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“His name is Mr. Bingley,” said Mrs. Bennet, “and he is single! He is said to have a fortune of four or five thousand a year! What a fine thing for you girls!”

Ignoring the latter part of her mother’s answer, Elizabeth repeated her second question. “But is he to be alone?”

“Mrs. Long said nothing of that,” answered Mrs. Bennet, “but no doubt Mr. Bingley will have friends to visit him, for according to Mrs. Long, he plans to reside at Netherfield! Unlike Mr. Warwick, who came just for the shooting each autumn. Yes, there may well be enough gentlemen for all of you!”

Elizabeth had not been thinking of Mr. Bingley bringing other gentlemen, but instead of whether he would have a hostess—perhaps a sister or aunt, which might add some additional variety to her calls. Nothing, however, could distract Mrs. Bennet from her singular purpose in life, and before much else could be said, she was off to entreat Mr. Bennet to visit Mr. Bingley once he arrived.

Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye, a silent plea for fortitude passing between them. She bit her lip to stifle a sigh; she had a great deal of patience, but it was not infinite. The prospect of enduring her mother’s matchmaking over the coming weeks was not at all a pleasant one.

“Four or five thousand a year!” said Kitty, “Imagine! What gowns I would have!” With that, she went off to tell Lydia and Mary the good news, though she could guess Mary would care very little.

Elizabeth looked toward her cousin. Mrs. Ellington sat composed in her chair by the window, her attention fixed on a small bird pecking at the grass. Her stillness felt like a rebuke to the whirlwind that had just departed—a kindly rebuke, perhaps, but a rebuke nonetheless. The spell was only broken when Mrs. Ellington reached for the mending basket and picked out a petticoat with a torn hem. Elizabeth likewise turned back to her embroidery, hoping that perhaps Mrs. Ellington could be a calming influence at Longbourn.

Chapter 3

Darcy surveyed the assembly, his senses assaulted by the heat, noise, and press of eyes upon his party. They were a spectacle—precisely what he had sought to avoid. Had they arrived but half an hour before, their presence would have occasioned far less remark. Bingley, ever amiable, spotted a familiar face and made his way towards the crowd. Darcy followed, for the alternative was even less palatable than this parade of introductions.

Within the half-hour, a blur of names and faces had passed before him, and he could not attach one to the other. It hardly signified. The purpose of the evening was all too clear, audible in the unsubtle whispers that followed in their wake—whispers of fortunes that, in the mouths of some matrons, became bold, unmodulated declarations. He saw them assessing his friend, and then himself, with an openness that was frankly vulgar.

Determined that he would not dance and give the young ladies any reason to hope on his account, he made his way to the far corner of the room. While no area of the place was empty entirely, this distant spot was occupied only by three elderly women and two very young girls, one of whom was sulking and glaring at an elderly woman who was set a little apart from the other two.

“Come, Lydia,” said the other young girl, “they said you could still dance with my father and brothers, as well as the vicar. It is not as if you must sit down all evening.”

“Indeed!” said the girl whom Darcy presumed was Lydia. “And why should I wish to dance with them? I wish to dance with people I have not known since I was in the cradle.”

“Your behaviour upon entering has left me no choice. You may dance with Mr. Lucas, who has kindly asked, or you may sit here and pout. The set ends soon; I suggest you decide,” said the elderly woman, her voice low but firm. Turning to the second young lady, she added, “Miss Maria, you are under no such restriction. Do not let your friend’s ill-humour ruin your own enjoyment of the evening.”

The younger girl, Miss Maria, seemed resolved to wait with her friend, but her patience was not long tested. As the set concluded, two young gentlemen approached the corner. Miss Lydia’s pout vanished as if by magic; she accepted the hand one of them offered with alacrity and allowed him to lead her towards the dancers. Her friend followed, smiling, with the second gentleman in tow.

“How do you like Netherfield, Mr. Darcy?” came a voice from nearby, startling him.

“I like it very well,” he answered, attempting to recall the name of the lady who spoke to him.

“Do you believe you and your friend will remain long in the area?” she asked.

“We shall stay at least until the harvest is over, Mrs. Long,” he replied.

“Oh, that is wonderful,” said the woman. She then began to prattle on about the traditions of the local area, as if a harvest festival were something entirely unique to their corner of Hertfordshire. He made no further response, enduring her monologue with a stoicism that was beginning to fail him when another voice cut through her prattling.

“Mrs. Long,” came the voice of Miss Lydia’s relation. “Your nieces are looking for you. There is some trouble with Titiana’s gown.”

“Goodness! I told that child she ought to let me hem it a half inch, but she would have it long. It is the fashion, she says, but it is just not practical.” Mrs. Long hurriedly excused herself, setting off for the retiring rooms.

“Permit me to offer a word of advice, sir. It is never wise to be caught alone in conversation with Mrs. Long. I have been here but a month, and I have learned as much already. Then again, some conversations are more taxing than others,” said his saviour.

“I will take your advice to heart, madam,” he said with a slight bow.

“You are Mr. Darcy, are you not? I am Mrs. Ellington,” said the lady. “We were introduced briefly earlier, but I know how it can be when meeting so many new people at once.”

“Indeed, I often find that the more rapid the succession of introductions, the less likely I am to remember any one person,” he responded with an inclination of his head. Then, noticing that Mrs. Ellington was leaning heavily on her cane, he offered his arm. “Might I assist you to your seat?”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, that is most considerate,” she replied, accepting his arm. They moved slowly back to her table.

Once she was settled, he asked, “May I bring you anything, Mrs. Ellington? A glass of wine, perhaps?”

She accepted with thanks, and he went to fetch it. He had been gone but a moment and returned to find that Mrs. Ellington had been joined at her table by a young lady with dark hair and a ready smile. Both ladies looked up as he approached.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Ellington introduced, “this is my young cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Cousin Elizabeth, this is Mr. Darcy.”