Page 4 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

CHAPTER THREE

“Give it back, Lydia! It’s mine!”

“No!”

“Mama!”

Elizabeth leaned back against the door of her father’s book room. With a steady rain pouring down, there was little escape from her family today.

She pushed off from the door and walked slowly around the room, trailing her finger along the spines of the books as she searched for a title to provide her distraction.

She moved towards the desk, plopping into the chair moulded into her father’s shape.

A letter addressed to her father caught her eye.

Dear Sir,

The disagreement subsisting between yourself and my late honoured father has long given me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach…

Her eyes dropped to the bottom of the page, seeking a signature and heedless of the rules of privacy she was breaking.

William Collins

She skimmed the final paragraph.

If you should have no objection to receive me into your house, I propose myself the satisfaction of waiting on you and your family, Monday, October 18, by four o’clock, and shall probably trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday se’nnight following…

“Lizzy, are you performing the business of my steward?”

Elizabeth glanced up at her father standing in the doorway, then rose and moved away from his chair. “I was looking for a book, to escape from the noise out there.”

“You read the post?” Frowning, he gestured at the letter on the desk. “My personal letters?”

Elizabeth nodded, feeling the unusual sting of becoming the object of her beloved father’s irritation.

“Is this a habit of yours? You alone are permitted access to this room and its books. Have I erred in bestowing that trust?”

“No,” she cried. “I am at ends without Jane, and my sisters are poor companions.”

Mr Bennet sank into his chair. “Lizzy, dear, you are not a gossip like your younger sisters, but I must ask you not to say a word about this letter to your mother or sisters. Even to Jane,” he added. “Not to anyone.”

Elizabeth sat gingerly on the chair arm. “Who is this man? What does he want from us?”

There was a long silence while her father folded the missive and slipped it into a desk drawer. He sat back and looked at her worried expression .

“He is my cousin’s son, the only male left in the Bennet line.” He watched her face as realisation dawned.

“The heir to Longbourn.”

“The one and only.”

“And he is coming here? To extend an olive branch?”

“The branch is extended, if not welcomed. The latter will matter little to the man.” Mr Bennet’s eyes twinkled, and Elizabeth was relieved to see a return of his warmth. “I will delay his visit to Longbourn as long as possible.”

News of other male visitors could not be kept secret.

“If only Jane were here,” cried Mrs Bennet. “Two men of prodigious fortune coming to Longbourn, and she, my eldest, my beauty, my most marriageable daughter, takes herself off to London.”

Elizabeth’s eyes rose but she lowered them along with her temper.

“If this Mr Bingley and his friend are all Lady Lucas makes them out to be, we will call Jane home. She must have her chance before the rest of you.”

Mrs Bennet went off into the kitchen, crying orders and demands to Cook. Elizabeth went to her father’s book room. She found him standing and staring out the window.

“Papa?”

“Lizzy, come in.”

They settled into their usual seats. “Mama expects great things from these visitors. Are these men as Lady Lucas claims, handsome and rich, or are they portly and pocked, empty of thought and wealth? Will we listen to her cry of her dashed hopes later tonight?”

Her father chuckled. “Rare though it may be, your mother’s source is unimpeachable.

Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are men of means, with faces and bearing your mother will admire.

” His eyes drifted to the window. “I do know what sort of man appeals to your mother. She has changed little in the years since we met.”

Elizabeth was taken aback by her father’s wistful tone. “They are as you were when a young man?”

He coughed and looked away. “No, child, not at all. I hope. One is more serious, the other more amiable. I managed neither in my youth.”

The door burst open. “Lizzy!” her mother cried. “They will be here within the hour. You must dress. And oh, that hair.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “If none of us is to marry these gentlemen, mayhap I should present myself as I am. ‘Elizabeth Bennet, of the muddy skirts, ink-stained fingers, and ill-managed tresses.’”

“Impossible girl!”

Jane has been gone too long , Elizabeth thought as she trudged up the stairs.

In truth, her sister had been only a few days in Cheapside, but the more than a fortnight until she could join her was a painful span of time.

Her father had little incentive to allow both his daughters of good sense to leave his side, and, Elizabeth thought, rather meanly insisted she have only a short stay in London.

The squealing of excited voices reached her room.

She took a breath and joined her sisters in the parlour.

Nothing remarkable there; Kitty and Lydia were in a constant state of anticipation that rich, handsome men would come calling and carry them away on giant steeds or in frilly carriages drawn by a pair of unicorns.

Her father interrupted her thoughts. “Our visitors draw near?”

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. Whoever was coming to call at Longbourn must be important to pull her father from his library to welcome them himself. Kitty, too, looked dumbstruck.

Mr Bennet looked up from his watch and winked at her. “ Our illustrious guests should not think Longbourn is populated only by silly girls admiring their carriages.”

He stood patiently, staring out the window and ignoring his daughters’ excitement. Her mother sat nervously twisting her handkerchief.

“Mama says Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy are not here to be our particular friends. They are here to be Papa’s particular friends!”

Elizabeth sighed and went in search of Mary.

When they returned a few minutes later, two gentlemen stood in the doorway.

Elizabeth took in their height and their bearing, the fine cut of their clothes and the shine of their boots, and knew these men would disappoint Lydia’s hope of dashing princes and swashbuckling buccaneers.

She, however, was immediately struck by the elegant figure of the taller, dark-haired gentleman.

He stood silently, with an expression of the faintest hauteur as he removed his hat and fixed his eyes on the wall opposite; it was a spot where, until a week ago, a small painting of Hertfordshire had hung.

A nail, likely loosened by too many slammed doors and thundering feet, had fallen out and taken the frame to the floor with a crash.

Now only a darker bit of the flocked wallpaper was there to capture the eye, and Elizabeth found herself irritated that this ‘illustrious’ visitor had so immediately fixated on it.

At that moment, the shorter of the two caught her attention with a broad toothy smile.

She returned it with more restrained expression, but her gaze found again the other gentleman, his head bent in introduction to her mother.

She cringed, expecting the worst but finding herself surprised.

There was no great exclamation of air and meaningless effusions from Mrs Bennet; she was using her church manners to greet two men of means to her home.

“Lizzy, come meet our visitors,” her father said. “And you, Mary. ”

Elizabeth pulled her sister into the parlour for introductions.

“Mr Bingley. Mr Darcy. These are my daughters, Elizabeth and Mary.”

Elizabeth had time to note that Mr Bingley had an eager, pleasant manner. His friend Mr Darcy gave her no time for such evaluation. His eyes skittered over her and Mary, he nodded as custom dictated, and shifted his attention back to her father.

Over the length of the meal—a full five courses including a well-seasoned trout—a few facts emerged about the visitors.

Mr Bingley had two sisters newly arrived from London, one married and one in the market for fashions, lace, and a husband.

Mr Darcy had a sister. One man smiled and asked about the neighbours; the other was silent and kept his gaze on his plate.

One addressed a question to her; the other glanced only once at her.

Both were partial to pheasant and gooseberry trifle. Neither was married.

They made an odd friendship, Elizabeth mused; two gentlemen of very different mien and manner.

Mr Bingley was all pleasantries and earnestness; his company would be enjoyed by all he met.

The opportunity to more fully examine Mr Darcy led her to determine his severity of expression outweighed mirth, though his sharply handsome features softened when he mentioned his sister.

It was not every man who would display such sentiment about a sister—she did not see that in Mr Bingley—and her curiosity on that subject was aroused.

She was uncertain whether she would ever know either man more familiarly but she would enjoy making note of their quirks and laughing at them with her father.

The following morning, returning from a walk and pleased to have a story to share of the lugubrious Mr Goulding, a stubborn mule, and a sneezing goat, Elizabeth knocked on the library door. She paused a moment before turning the knob and entering.

Mr Darcy looked up at her, his hand poised above the chessboard.

Her father turned and gave her a small smile.

She attempted to return it but her surprise was apparent; Mr Bennet allowed few visitors to his sanctuary, and certainly not one of such short acquaintance.

She stood in the doorway, uncertain whether to enter. Uncertain of her own welcome!