Mrs. Bennet made an impatient noise, eyes darting between Elizabeth and Jane as though she might physically shove one of them into Collins’s lap.
Elizabeth folded her hands serenely. Sophocles closed his eyes, purring like a small, furry thundercloud of judgment.
Mr. Bennet smiled lightly. “Well, Mr. Collins, it seems we may have pressed you too hard over serious topics so early in your visit. There is no need to decide anything at once.”
Collins blinked. “Oh—but sir, my time here must be spent with purpose! I had intended—”
Mr. Bennet raised a calming hand. “Indeed. But you may have more time than you think. Did you know there will be an assembly ball next week? I believe it is planned for Thursday. It would be an excellent chance to see our local society.”
Collins brightened visibly. “A ball, you say? How very—ah—convenient! I had not known.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yes. All the eligible ladies of the neighbourhood in one ballroom. What a useful opportunity.”
Collins, missing the irony, nodded eagerly. “Most useful indeed! It would afford me a chance to observe the young ladies’ manners and—ah—dispositions in company.”
Jane looked down quickly to hide a small smile.
Mr. Bennet steepled his fingers. “Then might I suggest you extend your stay by four days or so? We would be delighted for you to see our Hertfordshire ball. I am sure my wife agrees.”
Mrs. Bennet, caught off guard but seizing on the hope of renewed prospects, bobbed her head vigorously. “Oh yes, certainly! We could not dream of you leaving before then.”
Reassured and practically glowing with recovered pomp, Mr. Collins inclined his head in solemn gratitude. “You are all too kind. I would be most honoured to remain.”
Elizabeth shifted slightly, Sophocles adjusting in her lap with a low rumble of apparent resignation.
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Excellent. Then it is settled.”
He leaned back in his chair, the picture of fatherly hospitality—while Elizabeth raised one brow at him in subtle, conspiratorial amusement.
And Sophocles, eyes half-closed, flicked his tail once in final judgment of the entire scheme.
***
Netherfield Park had taken on the settled hush of a house no longer empty, with rugs freshly laid, fires burning in stately grates, and servants bustling in quiet competence.
Mr. Bennet chose to ride over to Netherfield that mild autumn afternoon, claiming the air was clear enough to justify a little exercise, but equally pleased to be seen arriving in proper form. The groom took his horse at the steps with practiced ease, and within moments he was announced and ushered through the freshly polished hall.
The drawing room was newly dressed for guests, a cheerful fire burning low in the grate, autumn light pooling on the gleaming floors.
Mr. Bingley, the new tenant, turned at once, his face lighting with that unstudied delight already earning him local goodwill. “Mr. Bennet! What an honour to see you here, sir. I confess I had half a mind to call at Longbourn myself this afternoon.”
A small bow and a wry smile served as Bennet’s greeting. “Then I have done us both a service. It spares you the possibility of wondering whether you were too forward and me the burden of pretending you weren’t.”
Laughter broke easily from Mr. Bingley, who clapped his hands once in genuine amusement. “You are frank, sir. I value that. Please—come in properly. Let me introduce my sister.”
Caroline Bingley, already rising gracefully from her seat near the hearth, swept a low curtsey. “Mr. Bennet. We are delighted to welcome a neighbour so esteemed. Mr. Morris has spoken to Charles very highly of Longbourn and its family.”
A polite inclination of the head acknowledged her greeting. “You are too kind, Miss Bingley. I trust Netherfield is treating you well as you settle in?”
She adjusted a fold of her silk gown with casual precision. “We find much to improve upon, but the situation is charming.The view from the east windows is quite presentable once the glass is polished.”
“I believe pleasant views are all we can offer in Hertfordshire,” Mr. Bennet mused dryly. “We leave the grand prospects to Derbyshire.”
Mr. Bingley broke in before his sister could reply, his enthusiasm too bright to suppress. “But it’s precisely what I wanted. A proper country seat, excellent air, good company—if they will have me!”
The older gentleman took the offered chair with a gracious dip of the head. “Oh, they will have you. The neighbourhood is not so well supplied with eligible bachelors that it can afford to be shy. Take my word for it.”
At this, Bingley coloured slightly but grinned. “You are very good, sir.”
