“Who is this?” she demanded, bouncing up from the chair. She marched directly to Georgiana, inspecting the girl’s expensive silk pelisse with unabashed curiosity. “You must be the sister. Miss Darcy. Lizzy wrote that you are very accomplished. Do you like bonnets? I have a new bonnet, but it is positively dreary because there is no one in Meryton to admire it. Do you not agree that missing a trip to Brighton is the greatest tragedy of the century?”
Georgiana blinked, bewildered by the relentless interrogation. She turned to her brother for guidance, but Darcy offered an encouraging nod.
“I... I have never been to Brighton,” Georgiana answered, offering a tentative smile. “But I do like bonnets, especially the ones with ribbons.”
“Ribbons!” Kitty squealed, recovering from her mourning. “Lydia, she likes ribbons! Come, Miss Darcy, you must come upstairs! We have six feet of pink silk we do not know what to do with, and you simply must help us decide!”
Before Georgiana could formulate a polite response, Lydia and Kitty linked arms with her, and like a pair of determined, chattering magpies, they swept the girl away, dragging her up the staircase.
“Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana called out, glancing over her shoulder with a mixture of panic and delight as she was pulled around the landing.
“You are on your own, Georgiana!” Darcy called back, a laugh escaping his chest. “Be brave!”
“Well,” Elizabeth mused, handing her cloak to Hill. “She has been assimilated. I give it an hour before she is plotting a shopping expedition to Meryton with my sisters.”
From the doorway of the sitting room, Mary Bennet emerged. She held a leather-bound volume to her chest. She wore a solemn expression, her spectacles perched firmly on her nose.
Darcy turned, offering a respectful bow. “Miss Mary. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“I am gratified by your return, Mr Darcy,” Mary said with a solemn curtsy. “I have composed an extract upon the merits of perseverance, which seems fitting given the joyous news of your engagement to my sister. I would value your opinion on my conclusions later.”
“I am at your disposal,” Darcy promised.
As Mary retreated back to her studies, Mr Bennet emerged from the hallway leading to his library. The patriarch ofLongbourn surveyed the crowded hall, the mountain of trunks, and his wife, before settling his attention upon his future son-in-law.
“Ah, Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet drawled, his tone dry as dust. “I see you have brought the ransom. Come into my study, sir. Let us discuss the terms of your surrender, and precisely how you intend to manage a woman who refuses to be managed.”
Darcy did not flinch. He offered Elizabeth a reassuring wink that made her pulse flutter, then followed her father into the study.
“Oh, I hope Mr Bennet does not tease the poor man too much!” Mrs Bennet fretted, clasping her hands together. “A man with ten thousand a year should never be teased! It is against the natural order of things! Come, girls, into the drawing room! The fire is blazing. It is too warm, for it is nearly June, but I had it lit lest we be deemed stingy with coal. Come, I must hear everything about your travels! Everything!”
Elizabeth and Jane followed their mother into the drawing room. They settled onto the sofas, Mrs Bennet immediately launching into an exhaustive interrogation about Elizabeth’s wedding clothes, the availability of fine lace in Cheapside, and whether Lady Catherine had truly installed glazing in the parsonage windows.
Elizabeth answered patiently, recounting the grand spectacles of London and confirming the existence of glazing and Mr Collins’s joy about it.
They had been conversing for the better part of an hour when the front door of Longbourn opened with a violent crash.
“Sister! Sister! Oh, Sister!”
Mrs Phillips, Mrs Bennet’s gossiping, energetic sister, burst into the drawing room like a town crier announcing a royal birth. She was panting for breath, her bonnet sitting crookedly upon her head, her cheeks bright red from a brisk walk across the village.
“Sister!” she gasped, collapsing into the nearest armchair and clutching her chest. “Hill! Fetch me some tea! Or perhaps sherry! Oh, the news! The news I have!”
Mrs Bennet sat up straight, abandoning the topic of wedding lace. “News? What news, sister? Has Mr Goulding bought another goat?”
“A goat! Heavens, no!” Mrs Phillips waved her hands wildly. “It is Netherfield! Sister, Netherfield Park is let at last!”
Elizabeth froze. Beside her, Jane stiffened, her hands gripping the folds of her blue skirt.
“Let?” Mrs Bennet pressed a hand to her throat. “Netherfield is let? After that hideous, fickle, horrible Mr Bingley abandoned it? Good riddance to him, I say! But who has taken the lease? Is it a gentleman? A single gentleman? Oh, let him be single, Lord!”
“It is!” Mrs Phillips crowed, relishing the dramatic suspense. “Mr Morris, the agent, completed the paperwork yesterday afternoon! The new tenant arrives tomorrow! And Sister, you shall faint when you hear who it is!”
Elizabeth glanced at Jane. Jane’s demeanour was a mask of neutrality, but the rapid flutter of the pulse at her throat betrayed her agitation.
“Who?” Mrs Bennet demanded, bouncing off the sofa. “Speak, woman! Do not keep me in suspense! Is he rich? Is he respectable?”
“Rich? Respectable?” Mrs Phillips laughed, a giddy, triumphant sound. “He is a peer of the realm, Sister! A viscount! A wealthy, unmarried viscount!”
