5 • Good Opinion

James awoke to sounds in the room. Jane was out of bed, and just from her manner of movement, he knew she was feeling better. The first rays of sunlight were swords lying across the coverlet. She came around the bed while pouring a cup of tea; she glanced over the rosemary sprig to see his squinting eyes and smiled. “Good morning,” she almost whispered.

“Mmh,” he sighed, watching the cup balance on his chest. He could feel its heat seeping through the plush down while he heard the sound of a tin container opening. A salve smelling of eucalyptus was rubbed under his nose. “Forgot I brought that.”

She laughed softly. “My ailment was in my chest, but yours is in your head. Can you breathe through your nose?”

He shook his head while wiggling to sit up enough to drink his tea. She informed, “Richard brought basins for us to wash.”

James’ eyes had already closed once more. “Richard?” he heard as if from a dream.

“The butler,” she informed while dragging her hand back and forth over his chest. “You must wash,” she coaxed. “You’ll feel better. Come on.”

Heaving himself up, he drained the cup and first washed his and Jane’s underthings in one of the basins. While they dried over the fire the siblings washed during pieces of conversation before Jane exclaimed, “Jamie, what’s this?”

He looked up at Jane’s bare breast pulled to the side. He squinted and stepped out of his basin for a better look at her sternum. He laughed, “It’s only a spot. Wash thoroughly.”

“I thought I was past getting spots,” she complained mildly.

“It’s because you’ve been in bed for a few days,” he supplied while washing his face. “Consider it an unexpected advantage you do not own one of the fashionable London gowns that would otherwise reveal your treachery,” he laughed.

Jane frowned. “Their gowns are not cut so low.”

He had wrapped himself in a towel and knelt over the basin to finish. “It is hardly within me to care one way or another how low a woman’s dress is cut…unless it’s Lydia.”

“I think the larger concern would be Lydia’s swollen pride at owning such a thing, and less how others reacted to her bosom,” she voiced. “Let me wash your hair. Your sinuses must ache.”

They did. Leaving his face wet, he heard her towel move around her body and the felt her fingers push into his hair. After suds had been made Jane poured water over his hair and he did the same for her. Once they had finished she said pleasantly, “I think I’ll have a spot of breakfast. Will you join me?”

He nodded and buttoned the last holes of his shirt. They were informed their hosts had already dined and were out on the terrace awaiting them. James’ own cold had taken hold, eclipsing his appetite, but it was a relief to see Jane famished. She managed to push apple slices and a bite of toast into him but beyond that he excused himself as she finished her last cup of tea.

He exited the French doors leading to the terrace which wrapped around the rear of the house but a footmen gestured around the corner where the family would have a view of the lake. James thanked him, and as he rounded the corner, he paused upon hearing their discussion.

“An uncle who is an attorney is all fine and good, but another in Cheapside!” The voice was unmistakably Caroline’s.

“That is capital,” Louisa chortled.

Charles cut in, “If they had uncles enough to fill all of Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable. You lot hold too much emphasis on material wealth.”

James neared the corner, pressing his shoulder to its edge. He let his body roll over it so he was in view of the family, or rather, they each faced the view of the lake where Mr. Darcy leaned against the banister. But Darcy’s gaze locked with James’.

“Charles,” Louisa said measuredly, “we have our wealth thanks to material goods.”

Caroline concluded, “And their lack thereof materially lessens their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.”

Darcy held James’ eyes with his own, but if there was any emotion there, James could not read it. Richard the butler arrived with coffee, of which Darcy appeared uninterested, but James was thankful for the conversation change to announce himself. “My sister feels well.”

Caroline and Mrs. Hurst perked up, ignorant of his being there all the while. “What lovely news!” the latter sang.

“Is she with you?” Caroline asked.

“She finishes breaking her fast as we speak,” he confirmed. “She will be with you shortly.”

He began to shift back the way he'd come, but Charles exclaimed, “You will remain as well? Share the morning with us?”

James smiled and assured, “I am going to retrieve your books. I’ll be back momentarily, excuse me.”

James delicately pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked to the opposite set of stairs. Just the press of the pads of his fingers elicited aches, and the sun was too bright on his eyes. Nonetheless, he collected the borrowed volumes and returned to find Jane conversing with the Bingley sisters. James silently found a cushioned settee and continued the novel he had started the night previous while the others played a game of loo.

He could not go ignored for long, however. Mr. Hurst looked at him with astonishment. “Do you prefer reading to cards? That is rather singular.”

“Mr. Bennet,” said Caroline, “has been shown to despise cards, or at the very least he is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.”

Jane’s smile began to evaporate. “That’s not true—” she began but James’ voice covered her own.

“I deserve neither such praise nor censure. I am not a great reader and I have pleasure in many things.”

Charles agreed, “In nursing your sister you have great proclivity! Look how she glows!”

He swiftly bloomed red at his own exclamation but James was glad for the leave to look back at the pages. Until Bingley sat beside him.

James’ chin remained lowered whereas his lashes swept up upon hearing Bingley’s charge: “I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and for my own credit; but I am idle when it comes to book collecting. Though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into.”

James opened his mouth to speak but Caroline claimed the air. “I am astonished that our father left so small a collection. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Lord Darcy!”

“It ought to be good,” the man himself put forward. “It has been the work of many generations.”

“And you have added so much to it yourself; you are always buying books!”

“It hardly matters how many you have as long as you enjoy them,” James sighed, if nothing else than to get the sentiment out, but he realized Charles had heard him. Bingley leaned into him so their shoulders touched, and James peeked up to see a kind gaze meeting his.

However Charles’ head swung the other way upon Darcy saying, “I cannot comprehend the neglect of a library in such days as these.”

“Neglect!” Caroline said. “I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley.”

“I wish it may,” he admitted.

Caroline proceeded, “But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire.”

“With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy would but sell it.”

James’ eyes found Jane, who remained silent despite the storm of worry he recognized in her eyes, the set of her mouth. Caroline too easily pulled Charles in a different county altogether despite being right beside Jane. It was an odd relief that Caroline herself then canceled the notion.

“I am talking of possibilities, Charles.”

Bingley laughed, “Upon my word, Caroline, I think it more possible to acquire Pemberley by purchase rather than imitation.”

The conversation faded from James’ attention in favor of monitoring Jane. He could not say when exactly she had learned the skill of silence within a social setting, but she had mastered it, being able to hold her space while saying very little. James realized that Charlotte was right: Jane and Charles needed to be alone. Jane needed the relaxed space and comfort to speak freely, and beyond that Charles would undoubtedly be irrevocably attached to her.

“Has Miss Darcy grown much since the spring?” Caroline asked at some point. “Will she be as tall as I am?”

“You are already of a common height,” Darcy provided. “Therefore she will be taller.”

James was reminded of Lydia, however Caroline proclaimed wistfully, “How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much.”

Hell, woman, you’ve forgotten one of my sisters only to insult the one sitting beside you! he thought angrily.

“Such a countenance, such manners!” Caroline praised. “And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the pianoforte is exquisite.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”

Louisa returned as if from a reverie. “All young ladies, Charles? What do you mean?”

Bingley pressed on, “Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”

He and James looked up as Darcy joined, “Your list of the common extent of accomplishments has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it for nothing more than netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance that are truly accomplished.”

“Nor I, to be sure,” Caroline was simply too quick to agree.

But James swiftly cut in, “You must comprehend a great deal into your idea of an accomplished woman.”

Darcy’s pause could not have been long, but the way he held James’ gaze, it was like a short eternity passing before he answered, “Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”

“Have you ever netted a purse, my lord?” James finished.

The silence again. “No. I cannot say that I have.”

His ever-faithful assistant came to the forefront. “No one can be really esteemed in accomplishment unless you greatly surpass what is usually met with. Netting purses is child’s play. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the word. Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

Darcy agreed, “All this she must possess and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, through the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

The book had long since slid through James’ fingers to rest somewhere between his knees. “Then therein lies the secrets of your libraries: your quest to create the perfect woman. I am no longer surprised at you knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”

Then there it was: the first furrow of Darcy’s brow, the visage of perplexity in those bright brown eyes. “Are you so severe upon the sex that you doubt the possibility of all this?”

James could not help but smile tiredly. “With a sister at home I would have thought you might have a special insight to these people you speak of in such a detached way. I have four siblings in various degrees of what you might call accomplishment, and I still never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity and application alongside elegance as you describe, united. Perhaps one or some triumph but never all at once. On the contrary, such layers of endless study seem to be a fit recipe for madness. My lord.”

A sewing needle might have dropped and shattered the marble beneath their feet for all the silence that encompassed them. As if it had, Mrs. Hurst and Caroline exploded against the injustice of his doubt before Mr. Hurst called them to order. Only his insistence of going into Meryton quelled Louis’s agitation, and they excused themselves from the party. To Jane’s utter relief, Mr. Jones finally arrived and was awaiting her for her medical examination. James was only too glad to join her, but not before Caroline said her last remarks.

“Mr. Bennet, I’ve only just realized, did you bring a razor with you?” Caroline asked.

He met her gaze. “No?”

A grin flashed on her face. “I had believed you not much younger than Jane, but there is not a day’s worth of growth on your chin.”

“That’s hardly worth commenting on,” Charles intercepted. “My beard is not quick to grow, and when it does you cannot see the blond hairs.”

James left them, too tired and uninterested to humour Caroline’s taunts. Upon entering the house, however, James immediately recognized not only his mother’s voice, but Lydia and Kitty’s conversing with Mr. Jones. James touched Jane’s arm, informing her that he was going to the library to return the books.

He was expecting the library to be a source of quiet, but he considered that he should have suspected the opposite from the previous conversation. Upon entering the library, he discovered that the room shared the exterior of the house by which Caroline Bingley was speaking. Then again, she had the sort of voice that carried, not unlike Lydia.

As he set the books upon their shelves, Caroline reacted to the butler informing them, “Mrs., Miss, and Miss Bennet have arrived.”

“Well is that all of them?” Caroline retorted. “I can hardly keep count.”

“Perhaps we should have added mathematics to the list of necessary accomplishments,” Charles responded, much to James’ mirth.

“Richard, did you supply Mr. Bennet with a razor this morning?” Caroline inquired.

“Carol, this hardly matters,” Charles complained.

The butler replied, “I tried, mum, but Miss Bennet assured me he would not have a need for it when they bathed.”

“It is an advantage of which to be jealous,” Charles approved, but Caroline had caught on something.

“Jane assured you? Why would she…they were in separate rooms, were they not?”

“No, mum,” Richard said. “Mr. Bennet attended to her throughout the night.”

“William and I saw this,” Charles declared. “Really, Caroline—”

“But Jane intercepted the toiletries?” she continued. “Why on earth would she—my god, Richard, did they bathe in the same room?”

“I was not there to verify or confirm, mum,” the butler supplied. James peeked through the window to see him addressing Caroline, Bingley, and Mr. Darcy, who watched their goings-on from where he still leaned against the terrace banister.

“Charles, how can this not matter to you? Jane is a delicate, sweet thing but that James Bennet—”

Charles raised his hand, halting her words. “You and I have bathed together, Caroline. I do not want to hear it.”

“When we were children!” she exclaimed. “This is hardly proper!”

Charles whirled on her. “You might have taken a moment to stop ogling Darcy in order to notice that Jamie was barely standing when he was on his feet! He’s spent all of his energies taking care of Jane; I am not surprised at all that she might return the kindness in helping him wash in order to be presentable for us. You speak so much of what’s proper—let’s go out and meet the Bennets as our precious station dictates.”

James was both impressed and disappointed. Far from being unnerved at Caroline’s incestuous accusations, he only wished Charles would show as much energy for Jane instead of himself.

“Lizzy, dear? Jamie?”

He turned to find his mother entering the library. Her eyes landed on him and she smiled—only to rush forward and take his face in her hands. “Lizzy! Lizzy, my love…you shouldn’t have rushed into the rain as you did. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m fine, mama,” he said, but instead of pushing away her hands, he leaned into them.

“The skin around your eyes is black,” she retorted, making him laugh weakly.

“No it isn’t.”

“Whose shirt is this?”

“Mr. Bingley’s.”

“Oh!” she chortled. “I must thank them—you have, of course, haven’t you?”

Without waiting for his response, she ushered him into the foyer where the others drew them into the breakfast parlor. Mr. Jones had already deemed Jane in fine health and was enjoying a biscuit while Mrs. Bennet thanked them for allowing her children to stay on their hospitality. James came to sit by Jane, resting his elbow upon the cushioned arm and simultaneously bracing his aching brow against his hand while shielding his oversensitive eyes from the morning blaze. “I am glad upon realizing she was too ill to be removed, you provided every possible comfort to her.”

“Removed!” Charles startled. “I would not have thought of—it never entered my mind! My sister, I am sure, was much the same and would not have lent an ear to her removal.”

“You may depend upon it, madam,” said Miss Bingley with cold civility from her place by the windows with Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bennet was profuse in her acknowledgements.

“If it was not for such good friends I do not know what would have become of her, although she would have endured with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her. She has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with. I often tell my other girls they are nothing to her. You have a wonderful room here, Mr. Bingley, and a charming prospect over that gravel walk. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry I hope, though you have but a short lease.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” Charles admitted. “Therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself quite fixed here.”

“I should expect so,” James said to himself, but to his constant reliance, Charles’ ears heard him.

“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” he teased, smile flashing.

James met his disposition with mischievous eyes. “Oh yes. I understand you perfectly.”

Charles guffawed, “I might take this for a compliment, but to be so easily seen through is pitiful.”

“It happens. But it does not necessarily follow that a deep, intricate character is more or less estimable than one such as yours.”

“Lizzy!” hissed his mother. “Remember where you are, and do not run on a wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.”

However Charles was unperturbed. “I did not know that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”

“I’ve found intricate characters to be the most amusing. They have at least that advantage.”

He had not expected Mr. Darcy to reply. “The country,” he said, “can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighborhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”

“I disagree,” James confronted. “People themselves have the ability to alter so much, there can be something new to observe at any time.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord,” Mrs. Bennet bristled. “I assure you there is quite as much of that going on in the country as in town.”

Pairs of siblings exchanged glances throughout the room, but Darcy, after looking at her for a moment, turned silently away. Mrs. Bennet fancied she had gained a victory over him and sought to continue it. “I cannot see that London has any great advantages over the country, except the shops and public places. The country is a vast deal pleasanter, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”

“I can be equally happy in either,” Bingley revealed. “When I am in the country, I never wish to leave it, and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. They have each their advantages, I’d say.”

“Aye, that is because you have the right disposition, but that gentleman,” she meant Darcy, “seems to think the country was nothing at all.”

James’ patience had worn thin. “Mama, do not make assumptions as if the subject of your criticism is not present.” He saw Mr. Darcy look at him in his peripheral eye. “You misunderstood Lord Darcy. He meant that there was not such a variety of people within the country as there would be in a larger population, such as the city. You must acknowledge this to be true.”

His mother began to agree but before she could be swept away by her own words he asked whether she had seen Charlotte of late. Indeed she had, as Sir William and his family had dined with them just the previous evening. The redirection succeeded until Mrs. Bennet proclaimed, “What an agreeable man, Sir William is, Mr. Bingley. That is my idea of good breeding; and those people who fancy themselves very important and never open their mouths quite mistake the matter.”

James’ eyes widened the same moment he heard Jane’s intake of breath. He peeked under his hand to gauge Darcy’s reaction: the man was as stoic as ever, but sensing James’ gaze, those irises flicked to him. James could only bid him a silent apology.

But she was far from finished. “The Lucases are wonderful company. It is only a pity Charlotte is not more handsome—”

“Mama—” James tried to stymy.

“She seems a very pleasant young woman,” Charles concurred.

Mrs. Bennet progressed, “Oh, dear, yes, but you must own she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty. I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, with Jane one does not often see anybody better looking.”

One of James’ fingers rubbed circles between his eyes, breathing for calm.

“It is what everybody says. I do not trust my own partiality. When she was only fifteen, there was a gentleman—”

“Mama,” Jane exclaimed this time.

“—in town so much in love with her that my brother Gardiner and sister-in-law, who were likewise in town, were sure he would make her an offer. But however he did not.”

Jane’s fingers curled around James’ hand resting between their hips. He felt her nails press into his palm. He had lost the feeling in the back of his throat.

“Perhaps he thought her too young. He did leave town rather suddenly, which might have given rain to sow suspicions, however he wrote some verses for her, and very pretty they were.”

“And so ended any affection,” James concluded impatiently. His voice betrayed the lack of strength in his throat. “An underestimated quality of poetry—its efficacy of driving away love.”

“I have been led to believe poetry is the food of love,” Darcy wondered.

The pads of James’ fingers wandered over his eyes, feeling how thin and fragile the skin there had become. “Of a stout, healthy sort of love it may. I can only guess it would serve to nourish what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, one good sonnet will correct such illusions.”

Darcy appeared to be absorbing this, and upon reflection looked upon James with something like piqued intrigue.

All the while the youngest Bennets had kept their heads together, whispering until the moment presented itself. “Mr. Bingley I do remember you had said at Meryton that you would like to host your own ball here at Netherfield.”

Charles guffawed. “Goodness, that does sound like me. Are you here to collect the debt?”

She beamed. “Only to encourage good ideas.”

Caroline eyed her. “You are a well grown girl of…how old are you, Miss Bennet?”

“Fifteen,” she answered proudly.

“And it must have been your good humour that encouraged your mother to let you debut at such an early age,” Caroline smiled.

“The officers are in Meryton, did you know?” Lydia pressed. “It would simply be shameful to not invite them.”

James scolded, “He cannot be expected to invite the entire regiment.”

Lydia shot poison at him with her eyes. “Then a few select captains I have already validated as good company.”

Charles intercepted jovially, “I am ready, I assure you, to keep my engagement. After your sister has had a few more days to establish her health, you may name the very day of the ball.”

Lydia was beside her self. “Oh yes! Captain Carter and Colonel Forster will make excellent guests, and when you have given your ball, I shall insist upon their giving one also.”

“Now, now, Lydia, you’ve convinced a good man to give his word, and we best be off. Mr. Bingley, I do hope I may trust my children in your care a while longer? Surely you’ve noticed my Lizzy’s condition.”

Charles’ brows reached for his hairline. “Of course!” he chimed. “It will be my pleasure—not to say it’s a pleasure that he fell ill too—but a pleasure to spend a while longer with him. Yes, mum, I’m only too happy to have him.”

Mrs. Bennet looked quite pleased. “And you too, Jane, must take care of him as he did vice versa. But do take care to not trade this ailment back and forth endlessly.”

“Mama, I’d rather go home,” James voiced, albeit quietly.

“Nonsense, my love. Mr. Jones is already here,” the man himself harrumphed at the table, where he had fallen asleep. “I won’t hear a word about it. You mustn’t be moved. Straight to bed with you.”

James only had a moment’s notice to witness Charles graciously escorting his mother and sisters back to their carriage, and Caroline’s sour expression before he found himself in bed under the examinations of Mr. Jones. A common cold was his verdict and he supplied a ready tonic he carried with him. He left with the order, “A good broth with lots of greens,” and that was all.

“James.”

He blinked, fighting unconsciousness.

“James, you look like an absolute horror,” Jane pressed. “Tell me what to do.”

He felt about the same, but he could not say whether it was a physical affliction so much as a mental one. As if from far away, he felt her fingernails dragging over his scalp. He locked onto the sensation, the tingles seeping through his skull to hum pleasantly in his cranium.

“Leave,” he rasped.

“You know I will not.”

“You’ll be ill again.”

“Then you’ll heal me,” she said stubbornly. “Tell me what to do.”

Lifting his eyes was a heavy ordeal, like coins had been placed over his lashes. “Lemon tea.”

She kissed his forehead and left to relay the request. James remained conscious long enough to drink a pot, and then another in the evening. Jane put a candle on the headboard to light the book in her hands; she was always there when his lashes fluttered open. The next day he awoke to the soft voices of Charles asking how he was. Upon seeing James awake, he waved happily while Mr. Darcy stood statuesque behind him. James did not realize he had simply fallen back asleep until his eyes opened again and Jane chuckled.

“He’s not offended. He was ecstatic you had the strength to hear him at all.”

James still could not breathe through his nose but his head and throat felt better. “You should spend time with him instead of me.”

She giggled, sliding a finger up the bridge of his nose. “Mother’s excuse to have me stay here is not going to plan. Bingley wishes me to stay with you.”

“But…” James began but is lashes heavily fell in time with her stokes along his nose. “You needn’t…”

“You can’t be dictatorial if you can’t get the words out,” she hushed.

His eyes shut under her ministrations, and he did not wake again until mid-morning, and he awoke with a hunger. He suspected Jane to be at brunch with the family as he dressed in fresh garments provided by Charles. The maid waiting outside the room startled from her journal and led him to a different parlor. This one was furnished in a clean and spacious Grecian style along with bookshelves and a writing table at which Mr. Darcy sat.

“Jamie!” Jane hopped up from the couch on which she and Charles had been conversing and held his forearms. “Are you feeling well?”

“Ravenous,” he smiled groggily.

Charles had risen with her to grip his shoulder. “Food will be brought at once. You slept so soundly we could not bother you to even give you the prescribed broth. Do you have a craving for anything?” Upon James’ hesitation Charles insisted, “Anything at all.”

“Dumpling stew.”

Bingley grinned and nodded to the maid, who left. The dish arrived quickly, having used the broth and greens but Jamie’s spoon lifted savory dough eggs that stuck to his teeth pleasantly. He was left to eat and listen as he pleased, while sitting adjacent to Mr. Darcy and his pile of paper and finished letters.

This also lent an unobstructed view of Darcy’s discourse with Caroline, who was strolling about the room with lingering steps around the table. She noticed the current letter’s intended recipient. “How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

James peeked up to see, indeed, the length of the pages but Darcy made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

James peered over to where Jane and Charles were getting on well on the couch. He ladled the thick stew into his mouth while Caroline was otherwise distracted with observing Darcy’s finished pile of envelopes. “How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of the year. Letters of business too. How odious I should think them,” she chortled.

“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours,” Darcy responded. James held his spoon over his lips to hide any traces of a smile.

“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”

“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”

“Your pen grows dull. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you, but I always mend my own.”

James looked to Charles again, who was still thankfully oblivious to his sister’s tyranny over Darcy’s focus.

“How can you contrive to write so evenly?”

Darcy was silent.

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp, and pray let her know that I am quite in rapture with her beautiful little design for a table. I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”

James commented, “I thought a letter’s contents were between the sender and the recipient; just as confidential before or after the envelope.”

He let his spoon tap his lip while Caroline otherwise looked daggers into him. Darcy did not look up from his page. “Will you give me leave to postpone your raptures till I write again? At present I have not the room to do them justice.”

Caroline’s tone was unperturbed as she went to the window. “Oh, it is of no consequence. I shall see her in January. But do you always write such charmingly long letters to her, Lord Darcy?”

January. James saw Jane’s head lift and met her gaze briefly. If the party traveled together, there were yet many months to share.

“They are generally long,” Darcy conceded, “but whether always charming, it is not for me to determine.”

“It is a rule with me that a person who can write a long letter with ease cannot write ill.”

James did not withhold his grimace at her logic or lack thereof but Charles intercepted, “That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline. He does not write with ease. Simply with a great deal to say.”

“And you, Charles, write in the most careless way imaginable,” Caroline exclaimed. “You leave out half your words and blot the rest.”

Bingley blushed and said to Jane as if in apology, “My ideas flow so rapidly that I hardly have the time to express them…although this often results in my letters conveying little to no ideas to my correspondents.”

Jane smiled and assured. “Some of the greatest minds have shown similar reproof. Active minds often display themselves in either carnage or meditation.”

James witnessed Charles’ eyes soften just before Darcy spoke. “Nothing is more deceitful than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”

James set his spoon back within the bowl. “An indirect boast?”

Darcy looked up from his letter. “For instance, when Charles claimed his ability to be quit of Netherfield in five minutes; such an action would result in necessary business being left undone and would achieve no real advantage for oneself or anyone else. To insinuate such things as laudable is a sign of foolishness, not intelligence.”

James could not help but smile. He was indeed feeling better and rose to the challenge but Bingley defended himself first. “Nay, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning is too much. And upon my honor, I believed what I said to be true; one needn't leave unfinished things behind if he is to be quit of a place. If anything, it is a testament of efficient management.”

“And you are so capable of that,” his sister japed.

“You contradict yourself,” Darcy seconded. “You claim to be committed to one or the other, or easily capable of forgetting something or other. If you were but to mount your horse and a friend said, ‘You had better stay till next week,’ you would sooner comply whether the request was a week or a month.”

“You claim I am easily manipulated!” Charles exclaimed.

Well if the hair’s red, James thought bitterly but said aloud, “To yield readily to the persuasion of a friend holds no merit with Lord Darcy, I suppose. Be steadfast in your choices, Charles, even if they are wrong."

Darcy’s head tilted every so slightly; examining him as if to make James’ thoughts visible for inspection. “You make fun of me.”

“I delight in cheating a person of their premeditated contempt,” James countered softly. “Despise me if you dare.”

“I do not dare.”

James blinked, having expected to have affronted him, not this gallantry. Instead he heard the words pass through Darcy’s lips as well as seeing the cogs slide into place behind Darcy’s eyes, the rumination slow yet deliberate. Darcy returned to his letter, but the sharp point of his pen hovered.

Caroline observed this, and came to stand beside James’ chair. “Mr. Bennet, will you take a turn around the room with me. It is refreshing after being so long in one position.”

James was surprised but agreed out of courtesy, though to feel Miss Bingley’s arm on his was an odd experience. Then her scheme became apparent. “What of you, my lord? Will you not take reprieve from your letters?”

“I will not, and for the better. Whatever secret affairs you wish to discuss with Mr. Bennet may be done more easily without me.”

“Oh! How uniquely considerate,” she teased. “How shall we punish him for such a notion?”

“Laugh at him,” James said bluntly although he could not help but agree with Darcy’s underlying sentiment: Caroline had nothing to share with him nor did he wish to pretend at such confidence. “Laughter just as easily makes a man as it destroys him.”

“Nay, Lord Darcy is above laughter.”

James snorted softly in his throat. “You mean he is not to be laughed at. That is an uncommon privilege, and one I hope does not continue. I dearly love to laugh.”

Darcy intercepted, “Miss Bingley has given me credit for more than can be considered accurate. Even the wisest of men can be rendered ridiculous if there is but one to laugh at them.”

James conceded, “There are such people but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise or good. I will admit to enjoying certain follies and nonsense, but I suppose you are without these.”

“It has been the study of my life to avoid those weaknesses which expose a strong understanding to ridicule.”

“I won’t ask what inspired this study,” James promised. “But it must be said that some weaknesses are correctible while others are not. I suppose pride is among the latter?”

Darcy considered this. “Where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be under good regulation, yes.”

James meant to send a smile to Jane, but met a frown on her face.

Caroline inquired, “Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume. What is the result?”

“He owns himself without disguise. I cannot withhold that from him.”

Darcy’s gaze followed him throughout the room. “I have faults enough, and they are sadly without understanding. I dare not vouch for my temper; it is too unyielding. While you laugh at follies and vices, I cannot forget them, nor offenses made against myself. My temper would likely be called resentful, and once my good opinion is lost, it’s lost forever.”

Caroline had since left his arm to sit on the settee opposite Charles and Jane. James returned to the table to finish his meal. “You’ve chosen your fault well, I won’t laugh at it. You are safe from me.”

He would have happily left it at that, but Darcy inquired, “Is there not, in every disposition, a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which cannot be overcome even by the best education?”

James was very still as he met Darcy’s eyes. What are you implying? he might have asked if they were alone, but instead he forced a smile and returned, “And your evil is a propensity to hate everybody?"

Then, Darcy smiled. “And yours is to understand them.”

James was not sure if he had been insulted or if he had just shared something akin to a secret.

“Do let us have some music,” Caroline proclaimed, and the spell of the last hour was broken. Even more so, it was a great relief that Charles granted he and Jane the use of his carriage to leave Netherfield by the end of the morning. Richard the butler had graciously washed and pressed James’ original attire, allowing him to leave Bingley’s garments behind as they strode toward the waiting carriage. And none too soon; James felt the morning’s strength begin to leave him; the sky was overcast thankfully but he still felt his eyes trying to squint against the light. He breathed for stamina as the last stretch of niceties was being met.

Charles and his sister saw Jane safely into the carriage, apologizing for the Hursts’ having been in Meryton, but they would send their regards, surely. Charles then shook James’ hand with both of his; Caroline graced his with her touch and that was all—

A large hand filled his, causing James to look around at Darcy—he felt the added strength through his arm, aiding his steps into the carriage. “Thank you. My lord.”

Darcy’s eyes stared in that characteristic way, and then he nodded once and released his hand.

Jane arranged herself in the open carriage but pivoted quickly upon seeing James rubbing his sternum. “Lizzy? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he breathed. “It’s not important. Let’s just get home.”

They rocked with the first rolling of the wheels, and then they were well down the drive and away from Netherfield House.

“I for one,” Caroline said as they observed the carriage leaving the drive, “am glad for only four Bennet sisters. Should James Bennet have been a woman, he would have been one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own. And with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. It is a paltry device, a very mean art.”

She looked up to Mr. Darcy, who realized he had been the subject of her complaints. “Undoubtedly,” said as if without much thought, but then, “there is meanness in all the arts by which ladies employ for men’s captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable. It sours the spider’s intelligence the fly might have otherwise appreciated.”

The pebbles beneath his boot growled as he rotated, leaving a speechless Caroline behind him.