“He was a general,” Darcy replied with a shrug, “and he is on his own ground here. Forster is a fool for challenging him.”
“Forster is a fool regardless.”
Darcy agreed. “He has no control over his men. I wonder whether he ever had.”
A man tipped his battered hat at them as he sauntered past. Though they had not intended to be overheard, Darcy would not be displeased were their opinion of Forster to be repeated in the tavern the man was currently entering. There was a shout of “Evans!” and then the door swung closed behind him.
“Where to now, Bennet?” Fitzwilliam asked.
Bennet looked one way and then the other. “Home,” he said.
“Do you not wish to make more visits?” Darcy inquired, surprised.
“No, I believe we have done enough,” Bennet replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humour. With a tip of the head, he motioned to the road.
Mrs. Hobart was crossing it in a great hurry, her skirts hiked up to keep them out of the mud. She hopped up to the pavement with a strength that belied her years and disappeared into the tailor’s shop.
“I was fairly certain that Mrs. Hobart would be very willing to spread the bad news,” Bennet remarked. “Several other merchants have been flaunting their good fortune and making a show of pitying her. She is a good woman, but there is only so much of that sort of attitude one can withstand.” He stroked his chin with one hand. “These kinds of battles require a light hand, however. I would not wish to lose the advantage by setting too many fuses.”
“So you chose the best fuse?” Darcy asked with a small smile.
“Precisely. By the end of the day, every merchant in town will ask the officers to settle their accounts before allowing any future purchases.” He released a deep breath. “The girls are having themselves a visit,” he said, checking his watch. “If we hurry, we might join them for refreshments.”
Elizabeth was surprised when a boy brought a small but heavy parcel for her father, more so when it felt as though there was liquid inside, but she instructed Mrs. Hill to pay the lad delivering it and to leave it in Papa’s study with the letters. She was assisting Jane with pouring out the tea when the gentlemen returned from town. They appeared well pleased.
“Good day, Papa, Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam,” she said. “Will you join us?”
“We shall,” her father replied. “Miss Lucas, Miss Maria, it is good to see you both. We will return momentarily.” He saw their other visitor. “Bingley. Might I have a word?”
“Certainly.” Mr. Bingley rose from the settee. He had arrived to visit with their father, or so he said. Elizabeth had convinced him to remain, explaining that the men would not be gone for long. She hoped that would be the case so she would not have told him an untruth, but it would be cruel to send him away when he clearly wished to spend a little time with Jane. There were so many women in the drawing room that they could not have been better chaperoned, and Jane had been quietly thrilled. It was not often she could keep company with Mr. Bingley without the disapproving presence of his sisters.
He had already been here for half an hour, but now the men were here perhaps he might remain a little longer still.
The gentlemen all bowed. As they retreated, Mary rose to ring the bell and give orders for additional refreshments to be brought up from the kitchen.
Elizabeth noticed Maria was flushed. “Is it too warm in here, Maria?” she inquired. “Here, we can remove to a cooler part of the room.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Maria is not overwarmed,” she said, meeting Elizabeth’s gaze. Her look told Elizabeth very clearly that this was not something to discuss in front of Maria or the gentlemen.
“Very well,” she said, and rose to take a dish of tarts from the maid as she entered. “Charlotte, I know you favour the apple tarts. You had better select yours before the men return. Maria? Are you still partial to the lemon?”
“I should like the apple as well,” the girl said, and Elizabeth served her. Jane handed each lady her tea, and they sat, happily chattering about their families and Maria’s new gown.
Mr. Bingley returned first, the tips of his ears red, and Elizabeth presumed her father had inquired as to his intentions with Jane. Whatever it was, it could not have been too daunting, for Mr. Bingley took his former chair next to Jane and picked up their conversation precisely where they had left off.
“Well now, Lizzy, what have you there?” Papa asked a few moments later as he strode into the room. He grasped the tongs, using them to pluck a tart from the tray and drop it on a plate.
“Papa,” Mary complained with a smile. “You know you should wait for Lizzy to serve you.”
“She takes too long,” her father replied with a wink. “But you may serve these rascals here. They are more frightened of you than I am.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh a little at that. Mr. Darcy, Mr. Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bingley could hardly be called rascals, nor did she consider herself a fearsome creature. She made certain that everyone had what they wished for and then Jane served the tea.
“Mary, I brought you the thread you said you needed,” Papa said, setting down his teacup to fish the spool out of his pocket. “Is this the proper colour?”
Mary seemed a little surprised to be handed embroidery thread during a visit, nodded. “It is perfect, Papa, thank you.” She set it down on a table near the window before returning to her chair.
Mr. Fitzwilliam chuckled. “You even chose the correct colour.”