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Chapter Eleven

November 5, 1811 Longbourn Elizabeth

E lizabeth stuck the red-threaded needle into her handkerchief. Yesterday she had edged it with lace, and today she meant to embroider a trio of roses into the corner. Green vines would trail along the edge of the cloth, and her initials and more roses would be in the corner opposite the trio of blooms.

She had always liked flowers. Roses, especially, called to her. There were so many colors and varieties—enough to satisfy even the most particular taste. Mama grew at least a dozen varieties in Longbourn’s gardens. Elizabeth’s favorites were the orange ones with the deep pink edges. When she placed them in a vase in her window, the sun made them look as if they were on fire.

Jane sat at a nearby table with Lydia, with a disassembled bonnet before them. Lydia picked up flowers and ribbons, moving them here and there to create something new. “This color is all wrong for you, Jane,” she said, holding up a bright green ribbon. “Your hair is much too fair. This green makes you look positively ill.”

“You have the same coloring, sister mine,” Jane said, chuckling. “You simply wish to purloin the ribbon.”

“Not so!” Lydia placed a hand on her chest in affected innocence. “How could you think such a thing?” They giggled, and Jane offered to let her younger sister keep the ribbon. In gratitude, Lydia offered Jane with a deep blue ribbon that made her eyes stand out.

“If we add some ribbon roses here and maybe a feather or two…”

At the pianoforte, Kitty sat beside Mary. The former had been convinced to turn pages for Mary and the latter focused on the music before her, brow wrinkling in concentration.

Elizabeth smiled to herself. The overall domesticity of the scene pleased her. All that was wantedwas Mrs. Bennet seated in her chair, work basket in her lap, to complete the picture. Mama was in Hill’s office going over menus.

The front bell rang, and the ladies turned to the door. Mr. Hill appeared, stepping aside to announce their visitors.

“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Hurst, and Mrs. Hurst,” he said.

Four people came into the room. “Good day, ladies,” Mr. Bingley said cheerfully. “I have brought my sister and her husband to meet you all.”

Kitty and Lydia stood and were introduced before leaving the room without complaint. Elizabeth felt a quiet pride that they had not even attempted to linger, though she knew both girls wished to remain. They have matured, she mused.

“May I present Mr. Reginald Hurst and Mrs. Louisa Hurst. Mrs. Hurst is my sister.” Mr. Bingley spoke mostly to Jane, but Elizabeth did not feel slighted in the least.

She examined the newcomers. Mrs. Hurst was about as tall as Jane. Her dark blond hair had hints of red in it. She was dressed fashionably in a gown far too fine for a morning call, and though her outward expression seemed pleasant, there was something of disdain in her gaze as she regarded Jane.

Her husband, Mr. Hurst, moved directly to Mama’s favorite chair and sat in it. He yawned widely and leaned back, closing his eyes and promptly ignoring everyone in the room.

Mr. Darcy came toward her, stopping beside the settee where Elizabeth sat. “May I?” he asked.

At her nod, he sat beside her. “What are you working on?” he asked.

“It is only a handkerchief. Charlotte—Miss Lucas—taught me a new stitch, but I am finding it difficult to master. See? My roses look misshapen.”

“They look lovely,” he protested.

“That is because you do not know what they are supposed to look like,” she chuckled. “Tell me, does Miss Darcy carry linens so poorly embroidered?” She smoothed a hand over the cloth, fingertips lingering on her poor attempts.

“I would not know. I do not recall ever noticing designs on her handkerchiefs. Though she did make this one for me.” He pulled a large linen square out of his pocket and displayed it. “Only FD in blue, as she always does.”

“Men do not flaunt elaborate handkerchiefs, I suppose,” she said, nodding sagely. “Simple initials will work very well.”

“I shall have to ask what hers looks like when I next write.” A shadow crossed his face, disappearing almost as soon as she noted it.

“Is Miss Darcy in town?”

He nodded. “She stays with my aunt, Lady Matlock. We have arranged to have masters come to her. Georgiana is especially eager to work with a music master. Her skill at the instrument increases daily. She will be as talented as Miss Mary someday, I believe.”

“Mary is by far the most dedicated of the Bennet ladies.” Elizabeth shook her head ruefully. “I shall never compare. Jane never learned, and the younger girls have shown only passing interest.”

“Does your brother play? I know it is not the usual accomplishment for a gentleman. My mother insisted I master an instrument, and I have long believed her views to be anything but the norm in our society.”

“Thomas does not play an instrument, but he has a fine singing voice. Pray, tell me, do you also play the piano?” She lifted her gaze from her handkerchief to find him watching her intently. She blushed, wondering what his steady appraisal meant.

“I play the violin,” he said finally. “It is a difficult instrument, and I picked it because my cousin said I would never be able to master it.”

“Did you prove him wrong?”

His lips curled up into a smile. “I did. I play for Richard whenever we are in company so that he will never forget it.”

They laughed together, and Elizabeth reflected that she very much enjoyed his company. The sense of being watched prevailed, and she glanced across the room toward Jane. Mr. Bingley appeared to be paying her sister attention, but as she met his gaze, she knew it was his stares she felt.

“Pray, tell me, have I done something to offend your friend?” she asked hesitantly.

Mr. Darcy’s brow furrowed, and he followed her gaze. Mr. Bingley no longer watched them, and he turned an inquiring look to her. “I am not sure what you mean,” he said.

“It is only that he stares at me very often,” she replied. “His looks are fervent and confused. I worry that I have done something to upset him. If I have, I would make amends. Jane likes him very much, and I would not wish to ruin anything for her.”

“He pays your sister a great deal of attention. And I must admit I have noted his peculiar looks in your direction. But I cannot tell you what he may be thinking.” Darcy sighed. “I have never known Bingley to be anything other than amiable and considerate to everyone he encounters.”

“Then he is very much like Jane in that respect.” She shrugged. “I shall not think ill of him unless evidence compels such unfavorable emotions. I am not formed for dwelling in displeasure, unhappiness, or misery, and seek to cast negative sentiments off as soon as I am able.”

“Would that I possessed your disposition,” he said fervently.

“It is not so very difficult. One must resolve to be of good cheer and then work toward maintaining that manner.”

He frowned. “And what of the trials of life? How do you manage to escape dwelling on that which is uncomfortable, unfortunate, or upsetting?” He seemed genuinely curious, and Elizabeth resolved to be as open as she could.

“It is not an easy thing all the time.” She paused. “I imagine that for one who has experienced much hardship, it must be difficult to keep a positive outlook on their life, or to see past the misery to the good things. I have always tried to find that for which I can be grateful, because that which upsets and disturbs cannot linger in my thoughts when compared to all the blessings that I have.” She glanced meaningfully at her sisters. “I have been raised in a comfortable home and have felt the love of good people. There are many with so much less than I. To be ungrateful would be the height of insult to them and to my family.”

She wondered if she had said too much, for his brow creased again, this time in confusion, before he nodded slowly. “Yours is an admirable point of view,” he said. “Thank you for sharing it. I shall attempt to apply your lessons in my life. Mayhap I might impart this new understanding to those I love.”

Elizabeth wondered if he meant Miss Darcy, for he always seemed a little sad when he spoke of his sister. Uncomfortable, she changed the subject.

“Is Mrs. Hurst always so…” she trailed off, glancing at the lady who sat next to Jane and Mr. Bingley.

“Superior? She does hold a high opinion of herself,” Darcy confirmed. “Bingley is not so close to Mrs. Hurst as he is to his younger sister. I understand that the former spent much of her formative years in London attending school and living with an elderly aunt.”

“I could not imagine leaving my family behind,” she replied vehemently. “How very dreadful to even consider such a thing.”

“Many families send their children to school. Did your brother go?”

She nodded. “Yes, Thomas was the exception. Papa would have sent us girls if we had asked, but we never did. We had a governess. Miss Lynd is still here for Kitty and Lydia. And my father always allowed us into his study. His books were ours to peruse, and I assure you, I have read nearly every one of them.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“Ah, so that is why you excel at the art of debate! Did your brother also master it likewise by reading from your father’s library?” Darcy looked impressed, and she smiled.

“Mr. Bennet argued the finer points of every book we read.” She shook her head. “He would have us so wrapped in knots that we had quite forgotten our point by the time the debate ended. I have always considered experience to be the best teacher. As we aged, he allowed us to participate when he discussed heavy topics with certain gentlemen in the area. Mr. Phillips, Sir William, Mr. Goulding…those who would help us in our education instead of disparaging our efforts and lack of experience.”

“You are very fortunate to have had an excellent teacher.” Mr. Darcy glanced across the room, and she followed the movement. Mr. Bingley watched her again. “I begin to see what you mean,” he whispered. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“I hardly know. I cannot help but think he is looking for something, though I cannot imagine what it is. But, please, let us discuss something else. I would rather ask you about your estate than discuss your friend’s peculiar behavior.”

Mr. Darcy obliged her and spent the next few minutes telling her everything he could about his estate, Pemberley. She learned that it was in the North near the Peaks, a place she had longed to go for many years.

“The park is ten miles around,” he said conversationally. “I ride the acreage at least thrice a week. Some of my tenants are over three miles from the house.”

“Are there phaeton paths?” she asked.

“There are a few, but it is easier to reach places on horseback.”

She made a face. “I prefer to walk,” she clarified when he gave her a questioning look. “Mr. Bennet keeps only one horse for riding. The others work the farm and pull the carriages. Nellie is an old nag and goes slower than I can tolerate. In the time it takes her to go a mile, I could walk two miles in the same time!”

“I suspect you are exaggerating. Perhaps you are only in want of a decent mount to enjoy the exercise. I have a particularly fine stallion called Thor. He is a dapple gray and stands seventeen hands high.” Darcy grinned, his gaze distant. No doubt, he pictured the horse in his mind.

“That is such a large beast!” she said in dismay. “If I fell off an animal that tall, I would surely die.”

He laughed. “It would hurt, to be certain. For you, I would pick a docile mare of maybe fourteen or fifteen hands.” He turned and focused on her, frowning in concentration. “Dark brown or red coat, I think, with white socks and a white blaze on her muzzle.”

Her heart sped, and she felt hot. I wish I had a fan, she thought. “She sounds lovely,” Elizabeth said aloud. “I can almost picture her.”

“Georgiana has a mount very similar to the one I just described.” He grinned. “She claims Daisy is too docile for her, but I am reluctant to give her a more spirited horse. Maybe a gelding would do in a few years.”

“Daisy?”

He laughed. “Do not judge her. She was but ten years old when she named the beast. And everyone knows you cannot change a horse’s name once it is bestowed.”

“A true tale if I ever heard one.”

The call came to an end soon thereafter, and Elizabeth felt regret watching the amiable gentleman leave. She never would have guessed from his arrival at the assembly that he would become a friend. His dour appearance had at first put her off, but now he was all ease and friendliness. Not at all difficult to converse with, she reasoned.

Jane was all smiles after meeting Mr. Bingley’s sister. “I do think Mrs. Hurst likes me,” she said happily. “That is a good sign, is it not?”

“It is!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Though do not mind so much what Mr. Bingley’s relations think. You are marrying him, not his sister. As long as you and he are in love, you will be able to withstand any ill feelings or disapproval thrown in your path.”

“Your mother speaks the truth,” Mr. Bennet said, chiming in over the top of his paper. “I like the gentleman. His company I can tolerate with equanimity. His friend I have not had much of an opportunity to speak with. No matter, though. Both gentlemen are welcome in Longbourn’s drawing room.” The paper rustled as he turned a page.

“I have asked Bingley to go shooting tomorrow,” Thomas piped up. “He says he is a crack shot. I have my doubts and so we shall have a contest.” He grinned arrogantly, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Her brother was the least proud man she knew, but he liked the challenge that competition presented.

“Do be careful,” Mrs. Bennet cautioned. “No need to play with danger.”

“I always am, dear Mama.” Thomas patted his mother’s hand and grinned. “It will be easy sport. Darcy is from the North and has a country estate. Perhaps he will give me a challenge.”

“Mrs. Hurst says her husband is an excellent shot,” Jane offered. “Will you attempt to best him as well?”

“If he puts up a challenge, all the better. It has been some time since I had anyone to go up against. All the lads around here know they cannot best me.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall, dear brother,” Elizabeth teased. “You had best sight your gun before you go out or you will lose the game for sure.”

“Ha!” cried Thomas. “I shall bring you five pheasants, Mama, merely to prove Elizabeth wrong.”

Elizabeth smiled, shaking her head at her brother. As silly as he was, she would not trade him for the world.