Page 38 of The Briar Bargain (The Rom Com Collection #3)
T he parlour at Netherfield was a room well designed for gatherings, with comfortable chairs arranged in conversational groups and small tables positioned for the convenience of those taking refreshment.
This morning, it seemed particularly welcoming, the autumn sunshine lending warmth to what could sometimes feel like an intimidating space.
Elizabeth had claimed a chair near the window and resumed her work, this time stitching a baby gown for the Anson’s infant.
Jane sat nearby, her own needlework lying idle in her lap as she listened to Mr. Bingley's account of his plans for improving the estate's tenant cottages. Elizabeth was pleased to see her sister looking so well pleased in his company.
Mr. Bingley himself was in particularly fine spirits, addressing his remarks principally to Jane, though he maintained the fiction of speaking to the company at large.
Elizabeth was learning that his good nature was never more apparent than when he was speaking with her sister, and Elizabeth found herself hoping that he would make Jane an offer before they left for Longbourn .
Mrs. Hurst occupied her usual place near the fire, her manner suggesting that she found this morning assembly somewhat tedious but was resigned to enduring it. She had brought her own needlework, though she made little progress with it.
Mr. Darcy sat somewhat apart, a book open in his hands but his attention clearly divided between its contents and the conversation around him.
Elizabeth was growing accustomed to his habit of appearing absorbed in reading while listening to everything that passed, and she suspected that very little escaped his notice.
Miss Bingley had positioned herself with her customary calculation, close enough to the centre of the room to participate in any conversation, yet with a view of all the principal players. Her manner was engaged as she presided over the tea service.
When Mr. Bingley, speaking to no one in particular, turned to Jane with a smile that was all sunshine and sincerity, Elizabeth felt her needle pause mid-stitch.
"Miss Bennet, I must tell you again how delighted I am that your stay continues."
The declaration was so open, so unguarded in its admiration, that Elizabeth found herself glancing around the room to gauge its effect. Jane coloured prettily and murmured her thanks with her characteristic modesty, her eyes cast down but a smile of genuine pleasure playing about her lips.
Mrs. Hurst shifted slightly in her chair, her expression suggesting mild disapproval of her brother’s public display of partiality. Mr. Darcy looked up from his book with what might have been interest, his gaze moving between Bingley and Jane with an unreadable expression .
But it was Miss Bingley's reaction that caught Elizabeth's attention most forcibly. For just an instant, her composure slipped, and her grip on the teapot turned briefly white-knuckled before she mastered herself.
"How gallant of you, Charles," she said with a forced laugh that rang slightly hollow in the sunny room.
There was a sharpness to her voice that Elizabeth doubted the others detected, but which seemed to cut through the agreeable atmosphere like a blade. Mr. Bingley, however, remained entirely unconscious of any undercurrent.
"Not at all," he said without taking his eyes off Jane, his meaning unmistakable.
Elizabeth's mouth twitched with amusement.
Mr. Bingley might not be as clever as Mr. Darcy, but he knew where his affections lay, and he was now unabashed in expressing them.
The transformation from the uncertain gentleman of their early acquaintance to this confident suitor was remarkable, and Elizabeth could only approve of the change.
She disliked thinking it, but her mother had been right in one sense; Mr. Bingley had required more time to know Jane better.
She caught Jane's eye and was rewarded with a look that spoke volumes.
Her sister's happiness was evident in every line of her face, though she maintained her customary serenity.
Elizabeth felt a surge of protective satisfaction.
Whatever Miss Bingley's intentions might be, they had clearly failed to shake Mr. Bingley's attachment.
"Indeed," said Miss Bingley, her gaze sweeping across the room and landing upon Elizabeth with what appeared to be renewed energy.
"And some amongst us, no doubt, would argue that the charm of Hertfordshire surpasses even the glories of Town.
Mr. Darcy, you must tell us. Which do you prefer: London sophistication or country simplicity? "
The question was posed with studied casualness, but Elizabeth detected the calculation behind it.
Miss Bingley was attempting to draw Mr. Darcy into expressing a preference that would, she clearly hoped, favour the society in London over the provincial attractions of Hertfordshire, and, by extension, over the provincial attractions of the Bennet sisters.
Mr. Darcy looked up from his book. His eyes flicked to Elizabeth, who returned his gaze evenly, curious to hear his response but determined not to feel any anxiety over it.
"There is merit in both," he said carefully. "There are more opportunities for society, for education, and for entertainment in town. However, I find the countryside far more conducive to peace."
"How surprising," Miss Bingley replied, her smile becoming more fixed. "I had thought you a great admirer of refinement."
"I admire what is genuine," he said with quiet conviction. "Wherever it may be found."
Silence followed, broken only by the sound of Mrs. Hurst stirring her tea.
The word "genuine" echoed in Elizabeth’s mind, carrying with it implications she was not certain she wished to examine. It struck her strangely, and she was not altogether pleased by how her pulse responded to the possibility that his words might have been intended for her ears more than Miss Bingley’s.
The colour in Miss Bingley’s cheeks had heightened, whether from anger or mortification, Elizabeth could not determine. She even felt a little pity for the woman who had made her so miserable, for all her hopes must be draining away before her.
Mrs. Hurst glanced between her sister and Darcy, then looked away but remained silent. That was remarkable. Mrs. Hurst always followed her sister's lead in matters of conversation, offering support with the reliability of an echo. But now, it appeared, she had stepped to the side.
The realisation struck Elizabeth with sudden clarity: the tide had turned, and Miss Bingley, though she fought valiantly to keep her feet, was not a strong swimmer.
The thought brought with it a surge of satisfaction that Elizabeth was not proud to acknowledge.
She had never liked Miss Bingley, but she had also recognised her as a woman facing the same sort of societal expectations the Bennet women did.
Of course, she had the benefit of a fortune and the added detriment of that fortune having been made through trade.
Yet even now, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered caution. Miss Bingley was not a woman to accept defeat without protest, and Elizabeth suspected that this apparent retreat might be nothing more than a temporary withdrawal.
Mr. Darcy had returned to his book, though Elizabeth suspected his attention was not fully engaged with its contents. Several times she caught him glancing up when he thought himself unobserved, his gaze moving between the various members of the party.
When the party dispersed to prepare for a walk to the garden, Mr. Bingley having declared the weather too fine to waste indoors, Elizabeth lingered in the hall, ostensibly to examine a portrait that had caught her fancy, but in truth to watch the behaviour of the others as they departed.
Mr. Bingley and Jane had moved to the stairs, engaged in conversation. The Hursts followed, Mrs. Hurst’s arm on her husband’s. Mr. Darcy followed at a discreet distance, though his attention seemed divided between the hall ahead and something behind him.
It was then that she glanced behind her and saw Miss Bingley standing half turned away, one hand pressed to her temple as though a headache threatened.
For a moment, her careful composure had slipped entirely, and Elizabeth saw her not as the confident mistress of Netherfield's social sphere, but as a woman suddenly and starkly aware that the room no longer turned with her.
But she did not remain so for long. Miss Bingley straightened quickly, leaving Elizabeth to wonder whether she had imagined the entire episode.
As she made her own way upstairs to prepare for the proposed walk, Elizabeth found herself reflecting on the morning's events.
This latest encounter with Miss Bingley in the parlour had left her with the curious impression that she had witnessed something significant: Miss Bingley backed into a corner.
And she worried that this woman might prove more formidable than the one who was confident of her supremacy.
The thought followed her as she changed into her walking dress and gathered her pelisse and bonnet. For the first time since arriving at Netherfield, Elizabeth found herself wondering not what Miss Bingley might do next, but of what she might be capable.
Outside her window, the autumn sunshine continued to pour down with deceptive warmth, and the grounds of Netherfield spread out in all their soggy, manicured perfection.
It was a beautiful day for a walk, and Elizabeth was determined to enjoy it.
But she could not quite shake the feeling that yesterday’s apparent victory might prove to have been nothing more than the calm before a far more dangerous storm.