Page 18

Story: A Lady’s Gambit

At Netherfield Park, not all was contentment—at least not upstairs.

Miss Caroline Bingley had departed London in high spirits, expecting a brief country sojourn followed by a triumphant return to Town, her influence over her brother more firmly reestablished than ever.

Instead, she found herself beset by plaster dust, encircled by provincial acquaintances, and—most intolerably—consistently overlooked by Mr. Darcy.

One disappointment followed another. The entire situation seemed to unravel before her eyes, until nothing appeared to make sense any longer.

“We left Town for this,” Caroline muttered, adjusting her bracelets with a sharp flick of her wrist. “I daresay I ought to have insisted on a more sensible postponement, Louisa.”

“It is hardly a catastrophe, Caroline,” replied Mrs. Hurst with languid indifference. “Though I confess, planning a ball without knowing which families actually matter is rather like being asked to shoot blindfolded. Charles has such peculiar ways of expressing gratitude toward us.”

“Our brother certainly believes he knows what he is about,” Caroline snapped. “He leaves London in a rush, speaks vaguely of settling here, and drags us into the provinces—all without a proper explanation. I can only assume some pretty local face has ensnared his attention.”

Mrs. Hurst arched a brow. “If so, she had better not expect to be welcomed into the family too easily.”

Caroline gave a brittle laugh. “She will find it takes more than a country charm to rise above plaster dust and poultry yards. And as for Mr. Darcy—” she broke off, her expression tightening. “He seems oddly content to ignore the company before him.”

But Mr. Bingley—whistling cheerfully in the hall below—was far too delighted with the progress of his renovations and the anticipation of the evening’s dinner to notice or concern himself with his sisters’ dissatisfaction.

The invitation to the Lucas family, extended as a gesture of civility and in acknowledgment of Mr. Darcy’s recent call at Lucas Lodge, had been accepted with gracious politeness by Sir William.

Mr. Bingley was heartened by it. At last, Netherfield Park was beginning to feel alive—with rooms aired, fires lit, and guests of distinction crossing its threshold.

These were neighbors who had not known him long, but who treated him with kindness and sincere respect, welcoming him as one of their own without pretense or presumption.

It was a warmth so rarely found among the posturing and artifice of his London acquaintances that Bingley felt quite at home.

That evening, the Lucases were expected.

And he was determined they should be pleased.

The parlor had been polished and prepared to perfection, despite the faint scent of varnish still lingering in the air. There, refreshments awaited and introductions would soon be made.

Two hours later, the sound of carriage wheels announced the arrival of the evening’s guests.

A footman was dispatched to open the front door, revealing the Lucas family in their best array.

Sir William stepped down first with all the flourish of a man still delighting in the recollection of his knighthood; Lady Lucas followed with careful steps, her expression a blend of excitement and scrutiny.

Mr. Walter Lucas came next, neat in his new coat and striving to appear every inch the assistant magistrate.

Miss Charlotte descended last, calm and composed in a gown of soft lavender that flattered without drawing notice.

“Sir William! Lady Lucas! What a pleasure—please, allow me to say how delighted we are to welcome you.” Mr. Bingley turned with courteous energy. “Mr. Lucas, Miss Lucas—Netherfield is honored.”

Once cloaks were taken and the proper reassurances exchanged regarding the road and the lateness of the season, Bingley led them into the parlor. A tray of ratafia and sweet biscuits stood ready, along with the rest of the household.

Miss Bingley rose as they entered, wearing her most polished smile; Mrs. Hurst remained seated but inclined her head with distant civility.

Mr. Hurst—momentarily diverted from the fire—rose just long enough to mutter what might have been a greeting, then resumed his contemplation of the flames as though he had only just discovered fire for the first time.

“May I do the honors?” Bingley said pleasantly. “Sir William, Lady Lucas, Mr. Lucas, Miss Lucas—allow me to present my sister, Miss Caroline Bingley, and our sister, Mrs. Louisa Hurst. And Mr. Hurst, Mrs. Hurst’s husband.”

Miss Bingley offered a graceful curtsy. “Charmed, I can assure you. How very delightful to meet you all.”

Mrs. Hurst, reclined like minor nobility, murmured without rising, “Delighted to welcome such esteemed guests.”

Bingley, undaunted, forged ahead with cheerful insistence.

“And of course, you are already acquainted with my esteemed friend, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. I daresay the more one knows him, the more one appreciates his true affability—though I fear he is sometimes a little too expert at first impressions.”

Sir William stepped forward with hearty familiarity.

He gave a gallant nod, his smile broadening.

“Indeed, indeed! A man of distinguished presence and admirable reserve. I always say, true character reveals itself best over time—and it is a privilege, sir,” he added with a slight bow to Darcy, “to become better acquainted.”

Darcy bowed. “You are too kind, Sir William.”

Lady Lucas offered a proper curtsy; Charlotte, more reserved, inclined her head, catching Darcy’s gaze for a moment before returning her attention to the room.

Sir William, incapable of resisting a little fanfare, turned to the room with evident pride. “My eldest son, Walter—appointed just yesterday as assistant magistrate. A fine post, I daresay! Quite a step for a man not yet two-and-twenty.”

Miss Bingley inclined her head with cool elegance. “Allow me to offer our congratulations, Mr. Lucas. Such an appointment at your age speaks very well of both your merit and promise. We are delighted to receive you—and all your family—at Netherfield.”

Walter bowed, flushing faintly. “You are very kind, ma’am.”

Mr. Bingley expressed genuine pleasure; Miss Bingley, however, offered only a perfunctory “Indeed,” her attention already drifting—fruitlessly—back to Mr. Darcy, who appeared far more absorbed by the painting above the hearth than by any detail of her toilette.

“And this,” Sir William continued with paternal flourish, “is my daughter Charlotte—who keeps her head while the rest of us lose ours. The pillar of Lucas Lodge, I assure you.”

Charlotte curtsied, her expression politely neutral. Mr. Darcy responded with a brief bow. “Miss Lucas.”

Bingley clapped his hands together. “Well! Shall we go through to the dining room? I believe all is in readiness.”

The assembled company made their way into the dining room, where the table was set with elegant simplicity: polished silver, crystal glasses, and arrangements of autumn flowers.

Despite the sisters’ occasional misgivings, Netherfield had never looked better, and the evening promised to unfold in true style.

***

The dining room at Netherfield Park had been arranged with meticulous care.

The candles flickered gently in their sconces, casting a golden glow over the polished silver and the gleaming crystal.

The table, set with thoughtful symmetry, bore not only a roast pheasant and a fine veal ragout but the pride of Mr. Bingley’s newly acquired claret.

A modest arrangement of late-autumn flowers crowned the center, while the hearth along the side wall lent both warmth and the faint, comforting scent of seasoned wood.

The company settled into their seats with due formality.

Mr. Bingley took his place at the head of the table with evident delight.

To his right sat Lady Lucas and then Miss Bingley; to his left, Sir William and Charlotte.

Mr. Darcy was placed between Mrs. Hurst and Miss Lucas, while Walter Lucas and Mr. Hurst completed the group further down.

Once all were seated and the footman had poured the first round of wine, Mr. Bingley rose slightly in his chair, holding his glass in hand.

“My dear friends,” he began, smiling warmly, “may I offer my sincere thanks for joining us this evening. It is a pleasure to have Netherfield’s table graced by such kind and distinguished company.

I do hope the meal proves worthy of your time—and that this will not be the last occasion on which we enjoy such pleasant fellowship. ”

He raised his glass. “To good neighbors—and even better evenings to come.”

Glasses were lifted in return, a general murmur of approval followed, and the clinking of crystal signaled the beginning of the meal.

“Amen to that!” Sir William added enthusiastically, raising his glass a second time with cheerful emphasis. “A fine sentiment—and finely said!”

Bingley gave a modest laugh as he resumed his seat. “Then let us hope the cook does not betray it.”

Beneath the clink of cutlery and the soft rustle of linen, conversation resumed in pockets across the table—lively in some quarters, more measured in others.

“Miss Lucas,” said Mr. Darcy, unfolding his napkin with quiet precision, “I trust you found the ride agreeable?”

His voice was low, civil, and unembellished—but his glance was far from idle. He had noted, in the moments before dinner, something unusually subdued in her expression—a quiet that seemed born not of reserve but of distraction.

Charlotte looked up, surprised by the direct address. “Quite agreeable, thank you, Mr. Darcy. The roads were dry now, and the sunset very fine.”

Her reply was composed, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes.