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“I shall take my leave,” said Mr. Collins at last. “I find I cannot remain at Longbourn.” He bowed, though the motion was stiff and perfunctory.

“Leave?” Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Why would you leave, sir? You cannot mean it!”

“You have always been most kind, Madam,” said he, stepping around her with a bow that was more dismissal than courtesy. “Would that I could say the same of every member of your family.” With these words, he left, hurrying to his chambers to ready his things.

Mrs. Bennet turned to her husband. “Mr. Bennet, tell him he must stay! Surely he cannot mean to go?”

“I shall do no such thing.” Mr. Bennet’s tone was mild but final. “Besides, it was not on Mr. Collins’s account that I sent for you.” He directed her attention, with a slight inclination of his head, toward Mary, who stood with her hand upon Mr. Lucas’s arm, his own hand resting warmly over hers.

The change in Mrs. Bennet was instantaneous. Mr. Bennet did not have time even to relate what the good news was before Mrs. Bennet had crossed the room and taken her daughter into her arms, declaring with great feeling that Mary was a wicked, secretive creature to have said nothing of this to her own mother.

“You too, my dear, dear Mr. Lucas,” said Mrs. Bennet, turning to him. “Why, I vow, I should not have thought you should be the one to catch my Mary’s fancy, not for all the world! Oh, but I am so pleased! My Mary will be settled at such an easy distance and with so fine a gentleman! I must see your mother at once. Yes, that is it—we shall have the carriage brought round this instant! Mary, you shall come with me, and Mr. Lucas, you must come too. Oh! Here comes Hill! My dear Hill, have you heard the good news? Miss Mary is going to be married; and you shall all have a bowl of punch to make merry at her wedding. Pray, for now you must bring around the carriage, for I must see Lady Lucas at once.”

Mary looked to her betrothed with an apologetic countenance, but it was not needed. Her future husband was well-acquainted with Mrs. Bennet and accepted her delight with alacrity, for Mary would be exposed to the same upon their arrival at Lucas Lodge.

The arrangements for the carriage were soon complete, for when Mrs. Bennet was truly determined, no obstacle could long delay her. Amid a flurry of joyful orders for the servants and her other children, she hurried Mary and her future son-in-law to the waiting carriage, scarcely stopping to let them gather their cloaks and hats. Once the carriage had left, Longbourn was enveloped in a stillness that felt unsettling after all the excitement.

Kitty frowned, sensing that they had forgotten something. It took several moments for it to come to her, but when she realised, she cried out, “We have forgotten Lydia!”

Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a troubled glance. “You are quite right, Kitty,” Jane said softly. “It would be wrong to let her hear the news from the servants.”

Mr. Bennet just sighed, feeling such a duty ought to fall on his shoulders if he was going to continue in his resolve to be more attentive to his family. Yet, he did not think his youngest daughter respond well, especially if he were the one to deliver the news of the engagement. He looked at Kitty and gestured for her to follow him as he left the room. Kitty reluctantly obeyed.

The moment the door closed behind them, the room seemed suddenly very empty. Mrs. Ellington set down the tea she had been nursing, and suggested that they retire to the sitting room, for she wished to sit in a more comfortable chair. Jane and Elizabeth did not find this any slight against the furniture in the breakfast parlour, for, as they expected, upon their entrance into the sitting room, Mrs. Ellington situated herself in her favourite chair near the window, which was indeed very comfortable. Elizabeth and Jane both sat on the nearby settee, taking up the mending basket and setting to work.

For several minutes the ladies worked in companionable silence, speaking of their excitement for the wedding, and wondering how Mary and Mr. Lucas got on with both Lady Lucas and Mrs. Bennet at Lucas Lodge. Kitty returned before long, her face a study of weariness.

“Lydia did not take the news well, then,” was Elizabeth’s immediate observation.

“No, indeed,” Kitty responded, “for she is cross that she shall not be allowed to dance at all at the wedding, and she is certain that I am staying out only to vex her.”

“Do not pay her complaints any mind, Cousin Kitty,” said Mrs. Ellington, “for she is cross mostly with herself. She will eventually come to see that we have acted in her best interests, for had she been allowed to continue on as she had, she might have hurt her reputation irrevocably.”

“Surely not,” said Kitty, unbelieving that her sister would act in a manner that would cause such harm.

“We cannot know,” said Mrs. Ellington. “We can only hope that with a few more years of remaining in, she will gain some more maturity, and we shall never need to learn what might have happened.”

Chapter 17

“Is that the carriage?” asked Elizabeth, rising to go to the window at the sound of wheels on the gravel drive. “Surely they cannot be returning already.”

“That is Mr. Bingley’s carriage,” exclaimed Kitty. “I am certain of it.”

Jane rose at once and came to stand beside her sister at the window. “You are quite right, Kitty.” Though she spoke composedly, Elizabeth observed the rigid set of her sister’s shoulders as she went to the bellpull and summoned a servant.

Elizabeth could not be sorry for her mother’s absence, for it allowed a welcome calm to pervade their preparations for their visitors. They set aside their mending and smoothed their hair and skirts, assisting each other with very little commotion. When their guests were announced, Mr. Bingley’s delight at seeing Jane was but thinly disguised by the necessity of politeness to the others, while his sisters’ eyes swept the room with a cool, appraising air that left little doubt as to their purpose. Mr. Darcy entered behind the others, making every polite greeting with a certain detached air.

“We have come,” Mr. Bingley began, his voice bright with genuine pleasure, “on an errand of great importance. We have, at long last, determined upon a date for the ball I wish to host. It is to be held on Tuesday next, and we should be honoured if your family would attend.”

“Oh, but Lydia cannot attend, sir,” said Kitty, before anyone could stop her.

Elizabeth looked at her sister with a mixture of vexation and reluctant approval; there was no concealing the truth, and it was often better in such cases to allow yourself to be the means of spreading such news rather than letting the neighbourhood take charge of the task.

“Oh?” asked Miss Bingley, “Why can Miss Lydia not attend?”

The silence that followed was heavy, but before Kitty could stumble into a further explanation that might do their family little credit, Jane intervened, “Lydia is to be kept closely to her studies at present. My father has determined that her education requires more careful attention, and so she is to remain at home and will not be joining us in society for a time.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Hurst responded. “I had no idea that your youngest sister was so studious. I had always supposed that to be Miss Mary’s disposition.”