Elizabeth hid a smile behind her glass. Her mother’s definition of accomplished had always been a generous one.
“Did Mrs. Phillips hear anything of his temperament?” Elizabeth asked, more to satisfy her own curiosity than from any hope of a sober account. “Does he seem amiable?”
“Oh, vastly amiable,” Mrs. Bennet assured her, waving her hand. “He smiled upon everyone, spoke to Mr. Morris and Mr. Phillips with the greatest good humor, and declared himself delighted with the prospect of living in the country. He has taken Netherfield with all its furniture, only sending his steward beforehand to make a few improvements.”
“I hope,” Mary interjected, “that his amiability extends beyond mere civility and that he proves to be a man of sense. It would be unfortunate if so fine an estate were held by someone of weak understanding.”
“There is no need to talk of sense, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet said impatiently. “Handsome and rich is quite enough. A man may buy all the sense he requires after he has secured himself a wife and a good establishment.”
Elizabeth could not help laughing outright at that. “Pray do not repeat that sentiment in Mr. Bingley’s hearing, Mama, orhe may fear you intend to sell one of us to him like a new pianoforte.”
“Do not be ridiculous, Lizzy. Of course, we shall not speak of such things to his face.” Mrs. Bennet dabbed theatrically at her eyes. “But what else is a mother with five unmarried daughters to think of when a young man of good fortune comes into a neighborhood? If only you girls understood the anxiety of having so many to dispose of, and so little to tempt a suitor!”
Jane, who had remained mostly silent, offered a gentle smile meant to soothe. “I am sure, Mama, that if Mr. Bingley is as amiable as you say, he will be pleased by the society of the neighborhood and will find many friends among us. We must hope only that he may be as happy in Hertfordshire as Mr. Morton was before he left.”
“Mr. Morton!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “What is Mr. Morton to Mr. Bingley? A baronet in Surrey, indeed! I dare say he is already quite puffed up with consequence. I am done thinking of the Mortons. They had every advantage, yet they turned their backs on Netherfield without a thought for those of us left behind. No, my dears, from now on, it is Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bingley!”
She rolled the name on her tongue as though it were a particularly fine morsel of pudding.
Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane across the table—a look full of affection, amusement, and a trace of apprehension. Jane’s fair complexion was prettily suffused with color, whether from the warmth of the room or the subject of conversation, Elizabeth could not say.
“You must admit,” Elizabeth said later, when the younger girls had descended into overlapping exclamations about assemblies and gowns, “that Mama has at last found a new object. Poor Mr. Morton is at least spared from being endlessly lamented.”
Jane’s eyes sparkled. “I hope Mr. Bingley may prove worthy of such enthusiasm. It would be a pity if she wasted so much excitement upon a man who is unkind or disagreeable.”
“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.
