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Devoted as she was to the success of her plan that evening, Mrs. Gardiner needed only to be herself—gracious, warm, attentive, and understanding.

No effort beyond her natural disposition was required.

She won over both gentlemen with her gentle, conciliatory manner and, most notably, with the easy remark that she, too, had been born in the North, like them—though her family hailed from Nottingham rather than Derbyshire.

Elizabeth, who considered her aunt elegant, sensible, and refined, held her in high esteem for her judgment and taste.

Aunt Martha was also dearly beloved by all her nieces at Longbourn, held in the highest affection for her warmth, good sense, and unpretending kindness.

She made passing mention of her family’s establishment in Gracechurch Street—a part of London respectable in trade and taste alike.

“My husband was quite determined that we should establish our residence in a more respectable part of London. Beyond the advantage of being nearer his clients—for a good tradesman must, of course, cultivate his clientele with both care and courtesy—there was also the matter of raising our children in a neighborhood more suitable for their education, one that might offer access to proper tutors and wholesome influences. Before the war, his business was more prosperous, but Napoleon’s recklessness brought us considerable losses.

Had it not been for the timely help of my brother-in-law, Mr. Bennet, our recovery would have been slow and uncertain.

To my mind, that is the mark of a true gentleman—the quiet ability to offer help when it is most needed. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”

Mr. Darcy’s gaze did not waver, though a subtle shift passed over his countenance—too slight for most to detect, but not beyond the notice of one who had long practiced discretion.

“I agree entirely, madam,” he said after a brief silence. “Though circumstances may vary, the principle remains: a gentleman ought never to stand idle when it lies within his power to act for another’s good—particularly when duty, friendship, or affection render such action just.”

His eyes moved briefly—almost involuntarily—toward Elizabeth, then returned with studied calm.

“There are moments,” he added softly, “when doing the right thing need not be spoken of, so long as it is understood.”

In accordance with what had been arranged with Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Phillips lost no time in establishing his appearance as a man of consequence.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy—it is a particular pleasure,” he declared, taking his seat with the deliberation of one who understood the value of a well-timed entrance.

“Permit me to offer my felicitations on your decision to lease Netherfield, Mr. Bingley. A most sensible choice, if I may say so. Should the opportunity arise, I would not hesitate to recommend that you secure the estate permanently.”

Mr. Bingley returned the sentiment with easy warmth. “You are very kind, sir. Thus far, I have found the neighborhood exceedingly agreeable.”

“Indeed! You have chosen wisely, Mr. Bingley. And it was no less prudent to come accompanied by a good friend. A foresight I daresay I rarely observe among my own clients!”

“You are generous, sir,” Bingley replied with a smile that was as genuine as it was vague. “Though I must confess, the greater share of good judgment belongs to Mr. Darcy. I had rarely troubled myself with matters more complex than the proper arrangement of hounds.”

At this, Mr. Darcy, who had hitherto remained quietly attentive, inclined his head. “I must say, I am pleasantly surprised to find a solicitor’s establishment in so modest a town as Meryton. I have known larger places less fortunate in this respect.”

Mr. Phillips beamed. “We do our best, sir. The law, like nature, abhors a vacuum.”

Though the expression bore a touch of pretension, Mr. Darcy nodded approvingly.

"It is a distinction we owe to my late father-in-law, Mr. Gardiner," Mr. Phillips added modestly.

"He perceived the town’s growing need for such services and acted upon it.

I had the honor of beginning as his assistant.

Though our town is small, the legal matters are varied and often substantial.

We are frequently engaged in proceedings at St. Albans, and not infrequently, in London as well. "

With bustling pride, his wife could not resist adding, “Indeed, my husband recently had a case before the esteemed magistrate Mr. Holcombe—and prevailed!” She stopped herself just in time, bringing her hand to her mouth, for the details of that success were best left unspoken in the presence of her sister.

A sudden pallor overtook Mr. Bennet, though he could not have said what prompted it.

Mr. Darcy’s brow lifted with genuine interest. “Mr. Holcombe? A most capable man. As it happens, he resides on the same street as my London apartment. A formidable mind—scrupulous and exacting.”

Mrs. Gardiner, listening intently, allowed herself the smallest nod. Another point won, and without her intervention. Clearly, it was time to make her own move: graceful, unexpected, and well placed.

“I am very pleased, Mr. Darcy, that we have had the opportunity to meet. My husband would be quite interested to know of it, I am sure—he is always curious about the acquaintances our nieces make, especially when they involve gentlemen of such evident character.”

Mr. Darcy inclined his head, the gesture not merely polite, but touched with something almost warm.

“I would be honored to make Mr. Gardiner’s acquaintance, should the occasion arise,” he said. “It is no small distinction to be spoken of so generously by one whose judgement, I am persuaded, is not given lightly.”

At this, Elizabeth, who had thus far remained silent, glanced toward her aunt. The compliment had been gracefully deflected, yet not without meaning. She could not decide whether the warmth in Mr. Darcy’s voice was genuine, or merely the result of long-honed courtesy.

Mrs. Gardiner smiled faintly, her gaze flicking between the two young people as if marking the current and counter-current that flowed between them.

“I assure you,” she said lightly, “my judgement is hardly without its failings. But I trust I know integrity when I see it—and value, perhaps, what others might overlook.”

There was a pause—brief, but not without weight. Elizabeth lowered her gaze, though her thoughts were far from the carpet at her feet. Something in the room had shifted—subtly, yet unmistakably.

Darcy’s gaze, however fleeting, rested on her with renewed intensity. Not the bold, searching look of presumption, but one tempered by restraint and something else—perhaps hope.

“You are very kind,” he said, but his words were directed not solely to Mrs. Gardiner.

Elizabeth’s hands folded gently in her lap. She did not speak, but the faintest color rose in her cheeks, betraying what her silence did not.

With conversation flowing and the guests beginning to feel at ease, the warm aroma of the dinner waiting beyond began to drift subtly through the house. Mrs. Hill appeared discreetly in the doorway and gave the slightest of nods.

Mrs. Bennet rose with a gracious smile. “Shall we, gentlemen and ladies? The table awaits us.”

And so the procession moved from drawing room to dining room, not with grandeur, but with a sense of quiet theatre—a gathering arranged with purpose, and just beginning to play out its most interesting scenes.

***

Lit with a warm and measured glow, the dining room welcomed its guests to a scene of well-judged elegance.

The table was laid with more grace than grandeur—surpassing the arrangements of the previous dinner at Longbourn.

The silver was old family, the china a gift from Mrs. Gardiner: tasteful, modest, and bearing the mark of a reputable Cheapside maker.

The glassware gleamed. Candles flickered behind shaded sconces, casting flattering shadows across every face.

Mrs. Gardiner, guiding from behind, had arranged the seating with unobtrusive care—an effort Mrs. Bennet, for once, allowed without protest or fretful nerves.

Mr. Bingley, always delighted near Jane, was placed across from her, where Mrs. Gardiner could gently guide their conversation.

Mr. Darcy, seated slightly diagonal from Elizabeth, spoke little, but his eyes often found her in the flicker of candlelight.

His gaze was never prolonged, yet it carried the weight of intention.

He kept a composed countenance—but his attentiveness betrayed him.

Elizabeth, though keenly aware of his presence, trained herself to appear at ease, exchanging occasional glances only when compelled—and each time, finding it harder to look away.

Mary sat beside Mr. Phillips, whose stories of provincial litigation she received with a curious ear and measured replies. Lydia and Kitty, despite their fidgeting glances and tightly clasped hands, remained composed.

Mr. Bennet said a brief prayer, then lifted his glass with deliberate ease.

“We are much indebted to my sister-in-law, Mrs. Gardiner, for this evening’s arrangements,” he said.

“The entire disposition was of her choosing—a taste that makes no noise, yet leaves nothing wanting. The cook, I am told, followed her instructions with admirable precision, and my dear wife”—he inclined his head—“was gracious enough to permit the experiment. I trust you will enjoy the results as much as I mean to.”

The first course—vegetable soup, lightly seasoned—was served with quiet precision. Mrs. Gardiner made no announcement but ladled with graceful ease.

“I believe in letting the ingredients speak for themselves,” she remarked. “Too much embellishment does no one credit.”

Mr. Bennet raised his spoon. “One must be careful, my dear. I have known a parsnip to speak too freely.”