11 • Type of Company

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So passed the Longbourn family through January and February. James’ thoughts on the impending visit did gradually alter: his promise was secure even though he thought little of the visit. However the increasing absence of Charlotte and Jane raised his desire to see them and lessened his disgust of Mr. Collins. There was added novelty in the scheme as, with such a mother and sisters, home was not entirely faultless. A little change was not unwelcome with the new season.

The only pain was in leaving his father, who likewise began to voice his guarantee of missing his second eldest. For Mr. Bennet’s part, as time progressed he came to so little like James’s going that he declared he would write to and even reply to his son’s letters.

James laughed as Mr. Bennet restlessly lingered in his bedroom doorway while he packed. “Heaven forbid you actually use your stationary,” he teased.

Mr. Bennet sniffed derisively. “Correspondence implies a want of visitors.”

James laughed further as he reached up for a mounted shelf of books. “Then I’ll be sure I read them privately or else others might think you welcoming.”

“See that you do,” his father ordered, reaching past him with his added height for the volumes. “They shall be reminders for you to return safely to me.”

“The only danger lies in madness incurred from Charlotte’s husband,” James said as he accepted the books.

His father chuckled the same moment they heard the bell on their front door chime. “That will be a certain gentleman leaving first.”

Mr. Bennet left the room and James heard Wickham’s voice greet him in the corridor. “Good day, Mr. Bennet.”

“And you. He’s just in there.”

“I shan’t be long. The regiment is leaving earlier than planned; subject to an overeager lieutenant. Hello, James.”

The man himself appeared in the doorway, looking resplendent in his scarlet uniform with his cap under his arm. “Back in your spring raiment,” James observed.

“Yes,” he sighed, stepping forward, “before the cold has finished, however. I think they have the idea the travel will warm us. They forget that horseback lifts us into the wind.”

James laughed, “So your complexion will match your jacket.”

“You’re leaving as well?” Wickham looked around the room and its mild state of unrest.

“To visit my sister in London and then further to Charlotte in Hunsford.”

“Brave soul,” Wickham teased. “You will surely come face to face with the Lady Catherine de Bourgh if Mr. Collins’s frequency in her home is to be believed.”

“I am going for Charlotte, no one else. Even at the risk of being known as a recluse.”

Mirth was in Wickham’s tone. “Will you refuse the lady’s invitations, then?”

“Not initially, I suppose,” James admitted as he crossed the room for clothes in the tall dresser he shared with Jane. “Charlotte is still gaining her place in her ladyship’s part of the country. I will not sabotage her efforts.”

“Gallant as ever,” Wickham approved from where he leaned against the wall. His head turned as he surveyed the room once more. “Is this your room? It has a certain…female presence.”

“Mine and my sister, Jane’s,” he clarified.

“Really?” Wickham chimed with interest. “How unusual. You haven’t another room?”

“I told you we aren’t wealthy,” James gave him a look.

Wickham had the grace to look bashful. “You are right, of course. I cannot remain long,” he stood from the wall. “I wanted to say goodbye to the one who granted me his ears and patience before anyone else.”

“You sound like you’re dying,” James remarked.

Wickham guffawed. “Really, James. Not everyone would have been receptive to my plight.”

“You seem to be doing well for yourself regardless,” James said as he closed his own small trunk.

“I am persistent if nothing else,” Wickham smiled and held out his hand. “Safe travels, Jamie. I hope to have left you with an ideal image of myself.”

James accepted his hand. “As an amiable and pleasant scoundrel?”

“Only pleasant?” Wickham taunted. “I must do better next time.”

“I challenge you to,” James smiled. “Do not catch your death.”

Wickham released his hand and touched his coat buttons. “So long as the stitching doesn’t fail me. My regards to your sisters, and Charlotte, of course.”

James’s fellow travelers the next day were equally amiable though notably less charming. Sir William Lucas and his daughter, Maria, were a good-humoured pair but empty-headed, the latter taking after the former and thus their discussions faded into the rattle of the chaise. It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing room window watching their arrival. When they entered the narrow passage that led from the front door to the foyer, Jane was there to meet them, embracing her brother and holding his face to touch his lengthening hair. James earnestly looked at her face, pleased to see it healthful and lovely.

Taking his hand, Jane led him further into the apartments to where a troop of little Gardiner boys and girls stood waiting on the stairs. Their eagerness for their cousin’s appearance would not allow them to wait for him, but coupled with the shyness of their youth, kept them on the stairs. They had not seen him for a twelvemonth but all it took was James commenting as he theatrically looked around, “I was hoping to see my cousins, but all I see are stair mites.”

Thunderous little feet surrounded him and the day passed wonderfully away with the morning in bustle and shopping, while the evening was at one of the theaters. During intermission, Jane went with their cousins to purchase an orange, and James took her place sitting next to their aunt. Mrs. Gardiner savoured his company while he inquired after Jane’s time with her. He was more grieved than astonished to hear, “Jane does struggle to support her spirits, so there are periods of dejection. Your company has much altered this.”

Her focus soon returned to George Wickham, however. James gently rolled his gaze. “Aunt, the man has left Hertfordshire. He bade farewell to me personally.”

“But what sort of girl is Miss King? I should be sorry to think our friend mercenary.”

“Mercenary or prudent motive, it hardly matters, no more than where discretion ends and avarice begins. Even if he were trying to get a girl with ten thousand pounds from a recent inheritance, such a sum does run out. Then he would be left with a wife he may not be able to stand.”

“If you will only tell me what sort of girl Miss King is, I shall know what to think,” she persisted as one of her youngest found James’s lap and climbed onto it.

His arms easily fell around the sleepy child as he voiced, “She is a good kind of girl. I know no harm in her.”

“But he paid her not the smallest attention till her grandfather’s death made her mistress of this fortune,” his aunt deduced. “There seems indelicacy in directing his attentions towards her so soon after this event.”

“If she does not object to it, why should we?”

“Her not objecting does not justify him. It only shows her being deficient in something herself—sense or feeling.”

James laughed gently so as to not disturb his cousin’s sleep. “Have it as you choose. He shall be mercenary twice over given his profession and she shall be foolish.”

“I do not choose this, Lizzy,” she urged. “I should be sorry, you know, to think ill of a young man who has lived so long in Derbyshire.”

“Really? You seem eager to think so of him. It would fit the poor opinion already in place for men of Derbyshire.”

She chuckled with a glance to be sure Jane had not yet returned. “And their intimate friends who’ve visited Hertforshire who are not much better?”

“Well I am going to see a man who has neither sense nor agreeable qualities to recommend him. It seems stupid men are in vast abundance.”

“Take care, Lizzy. That speech savours strongly of disappointment. Actually, that reminds me: how would you feel about trading positions with your sister? Specifically for a tour of pleasure in the summer. We have not quite determined how far it shall carry us, but perhaps to the Lakes.”

James brightened. “I would like that very much.”

“Good,” she smiled and settled back into her seat. “Very good. Adieu to disappointment and melancholy. What are men to rocks and mountains?”

He flattened. “Have you forgotten my sex?”

“Oh,” she huffed pleasantly as she patted his hand. “You are tolerable and dare I say agreeable. You are a different creature altogether.”

“Really,” he uttered, deadpan. “I’ve been made aware that I am sometimes brutish, and cold.”

She beamed at him. “You are my type of company, which is the best kind.”

James convinced Sir Lucas and Maria to stay another day, the better for them to recover for the final leg of the journey and for him to ensure Jane’s happiness. Together they took their cousins to the park nearest the Gardiners’ home and created memories which would carry Jane for the rest of her time in London. With all fear for her health banished and the prospect of his northern tour with the Gardiners to look forward to, James and the Lucases departed the next day.

When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the parsonage, and at length is was discernible. The iron paling of Rosings Park was their boundary on one side: the garden sloping to the road, the house standing on it, as well as the various laurel hedges and trees creating places for matching iron benches and shade. Everything declared they were arriving. As he looked up at the mansion on the hill, James smirked at the recollection of all he had heard of its inhabitants.

Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door as their chaise rocked to a stop before their quaint gate and the gravel walkway between it and the house. In a moment they were all out of the chaise, Charlotte embracing Jamie much in the way as Jane had, hugging him and commenting on his growing hair. “Soon you’ll be able to tie it back! Shall I braid it for you?”

“Why? So you may put me to work already?” he retorted, but pulled her back for another hug. As for Mr. Collins, his manners were not altered; his formal civility was just what it had been and induced James to be captive for some minutes as he inquired after his side of the family.

After another delay of his pointing out the neatness of the entrance, they were taken into the house where Charlotte held reign. Mr. Collins requested they tour the garden and the two meadows that made up their grounds. Maria, however, in the face of the white frost, had buried her proper boots in her luggage and so the ladies stayed behind while Sir Lucas joined him. James unashamedly remained at the house; Mr. Collins hardly seemed to notice or mind. As James watched them pass by the windows, he heard their soles break through the crusts of frost as Wickham surfaced in his memory, and he wondered distantly how he fared.

During this time, James learned that Lady Catherine was home after some time abroad, and it was spoken of again over dinner for Sir Lucas’s ears. The topic, however, set Mr. Collins off. “Yes! You will all have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on the ensuing Sunday at church—”

Charlotte gracefully met James’ eyes, silence passing between them. “—and I need not say how you will be delighted with her. She is all affability and condescension, and I doubt not but you will be honoured with some portion of her notice when service is over."

"Has no one yet told him that condescension is not a desirable trait?" James murmured to Maria beside him. She covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.

Mr. Collins continued, "I have scarcely any hesitation in saying that she will include you all in every invitation with which she honours us during your stay here. Her behavior to my dear Charlotte is charming.”

James’s brows lifted as he claimed Charlotte’s attention again. My dear, he mouthed discretely and weathered the venom in her gaze before she smirked triumphantly. Meanwhile her husband finished, “We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship’s carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say one of her ladyship’s carriages, for she has several.”

Charlotte softened, “Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman, and a most attentive neighbor.”

James swirled the wine in his glass at that, both observing how the family’s interactions were much the same as before the matrimony, but he also meditated on the differences. He silently anticipated how the visit would pass: the quiet tenor of their usual employments, the vexatious interruptions of Mr. Collins, and the gaieties of their intercourse with Rosings.

Even a lively imagination could not settle it all, for in the middle of the next day James heard a sudden slam beneath his room which seemed to boom through the house. After listening a moment, he heard somebody running upstairs in a violent hurry before he met Maria on the landing. Breathless, she huffed, “Jamie! Make haste and come into the dining room…there is a sight to be seen. Come now!”

Together they rushed into the dining room, where Maria planted herself once more before the window which looked out across the lane. In a low phaeton sat two ladies who were speaking with Charlotte and Mr. Collins. James frowned, “Is this all? I expected at least the pigs had gotten into the garden. There is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter.”

“That’s not Lady Catherine!” Maria corrected. “The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them. The other is Miss de Bourgh, only look at her. She is quite a little creature, is she not? Who would have thought she could be so thin and small?”

But James was recalling Wickham once more and a conversation they had once shared. “She is either foolish or rude, then, to remain out of doors in all this wind and to insist on Charlotte’s staying with her. Why does she not just come in?”

“Oh! Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when Miss de Bourgh comes in.”

“How much of a favour can it be to accept tea and biscuits made by somebody else?” he wondered skeptically as he observed the young lady. Her dark hair reminded him of Mary, which stirred a longing for Longbourn inside of him, but she was indeed frail-looking even from this distance. James found it an odd yet fitting picture: her and Darcy next to one another, engaged in their dark colours and somber expressions.

The Collinses stood at the gate in conversation with the ladies for some time while Sir William stationed himself in the doorway, caught between avoiding social obligation and wanting to use his title. He settled on bowing whenever Miss de Bourgh looked his way until the ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house. Mr. Collins no sooner took two steps into the abode than he began to congratulate them on their good fortune, however he took so long in getting to the point that Charlotte simply cut him off:

“We’ve been asked to dine at Rosings tomorrow. Miss de Bourgh is eager to meet you all.”

It became immediately blatant that Mr. Collins considered the invitation a triumph. The Bennets’ indifference of his patroness coupled with the opportunity of displaying the grandeur of such a lady to his visitors inflamed a wish he did not expect to be granted so soon. It was a unique experience, watching Mr. Collins flutter in a mixture of excitement or agitation—it was difficult to distinguish in the man—during his usual boasts.

“I confess,” he said, “that I should not have been at all surprised by her ladyship’s asking us on Sunday to drink tea and spend the evening at Rosings. I rather expected, from my knowledge of her affability, that it would happen, but who could have foreseen such attention as this! Who could have imagined that we should receive an invitation to dine there—and an invitation moreover including the whole party!—so immediately after your arrival!”

“The lady is entirely insignificant since it was her daughter who made the offer,” James said, but so only Charlotte was the one to hear. Sir Lucas only inspired Mr. Collins with his own ramblings of elegant breeding, therefore nothing else was spoken of for the entirety of the day and the next morning. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them on what they were to expect, so that the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner might not wholly overpower them.

When the ladies left to dress for dinner James could no longer leash his annoyance. “We are not allergic to finery simply because we do not have it. Get on with it.”

But this seemed to trigger another train of thought in Mr. Collins. “Do not make yourself uneasy, cousin, about your apparel. Lady Catherine is far from requiring that elegance of dress in us, which becomes herself and daughter. I would advise you merely to put on whichever of your clothes is superior to the rest; there is no occasion for anything more. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed. She likes to have the distinction of rank preserved.”

So I am to play the country bumpkin, James thought somewhat bitterly as he retreated to his own room to don his green satin and pearl his aunt had given him. However, Mr. Collins visited their doors so frequently to tell them to hasten their pace, that Lady Catherine so much objected to being kept waiting for her dinner, that Maria became more and more frightened. Her anxiety reached such a height that James entered hers and Charlotte’s room to give her his pearl pin for her hair. It would not eclipse Charlotte’s modest jewels but would simultaneously elevate Maria’s confidence.

Though the weather was fine and the frost had melted to make their walk through park pleasant, James’s sentiment for the gardens did not meet the raptures Mr. Collins was desiring. James felt a subtle foreboding that this was to be a continuous theme throughout the evening.

Though the home was exquisitely carved from light stone, the interior was dominantly painted, papered, or paneled in deep, expensive colours. The point was made: each detail was luxurious, but James easily decided he preferred Netherfield’s lighter, spacious rooms which gave way to light and air instead of dark caverns of finery.

When they ascended the steps of the entrance hall, Maria’s alarm was every moment increasing, and even Sir William did not look perfectly composed. Far from insuring their confidence, Mr. Collins had shattered it altogether. James’ courage did not fail him as he lifted Maria’s hand into his elbow, silently cursing that he could not do the same for Charlotte on her first evening in this place. Maria clutched at him, but her breaths audibly grew even.

Through the hall and an antechamber of sorts they crossed, before they entered the room in which Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her ladyship, as she rose with immense dignity, was visibly night and day to Mrs. Jenkinson. James felt foolish for having mistaken them.

Mr. Collins had of course already informed them that she was to speak first, that it was befitting her rank to offer the opportunity of introduction. She did so, first addressing the Collinses; it settled both James and the Gardiners’ trepidations to see Charlotte welcomed so familiarly by the figure of their fears. Next was Sir Lucas, who occupied Lady Catherine by his title only briefly before her eyes detached with boredom. She transferred ambivalent compliments of Charlotte to her sister: “You have the same complexion as your sister and a likewise admirable posture. Your mother has taught you well.”

Maria bobbed a curtsy and thanked her but gratefully passed off her attention to James.

“You are Mr. Bennet.” It was not a question. “I have heard curious things of you from Mrs. Collins. You are an entrepreneur of sorts.”

James produced another bow. “I have been fortunate to find a small population willing to pay for the fruits of my hobbies.”

“Are you being modest?” she chortled in a way that suggested both amusement and satisfaction. She was a tall and large woman, not as a result of any obese habits, but rather her body matched her strongly marked features, which might once have been handsome. Her air was far from conciliating. On the contrary, her manner of receiving them was not inclined toward her visitors forgetting their inferior rank. Her tone dripped with self-importance. Watching her eyes roam the present company for confirmations of her opinion and humour brought Mr. Wickham immediately to James’ mind, as well as a sharp longing for his warm conversation.

“Well do sit down. We have some moments before the aperitifs have finished. Charlotte, have you resolved that matter with the poultry…”

James accepted the chance to sit and turned his eyes on the woman’s daughter. Maria’s astonishment was not unwarranted. Perhaps Miss de Bourgh would have looked like her mother, but her being so thin and so small denied her of this. Further contrary to her mother, she spoke very little except in a low voice to Mrs. Jenkinson, whose appearance was nothing remarkable; she easily remained in the background of Lady Catherine’s grandeur. As James silently observed the family, the lady certainly thought of herself as the planet around which her satellites revolved, but the family dynamic was so contrary to James’s that he daydreamed with some humour what Lady Catherine’s reaction would be to his rambunctious sisters.

However as they were ushered into the dining room, the topic of conversation did turn to his family. Lady Catherine seemed intent to weed out his pedigree. After thoroughly inquiring about his father and what sort of carriage he kept, she moved on to his wife. “What is your mother’s maiden name, Mr. Bennet?”

“Gardiner, my lady.”

“And how many siblings are in her line?”

“Herself, a sister, and a brother. Our aunt lives near us in Hertfordshire with her husband, Philips. Her brother lives with his wife in London.”

“In a commercial district, I imagine?”

“Gracechurch Street, yes,” he consented, glad she kept her standards nice and low; less to disappoint.

“I have not heard unpleasant things of this district, especially since certain merchants have taken residence there—for the low rent, of course—and have quite turned the place around,” she remarked, and then proceeded to relay every detail of Gracechurch Street she had, regardless whether it was given to her or derived herself. James was glad he was momentarily relieved of her attentions, if at the risk of her basing her impressions of his relatives on a part of town and not the people themselves.

“And how many sisters have you, Mr. Bennet?”

“Four.”

“Any of them married?”

“None, as yet.”

“Are they not handsome?”

James restrained his laughter at her privileged audacity. Charlotte saved him with, “They are very handsome, my lady. The eldest, Jane, is well known as the most beautiful in the county.”

“But not married,” Lady Catherine finished. “This must be attributed to either her accomplishments or the lack of available men in the country. Do you play and sing, Mr. Bennet?”

“A little.”

“Oh! Then surely so do your sisters. Some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one, probably superior to—well. You shall try it some day. What do your sisters favour playing?”

“One does,” he corrected. “She enjoys the piano.”

“Why did not you all learn? You ought all to have learned. The Miss Webbs down the road all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours. Do they draw?”

“No, not at all.”

“What? None?”

“Not one.” Charlotte shifted restlessly in her seat beside him.

“That is most strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity. Your mother should have taken you to town every spring for the benefit of masters.”

“My mother might not have had any objection, but my father hates London.”

“He has spent much time there?”

“He lived there as a young man, earning his fortune to buy our home in Longbourn.”

“Has your governess left you?” she switched.

“We never had a governess,” he replied with some mirth. Lady Catherine looked momentarily appalled.

“No governess? How is that possible? Five children brought up at home without a governess, I never heard of such a thing. Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education.”

James could hardly help smiling as he assured her that had not been the case.

“Then who taught you? Who attended to you? Without a governess you must have been neglected.”

“Perhaps my younger siblings were,” he acquiesced, “but if any of us wanted to learn, we never lacked the means, and likewise could choose idleness. We were always encouraged to read and had all the masters that were necessary. My mother and father raised us in either a markedly old fashioned or perhaps advanced way: by themselves. My father largely took up the task of our education. He is the jack of all trades.”

“But a master of none,” she finished indifferently. “Your mother was surely not idle, not with two siblings doing well for themselves?”

James was briefly stunned by the workings of her thoughts. “Of course not, but my father and mother do their best work at different times of the day. They balanced our education between the two of them.”

“Aye, no doubt, but that is what a governess would prevent. If I had known your mother, I should have advised her most strenuously to engage one. I always say nothing is to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give it.”

James sighed to himself and contented himself with his soup while Lady Catherine spoke her fill. “It is wonderful how many families I have been the means of supplying in that way. I am always glad to get a young person well placed out. Four nieces of Mrs. Jenkinson are most delightfully situated through my means, and it was but the other day that I recommended another young person, who was merely accidentally mentioned to me, and the family is quite delighted with her. Mrs. Collins, I did tell you of Lady Metcalfe’s calling yesterday to thank me? She finds Miss Pope a treasure. ‘Lady Catherine,’ she said, ‘you have given me a treasure.’ Are any of your younger sisters out, Mr. Bennet?”

His attention lifted off his food as if to clearly convey, Oh, me again? before he said, “Yes, ma’am, all.”

“All!” she was beside herself. “What, all four out at once? How odd! And you are only the second. The youngest out before the eldest is married? Your younger sisters must be very young?”

“My youngest is not sixteen,” he confirmed as Lady Catherine huffed to herself. “But really, ma’am, I think it would be hard upon younger sisters, especially such socially inclined ones as mine, if they should not have their share of society and amusement because the elder is still unmarried, and from such circumstances as they may not be able to help. The last born has as good a right to the pleasures of youth as the first. It would be unlikely to promote sibling affection if such a hierarchy barred such interactions.”

It was to Lady Catherine’s credit that she remain silent to listen to all he had to say. “Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?”

Whether James’s smile was bashful or guileful, he left it to her to decide as he said, “With three younger sisters grown up, your ladyship can hardly expect me to own to it.”

Lady Catherine seemed astonished at not receiving a direct answer, and James suspected himself to be the first creature who had ever dared trifle with so much dignified impertinence. Mr. Collins was the picture of perplexity, not understanding such an interaction which did not involve profuse flattery of her ladyship.

“You cannot be more than twenty, I am sure,” she decided with finality. “Therefore you need not conceal your age.”

“I am two and twenty,” he defied.

Lady Catherine held his gaze but a new coarse arrived along with a footman with a letter, and the conversation moved elsewhere. The lady only exempted herself from conversation while she read her letter and complained to the footmen of its writer being late.

“At this time of year, frost and ice are nothing, and the traveling season has not begun, what is keeping him?”

“I cannot say, my lady,” the man murmured patiently.

“Tell our cook to check his inventories. Easter dinner as well as various brunches beforehand…”

James was relieved of his part until dinner was finished and they were called to her ladyship’s card tables. Thankfully quadrille required a limited number, so James was left to play with Miss de Bourgh, Mrs. Jenkinson, and Maria. Of course this resulted in him conversing only with the latter, but not without his trying to engage the younger de Bourgh. Her eyes were shy but intelligent, further reminding him of Mary, but while Mary was eager to speak when she had something to say, Miss de Bourgh seemed adamantly silent. Only the slightest of curves moved her lips when he teased, “Do you play at casino in rebellion of your mother’s quadrille? As I hear it, she plays nothing else.”

He calmly waited for her to reply, but her progress was slow and Mrs. Jenkinson intercepted the topic.

By the time the carriage was called, James did not care to admire it and instead rode with the driver for the night to cleanse the evening. Mr. Collins was of course in spirits as they arrived at their home, but Sir William and Maria announced they were going to sleep, leaving Mr. Collins to his own devices while the house settled for slumber. It was no surprise to James when a soft knock sounded on his door and Charlotte entered as he finished stoking the fire.

“Your patroness is predictably a piece of work,” he said without preamble.

Charlotte laughed as she shut the door behind her. “Yes, but you did your part in provoking her.”

“You mean unlike everyone else, I checked her assault. Her late husband’s title has given leeway to her impertinence.”

“Be nice,” Charlotte scolded, but only mildly as she came to sit on his bed. “She may be unbearably nosy but her high standard and constant interference has made this area a descent place to live. If any disagreement arises among the neighbors, she attends to it herself.”

“How admirable of her,” he said grumpily as he poured two cups of tea from the kettle resting in the embers. “She seems to enjoy you well enough.”

“It doesn’t take much for her to like you,” she granted.

“Just do everything she says and agree even when she’s wrong,” James taunted.

“That is the nature of aristocracy, isn’t it?” she threw back, accepting the cup he handed her.

James laughed as he sat beside her. “Now who is cynical?”

“This is my life now, Lizzy,” she reminded. “You can be as rude as you like because you’re leaving.”

“I am not so awful, but I am giving you something to talk of after I’m gone. Shall I do my best in convincing her I am a rural scoundrel? If nothing else you will have a reprieve from her speaking of herself.”

Charlotte guffawed but pleaded, “Heavens, no. It would be unbearable to hear her tirade about someone I care about so deeply. I know it injured you to weather her questions and remarks.”

He raked his hair back. “I know my family is not a picture of exemplary puissance. I suppose I expected it but I’ve never thought anyone was quite worthy enough to pass judgment on us.”

“Your family is closer than most and lacks the rigid obligations so many face. But you were able to say yes to most of her queries. Why didn’t you? You’re very accomplished.”

James’ brows lifted over his cup as he sipped. “I haven’t any pride to feed.” Then he froze, “You have not told her I decorated your wedding?”

She smiled. “No, she hasn’t asked.”

“Good. Perhaps she’ll forget I play piano. My skills are not worth mentioning twice.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she warned. “Her ladyship enjoys music. I think your playing is well enough.”

He shrugged. “Mary needed someone to help her practice duets. I don’t harbor any particular love for the instrument.”

“Did you notice the letter during dinner?” Charlotte switched.

“Sure. What about it?”

She gave him a look. “You haven’t any idea who might be arriving for Easter?”

James grimaced. “Surely the Darcys would prefer their own church compared to Mr. Collins’s.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It is a family holiday. Even you and yours have a special meal and your traditions.”

“Ours do not include attending church,” he reminded.

“I always found your father’s scholarly atheism to be fascinating but I’d avoid antagonizing her ladyship with it. You were positively pagan every time we went to play in the fields and wood. You needn’t attend every Sunday. But do so often enough to save face. We can only lie about illness or fatigue for so many weeks.”

“You can only listen to her ladyship harp on about medicine for so long,” he taunted. “Surely she thinks herself a vault of medical knowledge as well.”

“Indeed,” she finished and he huffed a breath of mirth over his tea. She smiled briefly. “I’m happy you’ve come, Lizzy.”

“It’s not unbearable being here,” he returned.

“Oh!” she stormed, shoving his shoulder so he fell, laughing, among his pillows, tea lost to the floor.

Sir William stayed only a week at Hunsford, but his visit was long enough to convince him of his daughter’s being most comfortably settled. While Sir William was with them, Mr. Collins devoted his mornings to driving him out in his gig and showing him the country. And when Sir Lucas left it was a further relief to know Mr. Collins spent the time between breakfast and dinner either working in the garden, or within his own library. He had strategically stationed himself in a room which faced the road, while Charlotte had likewise claimed a back room as her parlour. James commended her choice, as the room absorbed the morning light and thus afforded itself the warmest and brightest place to spend one’s leisure hours.

Mr. Collins’s place in front of the road was revealed to be the obvious reason why dining at Rosings was a biweekly occurrence. He was often heard rushing out of his office to meet the telltale phaeton and converse with whomever was inside. Few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings, and these were often enough that Charlotte did not think it necessary that she join him. In this way Charlotte spared James the tiresome dinners, as refusing her ladyship’s invitations was more commonplace than Mr. Collins had led to believe.

Until the morning arrived in which Charlotte, her sister, and James were lounging in her room, lethargically eating the last bites of their brunch, and a familiar carriage was heard rattling past. But far from the usual length of time between Mr. Collins going to meet it and his returning to the house, the latter arrived quickly and the man himself burst into the room.

“Lady Catherine’s Easter guests has arrived! His lordship, the very same from the Netherfield ball has come with a Colonel Fitzwilliam, both of whom are her ladyship’s nephews. I may thank you, cousin, for this piece of civility. Lord Darcy would never have come so soon to wait upon me.”

One of James’ brows lifted as he slowly dragged his fork out of his mouth, not fully understanding—

The doorbell chimed almost simultaneously as a door opened in the house, but all the house’s occupants were already in this room. “Sorry for the intrusion! Thought we might stop by for a proper hello.”

And then there they were: a man in scarlet with a markedly broken and repeatedly healed nose and Mr. Darcy in contrasting dark blue, black, and white silks. James was suddenly aware of his place on the couch, lying with his breakfast plate on his chest. He knew Charlotte was looking at him, her terror only hidden by her head turned and down during her curtsy. He rose as smoothly as he could and set his plate aside, the better to be rid of his embarrassment and stood to shake the Colonel’s hand.

“James Bennet. I’m visiting from Hertfordshire. I knew I’d be playing the part of bumpkin but I did not anticipate the role coming so easily.”

The Colonel surprised him by guffawing and shaking his hand vigorously. “Please, the fault is our own. We’ve completely intruded without any real invitation. I’m Colonel Fitzwilliam. Our parents shared the unfortunate thought to name us this but my rank makes doing away with the name easy.”

He glanced at Mr. Darcy, who so visibly contrasted him in colour and demeanor that it took several moments before James remembered that they did indeed share a first name. “Oh…I’ve only heard the name shortened to William.”

Darcy’s eyes landed on him silently, inducing James to bow. “Good morning, my lord.”

The man’s hand extended before him. James straightened and felt the fingers slide past his, gently cold from the morning travel. “Mr. Bennet,” he greeted simply.

“Maria, refreshments,” Charlotte ordered softly. Her sister gratefully ran from the room as the Colonel took James’ plate from the couch and set it on the table to take its place. James sat beside him and began to drain his glass of juice, if nothing else than to excuse himself from speaking—

“So have you met my hag of an aunt yet?”

James snorted into his glass. “Um,” was all he managed as he recovered.

“That’s a yes,” the Colonel laughed. “I hope she has not ruined any chance of us seeing you at dinner. Though the company is cumbersome, the food is divine.”

“We would be happy to join you at Rosings,” Charlotte salvaged.

“Indeed,” Mr. Collins began. “We have the familiarity of often dining twice a week with her ladyship—”

The Colonel lithely interrupted, “Of course this would be under my invitation, which I daresay would be more informal and allow one to excuse themselves from quadrille if they so needed.”

He met James’ gaze with a look of knowing exactly what dinner at Rosings entailed. James found the decision to like Colonel Fitzwilliam immediate and easy.

“How is the health of your family, Mr. Bennet?” Darcy asked, yanking James attention to him.

“They’re…well. They’re well,” he said more confidently. “My eldest sister has been in town these three months. I don’t suppose you would have happened to see her there.”

Of course he had not. Darcy shook his head and confirmed as much, and then fell silent for the remainder of their visit. His cousin filled the conversation with ease, informing them the Rosings house would be occupied with various events for the following week building up to Easter, but afterward they would surely be hosted to dinner. The men soon left, leaving the house to calm after their intrusion.

His foretelling proved exactly the case, although the Colonel came to them often enough. “Poor Darcy is auntie’s favourite,” he said upon his second visit to the house. “So he must remain behind. He has the audacity to leave Georgie behind, so to compensate, he must remain in her sights.”

“Georgiana?” James wondered.

The Colonel nodded over his sandwich. “Aunt loves music most of all, and Georgie is the best pianist in the family. Darcy does her a great relief in leaving her out of aunt’s clutches.”

James laughed somewhat anxiously. “I’ve yet to meet anyone other than myself who speaks as bluntly.”

“My half of the family is rather distant, geographically,” he nodded, “and my being in the military has roughened my tongue. You said you were from Hertfordshire? A number of regiments were there this autumn past, I believe. I would have enjoyed meeting you prior to now.”

“I am not so interesting, but you would have certainly had spectacles to occupy yourself during that time.”

“Really? Darcy speaks well of you.”

James was stilled in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” the Colonel recollected, tipping his head to the side as he considered, “he spoke of you. Mentioned, more like, however you surely have noticed his ineptitude regarding conversation.” He smiled consolingly. “That skill went to me, but if you made enough of an impression as for him to mention you in this way, it is as good as praise from him.”

“You are kind but I disagree.”

The Colonel nodded his acquiescence. “Well it’s not like the man is here to defend himself. Charlotte and Maria, whatever do you get up to while Mr. Collins is attending to my aunt?”

The Lucas sisters had certainly come to enjoy hosting Colonel Fitzwilliam, though he was an easy individual to host. Intelligent but simple minded, he was kind and refused to be any sort of difficulty. He knew exactly when his welcome had worn thin, though this often was not until after dinner.

It was the evening before Easter that he announced, “I do believe tomorrow my aunt will invite you all to tea or supper. You have been duly warned. Now that I have fractured our festivities, James, I must tell you I am vexed by these sweets. They put my aunt’s pastry chef to shame.”

Charlotte and James laughed, the former declaring, “You have fractured nothing, sir.”

“And I highly doubt my crude truffles can stand up to her ladyship’s cuisine. I must thank you for bringing the chocolate. It was a wonderful surprise.”

“I had expected to be the hero of the evening, but then you disappear and return with these!” he exclaimed, waving the small orb before popping it into his mouth.

James apologized with mirth in his words, “The Collinses have had quite a harvest of hazelnuts. Roasted and coated in honey and chocolate make for a guilty sweet. My father made them for us many years ago.”

“Ahm!” he moaned dejectedly. “I would kiss the man if my threads were not threatening to pop. I must take my leave before this happens. I trust I will see you all on the marrow.”

And indeed they did during the morning’s Easter ceremony. It took James one look at the unique interior of the church to decide where to sit. As churches were usually shaped like a cross from a bird’s eye, so was this one, however Mr. Collins’s platform was in the center of the room, presumably implying his words came from the Saviour’s heart. Thus the seats were arranged to face this focal point, and James sat on the outskirts, where he opened a sidedoor to let in the fresh morning air and birdsong.

The prominent figures of the assembly sat where they could both see and be seen; Lady Catherine and her nephews sitting near the head of the cross. Colonel Fitzwilliam came over to shake James’ hand and to kiss the ladies’ but soon returned to her ladyship’s side for the service to begin. Charlotte and Maria sat in the pew in front of James, covering any view one might have as to why he was writing so much in his book of psalms. Only the bored and wandering child who came to sit next to him would know he was drawing wreaths he might make later to adorn the Collins’s home.

The service passed pleasantly in this way, James placing his journal on the child’s legs to keep him in place while they silently drew until the little one was called back by his mother before a hymn began. As everyone stood to sing, James slipped out of the church.

When the family returned to the house, he already had collected materials and made a wreath for their gate and the front door; hazelnuts, grey sallow, and various wildflowers he could find made up the bundles. Rabbits were approaching and dashing away from his work, curious and eager for his treats as the family walked up the walkway.

“Tea and supper,” Charlotte said without preamble.

James silently snipped the ribbon and twine he was using to tie bundles of carrots, greens, and crystalized salt on twigs to hang from a tree to distract the rabbits. The sisters helped him tie the treats to the saplings in the garden as a family of deer was already visible in blue fog of the forest in the distance. Mr. Collins was pacing excitedly around, rambling his usual praises at receiving such an invitation.

“To be included with the intimate family on such a holiday! To share the feast! What a immense pleasure—”

His sudden pause drew their attention to his waving at the phaeton driving past. Various heads turned toward them in the open carriage, but James bent to retrieve more twine instead of ogling.

At the appointed hour, they joined the party in Lady Catherine’s drawing room. It was much as their first evening there, but with the added company rising to meet them. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed overjoyed to see them as if the morning had never happened, shaking James’ hand before he had even faced the obligation of greeting Lady Catherine.

“Happy Easter!” he said, shaking James’ entire frame from his hand.

“Hap-py Easter,” James laughed against the energy rattling up his arm. Mr. Darcy approached, then, and they bowed to each other. If they were to speak, they did not get the chance as Lady Catherine was foreign to being greeted last.

Once the family was settled once more, James came to stand beside the Colonel at the window. “I apologize in advance for your uniform.”

The Colonel turned puzzled eyes to him and then at the tin box he held to him. His expression transformed into jubilation as his hands both reached for the tin and gripped his nape. “You rascal! You’re not sorry, whatsoever.”

“What is this?”

James looked up at Darcy gazing between them. With complete gravity, the Colonel pushed him to stand between them and her ladyship as he murmured, “Have one of these, Will. Save me from myself.”

Dark lashes kissed his cheeks as he gazed into the open tin and the truffles resting on a shred of blue cloth. He silently lifted one to his lips and chewed contemplatively. His only response was turning to James, “Did you make these?”

“William! Come here, I must know how Georgiana is doing with her history studies,” his aunt interrupted.

The Colonel sighed as he and Darcy exchanged looks. They parted ways, the former excusing himself so he could put the sweets in his room, and the former attending to his relative. He proved to be her chosen person for discussion, speaking mostly to him and him alone unless she desired someone else’s agreement. James observed this with something like confusion. Her ladyship all but ignored her daughter and Darcy his fiancée. James planted himself beside Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Jenkinson, although the latter was engaged with Charlotte and Maria.

“Do you have a favourite dish during the holiday?” he began. She looked at him, and after a moment shook her head. “Forgive me if I am forward, but does your health permit you to eat sweets?”

She blinked at him and said quietly, “Sometimes. It is not sugar which ails me.”

“Then may I suggest bothering your cousin, the Colonel, when the craving strikes you? He’s hiding a small trove of chocolates in his room, but he can be persuaded to share.”

She processed this and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Is that what you gave him?”

He grinned and nodded. “The quiet ones are always observant, like your intelligence is a secret. You remind me of one of my sisters.”

Her features softened. “Which one?”

“Mary. She came after me. I’m afraid she’s been rather caught between generations; Jane and myself inspired her literary interests, but the younger two came too late to inspire a rambunctious spirit.”

“Are they very energetic?” she asked.

“Uh,” James laughed as he raked his fingers through his hair and behind his ear. “I think that is putting it mildly. Our youngest, Lydia, is…her heart is good. Her mind is lacking…in sense. Or rather, it moves too quickly to give sense the time to judge her actions.”

A laugh of all things gently escaped her throat. “But you love her. That much is obvious.”

James felt Darcy’s eyes move toward him from where he silently weathered his aunt’s conversation.

“You said you had two younger than Mary?”

“Kitty,” James nodded. “Well. Katherine, but we call her Kitty.” He gave a slight glance at her ladyship as her daughter nodded.

“I understand. What is she like?”

His brows lifted as he smiled bashfully. “I am not boring you? I do have so many siblings.”

She smiled more easily and shook her head. “I’ve never left Hunsford but once when I was a little girl.”

“Well that must change,” he declared softly.

She visibly closed within herself. “My…condition does not allow me the opportunity.”

“Have doctors never told you a change of climate is good?”

“Mother does not believe any place to be superior than home.”

“Ah,” he nodded with another look at her ladyship. Darcy was clearly listening to them instead of her. “If I may be so bold, I disagree with much she says. I think you should be the one who decides which climate suits you best.”

Her chin lifted, her eyes filled with something like hope. “Where would you recommend?”

He leaned back and tilted his head guiltily. “I am partial to Hertfordshire. The sun shines through the morning mist in a way it doesn’t anywhere else. The air turns gold. And the company is not so bad; we country folk find different things interesting than other tiers of society. I think you would like Netherfield Park.”

“William wrote to us from there,” she nodded. “I would like your views on it.”

He shrugged. “It is quite contrary to your home. Where you have deep colours and dark wood, Netherfield is marble and white paint.”

“It sounds like Pemberley,” she voiced fondly. “That is the only place I have been.”

“My aunt is fond of Derbyshire, but I have never been,” James said.

“It is beautiful.” They looked up at Darcy coming to sit in the chair adjacent to them.

“Is Netherfield much like Pemberley?” Miss de Bourgh asked him.

“It is smaller and…perhaps rustic, but it is not without its charms,” he granted.

“Rustic because only certain rooms were furnished during your stay,” James reminded.

“It was predetermined we would be there for a short time,” Darcy replied.

“I thought the Bingleys were looking for a family estate,” he contrasted.

“Such things take time and searching to decide upon.”

“That depends on who is deciding,” James held his gaze.

“I imagine it is a decision between the four of them,” Darcy said simply. James gave him a deadpan look, to which Darcy had the grace to look puzzled—

Lady Catherine cut in from her place across the room, “What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Mr. Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”

Darcy exhaled through his nose, taking his time in turning his head before his voice carried, “We are speaking of music, madam.”

James’ features opened, undeniably impressed.

“Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is, of all subjects, my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England who have more enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply.”

James observed how Miss de Bourgh’s jaw gradually fell, her hands composed in her lap. Eventually she felt his eyes on her and accepted his small smile with her own.

“I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. How does Georgiana get on, Darcy?”

“In piano or her wellbeing? In both, she fares marvelously. She is a young lady ahead of her years.”

“I am glad to hear such a good account of her,” she proclaimed, “and pray tell her from me that she cannot expect to excel if she does not practice a great deal.”

“I assure you, she does not need such advice. She practices constantly.”

“So much the better. It cannot be done too much, and when I next write to her, I shall charge her not to neglect it on any account.” James let his head sag onto his hand, foreseeing no immediate end to her input. “I often tell young ladies that no excellence in music is to be acquired without constant practice. I have told Mr. Bennet several times that he will never play really well unless he practices more—”

James lifted his head with a confused grimace on his face, earning a stifled giggle from Anne. Darcy looked rather ashamed of his aunt’s behaviour but he perked up to ask under her words. “Do you play?”

“It’s nothing for her to craft ideas about,” James disregarded.

“I would like to hear you,” Anne said softly. “Does Hertfordshire have its own songs?”

He shrugged. “Some local composers were kind enough to make copies for Mary to use for practice. I wouldn’t think them up to her ladyship’s standard.”

“That is for us to decide, is it not?” she said smoothly. He stared at her and after a moment she giggled to herself.

“Miss Anne, you have a sense of humour.”

“My guilty secret,” she laughed.

“Protect it with your life,” he joined her mirth. “One’s humour is the first to leave in the face of hardship.”

“Would you lessen such hardship with your playing one day?” she asked. “We have a piano in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room, so you might play without a critical ear to judge you.”

He smiled, “You are kind to cater to my wishes, but I do not wish to be an inconvenience.”

“How would you be inconvenient?” Darcy wondered.

James met his steady gaze. “I imagine many sort of ways.”

Darcy gazed at him, absorbing this until it was announced to be dinner time. At some point during the meal, the word came around to the Colonel, who approached him while coffee was being served afterward. “I am I to expect a concert eventually?”

“Absolutely not,” James laughed. “A meager demonstration, perhaps.”

“Are you being modest, Mr. Bennet?” Lady Catherine overheard.

The Colonel’s eyes were immediately apologetic but he was silent. “I’m afraid not, my lady,” James said.

“Then take the time to practice here. You shan’t be a bother to us,” she insisted. The room was silent in regards to counterarguments.

The Colonel whispered, “The better to get it over with.”

James handed him his untouched coffee and went to sit on the bench. The lid over the keys lifted and slid back more smoothly than any piano he had played. He could see Mary’s fingers over the keys, and from there he oriented himself. Her favourite was a melody in which the pedals elongated the notes, creating a sonorous story in the air. Lady Catherine listened to half of the song, and then spoke as before to Lord Darcy until the latter walked away from her and toward the pianoforte. James glanced up at him at the risk of missing two of the keys, but Darcy gave no indication he had noticed or cared.

“Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming to hear me? I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. I have the stubbornness that allows courage to rise in the face of intimidation.”

“I mean no such thing,” he countered, but not unkindly. “I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know you do so enjoy ridding a person of their premeditated ideas.”

James laughed as he focused on the keys. “Am I the villain to your story?”

“I think not.”

James let the notes drag and linger in the air as he rotated to say to the Colonel behind him, “You will either learn or hear from Mr. Darcy to measure my words with salt. I have a habit of dissecting one’s personality for my own analysis.”

The Colonel approached the piano from where he had been leaning against the wall. “I should like to know how Will behaves among strangers, then.”

“Would you? You may find my retellings unsavoury.”

“Oh, Darcy,” the Colonel accused. “What have you done of which I might be ashamed?”

James looked at him as he countered pleasantly, “I am not afraid of you.” His handsome features were as close to a smile as James had ever seen.

“Let me hear what you have to accuse him of,” the Colonel grinned.

“At his first assembly in Hertfordshire, he participated in but four of the dances, though ladies were scarce in the room.”

“Lord Darcy,” Colonel scolded. “With how your own sister enjoys dancing, surely you would not deny a room of willing ladies your time?”

“I had not at the time the honour of knowing any lady in the assembly beyond my own party.”

Lady Catherine interrupted, “Colonel! I need you, come here.”

“My turn, is it?” he harrumphed, and left them with a lingering look at Darcy.

James’ fingertips roamed over the keys, no longer playing, simply feeling the smoothness of such keys…

“Perhaps…”

He looked up at Darcy, who had not moved.

“I should have judged better…but I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers.”

James’ brows furrowed over his smile. “You are a man of sense and education who has lived in the world… It is strange you might think yourself subpar to introduce yourself, especially to such country folk who are easy to please.”

“I disagree,” he said softly. He had looked across the room toward his cousin. “I do not have the talent which some people possess.” He looked back down at James. “Of conversing easily with those I have never seen before. I cannot catch their tone of conversation, or appear interested in their concerns, as I have often seen done.”

“If we are to take your aunt’s advice, the solution would be incessant practice,” James provided. “But really…I’d say you are only poor at lying.”

Darcy’s eyes were soft as his lips parted, waiting for him to say more.

“As you once said, you judge critically. If one does not meet your interests, you cannot feign delight or concern. Some might deem this small minded or closed hearted, but I cannot fault you in being selective, what with how many already seek your attentions.”

“Yes…” he said, and the way he said it…James felt it was a small glance inside the man’s façade. He sounded tired. “I have grown accustomed to strictly sifting through acquaintances.”

“And here I stubbornly sit,” James chuckled. “Defying your censorship.”

That puzzled expression came across Darcy’s face once more. “I have not thought negatively of you, Mr. Bennet.”

James perplexed the man further by waving his words aside. “Might as well call me James. There is a certain familiarity which comes from sharing a house and enduring a hostess such as Caroline Bingley.”

James did not look at him during his silence. “James…” he said, as if feeling the word on his lips. “Have…have I not heard your relations call you…Lizzy? Or something similar?”

“My middle name is Elizabeth.”

“Oh…” he exhaled ponderously.

James peeked up at him. “How does your time with the Miss Bingley progress?”

Darcy’s features settled into indifference. “My time with her is as much the same as my time spent with most, I would say.”

James laughed, and Darcy’s eyes seemed drawn to the sound. “How tragic for her, to have fallen through your cracks.”

“What do you mean?”

James gazed at him almost pitifully. “Surely you must have noticed? She fancies you.”

“Oh…yes, I have,” he admitted.

“Then there is hope for you, yet,” James teased gently.

“But I harbor no…interest for her. Though this has never seemed to dissuade her intentions.”

James huffed a breath of mirth as he lazily began a new song. “No. Why would it? You will fulfill all of Caroline’s monetary fantasies.”

“And what of your own?” Darcy surprised him.

James looked up, but only briefly. “My fantasies involve feeling, not money.”

“You misunderstand me, James.”

He looked up again, but Lady Catherine came into view. They fell silent as she listened to James’ playing. “You would not play at all amiss, Mr. Bennet, if you practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master, though your taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn.”

James disregarded Lady Catherine's unique talent for giving a compliment and insult simultaneously to watch how Darcy reacted to the praise of his fiancée, but neither then nor any other time could he discern any symptom of love between the two of them. Watching his interactions with Miss de Bourgh was not unlike his interactions with Caroline, but James supposed real love was not often a consideration among couples of aristocracy.