A crinkling sound made him look up to see that Mr. Bennet had bent the very top corner of his paper down to stare at Darcy with one brown eye. When Darcy met his gaze, Mr. Bennet raised one eyebrow at him—just like his daughter.
Darcy was turned so entirely upside down that he might have laughed uproariously or wept profusely and not understand why he did either. Of all the women in England and all the fathers! It was just his luck, truly, that he should be attached to those who were the least influenced by his place in society.
“Kitty and I shall walk to Meryton,” Miss Lydia announced.
Miss Kitty appeared as though she did not relish such a trip, but she did not protest.
“You may stop in with my sister and give her our news,” Mrs. Bennet said airily.
A deep sigh came from the head of the table, and this time, the entire top half of the paper was folded over. “No one will be walking into Meryton today or any day this week.”
“But Papa,” Miss Lydia protested. She was interrupted.
“Mrs. Bennet,” her husband said evenly, “we have guests. Might I remind you that gossiping about Mr. Bingley’s misfortune is a certain way to lose his regard. Do you believe your daughters or your sister will remain quiet about events here?”
Mrs. Bennet’s horrified expression was rather entertaining. She turned a gimlet eye on Darcy, who quickly adopted his most disapproving expression. It was not made easier by Mr. Bennet’s grin and stifled laugh as he once again lifted his paper.
Coward.
“Mamma,” Miss Lydia complained.
“No, Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet replied curtly and reluctantly.
Darcy was sure he had earned the right to claim the other half of the paper, and Mr. Bennet did not protest.
The rest of the meal continued in blessed silence.
Fortunately, the weather had warmed enough that Elizabeth could walk in comfort, if not for any great length of time. After breakfast she truly required some time away from the house and her mother.
Lydia and Kitty ran around her and out the front door, bundled up and laughing.
“I am afraid they will be in Meryton within the next quarter-hour,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.
“After your father told them not to go?”
“I love my father, Mr. Darcy, but unless he is willing to enforce his edicts, there is little point in issuing them.”
“Will they speak about Bingley?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “They are unlikely to go so far. It is the officers they wish to see.”
“What of Wickham?”
“He was in London last I heard,” she told him.
Mr. Darcy frowned, and for once, Elizabeth found herself in agreement with him.
“I should like to check on Bingley before our walk,” he said politely, gesturing to the stairway.
Elizabeth nodded, and Mr. Darcy took the stairs two at a time. Soon he returned, and Mr. Hill helped him don his outerwear. In the summers, Elizabeth did not envy men their clothing, for muslin was much cooler than wool. In the winter, however, she longed for a greatcoat.
“How do you find Mr. Bingley?” she asked.
“Still sleeping,” Mr. Darcy replied. He shrugged a bit. “I have not been of much assistance to him, but I suspect he will be awake when we return.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Shall we go, then?”
He motioned for her to walk out first, and she did. The air was not precisely warm today, but it was a good deal warmer than it had been the day before.