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Fitzwilliam Darcy entered Longbourn’s parlour feeling disoriented.

So far, the day had gone an order of magnitude better than he had any right to hope.

He realistically expected to spend at least a month in Miss Elizabeth’s brown books, if not forever.

However, the elder Bennet sisters, much to his chagrin, rescued him from his own foolishness in about an hour; and the only cost was a minor blow to his pride.

He found it humbling that he had spent the better part of a month criticising the local populace, when in fact, the only ones truly worthy of censure resided at Netherfield.

Miss Elizabeth had generously refrained from mentioning much of what he said at the Meryton assembly.

His specific disparagement of her own person had obviously been spread with vigour, but he suspected she had left off the fact that he had said, “You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.”

He tried to imagine what he would do if some clodpoll said the same within his sister’s hearing, and he had a tough time imagining any outcome short of violence.

Of course, ladies seldom resorted to physical violence, so he imagined Miss Elizabeth used the tools at hand.

She sank his local reputation with a few well-chosen words, allowing him to reap what he had sown, although he was too wilfully blind to even recognise the crops in the field right in front of his face.

With a shake of his head, he approached the parlour and decided he should abandon analogies altogether as they were getting more ridiculous. He was entering a parlour with five unmarried ladies, so it was time to pay attention to what he was about.

It took a single glance to find Mrs Bennet up to her old tricks—or at least, he assumed they were, since he had never spoken to her for more than a minute or two.

Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary sat on a duchess near the fire, and Miss Bennet sat nearby sharing a sofa with Mrs Bennet. Mr Bennet was sitting in an old but comfortable looking chair, leaving the two youngest in chairs between their parents. The only empty seat was next to Miss Lydia, naturally.

Mrs Bennet said, “Welcome, Mr Darcy. Pray, have a seat. Dinner will arrive soon.”

He had to admit that she said it with a surprisingly decorous voice.

He wondered if what he thought of as screeching was only employed in company; someone (like her elder daughters) had spoken to her about her tone; or the far more likely explanation—he had been looking to find fault and exaggerated it.

Comprehending the most likely explanation was his fault instead of hers was again humbling; but he suspected he would eventually become accustomed to the feeling.

“Thank you,” he said with slightly exaggerated politeness.

Without complaints about her obvious attempt to throw him at her silliest daughter, he went to the indicated chair and did what politeness dictate—carried it over and plopped it down between the elder Bennet sisters, held his hands out to the fire to give a weak excuse for the rearrangement, and sat down.

Miss Mary barely repressed a giggle, while Miss Bennet simply smiled, which seemed to be her reaction to just about everything. He wondered if her smile was in any way related to his own scowl and thought it likely.

Miss Elizabeth made no effort to contain her mirth whatsoever, but instead leaned over to whisper, “Touché!” with a bright smile.

Of course, she would have had to scream to be heard over the giggles of the youngest Bennets, so the whisper was superfluous.

Lydia giggled long and loud. “La, Mr Darcy. You would think you were frozen to death!”

Kitty giggled and tried to best her sister. “I thought Northmen were immune to cold!”

Darcy laughed along for a moment. “We are tougher than average, Miss Catherine, but only an idiot disparages a good fire.”

The three eldest laughed, but he noticed a look of surprise on the youngest and Mrs Bennet. He presumed he had won another point by accurately naming one of the younger sisters. He gave a slight grin to Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth on their sofa, and they nodded to acknowledge the point.

Mrs Bennet was flummoxed, so she started chatting with her youngest daughters about gossip she picked up in the churchyard, while Miss Bennet turned towards Mr Darcy.

Darcy was astounded that there could be anything noteworthy except his making a fool of himself, but he apparently did not know how things worked.

The three elder sisters turned toward him and spoke quietly while Darcy kept an eye on Mr and Mrs Bennet to see if they were listening. The patriarch seemed amused, and Darcy had no idea if he could hear or not.

Elizabeth said, “That was smoothly done, Mr Darcy. I doubt your reprieve will last long… but well done.”

Seeing that Mrs Bennet was occupied with her youngest daughters, he laughed, “I mentioned my cousin the colonel? He tells me that sometime in the first fortnight of training they give new recruits a twenty-pound pack and march them twenty miles to toughen them up.”

“And?” Mary asked curiously.

“And…” he said with a dramatic pause, “…a month at Netherfield counts as at least a twenty-pound pack?”

The three burst into laughter sufficient to make the rest of the ladies in the room stop speaking and stare.

It was one thing for the man to act the consummate gentleman and apologise for the behaviour at Netherfield, but quite another for him to tease and be teased about it.

All three ladies looked as if they did not know the man at all.

Lydia asked, “La, what did Mr Darcy say that was so funny?”

Mary said, “You had to be there, Lydia,” but with a gentle enough tone to remove any sting.

Lydia just shook her head in confusion, then apparently decided her elder sisters were perfectly welcome to the dreariest man in the county, even if he could manage to make her dullest sisters laugh from time to time.

Mr Bennet gave a smirk that Darcy took to mean he had overheard the whole thing. He wondered exactly what the patriarch was thinking. It seemed obvious the man took amusement from his family, and that he did not take any of them seriously, aside from Miss Elizabeth on occasion.

His ruminations were interrupted by a servant calling them to table.

The Bennets did not appear to stand on ceremony, at least on Sundays, so when the parents went first, the daughters went in order of how close they happened to be to the door.

He thought about offering his arm to one of the elder sisters but had no idea if that was a good idea or not.

Miss Bennet noticed his confusion. “We do not stand on ceremony on Sundays.”

He was offered a position of honour next to Mr Bennet, while the rest of the family occupied their customary seats.

Mrs Bennet tried to ask him about the Bingleys, but he gently and firmly denied all knowledge. He simply said the Bingleys had urgent business in town, and since he was but a guest, it was not his place to comment, even if he knew anything, which he did not.

Mrs Bennet continued for some time, attacking the problem from several angles, but was frustrated by the gentleman’s complete inability or unwillingness to be more explicit.

The exchange consumed an exhausting ten minutes, but when finished, Darcy thought he saw a glimmer of appreciation from the eldest Bennet sisters.

He could guess that Miss Bennet was grinding her teeth during the exchange, but she had refrained from comment entirely.

Once the subject of the Bingleys was exhausted, the rest of the meal proceeded apace.

Darcy spoke about the war and other such things to Mr Bennet, with occasional comments from Miss Elizabeth; commented generally to the rest of the daughters; gave Mrs Bennet short answers to every question, regardless of how indecorous; and mostly ignored the two youngest. Since they had no interest in anyone lacking a red coat, it worked out for the best.

At the end of the meal, Darcy found he had enjoyed himself.

~~~~~

The family returned to the parlour, where the sisters made the gentleman feel welcome.

The first hour gave yet another reason to reconsider how much his pride was worth.

In the first half-hour, Miss Mary beat him in a hard-fought game of backgammon.

He thought he might be able to blame it on distraction, or lack of sleep, or the presence of Miss Elizabeth—but Occam’s razor suggested a simpler explanation: Miss Mary was simply better.

With that knock on his pride, they played the best two out of three over the next hour, and he did much better—he managed to win one of the three.

They took a rest to allow Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth to perform a few songs on the pianoforte, which gave him more food for thought.

Miss Elizabeth clearly had a better feel for the music, and her playing gave him much pleasure.

Regardless of what pleasure he felt though, it seemed likely she would need a bit more practise and instruction if she wanted to perform credibly in London.

She slurred over the hard parts and made up for it with showmanship, but she would not pull that off in the capitol.

Miss Mary was better at mechanically reproducing the music but lacked a decent singing voice and any hint of ease in her musicality.

He rather thought she needed a master, or more likely some time with Georgiana.

All in all, he was happy with what he was seeing and hearing.

After the music, he spent a pleasant hour playing chess with Mr Bennet, who seemed a worthy competitor. They appeared well matched, but neither were really giving it their all, since they were both, in their own ways, paying considerable attention to the rest of the family.

He was most surprised to find that Mrs Bennet was happy to leave him in peace and wondered if anyone said anything to grant the reprieve.

The two youngest spent the first two hours remaking two rather ugly bonnets (in Darcy’s opinion) into two even uglier bonnets (in Miss Elizabeth’s), but they did so with less snorting and giggling than he expected.

Mrs Bennet spent the first hour gossiping with the youngest as they worked.

During the second hour, the two eldest Miss Bennets, along with Miss Catherine fell victim to their mother’s rapacity for whist, and several lively hands were hard fought.

~~~~~

The windows of the parlour were due west, so as the sun sank the parlour got warmer.

Just before four o’clock, the sun was nearly setting and Darcy accepted an offer of afternoon tea, after which he would return to Netherfield.

With a half-hour of good daylight left, Miss Elizabeth suggested a walk in the garden.

Darcy agreed readily, but Mrs Bennet did not appear to feel as if she had defeated her opponents sufficiently in whist. Miss Catherine, in desperation begged Miss Lydia to join her team. Miss Bennet partnered with her mother, which left Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mary to walk with Darcy.

The three took up coats, gloves and the like and stepped out into the surprisingly balmy (for November) afternoon.

The group had not gone far when Miss Mary, much to Darcy’s delight, pulled a book from her cloak.

Darcy thought that if he had to pick one non-mercenary woman out of everybody of his acquaintance, Miss Mary would be the most likely candidate.

It was obvious she was not matchmaking, but more likely exhausted from an overabundance of company (a feeling he could understand).

She sat down on a wooden bench, opened the book, and without looking up said cheekily, “Stay more or less in sight if you please.”

“Of course,” Miss Elizabeth said, then she took Darcy’s proffered arm and led him around the nearly dead garden.

There was nothing whatsoever to see, but she did an excellent job of painting a picture of what it would look like in spring.

Miss Bennet was the mastermind of the grand design, while Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth were mere worker bees.

The two youngest were as worthless as Darcy would have assumed, but Miss Elizabeth said nothing of the sort.

They wandered the paths for a half-hour, speaking of everything under the sun and Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that garden.