself a faint smile, leaning back slightly. “You have judged him rightly. But I must say, our ventures these days have been rather satisfactory.”

Bingley laughed, nodding in agreement. “True enough. But all this talk of business—I am certain you must have a hundred other stories to tell, Sir Thomas. You left us so quickly in France. Other than hearing you removed to Bath when you returned to England, I hardly know what you have been about.”

Sir Thomas sipped his coffee, and his expression seemed to flicker with a touch of something pensive. “Ah, I fear my stories would pale in comparison. Besides, I am an old man, and my efforts these days are mostly confined to this little estate.” He set down his coffee and turned his gaze toward them with a curious smile. “And speaking of estates—may I ask what brought you to Netherfield? You must have started for Hertfordshire the moment you heard of it; even my agent had no chance to send word ahead.”

Bingley blushed and cleared his throat. Darcy leaned back, gesturing for his friend to take the lead. “Yes, Bingley, what did bring us to Netherfield, of all places, and on such urgent timing? I should like to hear that confession as well.”

“Oh, well…” Bingley managed a sheepish grin, finally gathering himself. “It is rather a… ahem, unique story. I heard of Netherfield through a lady I met recently in London. She happened to mention her neighborhood and mentioned that a house nearby might soon be… That is…” he cleared his throat again.

Sir Thomas’s eyes sharpened with interest, though his tone remained mild. “And the lady’s name?”

“Miss Jane Bennet,” Bingley admitted, looking slightly abashed.

At that, Sir Thomas’s face brightened. “Ah, Miss Bennet! I understand perfectly, then, Mr. Bingley. A gentleman could hardly fail to take an interest in an estate that so neatly suits his wants.”

“Well, yes,” Bingley replied, clearing his throat yet again and recovering his cheer. “And I had been looking for a chance to get Darcy away from London’s bustle, but the stodgy fellow would stir no farther than a half day’s drive or so from Town. I thought a country estate so near would give us a pleasant refuge without… complete exile.” He shot a quick smile at Darcy, who rolled his eyes.

Sir Thomas studied Bingley for a moment, his smile slipping into something more wistful before he sighed and set his fork aside. “Well, you heard rightly, I am afraid. I am rather desperate to find a tenant.” His gaze drifted toward the window as though he were seeing something far beyond the frosty garden outside. “I had hoped… very much desired, that is… to stay on at least through Christmas. But I realize that might be asking too much.”

“Oh.” Bingley blinked, clearly taken aback, but he quickly gathered himself. “Well, I am sure we can consider any terms that might be agreeable to you, sir. I would not wish to… inconvenience you.”

Sir Thomas inclined his head gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. I appreciate that consideration.”

Just then, Miss Flora—the maid from the previous night—appeared quietly in the doorway and inclined her head toward Sir Thomas. “Pardon, sir,” she murmured. “The master is wanted.”

“Of course, of course.” Sir Thomas rose, his gaze lingering warmly on Darcy and Bingley. “Please, continue your breakfast. I shall return shortly, and we can discuss any details you might wish to go over. My people will see to your comfort.” He turned to Flora, gesturing for her to lead the way, and slipped out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Bingley took a hearty bite of his toast, completely at ease. “Well, Darcy, I must say—this has been a most satisfactory beginning, wouldn’t you agree? I could hardly have anticipated the master would be Sir Thomas himself!”

Darcy, however, frowned, glancing at the door through which Sir Thomas had just exited. “Did you not find him… altered?”

Bingley looked up, surprised. “Altered? He seemed perfectly genial to me. And clearly pleased to see us.”

Darcy shook his head slowly. “I remember Sir Thomas as a man of conviction—a decisive, powerful figure. The sort who could turn a room to his will with a single word. When we escaped to Calais, he commanded every detail with precision. Yet now…” He trailed off, his expression thoughtful.

Bingley tilted his head, considering. “You may have a point. He does seem quieter—more subdued than I recall.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Did we not hear that he had some trouble after his return to Paris? Something about being held for some months?”

“Yes.” Darcy squinted as he tried to recall. “That was the rumor, though few enough real facts reached us. My father and others rallied to support him, but it was all in the hands of the diplomats, you remember. And there was talk that he had suffered deprivation… perhaps even worse, until his full ransom was paid.”

Bingley set his fork down, his good humor momentarily faded. “So, you think… that he might have been mistreated?”

Darcy nodded slowly. “It would explain a great deal. If he suffered… or worse… It is a hard thing to return from, especially for a man of his strength.” He fell silent, thoughts churning as he tried to reconcile the once-unbreakable figure of Sir Thomas with the man he’d just seen.