“Our Lizzy lives to provoke.” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose to a pitch that made the teacups rattle. “Although I daresay Mr. Darcy deserved her verbal barbs. Never have I encountered such an insufferably proud, disagreeable man. The way he looked down his nose at our company, as if we were beneath his notice entirely.”
Elizabeth found herself in the uncomfortable position of agreeing with her mother’s assessment while simultaneously wishing to distance herself from such vehement disapproval. “He was certainly… reserved in his manners.”
“Reserved!” Mrs. Bennet’s laugh held no humor whatsoever. “He was downright rude. He danced only twice the entire evening while eligible young ladies sat without partners. And to dismiss our Lizzy as merely tolerable in front of everyone. The insufferable pride of the man. Ten thousand a year or not, I have never met a more disagreeable person in all my life.”
Elizabeth winced. “I assure you, Mama, my vanity is quite robust enough to survive Mr. Darcy’s disinterest. Indeed, I consider it a compliment to be disliked by someone so determined to find fault with everyone.”
“Perhaps Mr. Darcy’s interest is more nuanced,” Lady Lucas said, sipping her teacup delicately. “He seemed quite engaged with Lizzy’s wit.”
“If only the affable Mr. Bingley did not encumber himself with such disagreeable company,” Mrs. Bennet lamented. “His sisters seemed less than impressed with our company.”
“Miss Bingley’s gown must have cost twenty pounds at least,” Lydia declared with authority. “All that French lace and those feathers in her hair. Though the orange color did nothing for her complexion.”
“And such a haughty manner,” Kitty added. “She looked at everyone as if we were servants.”
“Her brother’s income allows for certain pretensions,” Lady Lucas said diplomatically. “Though I found her perfectly civil when Sir William introduced us.”
“I do believe we should like to call on them,” Mrs. Bennet said, darting a glance at Mr. Bennet, who remained hidden behind his newspaper. “My dear Jane, with Mr. Bingley’s evident admiration for you, we should all become better acquainted. And such a fortune! Twenty thousand a year at least, or so Mrs. Long informed me.”
Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper. “I trust Mrs. Long’s intelligence on matters of fortune is more reliable than her intelligence on matters of gossip, which is to say, not at all.”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you are too severe. But surely you must acknowledge that Mr. Bingley showed particular attention to our Jane? And with such an estate as Netherfield?—”
“Estates,” Mr. Bennet observed dryly, “do not generally attach themselves to their tenants upon expiration of the lease.”
“I had thought to invite the Netherfield party to dine with us next week,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “when Mr. Bennet has paid his call on Mr. Bingley. It is important to cement the acquaintance quickly, you know.”
“Must I indeed?” He sounded exasperated. “I believe Sir William has already done him the honor.”
“The sooner you call on him, Mr. Bennet, the sooner we may invite him to Longbourn,” Mrs. Bennet pressed. “We cannot be the last to welcome him to the neighborhood.”
“Shouldn’t we?” Mr. Bennet’s voice was oddly flat. “Then I regret to inform you that we shall be exactly that, for I have no intention of calling on Mr. Bingley at all.”
The silence that followed this pronouncement was absolute. Even Mary, who had been quietly reading at the far end of the table, looked up in surprise.
“No intention?” Mrs. Bennet finally sputtered. “But—but you must! It is a common courtesy to our new neighbor, and Jane’s future happiness may depend upon it.”
“I am not in the habit of arranging my social calendar around the matrimonial fantasies you concoct within five minutes of meeting a gentleman,” Mr. Bennet replied, folding his newspaper with deliberate precision. “Mr. Bingley has leased Netherfield. He has not, to my knowledge, leased any of my daughters.”
“But Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet sputtered, “you cannot be serious. The proprieties must be observed! How can we expect Mr. Bingley to call upon Jane if you do not first call upon him?”
“Then I suppose Mr. Bingley will not be calling upon Jane.”
“Not calling upon Jane?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice cracked with the strain of her emotions. “Mr. Bennet, you cannot mean to deny our daughter such an opportunity. What possible objection could you have to calling on such an eligible young man who has shown a decided preference for your daughter?”
Mr. Bennet’s expression hardened. “My objections are my own, madam, and not subject to debate. I will not have them at Longbourn.”
“Them?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rose another octave. “Do you mean to say you object to Mr. Bingley because of that horrid Mr. Darcy? Just because that insufferable man found fault with our Lizzy, you would punish poor Jane? How can you be so unreasonable?”
“My decision is final.”
“It is that girl’s fault,” Mrs. Bennet declared suddenly, turning her distress into accusation. “If she had not been so forward in speaking to that proud Mr. Darcy, challenging him as she always does, perhaps things would be different. Girls who wish to make good matches must learn to guard their tongues, but Lizzy must always have her opinions and her witticisms, and now see what has come of it! My daughters’ prospects are ruined!”
“Enough.” Mr. Bennet’s voice cut through his wife’s tirade with such authority that everyone fell silent. Elizabeth had never heard her father speak with such commanding gravity, and the effect wasstartling. “You will not speak of this matter again. Neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Darcy will be mentioned in this house. I forbid it absolutely.”
Lady Lucas appeared frozen, her teacup halfway to her lips. Charlotte’s eyes were wide, while Jane had gone pale.
Elizabeth found her voice first. “Papa, surely you cannot mean?—”
