Chapter One #2
“Indeed, we must hope he is an angel, or at the very least, tolerable,” Elizabeth replied dryly.
“Otherwise, I tremble for his comfort in the neighborhood. With Mama to extol his virtues and the militia to speculate on his fortune, he will be made a hero or a scoundrel before he has uttered a word in his own defense.”
Jane laughed, soft and musical. “You are too severe. Perhaps he will be just as he ought: neither a hero nor a scoundrel, but simply a good man.”
Elizabeth looked at her sister with fondness. “If he is a good man, Jane, you will be the first to know it. You always are.”
As the conversation continued, Lydia and Kitty planned what ribbons they should wear to catch Mr. Bingley’s eye, and Mary deliberated upon what serious topics might best impress him; Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted.
Every word spoken at that table—every speculation, hope, and exaggeration—only served to heighten the sense that change was stirring. That a single gentleman’s arrival could unsettle the entire household so thoroughly was both amusing and vaguely alarming.
Somewhere, at that very moment, a carriage might be rolling toward Hertfordshire; a young man might be looking with curiosity upon the fields and hedgerows that had been the whole of her world.
He knew nothing of Longbourn, of her father’s sarcastic humor, her mother’s nerves, or her sisters’ varying peculiarities.
He did not know that his name had already been spoken a hundred times in their house, or that their future—hers included—had shifted slightly on its axis the moment he signed his name to a piece of parchment in some distant room.
The idea was both absurd and strangely sobering.
She took another bite of roast, savoring the familiar taste, and silently resolved that, whatever else came of Mr. Bingley’s arrival, she would observe and judge him for herself, unclouded by her mother’s raptures or the neighborhood’s expectations.
If he were to change the tenor of their lives, she would at least know the man who did it.
Later that night, Jane, the eldest of the Bennet daughters, crept into her sister’s chamber. She slid under the covers next to Elizabeth and pulled them over her head.
“Is it not thrilling?” she asked in a whisper. “I am eager to meet the gentleman who has caused such excitement in our home. Do you think he will be handsome?”
“With five thousand a year, he could hardly be anything less.” Elizabeth and Jane descended into silent laughter.
When their mirth subsided, she leaned her head on Jane’s shoulder. “Mama will not rest until one of us has secured him,” she predicted. “I have never seen her so enthused—not since she became the leading lady of the neighborhood.”
“There will be fierce competition. Lady Lucas will want him for Charlotte. And then there are the Misses Long.”
“Let us not forget Miss Goulding or Miss King. And those are only the ladies with the greatest standing in the neighborhood. I am certain there will be others seeking his attention.” Elizabeth shifted slightly in an attempt to become more comfortable.
“Despite the competition, I predict he will choose you. There are no other ladies with such a perfect blend of beauty and good temper. I wager that Mr. Bingley will propose before Christmas.”
Jane shook her head. “I will not attempt to argue the point, dearest sister. We shall simply wait and see.”
They spoke of other things for a time before Jane slipped out from under the coverlet and crept from the bedchamber.
Alone again, Elizabeth rolled onto her back and tucked an arm under her head.
Staring up into the canopy, she imagined how their fortunes would change if one of them married well.
Her mother would certainly be less…anxious about their future.
The resulting peace would improve her father’s disposition as well.
Elizabeth pushed a stray curl from her face, it having escaped the thick plait that lay beside her on the down pillow. As she drifted off to sleep, she could not help but feel that the coming days would prove very interesting.
The next day, the Bennet ladies walked into Meryton.
Mrs. Bennet accompanied her daughters, eager to partake of the gossip surrounding the new master of Netherfield.
They first called upon Mrs. Phillips, the Bennet matriarch’s sister.
Mrs. Phillips was married to the local solicitor, who also happened to handle legal matters for Netherfield. Or rather, he had.
“Mr. Phillips informs me that Mr. Bingley’s solicitor will manage things going forward. It is a shame to lose business, but it cannot be helped.” Mrs. Phillips sipped her tea and shook her head.
“Never mind about that. Tell us of Mr. Bingley!” Lydia bounced in her chair, her teacup rattling against the saucer. “When will he arrive? Will he add to the staff? What of parties and balls?”
“Hush, Lydia, and let your aunt speak.” Mrs. Bennet swatted at her daughter—a rare occurrence given Lydia’s standing as her mother’s favorite.
Lydia complied but pouted quietly in her chair. Everyone turned their attention to Mrs. Phillips, who cleared her throat and told all she knew.
“Mr. Bingley is, according to Mr. Phillips, an amiable man with a pleasing countenance. He could not recall true details—men are hopeless at such things—but described him as being reasonably tall and fit, with reddish hair and an engaging smile. The gentleman is eager to take possession of his estate and will do so before Michaelmas.” She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, smiling at her sister.
“Have you convinced Mr. Bennet to call yet?”
“He has promised he will, though I suspect he will tease me needlessly about it.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed disdainfully. “Why he must play games with me is beyond my understanding.”
Elizabeth smiled into her teacup. Mama enjoyed her husband’s teasing…
most of the time. Her parents were an odd pair, but they loved each other.
The Bennets had raised their children to expect the same in their future spouses.
Imperfect as they were, they provided their children with an ideal example of marital felicity.
Why, Mrs. Bennet had once helped Jane turn away a suitor she could not abide.
The man had written Jane some very bad poetry, but even his sad use of verse would not have cooled Jane’s affections if they had existed.
Still, the girls had next to no dowry. Her parents had not saved prudently, and now Mrs. Bennet’s concerns for the future were demonstrated with every show of nerves.
Let us hope that the new master of Netherfield chooses one of us, she thought to herself. It would certainly make things easier.