Mrs. Bennet replied, “Indeed; here in the country, we are more concerned with the substance, not the appearance.”
“Whatever can you mean?”
“What mattered at the wedding breakfast was that two people were committing themselves to one another; the number of cakes and what-not was far less important.”
Brava, Mama! Elizabeth thought.
Miss Bingley promptly yawned enormously. “Oh, goodness,” she drawled. “I had not realised I was so weary. I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Benton.”
“My mother’s name is Bennet, not Benton,” Jane said immediately.
“And I must beg your pardon once again, Mrs. Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, smoothly.
This is intolerable, Mr. Bingley thought. “Caroline…” he said, warningly.
“I am sorry, Charles. It was a long trip from London, and it is catching up with me.”
“Perhaps you would like to retire?” Her brother asked, through clenched teeth.
“Oh, not at all. I am certain this evening will be most engaging.”
Elizabeth, hoping to keep things civil, said, “Miss Bingley, I could not help but notice the colour of your gown; I do not think I have seen it before.”
Miss Bingley preened. “It is called Coquelicot.”
“Is that not the name of a type of poppy?” Mr. Darcy enquired.
“Of course not,” Miss Bingley said, offended. A poppy! Such a common flower!
Mr. Bennet surprised the company by speaking up. “It is, though. It is French for wild corn poppy. No need to be upset, Miss Bingley; it is a pretty enough plant, though many regard it as a weed.”
This was too much for the two youngest Bennet sisters, who burst out laughing. “A weed!” Lydia shrieked, and she and Kitty fell into each other’s arms, overcome with mirth.
Mr. Darcy would have been horrified at their behaviour had it not been just too, too perfect.
Dinner was announced just then, much to the relief of everyone present. Jane had arranged the seating, with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth side-by-side. Miss Bingley was placed between her brother and Mr. Bennet. She was displeased with the arrangement, of course, but could not object.
“Why is she here?” Elizabeth asked Mr. Darcy in a whisper.
“No one knows,” he replied. “But it is deuced awkward having her about.”
“Could she have found out that you are in residence?”
“She must have; there is no other explanation for her sudden decision to join her brother at Netherfield.”
“You must be careful.”
“Evans will sleep in my bed, and I will sleep in a different room down the hall; it is all arranged.”
“Whatever are you two whispering about?” Miss Bingley called out.
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. Darcy said, his surprise at such a question all but yelled out across the dinner table plainly written on his face.
“Have you secret affairs to discuss?” Miss Bingley went on.
Elizabeth answered, “Yes, Mr. Darcy has caught me spying for the French and is interrogating me over dinner. Well done, Mr. Darcy, you are too clever for me!”
The company laughed, and Miss Bingley turned bright red.
