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“You need not on my account!” called Lydia after him, but he did not turn back to acknowledge her.

“He was jesting, my dear,” said Lady Lucas.

“I do hope so,” Lydia said, turning to Kitty with a whisper that was unfortunately loud enough for the company to hear. “For I should not like to be Mrs. Lucas at all.”

“I should like you to be my sister,” said Joel Lucas, a child of seven who had long adored both Lydia and Kitty for their playfulness. Elizabeth smiled at his earnestness.

“If either of us should be able to be your sister without having to marry one of your brothers, we should like that too,” said Kitty, ruffling the boy’s hair. “But, alas, you shall simply have to be content with being our neighbour.”

An awkward silence fell upon the room, which Lady Lucas, with the practised ease of a mother of eight, finally broke by turning the conversation to the upcoming dinner at the Morgans. Joel, though still disappointed at such a rejection from his favourites, soon cheered at the mention of their sons, with whom he might play in the nursery.

With the uneasy moment behind them, the discussion went on pleasantly until it was well into the morning and the Lucases had to take their leave. Elizabeth watched as Lady Lucas, with an expertise born of long practice, gathered her restless brood without ceremony. Young Joel was quite vexed to be parted from Kitty and was only pacified by the promise of a future visit with his favourite. As the front door finally closed behind them, Elizabeth watched her mother immediately turn to Jane to dissect Mr. Bingley’s compliments once more, a conversation she assumed would be oft repeated in the coming days.

Chapter 5

“To dine at such an early hour is quite provincial,” lamented Miss Bingley, loudly for the third time.

“It is the countryside, Caroline. Customs differ here,” her brother replied, equally for the third time.

“Mr. Darcy, surely you do not dine so early when at Pemberley?”

“Indeed, I do,” responded the gentleman. “In truth, during the winter months, I occasionally dine even earlier.”

Miss Bingley’s lips pursed in distaste, but she voiced no further complaints. Mr. Darcy looked at Mr. Bingley, who gave an apologetic look, an expression he had often seen of late when they were in company with Bingley’s sisters.

“Oh, but look at this place!” Miss Bingley exclaimed as they approached their destination. “It appears as though both time and taste have utterly forsaken it. What sort of family would live in such a home?”

“We shall soon discover,” said Bingley, as the carriage door swung open.

In Darcy’s estimation, Miss Bingley was correct in her assessment that Eldwyke Hall lacked charm. The original structure seemed modest, in the Tudor manner, but over the years, successive generations had expanded upon it, each disregarding previous designs and opting for an altogether different style. The result was a discordant amalgamation of Greek pillars, lancet windows, and even a copper-coloured dome, rendering the entire edifice an unfortunate spectacle. Darcy could only hope the interior did not prove equally garish.

Mr. Morgan greeted them as they entered. He was everything that was pleasant, although he bounced slightly even when standing still. Despite being impeccably tailored, the gentleman’s attire was subtly awry; his jacket was creased, and his cravat askew. The reason was soon clear, for his hands seemed to move instinctively to adjust his sleeve or cravat whenever they were idle. He was perhaps five-and-thirty, and retained much of his boyish good looks.

His wife, on the other hand, was all beauty and grace as she stood beside her husband, welcoming their guests. Her gown was of a fine olive muslin, Miss Bingley noted immediately; while the quality was very good, the colour had not been popular in London for at least two years, and the style too was out of date.

“I believe that you know everyone here now,” Mr. Morgan was saying as they entered the drawing-room, fingers absently tapping against his glass, “but there might perhaps be a few yet to arrive to whom you require an introduction.”

Upon examining the drawing-room, Mr. Darcy was pleasantly surprised by its tasteful decor, quite unlike the house’s exterior. The furniture was not fine, but it was tasteful and comfortable, much as he was used to seeing in the homes of the lower gentry in Derbyshire. Miss Bingley must have determined that of the company present, Mrs. Morgan was the least objectionable, for she and the lady sat together on one sofa to converse.

“I was sorry to hear that your other sister and her husband were unable to attend,” said Mr. Morgan to Bingley.

“Indeed, as were they to miss this evening. The indisposition came upon my sister rather suddenly. I think it may have been the adjustment and the travel that weakened her.”

“Has Mr. Jones, the apothecary, been summoned? He is exceedingly capable.”

“Perhaps we will call for him in the morning if she does not improve.”

Mr. Morgan offered them both a glass of Madeira, which they sipped as they spoke of the harvest and other estate matters. Mr. Morgan, Darcy recalled being told, was the son of a tradesman who had purchased Eldwyke Hall upon his marriage to a gentleman’s daughter.

“Some find the house a peculiar specimen,” Mr. Morgan said with a wry smile at one point, “but the land is good, and that is what matters. We have often spoken of rebuilding, but the estate itself always seems to have a more pressing claim on my attention.”

Mr. Bingley, being in much the same position as Mr. Morgan had been a decade before—save for the wife—sought Mr. Morgan’s advice regarding Netherfield. The two spoke at some length, allowing Darcy to remain largely silent as he observed the other occupants of the room. The boisterous laughter of the two youngest Bennet sisters and Miss Maria Lucas immediately caught his attention, a stark contrast to the soft conversation that filled the rest of the room. Miss Lucas gently reprimanded them, but her efforts were met with little success, as their laughter only increased. Next to her, Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes flicked to Miss Bingley, a knowing, faintly amused expression briefly touching her lips.

“Are gatherings always so very... lively?” he heard Miss Bingley ask Mrs. Morgan.

“You must not mind them, Miss Bingley,” said Mrs. Morgan. “They are very young and only just out.”

Miss Bingley muttered something under her breath that Darcy could not hear, but he suspected it was not agreement with Mrs. Morgan.