Page 102 of A November to Remember

Kitty drifted over to Georgiana, hooking their arms together. “Georgiana is wearing the new silk tonight. Sir Warrick will weep when he sees it.”

Georgiana flushed prettily. “He will do no such thing, Kitty. He is merely a guest.”

Richard surveyed the damage to his linen. “He asked about you three times when I met him. The man is hopelessly transparent. He makes his intentions obvious months in advance.”

Suddenly the room fell silent; even the children stopped moving.

Mrs Bennet entered wearing a gown of pink silk and a cap made of the best Valenciennes lace, carrying an ivory fan, which she waved at the assembly. “Oh, thank heavens the noise has stopped! My poor nerves are frayed before the day has even begun! Mr Bennet, why are you standing there doing nothing? Why have you allowed the children to run wild? Where are their nurses?”

Mr Bennet took another sip of his tea and gestured at Richard. “Your son-in-law dismissed them. I am serving as a neutral observer, my dear.”

Mrs Bennet ignored him, focusing on Robert. “Lord Keathley. I have just received an express from my sister Philips. You will not believe the audacity of Mrs Long.”

Robert stood up and retrieved his coat from the chair, draping it over his arm. “Do tell, Mrs Bennet. Has she purchased another hideous hat?”

Mrs Bennet tapped Robert’s arm with her fan. “Worse! She has hired a carriage for a week. With matched bays! Matched bays, my lord! And she drove it right past Mr Philips’s windows three times. Three times! She knows perfectly well Mr Philips cannot abide matched bays.”

Richard accepted a cup of tea from Mary. “A clear provocation.”

Mrs Bennet took the most prominent armchair. “I shall write to her immediately. I shall mention casually that my daughter is hosting a ball at Pemberley, and the viscountess is attending. That will silence her matched bays.”

Mr Bennet settled into a chair, put his teacup on the adjoining table, and laid his newspaper across his knees. He pulled a folded letter from his inner pocket. “Speaking of Meryton folk, Lizzy, I received a missive from Sir William and he speaks of St James’s, naturally, and Charlotte. Do you wish to hear?”

Elizabeth turned, her face brightening. “Certainly, Papa! How does she fare in Liverpool?”

“She thrives. Mr Smith’s shipping business has acquired three new vessels. Sir William informs me that her two children are demonstrating an excellent grasp of basic accounting, and she has reorganised the merchant wives’ society into a very efficient charitable committee.”

Jane smiled, helping Eleanor to her feet. “Charlotte was always practical. I am glad she found a man who appreciates her good sense.”

“Practicality is a virtue Mr Collins lacks,” Mary said. “Did you read the notice in the Gazette, Papa?”

Mr Bennet shuddered. “I avoid reading about my heir, Mary. It ruins my digestion.”

Mary turned to Richard, sharing a dry look. “He has married. Lady Catherine de Bourgh presented him with a bride. A widow of forty-five with a very strong jaw, a moderate fortune, and deaf in her left ear.”

Robert let out a loud bark of laughter. “Did they write that in the Gazette?”

Mary gasped. “No! I have it from their housekeeper who happens to be the sister of Mrs Justin, my housekeeper.”

Robert dropped onto the sofa. “Lady Catherine is a genius. She found the one woman in England who can abide his sermons.”

Jane rose, gathered her twin girls, and guided them to Robert before taking the place beside him on the sofa. “And I have news from Miss Bingley. She started writing to me after my marriage. She is the most faithful correspondent.”

A collective groan echoed around the drawing-room.

Darcy felt a twinge of old affection for the name Bingley. “Where is the amiable Mr Bingley currently residing?”

Jane smiled sympathetically. “Somerset. He rented an estate near the coast for the autumn. But Miss Bingley writes that the sea air is ruining her complexion, and there is no society. They are returning to Bath for the winter.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “He changes estates with the seasons. Yorkshire in the spring, the south in the summer. He is a nomadic gentleman.”

“If I lived with Caroline Bingley, I would rent a tent in the Sahara,” Robert said.

Kitty released Georgiana’s arm and sat in a nearby chair, drawing Thomas close.

“She is still unmarried, Jane?” Kitty asked, bouncing her nephew on her knee.

“She is. She holds out hope for a duke, I believe.”