Page 79 of A Debt Inherited

Jane smiled across the room. “It is not as though we live friendless. The Lucases call, the Harringtons have entertained, even Mrs Long sent an invitation to dine. We have refused nothing.”

“But we missed a very fine house party at Purvis Lodge,” Kitty put in. “Maria said they had cards and danced twice.”

“And the same stories repeated thrice,” Elizabeth said. “If I am to endure talk of scarlet coats, I prefer to remain at home.”

“Still, Lizzy, it grows dull,” Mrs Bennet said. “Even your father will own that six months of restraint tries the spirits.”

Mr Bennet closed his book upon a finger. “I own nothing of the sort. The house has been tranquil, the tenants sober, and the chickens at last outnumber the officers.”

Kitty groaned. “But Papa, we have not once seen you in the stable since Michaelmas.”

“My talents lie in keeping my feet upon the ground.”

Elizabeth looked up from her sewing. “Then we are all as constant as the weathercock—turning little, rusting not at all.”

A small laugh went round the room. Even Mrs Ecclestone’s needle paused.

“There,” Mrs Bennet said with satisfaction. “We are agreed. No scandal, no headaches, no broken hearts. A little dullness is a small price.”

Mr Bennet reached for his tea and gave her a quiet nod. “Wisely spoken, my dear.”

* * *

It had been a week since the parlour had last known callers, and the morning proved too fine for solitude. The house was unusually bright—the air fresh through the open casement, the tea-tray cleared, the room set to rights—when Hill appeared to announce, “Miss Harrington and Miss Long, if you please, ma’am.”

“Show them in,” Mrs Bennet called. “We have been half-forgotten of late, and I will not have it said that Longbourn refuses callers.”

Jane and Elizabeth rose as their guests entered—two young ladies all in ribbons and spring cheer, breathless with the delight of having news. Jane offered them tea; they declined with gratitude but accepted at once when the cups were poured.

“Such a stir in Meryton!” cried Miss Long, her eyes round with pleasure. “The officers have returned from St Albans, and everybody was abroad to greet them.”

“Mr Wickham most of all,” Miss Harrington added. “He looked the very picture of good humour. I do not know when Meryton has looked happier.”

“Only Mr Wickham?” Elizabeth asked, arching a brow. “Not his friend?”

“His friend?” Miss Long looked puzzled a moment, then laughed. “Oh! You mean Mr Kerr, the gentleman who never smiles. I cannot think him half so handsome as Mr Wickham.”

“Nor half so charming,” Miss Harrington agreed, her cheeks flushed. The two exchanged glances above their teacups and hid their laughter poorly.

Jane smiled faintly and poured the tea. “Mr Wickham seems fortunate in his admirers.”

“He deserves it, poor man,” Miss Long said, leaning forward. “He told us last night how cruelly he was cheated out of a living promised to him! Imagine it, dear Miss Bennet—left quite destitute through no fault of his own. He bore it so modestly; I declare, it brought tears to my eyes.”

Elizabeth’s smile was thin. “Mr Wickham’s wrongs are many indeed, if every drawing-room in Hertfordshire must bear witness to them.”

The door opened before Miss Harrington could answer. Mr Bennet appeared, hat in hand.

“He would not have spoken at all,” Miss Harrington continued, “had we not pressed him. He is the most amiable creature, and so discreet! He said only that he had once known the family at Pemberley, and that friendship had turned to injustice.”

“Ladies,” Mr Bennet said with a slight bow, “I beg you will forgive the intrusion. I came only to pay my respects.”

The visitors rose at once, all curtseys and delighted simpers. “We were just telling of Mr Wickham’s return, sir,” said Miss Harrington. “And the horrid treatment he received from the gentleman who ought to have honoured his father’s wishes.”

“Indeed?” Mr Bennet’s tone was mild. “And what is the name of this necessary villain?”

“Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, sir,” Miss Long supplied readily. “A very great man in his own eyes, though none in ours.”

Elizabeth met her father’s gaze. For an instant, amusement crossed between them; then something in him stilled. He inclined his head, his expression as mild as before.