A low sound escaped Mr. Bennet—something between a laugh and a hum of agreement.
“And who has taken it?”
“A gentleman by the name of Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “He is said to be from the north of England, with an income of four or five thousand a year.”
Lydia sat up in shock. “Four or five thousand!”
“Or perhaps,” Mrs. Bennet continued, with a slight lift of one brow, “something nearer half that, if one considers the source of the information.”
Mr. Bennet gave a quiet chortle. “Mrs. Long has never allowed accuracy to impede her enjoyment of a report.”
“Nor has she any reason to begin now,” Mrs. Bennet returned.
Elizabeth glanced down to hide her smile. There was in their exchange a familiarity, a shared understanding, that had long since replaced the sharper contrasts she had once imagined must exist between husband and wife. Their humor ran along similar lines—dry, observant, and never quite as serious as it first appeared.
“From the north,” Mary said thoughtfully. “That is a considerable remove.”
“Not so great as to prevent him from letting a house in Hertfordshire,” Mr. Bennet replied.
Jane spoke next, her tone composed but not without curiosity. “It is uncommon, is it not, for Netherfield to be taken so suddenly?”
“It has stood empty long enough to invite speculation,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Now it invites something rather more substantial.”
Kitty, unable to restrain herself, leaned back from Lydia. “Will he come soon? Has he arrived already?”
“I believe he is expected shortly,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Though whether he will bring a large party with him remains to be seen.”
Lydia, who had been watching her mother with growing animation, now burst forth. “How very romantic it would be if he were to fall in love with me!”
A pause followed—brief, but sufficient.
Mrs. Bennet turned her gaze upon her youngest daughter.
“You are not out,” she said.
Lydia’s expression shifted into something between disbelief and protest. “But why must I be denied my share of amusement simply because my elder sisters are disinclined to marry early?”
The words had scarcely left her lips before Mrs. Bennet’s look changed—not in severity alone, but in a steadiness that admitted no argument. It was a look the girls knew well. It did not raise the voice, though it carried with it a certainty that rendered further discussion both unnecessary and unwise.
Lydia’s mouth closed. She sank back in her chair, her displeasure evident but contained.
The moment passed.
The discourse reverted to its prior trajectory, albeit with subtle alterations. There was now an undercurrent to it, a quiet awareness of the new presence that would soon enter their neighborhood.
Mr. Bennet took a sip of his wine. “I suppose I shall be required to call upon this gentleman.”
“Whenever it is convenient,” Mrs. Bennet said, as though the matter were of no particular urgency.
Elizabeth noted the slight emphasis on the last word. It was not insistence. It was not even expectation. It was, rather, a suggestion placed with such care that it might easily be mistaken for indifference.
Mr. Bennet nodded his head. “I shall endeavor to find a convenient moment.”
Kitty exchanged a glance with Lydia, her earlier disappointment already giving way to renewed interest.
Jane, meanwhile, resumed her meal with composed attention, though Elizabeth could not help but observe the brightness in her expression. New arrivals were rare enough to stir even the most tranquil spirits.
At the lower end of the table, Thomas and Toby had been unusually quiet.
