"Mrs Makepeace, I presume."
"You have taken your time."
Mr Bennet blinked at the directness of her comment. "I am delighted to find my reputation has preceded me."
Mr Bennet followed her through the hall and became immediately aware of voices from the drawing room beyond.
"...and if the sheep had remained in the correct field from the beginning," a young man was saying with enormous conviction, "the entire difficulty might have been avoided."
"Mr Bingley," said Mrs Bennet, "I cannot agree. The sheep were behaving exactly as sheep ought. The difficulty appears to have been the humans."
The room laughed.
Mrs Makepeace pushed open the drawing room door. "Mr Bennet."
The effect of his arrival was immediate. Elizabeth sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise. Jane rose beside her. A fair-haired young gentleman stood so quickly that he nearly overturned a chair. A young blonde woman looked from one face to another in evident confusion. A broad dark-haired man followed Elizabeth’s progress across the room.
Mrs Bennet alone remained where she was. For a moment she simply looked at him, her hands very still at her sides.
During the journey he had imagined this meeting several times. In some versions she was angry. In others she was cold. Once or twice she had refused to speak to him altogether. The reality proved considerably more unsettling. She looked well. Remarkably well.
The observation annoyed him immediately because it was so simple. Lyme had not transformed her into somebody else. She was not younger or prettier or dressed with any greater decorum. She was not altered in any dramatic fashion. Yet she looked more like the woman he had married than the woman he had left at Longbourn a few weeks before. The habitual tension seemed absent and there was colour in her face and interest inher expression. She had evidently been laughing and her face was open and pleased with the world.
"My dear," he said.
"Mr Bennet."
Elizabeth recovered first. "Papa, why did you not write?"
"Because then you would have known I was coming."
"A considerable flaw in most correspondence."
"It has always struck me as one." This earned the laugh he had hoped for.
Bingley immediately advanced.
"Mr Bennet, I am delighted to meet you. Charles Bingley."
Mr Bennet shook his hand and immediately recognised the symptoms. The young man was hopelessly in love. One glance towards Jane confirmed the diagnosis. Jane coloured. She appeared to return his affection and Mr Bennet looked on with interest.
"So I see, young man. A pleasure I am sure."
Mr Bingley appeared pleased by this response if a little confused by the sarcastic lilt of Mr Bennet’s words.
Tea was brought in, and with it came the inevitable enquiries from home. Lady Lucas had contrived to quarrel with Mrs Long over a matter nobody could now clearly remember. Kitty hadacquired a cold and recovered from it within the same week. Mary had lately discovered a new moral philosopher whom nobody else had heard of and was determined that everybody should regret the omission. Mr Bennet answered as best he could while cups were filled and handed about, finding himself less engaged by his own news than by the company before him.
He had expected, perhaps unconsciously, to find his family preserved exactly as he had left them. The weeks apart had seemed sufficiently short to permit no great alteration. Yet before half an hour had passed he began to suspect he had entered a household with customs and relationships of its own.
Mr Bingley was plainly well established already. Indeed, from the ease with which he addressed Jane, and the attention with which Jane listened in return, Mr Bennet thought another week might see him established permanently. Jane, for her part, was endeavouring to behave exactly as she ought and succeeding only moderately. Every few minutes she smiled at something Bingley said and immediately became very interested in the contents of her teacup.
For his Lizzy, the change was more subtle. She was still witty and sociable, bouncing between conversations and adjusting her manner with ease. A kind, quiet word for the young blonde Miss Darcy, a jest at Mr Bingley's enthusiasm with the world, warm agreement with Jane or her mama. Yet after some minutesMr Bennet became aware of a curious omission. She never addressed Mr Darcy.
The discovery might have passed unnoticed had Mr Darcy shown equal indifference. Unfortunately he appeared incapable of it.
The gentleman occupied a position near the window and spoke only when spoken to, but his attention returned to Elizabeth with surprising regularity. Whenever she crossed the room his eyes followed her. Whenever she spoke he seemed to listen, whether or not the remark had been addressed to him. More remarkably still, whenever circumstances threatened to bring them into direct conversation, both parties developed an immediate interest in somebody else.
Mr Derby… Miss Bucket. Surely not? Oh dear lord in heaven. What was in the air in Lyme?
