Page 21 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
D arcy surveyed the dinner table. The scene before him possessed all the trappings of civilised society: gleaming silver, pristine linen, and the gentle flicker of candlelight casting a warm glow over Bingley's finest china. Yet beneath the pleasant veneer ran an undercurrent of tension.
The first remove arrived in a stately procession: tureens of steaming soup, roasted partridges, early winter greens.
Yet as silver dishes were passed and generous portions were heaped upon only seven plates, he could not help but reflect on the families housed in Netherfield’s servants’ quarters.
The table’s bounty, though flawlessly arranged, felt almost indecorous under the circumstances.
He glanced over at Miss Elizabeth. A wrinkle had appeared above the bridge of her nose. She was thinking the same, he suspected, and while Miss Bennet’s countenance was more difficult for him to read, he did not believe her thoughts would stray very far from her sister’s.
Bingley, bless him, launched into his customary cheerful discourse about the day's activities, his horse, the progress on the bridge repairs, and his satisfaction with the arrangements for the displaced families.
His genuine pleasure in being of service was both touching and slightly exhausting in its relentless optimism.
"The Farrow boy is quite recovered, I am pleased to report," Bingley concluded as he applied himself to the soup with evident appetite.
Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth shared a smile.
"We are all greatly relieved," Miss Bingley agreed, though her attention was clearly focused elsewhere. "Perhaps this is an auspicious time to inquire how our other guests have found the domestic arrangements here at Netherfield."
Darcy noted the subtle lift of Miss Elizabeth’s chin, the faint tightening of her shoulders.
He felt his own attention sharpen, a hunter’s instinct recognizing the opening salvo, a polite inquiry that would, with characteristic subtlety, develop into either a compliment to herself or an insult to another.
"Mrs. Nicholls has been wonderful," Miss Bennet said gently. "She has managed the additional demands without faltering, ensuring everyone's comfort despite the unusual circumstances."
First points to Miss Bennet.
"How good of you to say," Mrs. Hurst observed with false brightness. "For my sister worked many hours to ensure that her housekeeper had the instruction she required.”
This proclamation had a most galvanizing effect on those gathered.
Bingley choked outright on his soup. Hurst, abandoning his wineglass entirely, turned a gimlet eye upon his wife, his brows drawn low.
Even Miss Bennet’s serene composure wavered, a faint colour rising to her cheeks.
Miss Elizabeth’s lips parted as if she might speak, but she glanced at him and was silent.
Only Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst appeared complacent, wearing identical expressions of self-satisfaction .
He cleared his throat. “We must all be grateful, Mrs. Hurst, that your sister possesses such a skill. It is a rare mistress who can both instruct her housekeeper in the finer points of hospitality and yet leave so little evidence of her interference.”
Miss Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she pressed her lips together without ever looking away from him. Did she think he had come to this dinner unprepared?
Miss Bingley absolutely preened. “Indeed, Mr. Darcy. One does find that efficiency at such a level requires so delicate a touch that it appears entirely effortless.”
It had not only appeared effortless, it had been. On Miss Bingley’s part, in any case.
Hurst returned his attention to his bowl. "Then perhaps you ought to effortlessly instruct Mrs. Nicholls to speak to Cook about this soup. Tastes like dishwater. At this rate, we will all waste away before the river recedes."
There was nothing wrong with the soup. Hurst simply needed to say something that did not include any cursing. He could not but be aware of what his wife and her sister were about, and even he seemed to be shocked by it.
Mrs. Hurst ignored her husband and continued to applaud her sister’s work. “Caroline has a gift, even more because of the difficulty in procuring the necessary refinements for an elegant table in the country. One cannot expect the same quality of suppliers as one enjoys in London.”
Hurst, who had been methodically dismantling a roll, paused long enough to snort. “You foolish gel, who do you think supplies London? The faeries?”
His wife levelled a ponderous scowl in Hurst’s direction, and Darcy felt a treacherous flame of amusement curl in his chest .
He allowed himself a slight incline of the head towards Mrs. Hurst, his tone as pointedly urbane as he could make it.
“Indeed, the elegance of any London table owes much to the labours of our countrymen. The grain for your bread, the wool for your linens, the timber for your fires—all cultivated on estates such as Longbourn, by those who rarely see the tables they provision. I daresay even the most accomplished hostess must first depend upon them.”
Elizabeth’s eyes met his, and rather than mirth, he imagined he detected admiration in them.
He sat a little straighter.
“Well, of course,” Mrs. Hurst said and then fell silent.
Hurst’s grumbling cut through the awkward pause. “If the fish proves as poor as the soup, I shall require twice the wine to endure it.” He held out his glass like a man on the verge of collapse.
“Really, Mr. Hurst,” Mrs. Hurst chided softly, though she did not prevent the footman from refilling her husband’s glass.
Miss Bingley leaned forward. “It is no small feat, Mr. Darcy, to preserve a truly refined atmosphere in the country. Yet I flatter myself we have brought a touch of Town elegance to Netherfield.”
Darcy set down his fork with deliberate precision and regarded her evenly. “I have found the house very comfortable.” He allowed the faintest pause before adding, “Though I suspect the true test of any household lies less in its grandeur than in the contentment of its guests.”
He felt a perverse satisfaction in the soft huff of breath Miss Bingley released.
Bingley, ever discomfited by the possibility of an argument, launched into a description of the planned repairs of the roads on the estate.
His enthusiasm grew with each word. “I have had the men survey the worst damage, and I believe we can have everything passable within a fortnight, weather permitting.” He smiled at Miss Bennet.
“Of course, the bridge to Longbourn should be restored in a few days’ time. ”
Miss Bennet looked up from her plate, her expression warm. “How fortunate the village is to have such a considerate leaseholder. Your efforts will make such a difference to the families who rely on those roads for their livelihood.”
Bingley flushed with obvious pleasure and made a vague gesture with his spoon. “Well, one does what one can. Nothing so very grand.”
Miss Bingley, however, leaned forward, her voice soft but carrying an edge of practiced sweetness. “My brother has always shown a most admirable concern for such details. I only wish he were as discerning in all other aspects of life.”
"Ah, Caroline,” Bingley shot back teasingly as he picked up his fork again, “were I as discerning in all aspects of my life, I might feel compelled to examine your expenditures on new gowns and fripperies, and where should we all be then?"
The corner of Darcy’s mouth threatened betrayal.
Miss Bingley’s smile never faltered. “Dear Charles, you are so very amusing.”
An awkward silence threatened to settle, but Hurst, now more concerned with his next mouthful than verbal sparring, waved his fork at the carrots. “Hear, hear. Pass those down, would you?”
The footman appeared again to refill Darcy’s glass, and he found himself contemplating how much livelier this dinner was proving than the entire London season.
"Speaking of household management," Miss Bingley interjected with renewed determination, clearly hoping to redirect the conversation away from Hurst, who was now piling his plate high with various root vegetables, "I have often wondered how ladies in smaller establishments manage with so few servants. The mistress must have to take so many tasks upon herself that would normally be left to others. Is it terribly difficult, Miss Eliza?”
Surprisingly, Miss Elizabeth seemed unmoved by this transparent attempt to highlight her family's more modest circumstances.
“Jane and I find great satisfaction in understanding every aspect of household management.
When one is intimately acquainted with each duty, one can better appreciate good service and more readily identify where improvements might be made. "
"How practical," said Miss Bingley. "Though surely such attention to domestic minutiae must leave little time for the more refined accomplishments a lady must pursue?"
Darcy recognised the trap Miss Bingley was laying with grudging admiration for its construction, even as he deplored its intent. He would have spoken, but Miss Bingley had wisely singled out Miss Elizabeth. It would be impolite to answer in her stead.
"I confess," Miss Elizabeth said thoughtfully, "that I have always believed the mark of a true lady lies not in the size of her establishment, but in the wisdom and kindness with which she manages it.
A mistress who knows her household intimately, who understands the work of her servants and treats them with respect, seems infinitely preferable to one who merely issues orders from a distance.
Servants are likely to work more diligently for a mistress who treats them well, thus leaving her ample time for the refinements of which you speak. "
Darcy found himself leaning forward slightly. Not only was it an attractive description, but there was also something almost artistic in the way Miss Elizabeth had turned the attack back upon her aggressor without appearing to do so deliberately .