Page 6

The housekeeper looked down at the dog, whose eyes had closed.

“Houndsmere slept in Miss Bennet’s room, sir.”

“Then he has transferred his allegiance very rapidly.”

“Miss Bennet allowed him to remain,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

That, Darcy supposed, accounted for it. Houndsmere had never mistaken endurance for affection when actual encouragement was available.

Bingley came in before Mrs. Reynolds had quite closed the door behind her. Houndsmere rose to greet him, which involved placing himself in the only space through which Bingley could reach a chair.

“I see you have kept him well occupied,” Bingley said, easing past the dog.

“He has been employed in stealing gloves.”

“A useful change from slippers. Jane used to lose one every morning at Longbourn. There was always a sister who had borrowed it to see whether it would suit her gown.”

“A single slipper?”

“The other was generally somewhere quite sensible. That made it worse.” Bingley sat and stretched out his legs. “I had forgotten how quiet this room is.”

Darcy put aside the papers he had been arranging. They had scarcely been alone together since the carriage arrived. There had always been a servant requiring instructions, a room to be shown, or Miss Bingley ready with an account of the journey.

“Your wife has rested well?”

“Very well. She means to write to her mother and then walk in the gardens. I have promised not to ask whether she is tired until she tells me she is.”

“That seems a reasonable arrangement.”

“It seemed less reasonable when I made it. I am practicing.”

Darcy smiled and waited for his friend to explain the folded paper in his hand. Bingley laid it upon his knee without opening it.

“I have not thanked you properly.”

“You thanked me yesterday.”

“In the hall, with everyone waiting to go upstairs. I should like to say it now, while you cannot escape to give an order.”

Darcy leaned back in his chair. “Very well.”

“I meant to have everything settled before Jane had any cause to worry. A house of our own, her rooms arranged, a nursery. Instead I have spent months examining places and finding reasons not to take them. When your invitation came, I cannot tell you how relieved I was.”

“Netherfield was available to you.”

“Yes, and I could have stayed. Jane would never have complained. But her mother came nearly every day, and whenever there was nothing to be anxious about she remembered something that had happened when one of her own children was expected. Jane was obliged to comfort her.”

Bingley rubbed a crease in the paper with his thumb.

“It is difficult to tell a woman she visits her daughter too often, particularly when the daughter is glad to see her. I tried asking Mrs. Bennet to come after lunch. She was so concerned that Jane must be ill in the mornings that she arrived earlier.”

“Your wife might have spoken to her.”

“She did. Then she was sorry she had hurt her mother’s feelings. I would not have her think she must choose between being comfortable and being a good daughter.”

Darcy had heard Miss Bingley’s complaints about the family often enough to suppose himself acquainted with their faults. He had heard less about the inconvenience those faults caused Jane, who was generally included in Caroline’s account only as the object of her mother’s ambition.

“And Mr. Bennet?” he asked.