Page 71 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
Mr. Hurst applied himself to eating with the dedication of a scholar poring over a newly discovered ancient text, while excavating his rapidly emptying plate. “Finest roast I have had since a coaching inn in Shropshire. Mrs. Bennet, you are wasted on a family of seven.”
“Eight,” Mama corrected. “You are forgetting the cat.”
Mr. Hurst laughed, loud and startled, and Mrs. Hurst looked at him as though he had committed a social atrocity as he helped himself to seconds and thirds—at the same time.
After numerous courses, he seemed hesitant toleave the table, even after the syllabub was completely licked clean. However, Miss Bingley announced our move to the drawing room, and Mrs. Hurst tugged her wayward husband’s sleeve, much like a washerwoman leading her son by the ear.
The skirmishes began at the pianoforte.
Caroline’s nose approached the ceiling as she elegantly took her seat on a settee. “Georgiana, dearest, you must play for us. Mrs. Bennet’s instrument looks very well, and after such a generous dinner, I am sure the company would welcome a little music.”
Expressionless, Georgiana rose and glided to the pianoforte. Mary started to move to her side to help with the sheet music, which Georgiana was carefully arranging, but Caroline turned to her brother. “Charles, would you turn pages for Miss Darcy? You know how she values a reliable partner at the music stand.”
Bingley, who had been gravitating toward Jane, halted mid-step. “I am a wretched page-turner. Last time, I sent Georgiana back to the development section twice, and though she was very patient, she missed several bars.”
“Nonsense, Charles. It is a simple enough task. Besides, Miss Darcy appreciates your steady page-turning qualities.”
I had no desire to judge a man by his page-turning technique, yet Miss Bingley seemed to consider it paramount in gentlemanly conduct. Glancing sideways, I saw Mary standing there, wringing her hands. I was about to propose my sister as a qualified page-turner when Georgiana met Caroline’s gaze, and Caroline gave a slight nod.
“Please, Mr. Bingley.” Her voice was soft. “Your page-turning is much appreciated.”
Bingley took his position, not without a backward glance at Jane. Mary turned around and drifted to stand beside Jane, and the drifting was the saddest movement in the room, though no one saw it but me.
Georgiana played flawlessly, hitting every note and observing every dynamic, her tempo steady and assured. Bingley stumbledover a few page turns, but thankfully, no cats leaped from their perches, nor was tea spilled. Darcy, with his hand resting on Cinnamon on the arm of his chair, grew still, and in that stillness, I knew he, too, heard the silence between the notes.
Papa turned to Mr. Darcy, his demeanor as relaxed as someone seeking pleasantries.
“Mr. Darcy. I understand you own significant estates. Pemberley, if I recall, and everything that comes with it.”
Darcy gave a slight nod, remaining silent, so Papa pressed on, “I’ve often wondered—has managing an estate ever prepared you for managing a family? In my view, both demand patience, both defy attempts at rigid control, and both will teach a humbling lesson to any man who thinks they can be run by the book.”
“I wouldn’t dream of comparing them, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy replied. “An estate can be managed systematically. A family, however, is considerably less predictable.”
“And yet, you’ve taken on the guardianship of a young sister and engaged a companion for her. A man who approaches family with such a structured method is either remarkably disciplined or endearingly optimistic.” Papa’s eyes, which mirrored my own and held the same inclination for seeing what they should not, fixed on Darcy with a weight that the pleasantness of his tone did nothing to relieve. “In your experience managing your household, have you found that the things most worth cherishing are those that readily conform, or those that resist?”
The question was his indirect way of asking if Darcy considered me worth keeping. A flush crept up my neck, and I wondered if Darcy suspected my father’s interest was matrimonial.
However, I needn’t have worried. Darcy took a slow sip of coffee, considering.
“The things most worth cherishing, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy said, and his voice had dropped half a register, “are generally the ones I have been wise enough not to attempt to manage.”
He did not lookat me.
Papa raised his glass. “Then there is hope for you yet, sir.”
Caroline, who had been waiting for a pause, selected this moment to interject her opinion.
“Hertfordshire is delightful in autumn,” she said, turning to Mama with the bright confidence of a woman dispensing pleasant news. “Charles has so enjoyed the country air. Though of course, we shall be repairing to London before Christmas. The Hursts’ townhouse in Grosvenor Square needs opening, and one cannot avoid the season indefinitely, however rustic the pleasures. Even Charles, who would happily remain in the country forever, admits that the town has its claims.”
Across the room, Jane’s smile stayed too bright, and Mary remained buried in a book.
“Christmas in London,” Mama repeated. “How ambitious. I have always thought that people who flee the country for town at Christmas are either avoiding something or pursuing it, and I should be curious to know which applies to your family, Miss Bingley.”
“One does not flee, Mrs. Bennet. One simply returns. London is home.”
“Is it?” Mama’s eyebrows rose by a fraction. “I had understood your family’s seat to be in the north. Scarborough, was it not? Or was it the mills of York?”
Mrs. Long’s lips curved into a smile as sharp as a new pin. “Oh, my dear Miss Bingley, I’m sure London has its charms, but Hertfordshire has been known to tame even the most upstart of souls.”
