Elizabeth learnedthat social disgrace possessed a peculiar rhythm, beginning with shock, progressing through defiant anger, and finally settling into a grinding awareness of just how thoroughly her world could crumble. Three weeks had passed since Mrs. Phillips’ disastrous dinner party, and each day brought fresh reminders of the Bennet family’s fallen status.
The morning’s walk to Meryton had been particularly instructive. Mrs. Long crossed to the opposite side of the street, while the milliner’s wife suddenly developed urgent business in her back room when Elizabeth entered the shop. Even the lending library, once her sanctuary, now felt hostile—the proprietor’s wife had regarded her with such obvious suspicion that Elizabeth had abandoned her search for new reading material entirely.
“It is most peculiar,” Kitty observed as they walked home along the familiar lanes, “how everyone seems to have urgent business elsewhere whenever we appear.”
“Not everyone,” Lydia said defiantly, though her usual exuberance had dimmed considerably. “Mrs. Forster still speaks to us when the officers are not about.”
The heat of July provided some excuse for the lack of formal entertainments, but Elizabeth was painfully aware that garden parties and intimate dinners continued among their former acquaintances. She had spotted the Lucas carriage heading toward the Gouldings’ on Tuesday, had seen Mrs. Long entertaining the Phillips family on Wednesday, and had watched from Longbourn’s windows as their neighbors continued their social rounds without them.
Most painful of all had been glimpsing Wickham in Meryton the previous week. He appeared not to have seen her as his attention was focused on a Miss Mary King, whose grandfather’s recent death had improved her financial prospects considerably.
Elizabeth couldn’t help wondering if this was how scandal worked—not with dramatic confrontations or public denunciations, but with this slow, suffocating isolation that left its victims to contemplate their mistakes in increasingly narrow circles.
And she had made mistakes. In the solitude of Longbourn’s gardens and during long walks to Oakham Mount, Elizabeth realized that she was responsible and that her impulsive actions had contributed to their downfall. What she had intended as a bit of a jest, an alleviation of her discomfort brought on by Darcy’s hurtful words, had provided ammunition for every gossip and wag in the vicinity.
No wonder Darcy preferred to deny the entire encounter. Far better to pretend it had never happened than to have one’s most private feelings dissected by an entire neighborhood, to know that his careful proposal had become the subject of drawing room entertainment.
She still blamed him, however, but found it harder to stir the anger and hatred she’d felt when Wickham showed her his words. Many a night, she, too, had wished the entire eveningat Hunsford had been nothing more than a nightmare, swiftly forgotten.
These sobering reflections occupied her mind as she arranged the morning’s correspondence—another pitifully small collection consisting mainly of bills and one letter from Aunt Gardiner expressing cautious concern over “disturbing reports.” She was sealing her response when the sound of approaching hoofbeats made her glance toward the window.
Charles Bingley rode toward Longbourn as though the past months of separation had never occurred. Elizabeth watched him dismount and speak briefly to their groom, noting the way his gaze lingered on the house with unmistakable longing.
“Jane,” Elizabeth called toward the morning room, where her sister sat pretending to read while staring forlornly out at the garden. “We have a visitor.”
“Oh?” Jane’s voice carried a note of hope that made Elizabeth swallow hard. “Who might it be?”
“Our near neighbor from Netherfield.”
“Mr. Bingley?” Jane rose so quickly that her book tumbled to the floor. “But I thought… that is, we had not expected…”
“No, indeed,” Elizabeth said dryly. “One hardly expects visits from gentlemen whose closest friends have recently branded one a delusional fabricator of romantic fantasies.”
“Lizzy, please.” Jane’s gentle reproof carried undertones of desperate hope. “Perhaps he comes with good intentions.”
Mrs. Bennet had spotted their visitor from her bedroom window, for she appeared in the hallway with remarkable speed, her cap slightly askew and her face flushed.
“Mr. Bingley!” she gasped. “Oh, my dear Jane, you must compose yourself immediately. This could be—oh, I hardly dare hope.”
“Mama,” Elizabeth said firmly, “perhaps we should receive Mr. Bingley with our usual courtesy and refrain from speculation.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Bennet smoothed her gown with shaking hands. “Though surely his visit suggests… oh, what could it mean?”
“Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Hill announced, “requests the honor of calling upon the family.”
Bingley entered the drawing room, his gaze finding Jane immediately with a flash of warmth. He glanced around the room and seemed apprehensive of a larger audience. Fortunately, Lydia, Kitty, and Mary were visiting their Aunt Phillips to school them on the social graces a young lady should possess.
“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing with careful formality. “I hope I find you all in good health.”
“Indeed, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Though these have been challenging times for our family.”
“So I have heard,” Bingley said, his eyes returning to Jane. “It is actually regarding these difficulties that I have come to call.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened, apprehensive of his purpose. Her father roused himself from his newspaper and appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said. “This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor?”
“Mr. Bennet, I come seeking understanding regarding recent allegations that have caused such distress to your family.” Bingley’s directness was admirable, though Elizabeth noted the careful neutrality of his phrasing.
