Page 9 of Better Luck Next Time (First Impressions #3)

Chapter Nine

T he moment Elizabeth stepped down from the carriage, she was greeted by a flurry of voices.

A large, pleasant-looking woman was already bustling forward, flanked by a cluster of familiar faces—the very same young ladies she had watched in Meryton.

Elizabeth blinked. How... unexpectedly convenient.

She turned her head slightly, glancing back toward the carriage just in time to see the driver set down a modest trunk before stepping away.

Her eyebrows lifted. So, Mr. Darcy had secured some luggage for her? How very thorough of him. She glanced up, meaning to acknowledge the fact with a simple look, but the curtain of the carriage window had already been drawn.

Still, as the carriage lurched forward, disappearing down the lane, she caught the sharp gaze of Mr. Bennet. He was not watching her.

He was watching the retreating carriage.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed slightly. What curious connection must exist between Mr. Darcy and this fellow?

But she had little time to think on it, for the lady of the house was upon her. “Oh, my dear! My dear! You are most welcome!” Mrs. Bennet swept forward, her face alight with excitement. “We have heard ever so much about you!”

“Have you?” She glanced at the gentleman of the house, whose only reply was a faint chuckle.

“Oh, and it is just like Mr. Bennet,” she declared, loudly and with great enthusiasm, “to have had your letter for weeks and only now decide to inform me of your visit!”

Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly. A letter?

She flicked another glance toward Mr. Bennet, who was watching the scene unfold with a distinct air of amusement. Elizabeth had no time to form a response before Mrs. Bennet carried on.

“I declare, when I arrived home from town not half an hour ago and he said I had best have done well at market, as we were to have a guest, I feared it might be quite another cousin coming to stay altogether!”

Elizabeth blinked slowly at Mrs. Bennet, her mind sluggishly trying to keep pace with the conversation.

Another cousin?

Her head still felt uncomfortably warm, and everything was happening far too fast for her to process. Had they been expecting someone else? Or was this about her?

She did not have time to figure it out before Mrs. Bennet beamed and clasped Elizabeth’s hands with a warmth that was nearly overwhelming. “But another young lady in the house—well, that is quite agreeable, is it not, girls?”

The four Miss Bennets stood behind their mother, watching her with open curiosity. Elizabeth stared back rather boldly. These were the Bennets. Four daughters. Which meant she was supposed to be one of them now. A cousin.

Right.

She barely had time to absorb this notion before Mrs. Bennet pressed on. “Oh, you must tell us all about your family in Shropshire! I have not seen them in… oh, ages, I declare!”

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop.

Shropshire?

She had never been to Shropshire.

She knew nothing about Shropshire.

And her accent—it would be all wrong.

Think. Think.

Her breath faltered slightly, but she forced a composed expression, flicking a glance toward Mr. Bennet. He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious, as if to say: “Well, go on then.”

Elizabeth’s pulse fluttered violently in her throat. She needed to answer. She needed to not ruin everything within the first five minutes.

Her lips parted— “Well—of course,” she said, keeping her tone as even as possible.

That was a start.

She swallowed, scrambling for something plausible. “…But I have been in Hampshire these last three years, so I have seen… most of them… but seldom. In fact, I… expect I even sound rather different from the rest of the family.”

Good. That was believable.

Mrs. Bennet beamed. “Oh, how lovely! And your dear parents—how do they do?”

Elizabeth’s mouth went dry.

She did not have parents in Shropshire. A mother in Devonshire whom she had not seen in two years or better and a father who… She swallowed.

Her heartbeat drummed in her ears. But she had to answer. Quickly.

“Mama sends her love,” she said, watching Mr. Bennet closely for any sign of disapproval.

He gave none.

Encouraged, she pressed on. “Papa is ever busy with… his… fishing.”

A pause.

A long one.

“Trout fishing,” she clarified. “He… ties his own lures.”

Mr. Bennet’s lips twitched.

Oh.

This was a game to him.

Elizabeth wanted to scowl, but instead, she smoothed her expression into a demure smile.

Mrs. Bennet, happily oblivious, beamed. “Well! That is charming, is it not, girls?” she said, gesturing to her daughters. “Come now, let us have the proper introductions. This is my eldest, Jane.”

Elizabeth focused on that name, trying to anchor herself.

The quiet one—the one she had liked in Meryton—stepped forward, offering a smile so serene and warm that Elizabeth felt some of her tension ease.

Jane curtsied, and Elizabeth did the same.

“And here we have Mary, and then Kitty and Lydia.” The serious one, the excitable one, and the impossibly young, impishly grinning one.

Elizabeth murmured her greetings, still trying to regain her footing.

She was here.

She was Elizabeth Bennet now.

And she had absolutely no idea how she was going to keep that up.

Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together. “Well! You must be exhausted, dear. Jane, why don’t you take our guest upstairs to refresh herself before supper?”

Jane stepped forward immediately. “I would be delighted,” she said warmly.

Elizabeth hesitated, still not entirely steady, but followed her inside. The rest of the family dispersed, leaving Jane to lead Elizabeth up the stairs.

The stairs. Which were swaying slightly.

She misjudged a step, her foot catching awkwardly, her weight tilting—but a gentle hand caught her elbow.

Elizabeth exhaled, forcing a sheepish smile. “I must have mis-stepped.”

Jane said nothing—just tightened her grip on Elizabeth’s elbow, guiding her up the rest of the way. That was… really rather sweet. Elizabeth was touched.

Her pride ached, but her heart did not.

Once inside the room, Jane gestured to the modest but tidy space. “Your trunk is already here, and Mrs. Hill will be up soon with a basin for you to refresh yourself. Is there anything else you would like for now?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I should like a nice lie-down before it is time to dress for dinner,” she admitted. “A long one.”

Jane paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “We do not usually dress for formal dinners,” she said apologetically. “We take supper earlier than is done in Town—usually around six o’clock.”

Elizabeth blinked. Six? That was positively barbaric.

Still, she supposed she had no choice. She nodded tiredly. “Then a short rest will do,” she said.

Jane smiled. “I will tell Mrs. Hill,” she said, stepping back toward the door.

Elizabeth sank onto the bed. She barely heard the door click shut as she closed her eyes.

So far, she was alive.

So far, she was Elizabeth Bennet.

T he carriage rocked sharply as it turned into the familiar drive of Netherfield Park. Darcy, bracing one hand against the window frame, exhaled slowly.

Too soon.

He had barely had a single night at this place before being summoned back to London, spent three days away before being thrown into a mess far more complicated than his superiors at the Home Office could have imagined. Now, against all odds, he was back.

But this was not a social visit, not this time. This was a cover.

And he was not alone.

Not that Bingley would know that.

The carriage rattled to a stop before the great house, and within seconds, the door swung open. The footman hardly had a chance to step forward before an exclamation of delight met his ears.

“Darcy!”

And then Bingley was there, striding toward him with all the unfettered enthusiasm of a golden retriever, clasping Darcy’s hand and shaking it firmly.

“This is a surprise,” Bingley declared, grinning. “I half-expected you to be buried under a pile of papers at the Home Office for the rest of your days. What are you doing back here so soon?”

Darcy forced a half-smile, already anticipating the answer Bingley would accept. “I was needed in Town for obvious reasons,” he said. “But my business there is concluded for now.”

Bingley nodded knowingly. “Understandable, my friend, quite understandable,” Bingley said, leading him toward the drawing room. “A sad business, that, poor devil. But I must say, your timing is impeccable! There is to be a garden party at Lucas Lodge tomorrow. You have arrived just in time!”

Darcy groaned. A garden party?

He had spent most of his adult life perfecting the art of avoiding such things. He could almost hear the tedious small talk, see the aimless wandering, smell the over-sweet lemonade served in delicate porcelain cups.

And yet… Wait a minute.

He lifted his chin slightly. “A garden party?”

Bingley grinned. “Indeed! I have just been persuading my sisters to go. I had nearly convinced Louisa, but Caroline is quite against it. Says such parties bring about her sneezing fits.”

Darcy’s toes wriggled with inspiration inside his boots. Did that mean Caroline Bingley might not be a complication? Better and better.

He kept his expression neutral. “And the entire neighborhood will be in attendance?” he asked carefully.

Bingley tilted his head, thinking. “I suppose so. The Bennets, certainly, and the Gouldings, and—”

Darcy stopped listening. The Bennets. Hearing their name confirmed what he had hoped. Elizabeth would be there.

His temporary ward. His responsibility.

Darcy exhaled. “Then I shall attend.”

Bingley looked delighted. “Excellent! I knew you could not hide away forever. Go and refresh yourself before dinner. You look half-dead, man.”

Darcy was too weary to argue. With a nod, he excused himself.

Tomorrow, he would see exactly how well Lady Elizabeth Montclair was settling into her new life as ‘Elizabeth Bennet’.

He doubted very much that she had taken to it quietly.

E lizabeth had never experienced anything quite like a Bennet family dinner.

It was loud, lively, and utterly chaotic—an entirely different affair from the structured, civilized conversations of her father’s London table. No fine crystal or gilded place settings, no footmen silently refilling wine glasses, no painstakingly rehearsed discussions of Parliament and high society.

Instead, there was laughter, overlapping voices, the clatter of serving spoons and passing dishes, and—perhaps most astonishing of all—no one seemed terribly concerned with decorum.

Kitty and Lydia spoke over one another, jostling elbows as they debated the merits of an upcoming garden party.

“I already know it will be a dreadfully dull affair,” Lydia declared, scooping a generous portion of pudding onto her plate. “Captain Denny shall not be there.”

Kitty sighed. “Nor Mr. Chamberlayne.”

Elizabeth blinked. “And… who are they?”

Lydia waved a dismissive hand. “Officers.”

“Of the militia,” Kitty clarified. “They are stationed in Meryton, and they are terribly charming.”

“Well, most of them,” Lydia amended, chewing thoughtfully.

Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain of how to respond. Charming officers? Stationed in Meryton? Was this truly the sort of conversation that occupied the minds of young ladies here?

Across the table, Mrs. Bennet sighed wistfully. “Well, there will be some young gentlemen present, as well. Mr. Bingley, for one.”

Elizabeth glanced up at the name. That was Darcy’s friend, was it not? The memory of his injunctions in the carriage was already hazy, but that sounded like the right name.

Mrs. Bennet was shaking her head, clearly put out. “It is such a puzzle to me. He likes company so well, and yet he has not given any of my girls the proper attention they deserve. And heaven knows, I have given him every opportunity—why, the number of times I have invited him to supper!”

Elizabeth cut into her food carefully, watching as Jane, seated beside her, clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

Interesting.

Elizabeth might not know much about Miss Jane Bennet, but that slight clench of the fingers, the way her gaze did not lift from her plate as her mother spoke—

She was not indifferent to Mr. Bingley’s inattention.

Elizabeth turned her focus back to Mrs. Bennet, who was still lamenting.

“And such a fine, handsome young man, too,” she continued. “If only he would choose properly! But men are so dreadfully fickle—one never knows where their affections truly lie.”

Mr. Bennet, having so far remained silent during this entire lament, took a slow sip of wine and murmured, “Perhaps he is simply terrified of being welcomed into such a… warm and enthusiastic family.”

Mrs. Bennet huffed.

Kitty and Lydia snickered.

Jane’s hands tightened further.

Elizabeth quietly took another bite of her food.

After dinner, the family retired to the sitting room, where Elizabeth had expected to be left to her own devices. The ale’s effects no longer troubled her overmuch, but she could have done with a bit of time to simply sit back and observe this new “family” of which she was suddenly a part. But before she could attempt fading into the furniture, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat.

“I hear from my cousin Daniel that you are quite skilled at chess.”

Elizabeth, seated in a small chair near Jane, nearly choked. “Cousin Daniel.” Right. Her imaginary father.

How delightful.

Mr. Bennet gestured toward a small table in the corner of the parlor, where a wooden chessboard had already been set up. “Would you favor me with a game, Miss Elizabeth?”

A pause.

The entire room seemed to go still.

Then Mrs. Bennet blinked rapidly, looking rather confused. “Chess? Why, how perfectly unaccountable. My dear, I wish you paid better attention to your daughters’ playing and singing than that tedious game.”

Kitty and Lydia stifled giggles, as if their father playing chess with a female was the most astonishing thing they had ever heard. Jane, beside her, offered a small, encouraging smile.

Elizabeth hesitated—then, realizing she had little choice, rose from her seat and nodded. “It would be my pleasure, sir.”

Mr. Bennet’s lips curled faintly, as if amused by something only he understood. Elizabeth had the distinct impression that she had just stepped into a different kind of game entirely.

The chess pieces were worn from years of use, their edges smoothed by countless fingers moving them across the board. Elizabeth traced her fingers lightly over her own set of pieces, considering her first move.

Mr. Bennet made his opening play without preamble. Pawn to e4.

Elizabeth lifted a brow and met his gaze. “You are bold, sir.”

“Some would call it recklessness. But I find it rather depends on one’s opponent.”

“Rather.” She advanced her own pawn, feeling his eyes on her as she did so.

“I confess,” he murmured, his tone idly conversational as he moved his next piece, “I had wondered what sort of young lady would arrive on my doorstep, sight unseen.”

Elizabeth mirrored his move, her eyes flicking up to meet his across the board. “And have I met your expectations, sir?”

He tapped a finger against his rook, considering. “Not in the least.” He shifted another pawn forward. “Which is, I expect, the reason I find myself so uncommonly entertained.”

Elizabeth bit back a smile. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

“As well you should,” he said, watching as she made her next move.

The room around them hummed with casual noise—Mrs. Bennet chattered happily to Kitty and Lydia about their new houseguest, while Jane sat quietly with her embroidery, a picture of serene patience as her younger sisters prattled on. The fire crackled, and someone—Mary, perhaps—was leafing through a book with a determined sort of rustling.

In the corner, shielded from easy eavesdropping, Mr. Bennet moved a knight into position. “You strike me as a young lady accustomed to forming her own opinions,” he observed.

Elizabeth raised a brow, moving her bishop. “You think less of me for it?”

His lips thinned into a smile, as though suppressing amusement. “On the contrary. A young lady who thinks for herself is a rare and valuable creature.”

“Is she?”

He moved another piece, trapping one of her pawns. “Oh, indeed. A mind unclouded by silliness or excessive sentiment—” He cast a glance toward his younger daughters, who were whispering excitedly about something or other. “—is a treasure not easily found.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, tapping a finger against her queen. “And what words would you use to describe your own daughters?”

His eyes gleamed. “A great many of them,” he smirked, moving his knight deliberately. “Chief among them: exhausting.”

Elizabeth huffed a quiet laugh, nudging one of her pawns forward. “And yet, you seem rather fond of them.”

“I am,” he admitted, watching the board. “Fondness, however, does not negate the need for fortitude.”

“Fortitude?” Elizabeth arched a brow.

“To endure their ceaseless chatter.”

Across the room, Lydia let out a peal of laughter, something shrill and conspiratorial.

Elizabeth hid her smile as she examined the board, her fingers hovering over the carved pieces as she considered her next move. A knight or a bishop? The move required careful calculation—much like the conversation unfolding across the board.

“And tell me, Miss Elizabeth,” he continued, moving another piece forward, his tone deceptively mild. “What is it that brings you to our humble corner of England?”

Elizabeth’s fingers paused briefly over her bishop. She knew better than to assume the question was simple curiosity.

She moved her piece. “I was invited.”

“A wise response.” Mr. Bennet tapped a finger against his chin, examining the board. “And what do you make of our little society? It must be quite different from what you are used to.”

Elizabeth glanced at the others—their lively chatter, the warmth of the room, the utter lack of pretense.

“It is,” she admitted, moving a rook into position. “But not unpleasantly so.”

“Ah.” His knight slid forward smoothly, capturing one of her pawns. “Then you are adaptable.”

She pressed her lips together, studying the board. “That depends on the circumstances.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled quietly, adjusting one of his pieces. “As it should. Those who adapt too easily often find themselves swept along in directions they never intended.”

Elizabeth lifted a brow, meeting his gaze once more. “And those who refuse to adapt at all?”

“Miss Elizabeth, I am an old man,” he said with a sigh, shifting in his seat. “I have known many a person to hold stubbornly to their course, even when the road has long since turned against them. And I have known others to change too quickly, losing themselves entirely.” His fingers hovered over his queen, then tapped it lightly before settling for a different piece instead. “The best players know when to hold, and when to shift.”

She took his queen.

He blinked.

A slow smile touched his lips. “I see I shall have to be wary of you.”

Elizabeth gave him a sweet, dangerous smile. “I would advise it.”

Mr. Bennet exhaled, sitting back in his chair, regarding her with something resembling satisfaction.

“I could do with a female in the house who dabbles in sarcasm,” he mused, moving his knight again. “My wife is inclined to dramatics, Kitty and Lydia are frivolous, Mary is too busy sermonizing to engage in proper conversation, and Jane—”

His gaze flicked toward his eldest daughter, still seated quietly, her expression pleasant, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Jane is good. To her very heart of hearts, she is good, but I fear, too sweet and bashful to be of any use to me at all.”

Elizabeth glanced at Jane thoughtfully.

She already liked her. There was something genuine about Jane Bennet, something kind and steady that Elizabeth found easy to appreciate. But this—this easy dismissal by her own father, however affectionate—was disheartening. Almost tragic.

She moved her next piece carefully, her mind lingering not on the game, but on the quiet, lovely girl seated across the room, who deserved far more than to be labeled ‘of no use’.

And Elizabeth, who had never been anyone’s cousin before, suddenly felt quite protective of this particular one.