Page 172 of A Debt Inherited

Jane curtsied. “Mr Bingley.”

“Miss Bennet.” He bowed as though the room had suddenly improved beyond calculation.

“My second daughter, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth made her curtsey with perfect steadiness. “Mr Bingley.”

Bingley smiled. “Miss Elizabeth.”

Bennet did not look at Darcy.

Mrs Bennet turned with gentle tact towards the young lady beside Darcy. “Miss Darcy, I hope Hertfordshire does not overwhelm you at first sight.”

Georgiana coloured. “No, madam. It is very bright—and very welcoming.”

“Brightness may be survived,” Mrs Bennet said. “As for welcome, we make a virtue of necessity. A neighbourhood must receive its neighbours, or else live upon itself and grow dull.”

Miss Darcy smiled, and Bennet saw Darcy’s hand relax where it rested near his sister’s.

Miss Bingley’s gaze swept Jane, Elizabeth, then returned to Mrs Bennet. “You have a charming family, Mrs Bennet.”

“I have always thought so,” Mrs Bennet replied, without the least flutter. “It is agreeable to hear the opinion seconded.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed to Mrs Bennet, then to the daughters. “Ladies.”

“And do you make a long stay in Hertfordshire, Colonel?” Bennet asked.

“Only a brief one, sir.”

“Then Hertfordshire has cause to value discretion as highly as valour.”

“They are sometimes the same thing, sir.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head by a degree. No smile betrayed him.

Bennet liked him the better for it.

The first dance had begun.

Bingley looked towards the floor and back to Jane. “Miss Bennet, I am undone. The first dance has escaped me before I had the honour of asking for it.”

Bennet followed his glance. “A grave misfortune, Mr Bingley. Hertfordshire may recover by supper.”

Bingley laughed. “Then may I hope to repair myself with the second?”

Jane looked briefly towards her mother. Mrs Bennet’s expression held only serene encouragement. Bennet lifted his brows as if the fate of nations did not hang upon a country dance.

Jane smiled. “Gladly, Mr Bingley.”

Darcy remained where he stood, composed to any stranger’s eye. He bowed to Mrs Bennet first. “Madam, with your permission.”

Mrs Bennet inclined her head. “Mr Darcy.”

Then he turned to Bennet. “Sir.”

Bennet let a fractional pause stand between them. “Mr Darcy.”

Darcy’s gaze moved at last to Elizabeth.