“He could, as he is well aware,” Fitzwilliam mumbled, embarrassed. “He is the clever one with books and accounts. I am here because he needs me to talk to women on his behalf.”
Darcy sighed and addressed Bennet. “Obviously, I regret my decision already.”
Fitzwilliam grinned, clearly pleased to have irritated him at last.
Darcy was tall, physically strong, and an excellent man on the field of battle. Fitzwilliam had often told him so, usually begrudgingly. The problem was that it was the fashion to be slender, and his size intimidated women. A gentleman did not wish to appear as though he had to labour for his livelihood. It was all nonsense, but the women of his aunt Matlock’s acquaintance were not used to men who looked like him. He tried to be gentle, but his manners were those of a soldier. Along with everything else, that would have to change now, he supposed. He might not wish to dance in London, but he would be in company with women nonetheless. Beginning with the general’s daughters.
Bennet was watching him quietly, but Darcy was fully aware that the man’s mind was always active.
“Perhaps you ought to practice with my girls,” he remarked. “They are used to the manners of men like us and not easily frightened.” Bennet’s slow smile made Darcy uneasy. “As a gentleman, you know, you shall have to learn to dance.”
How had the man guessed precisely what he was thinking? “I know how to dance,” he said uneasily.
Fitzwilliam burst out laughing. “Is that what you call it?”
“I had a master in to teach the girls, and they are each of them beautiful dancers now. I wish Fanny could see them.” He gestured at the room. “She would have loved being the mistress of an estate. Clucking over her chicks, dressing them in fine clothes.” He cleared his throat and produced a handkerchief to swipe at his eyes.
The two younger men were silent out of respect for Bennet’s departed wife. Darcy had thought Mrs. Bennet a bit flighty and at times a little crass, but he could hardly blame her, given that she lived all her married life among soldiers. More to the point, she had a good heart. She had treated the men under her husband’s command as sons and brothers, nursing them when they were ill or injured. She set a bountiful table for the officers and had likely sent more food out for the enlisted men. With her three eldest daughters trailing behind, she had delivered baskets of food to the needy. The general’s wife had always been busy. It was on one of her missions of mercy that she had contracted influenza and died shortly after the general’s own recovery.
The mourning had been difficult for them all. Mrs. Bennet had been universally beloved.
“Elizabeth would be a suitable partner for you, Darcy,” Bennet said abruptly, shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket. “Her feet are as quick as her tongue, and she will not be cowed by you.” Bennet lifted one craggy eyebrow at Fitzwilliam. “And neither Jane nor Elizabeth will put up with any of your foolish games.”
“Games?” Fitzwilliam cried, placing one hand over his heart. “My dear Bennet, I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”
Bennet tipped his head slightly to one side. “Do you not?”
In all his life, Darcy had never seen his cousin blush. It was worth everything to witness it now.
The older man sighed. “Five daughters.” He shook his head ruefully. “Would that they had come out into a society where men still feared me.”
There was a soft knock. “Come,” Bennet called.
Darcy blinked as a young woman entered. Great God, she was stunning. Eyes the colour of mahogany, dark curls touched with gold framing her face, a light and pleasing figure tall enough that he would not appear an ogre in comparison. She was looking at her father and not at him, thank heavens. It would be a disaster to be caught ogling the general’s . . . Bennet’s daughter. He glanced away and spied Fitzwilliam wearing a lopsided grin.
Damnation. Fitzwilliam had noticed. He would never hear the end of it now.
“We shall join you in the drawing room, my dear,” Bennet said, rising from his chair. “Come, gentlemen,” he said as the woman curtseyed and left them. “It is time for you to meet my daughters.”
Elizabeth withdrew from her father’s study and hurried down the hall. Both of Papa’s visitors were big men, taller and broader than him, but whilst the fair one was taller than her father, the darker one towered above Papa and had a stare that would have wilted her younger sisters, even bold Lydia. Elizabeth was on the tall side herself for a young lady, but certainly she was not so tall nor her looks so unfashionable as to warrant his glaring at her in such a way. Instead of returning his look or asking what he was about, as she might have done when a girl, she had simply ignored him and directed her attention to Papa. Their companion Mrs. Quimby would be proud.
When she reached the drawing room, Jane and Mary awaited her. “Papa and his guests will take tea here with us,” she informed her elder sister.
“Very well,” Jane said sweetly. “Sarah has taken tea upstairs to the girls and Mrs. Keller.” At seventeen and fifteen, neither Kitty nor Lydia was yet out, and they had been required to remove from the drawing room. Lydia had protested vociferously, but Mrs. Keller had been their governess since just before Mary was born, and she did not suffer insubordination.
Mrs. Quimby settled in a warm corner of the room and took out her embroidery.
“You are welcome to sit with us,” Elizabeth told the older woman.
“Ah,” their companion said with a small smile, “but I can observe you all better from here. I expect you will host a splendid tea.”
Elizabeth felt Mary tense beside her. “Is there enough food, Jane?” her younger sister inquired anxiously. “The last time Papa had visitors, they could have eaten twice as much.”
Poor Mary. She loved Elizabeth but was very fond of rules, and Elizabeth’s regular skirting of them made her nervous. Mary wished very much to model herself after Jane and Mrs. Quimby, and Elizabeth could certainly not blame her for that. The two women were the very picture of easy decorum, whereas Elizabeth was all good-humoured impertinence. Rules helped Mary, who was always so eager to do well. Unfortunately, she was so terrified by the thought of transgressing them that it often made her shy and clumsy in turn.
“I think we might need three times the amount,” Elizabeth murmured, trying to make Mary smile. “You will see. The size of them!”
“Lizzy,” Jane said reprovingly, as they heard the gentlemen in the hall.