Thank you for being here for this third instalment, your remarks are always welcome.

Note: please, if you wish to point out a word used out of its context, please do so, because the mere suggestion does not help me progress.

Chapter 3

'Strange!' declared Mr. Hurst, whose voice was so seldom heard that Elizabeth was presently rediscovering it, 'I have sat with this book for two years, each time deciding to finish it, and never getting past the first two pages!'

A common grievance, thought Elizabeth, remembering her brief and uncelebrated encounters with the tragic genre. How can authors imagine a life so cruel, describe it in avid detail, and sell it to the masses?

She did not know.

'Strange,' Mr. Hurst repeated, his brows puckered, 'I was sure something in it had commanded my attention.'

'I remember you picked it up after hearing—a musician, was he—praise it with insistence,' Mrs. Hurst said, solving the matter singlehandedly. 'There, now stop torturing yourself. If you want to learn music, a musician's reading list will not avail you.'

'But he played so well, Mrs. Hurst! Oh, I wish I could play as well.' He reclined in his armchair by the hearth, staring into the fire. 'I am bored and bored people bore others. Why don't we have some music? Dear, do play us a piece.'

'You cannot ask it of me when my fingertips are still tender from embroidering all day.'

'Well,' his eyes fell meaningfully on Elizabeth. 'Miss Elizabeth, I dare hope your fingertips are intact? Why don't you do us the honor?'

Elizabeth looked up from her book, her practiced answer ready for delivery.

'It would have been with pleasure if I hadn't known for certain that I would frighten your musical sensibilities rather than sate them.'

'My sensibilities are bored. Pray do not be timid!'

'Ah—I am sure to disappoint your discerning ears.'

'My ears are quite bored as well, they shall welcome the distraction.'

'Have compassion, Miss Elizabeth,' Mrs. Hurst said in her passionless voice, her eyes fixed on her embroidery work, 'relieve my husband from boredom, such the gruesome fatality.' Her irony, Elizabeth appreciated, was barely disguised.

Elizabeth looked around the room. Jane had fallen back to sleep after her meal, so Elizabeth had resigned herself to joining the company downstairs while they waited for dinner to be served. At present, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were her only companions; Miss Bingley had complained of a headache and retired to bed early, and her brother was in his study. She had no idea where Mr. Darcy was.

'Very well, I shall go in good conscience knowing that I have warned you.'

In fact, Elizabeth had lived through many a reluctant display of passable musical talent to alleviate many a boredom; she liked to think herself better practiced for it, and she could not take the world seriously enough to be bothered in the absolute.

She began a commonly appreciated piece, warming up to the keys, and welcoming the false notes with accustomed grace. They grew scarcer as she progressed.

Mr. Bingley came in at that juncture, instantly breaking into a wide smile.

'How thoughtful of you, Miss Elizabeth, to enliven the atmosphere with some music! Just now I was dealing with tedious paperwork.'

Elizabeth inclined her head, returning his smile, and switched to a new piece, having exhausted her recollection of the first.

As she played, she hoped she could soon end her musical interlude without protest from Mr. Hurst, who was looking satisfied; perhaps less with her talent than with having something to criticize. Looking up toward the end of the song, she saw Mr. Darcy enter the room and make a remark to Bingley, who nodded silently.

On his way across the room, he gave her a brief look before walking out again.

Was that judgment in his eyes? Elizabeth bit her lip not to laugh.

'Have I helped your case, Mr. Hurst?' she asked at last.

'Quite, Miss Elizabeth, you have my gratitude.'

When Mr. Bingley suggested that they sit down for dinner, the party rallied in the dining room; where the table was handsomely set.

With everyone seated, the usual morbid silence began to settle in, dragging through a good part of the meal, until something wildly unexpected happened.

'Miss Elizabeth,' Mr. Darcy said, walking into the dining room, 'when you are finished, may I have a word?'

'You may,' she responded, her forkful suspended in the air.

'I will be in the drawing room.'

'Not hungry, Darcy?' Bingley called after him, but Mr. Darcy had already left.

'Thank you for the meal, it was delightful. Excuse me,' Elizabeth said after a moment, getting up to leave.

On the way to the drawing room, Elizabeth amused herself with many frivolous ideas, wondering why in the world Mr. Darcy wished to speak to her.

As she entered with a smile still playing on her lips, she stilled, finding that Netherfield's drawing room, once empty but for Mr. Darcy while he sat absorbed by what seemed to be a missive, held quite a different ambiance.

'Mr. Darcy,' she said, 'did you require my help with something?'

'When do you leave?'

'I—by tomorrow afternoon, I expect.'

'I have an unreasonable request.'

'Pray tell?'

'Can I trust you with delicate information?'

'If you must.'

'As of now, I have not the luxury to keep quiet. My sister has suffered an unusual hardship not very long ago, and I am afraid that living with little company in our family home and no friends to call on is not doing much to help her spirit.'

'I am sorry to hear that. Isolation is a difficult thing for women, especially in trying times. She must frequent other women her age, the good sort that will care for her and advise her, lighten her mood.'

'I've seen you care for your sister, Miss Elizabeth, and I realized what you speak of. She does not easily find friends she can trust, but you could be just what she needs.'

'Me?'

'I understand this is brusque, but will you consider visiting her?'

'In your family home?'

'Yes. I fear for her health if nothing is done.'

'In that case, I have an equally unreasonable counterproposition.'

'Yes?'

'Let her change the settings, and stay with me and my sisters for an afternoon. If she finds comfort in our company, she may remain longer.'

Darcy considered her with fleeting surprise. He looked back at the letter he held; it became an air of deep resignation.

'I am in your debt, Miss Elizabeth.'