Chapter 10 #2
Elizabeth followed her mother’s gaze to a group of gentlemen in conversation with their host. One in particular stood out—not for his dress, which was fashionable but not ostentatious, nor for his height, which was only middling—but for his countenance.
He was smiling at something Sir William had said, his expression open and genuinely pleased.
“That must be Mr. Bingley,” Jane murmured beside her.
“He looks quite amiable,” Elizabeth agreed.
“Oh, he is handsome!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed rather too loudly. “Handsome indeed! Jane, you must stand where he can see you. No, not there—not behind that column—step forward, child. Elizabeth, do not crush Jane’s sash.”
Before Elizabeth could comply with this absurd injunction, Sir William had espied them and was bearing down upon their party.
“Mrs. Bennet! Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! What a pleasure! Allow me to introduce you to our new neighbours from Netherfield Park.”
Sir William made the introductions with great ceremony. “Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, may I present Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, his brother-in-law Mr. Hurst, Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Morris.”
The gentlemen bowed in turn. Mr. Hurst appeared somewhat sleepy, and the other two gentlemen were polite but unremarkable. Mr. Bingley, however, bowed to each of them with genuine warmth, and when he straightened from his bow to Jane, his smile became radiant.
“Miss Bennet, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Jane curtsied gracefully. “And I, yours, Mr. Bingley. I hope you are finding Netherfield comfortable?”
“Very comfortable indeed, though I confess I have had little time to explore the neighbourhood. Mr. Darcy keeps us all well arranged.” He smiled. “He has remarkably decided opinions about every thing from breakfast to billiards.”
Elizabeth laughed before she was aware of it. “I can well imagine.”
Bingley’s attention shifted to her with friendly curiosity. “You are acquainted with Darcy, then?”
“We have met on several occasions,” Elizabeth said slowly. “He has been very obliging to my family.”
“That is quite like him,” Bingley said warmly. “He can appear severe, but he has the most generous heart of any man I know. Always doing things for people and saying nothing of it.”
This description sat oddly with Elizabeth’s recent experience of Mr. Darcy and his waggon full of unsolicited supplies, but she suppressed a smile. Generous, certainly, but by no means without a fuss.
The music struck up for the first set, and Bingley turned to Jane with scarcely concealed eagerness.
“Miss Bennet, may I have the honour of this dance?”
“I should be delighted, Mr. Bingley.”
They took their places in the set, and even at a distance Elizabeth could see Jane’s gentle smile and Bingley’s transparent admiration.
“Well!” Mrs. Bennet materialised at her elbow, fanning herself vigorously. “He is every thing a young man ought to be—handsome, amiable, and five thousand a year. Jane must have him.”
“Mamma,” Elizabeth said warningly.
“I am merely observing what is plain to any one with eyes. He could not take his gaze from her during the introduction, and she looks very well to-night. I knew that colour would suit her.”
Elizabeth could not dispute her mother’s judgement of Mr. Bingley’s admiration, though she wished Mrs. Bennet would express it at a more moderate volume.
Throughout the first set, Bingley’s attention never wavered from Jane.
He smiled at her every remark, laughed at her gentle observations, and appeared to have little leisure for any one else in the room.
When the set concluded, Elizabeth fully expected him to return Jane to their party and seek another partner, as politeness required. Instead, he remained at Jane’s side, engaging her in conversation with such animated interest that they drew the notice of half the room.
“He will ask her for another dance,” Mrs. Bennet predicted with satisfaction. “Mark my words, Lizzy. He will ask her again.”
On this occasion, her mother’s predictions proved accurate.
Mr. Bingley did indeed ask Jane for a second set, the utmost that propriety allowed.
Between dances, he was all amiable attention—to everyone.
He danced with Elizabeth, with both the Miss Lucases, and with several other young ladies, always smiling, always perfectly pleasant.
Yet his eyes continually returned to Jane.
Mr. Crawford and Mr. Morris proved equally obliging partners, though less engaging. Mr. Hurst showed himself to be of that description of gentleman who attends assemblies only for the card-room, retreating thither within the first quarter-hour.
Elizabeth’s own evening was tolerably pleasant, though not without trial.
During her set with Mr. Morris, she was treated to an exhaustive account of every covey of pheasant he had shot the previous autumn, with particular notice of the weather and the merits of his dogs.
Sir William Lucas, in his zeal for promoting neighbourhood harmony, insisted on presenting her to a visiting clergyman, who spoke of nothing but his patroness and the superiority of her chimneys.
The true entertainment came when Lydia, emboldened by punch and the general merriment, attempted an ambitious figure in a country-dance and nearly brought down an entire line of dancers like so many ninepins.
The set was recovered, though not before several matrons had taken notice and Mrs. Bennet had loudly proclaimed that Lydia had “such spirits.”
As they prepared to depart, Mr. Bingley attended Jane to fetch her cloak. His attentiveness was evident, as was Jane’s quiet pleasure in it.
They returned to Longbourn to find the house still lighted, Mary and Georgiana in the drawing room with their music, and Mr. Bennet emerging from his library with the air of a man who had successfully avoided an evening’s tedium.
“Well?” he inquired. “Did you conquer Meryton, or did Meryton conquer you?”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet was already halfway up the stairs, untying her bonnet with one hand and gesturing with the other. “Such an evening! Such a triumph! Mr. Bingley danced with Jane twice. Twice! Everyone remarked upon it. Lady Lucas was quite green with envy.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose. “Twice? Good Lord. The man is either smitten, or incapable of counting. Which does your vanity prefer?”
“Smitten, to be sure. He could not take his eyes from her. And he is so amiable, Mr. Bennet, so handsome—five thousand a year.”
“You have mentioned the five thousand a year. I begin to suspect it is the most amiable thing about him.”
“Do not be ridiculous!” Mrs. Bennet disappeared up the stairs, still extolling Mr. Bingley’s virtues to any one who would listen.
Elizabeth slipped into the drawing room, where Georgiana immediately laid aside her music.
“Tell me every thing,” Georgiana said, her eyes bright. “How was it?”
“Quite diverting,” Elizabeth said, settling into a chair. “Though it had its trials. I was condemned for one set to a Mr. Morris, who considered it his duty to inform me of every bird he brought down last autumn, with a running commentary on the winds and his dogs.”
Mary looked up from her music. “An edifying subject, no doubt.”
“Most instructive. I am now perfectly qualified to converse with every sportsman in Hertfordshire, if I can but remember whether the third covey fell in a drizzle or a hard frost.” Elizabeth’s mouth curved.
“However, Mr. Morris was entirely outdone by Lydia. She contrived, in one gallant attempt at a figure, to throw half the country-dance into confusion. The set was restored at last, but not before Mamma announced to the room that she had ‘such spirits.’”
Georgiana’s hand covered her mouth, suppressing a laugh.
“What of Jane?” Mary asked quietly.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, her expression softening, “was utterly charming. As was Mr. Bingley. He danced with her twice, Mary. Very particular attention.”
“He danced with all the ladies, surely?” Georgiana asked.
“He was all amiable propriety—danced with Kitty and Lydia and with me, with the Miss Lucases, with I know not how many others. His preference was unmistakable. He smiled at everybody, but he positively beamed at Jane.”
“How delightful!” Georgiana clasped her hands. “Do you suppose he will call?”
“I should be astonished if he did not.”
“It is,” Mary said, “refreshing to see real regard expressed openly. One grows weary of pretence and calculation. We have been debating whether your evening or ours was the more improving,” she added, with a small, satisfied smile.
“Miss Darcy has nearly persuaded me in favour of country-dances, but I still maintain that four good pages of Handel are worth any number of partners with nothing to say.”
Georgiana coloured a little, but her smile lingered. “Miss Mary is obliging. She has borne with my mistakes all evening, and makes the bass sound much more sensible than it deserves.”
“Then your choice was the wiser,” Elizabeth said. “There was more real improvement, I dare say, at this pianoforte than in all Meryton.”
“Mr. Darcy did not relent and join you?” Georgiana asked.
“No. As Mrs. Annesley told us, he preferred to remain at Netherfield,” Elizabeth replied lightly. “I am persuaded he was in no humour to give consequence to any of us. It is as well. We managed very well without him.”
Mrs. Annesley, who had been listening whilst continuing her needlework, looked up with a slight smile and raised brow. “It seems the evening was a success, Miss Elizabeth. I am glad of it.”
“It was,” Elizabeth agreed. An unacknowledged wish stirred within her- that had Mr. Darcy chosen to come, the evening might have been the better for it.
She smiled and continued, “I must own your quiet evening of music sounds rather more civilised than hot assembly rooms and over-zealous musicians of doubtful skill.”
“The musicians were so very bad?” Georgiana asked, her eyes dancing.