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Mr. Bennet hesitated. The proposal was fantastic.

It might offer him the opportunity to refuse Darcy’s money without being impolite.

But it also might provide him with the means to resolve his dreadful debt.

A difficult decision. Then, with a gruff sigh, he nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Darcy. But if I win again, I shall expect you to withdraw your offer.”

“That I can hardly agree to,” Mr. Darcy replied promptly. “Yet I trust you will help me bring the evening to a pleasant close,” he added politely.

“So be it. Mr. Bingley, if you please—shuffle the cards, and let us begin. Fortune finds curious ways to amuse itself.” Mr. Bennet knew very well that luck couldn’t find him twice that evening.

Bingley took up the deck, smiled, and began to shuffle.

***

Once the gentlemen had departed, the ladies settled with practiced ease into the drawing room’s softer comforts. The candles cast a flattering glow on silk gowns and polished curls.

Mrs. Hurst, adjusting the lace at her wrist, was the first to speak. “I confess myself surprised,” she said with cautious grace. “Miss Mary Bennet’s voice is—well, quite accomplished. I had not expected such range and such accuracy.”

Caroline Bingley, seated near the fire and idly turning her fan, offered a nod too refined to suggest enthusiasm. “Yes. There was a clarity in her higher notes. Not the usual breathy sentiment one so often endures. Quite... precise.”

Mrs. Bennet, flushed from pride and satisfaction, could not suppress a smile. “Oh, she has had hardly a single formal lesson. Truly, her gifts are entirely her own—though of course, I always encouraged a little refinement in the drawing room.”

Jane, sitting demurely beside Elizabeth, added, “My sister Mary has practiced most diligently these past two years, though mostly alone. I believe she finds real comfort in music.”

“Well, it shows,” said Louisa, a touch more generously than before. “I daresay if one heard such a performance at Lady Claverton’s soirées, one would be pleased.”

“It is very different in Town,” Caroline said smoothly. “There, the pianoforte is the true test. I cannot think how a girl might be judged otherwise—voice or no voice. Most young ladies sing, but very few can command an instrument with any polish.”

Elizabeth’s tone was mild but even. “Then I suppose Mary has succeeded in spite of those expectations.”

Caroline flicked her gaze toward Elizabeth. “I did not mean to imply otherwise. Though it must be said, the pianoforte does demand a discipline... and a particular sort of ear.”

“You play yourself, Miss Bingley?” Jane asked, more curious than challenging.

Caroline offered a self-satisfied smile. “Every day. In Town, it is expected. At the very least, scales before breakfast and sonatas before callers.”

Mrs. Bennet leaned forward, as if catching her cue. “Our youngest girls take some interest, though their energies are sadly... scattered. Jane plays tolerably, but it is Mary who has shown true devotion—both to the pianoforte and to her reading.”

“And Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mrs. Hurst, glancing up with vague interest.

Elizabeth, ever reserved, replied with a small smile. “Enough to accompany others. Not enough to endure compliments.”

This produced a ripple of genteel laughter, which Mrs. Bennet mistook for admiration.

“Well, it is a blessing to be surrounded by music,” she said grandly. “Nothing brings a family together like a well-chosen song.”

Caroline’s fan flicked closed. “Indeed. But one hopes it remains well-chosen.”

The gentle hum of conversation soon turned, as it invariably must, to the subject on every lady’s mind: the upcoming ball.

“I understand Mr. Bingley intends the drawing room to be cleared entirely,” said Mrs. Hurst, her voice low and considering. “A most ambitious undertaking. I only hope the floorboards are willing.”

“There is still talk in Meryton about who will open the ball,” Jane said softly. “Sir William seemed rather determined to do the honors—though only if the hostess prefers not to.”

“Lady hostess?” Caroline repeated, a delicate note of amusement in her tone. “But surely Mr. Bingley has no hostess at present. Unless we mean my sister. And Louisa has always been so… modest.”

Mrs. Hurst offered a coy smile. “I daresay someone will step forward. In these parts, I presume the lady nearest the master of the house fills the role. The Bennet girls have danced in Town before, have they not?”

Mrs. Bennet, alert at the mention, smiled tightly. “Oh yes, though not this Season. But Jane is always in request. And Lizzy, too, when she allows it.”

Jane blushed and looked down at her folded hands.

“I dare say Miss Bennet will be quite overwhelmed,” said Caroline. “Though perhaps one does not tire of admiration as swiftly as of poor music.”

“That rather depends on the music,” Elizabeth replied quietly.

There was a pause, and then Mrs. Hurst said, “I confess, I am curious to know how one balances the duties of a hostess in the country. In Town, one relies on staff for introductions and seating. But here?”

“There are customs,” Mrs. Bennet said, delighted to offer instruction.

“One always introduces the new guests first, of course, and I believe the highest-ranking gentleman is served the soup—unless there is a clergyman of particular standing. In any case, it never hurts to seat the eldest daughter where she may be noticed.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Caroline tilted her head, her smile cool. “And will all five Miss Bennets attend? Or only the eldest?”

“Only three, this time, I believe,” Mrs. Bennet replied with studied restraint. “Lydia and Kitty are young and find these longer evenings rather taxing.”

“A mercy, perhaps,” murmured Caroline, just loud enough for her sister to hear.

Jane, ever poised, gently deflected. “The younger girls have their charms, though I am sure Miss Bingley speaks only of convenience.”

“Oh, I speak only of elegance,” Caroline said smoothly. “One hopes the gowns reflect the occasion. Simplicity, of course, is best—when well-cut.”

Elizabeth glanced at her with a faint, unsmiling amusement. “I am sure no one will outshine Miss Bingley in that regard.”

Mrs. Bennet, failing to grasp the nuance, beamed. “Yes, yes, I told my girls they must all look neat and cheerful—and not ask for more than one ribbon.”

“I expect Mr. Bingley will be much too generous to notice,” Caroline said with light acidity.

“True generosity,” said Jane softly, “notices everything, but says very little.”

Mrs. Hurst sipped her tea as if weighing the reply, and for a moment the room was quiet—except for the faint crackle of firewood and the distant murmur of the gentlemen’s deeper voices.

The conversation, having passed through gowns and music, now shifted—somewhat less delicately—to the state of the house itself.

“I must say,” Mrs. Bennet began with cheerful confidence, “Mr. Bingley has done wonders already. The drawing room is very near perfect. Though if I may make a small suggestion—”

Elizabeth’s gaze flicked sideways, but Mrs. Bennet carried on unfazed.

“—there is a tradesman in St. Albans, Mr. Tilbrook, who is quite a miracle with drapery. His velvet is English-spun but rivals any French bolt I have ever seen. And his Fish Pool Street shop is ever so clean.”

Miss Bingley gave a light laugh, folding her hands a touch too tightly. “Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Bennet. Though I believe I heard something quite similar recently—how curious.”

Mrs. Hurst added with a faint smile, “One must admire good intentions as candid as they are.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea to conceal a smile.

“It is indeed a blessing to have skilled workmanship so near at hand for Netherfield improvements, Jane added with gentle diplomacy. “I daresay Mr. Bingley values every well-meant recommendation.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed briefly before she gave a modest nod. “We shall see what remains once the library is finished.”

“I do hope they have not disturbed the mantel,” Mrs. Hurst said, glancing toward the corridor as if it might offer news. “Men are always moving mantels, I find. Or books. Or shelves.”

“It has been awfully quiet for some time,” said Caroline, drumming one fingertip against her saucer. “Perhaps Mr. Darcy has given them all a reading list.”

Elizabeth lifted her brows faintly, saying nothing.

Mrs. Hurst chuckled. “Or my husband has suggested cards again and is halfway through losing his allowance.”

“Surely not his allowance,” Caroline said. “He prefers to lose mine.”

Elizabeth’s lips twitched.

“And if they do not return soon,” Caroline added with a sigh, “I shall begin to fear they have forgotten they left ladies waiting.”

“No,” said Jane quietly. “I believe Mr. Bingley would never forget.”

There was something so gentle, so confident in the statement that even Caroline said nothing—for once.

***

Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy watched one another intently, studying their opponent before the cards were dealt.

Bingley placed the shuffled deck to Mr. Bennet’s right and invited him to cut. While Mr. Bennet reached for the cards, Bingley made a discreet gesture to the footman.

Mallory stepped up behind Mr. Bennet, drew a token he had prepared in advance from his pocket, and leaned slightly to Mr. Bennet’s left.

“Forgive me, sir. You have dropped a counter. Here it is.”

While Mr. Bennet turned to retrieve it and murmured his thanks, Mallory—unseen—passed Bingley a second deck, identical in appearance, from his other pocket.

Bingley swapped the packs and slipped the used one into his coat.

The trick went unnoticed by Mr. Bennet, and Mr. Hurst, already dozing in an armchair, stirred not at all.

“Gentlemen—ready?” Bingley asked brightly. Both men nodded. He gave the cards a precise final shuffle and dealt.

Mr. Darcy glanced at his hand: an Ace, a Nine, and an Eight. Respectable—but insufficient. His expression remained composed as he studied the arrangement.