And for a moment, the room hummed with the pleasant stirrings of anticipation. They had just begun to settle into more relaxed conversation when a maid tapped discreetly at the door and curtsied.
“Beg you pardon, sir. Mistress and the young ladies have just returned from Meryton.”
Mr. Bennet raised his brows. “Have they indeed? Excellent timing.” He turned to his guests with dry civility. “Gentlemen, if you can endure it, I beg you to wait a moment longer before taking your leave. It seems my household is about to be fully reunited.”
Bingley, delighted as ever, beamed and assured him, “Nothing would please us more, sir.” Darcy merely inclined his head gravely but did not object.
Moments later the parlour door opened wider and in swept Mrs. Bennet, flushed from the brisk journey, followed by Lydia and Kitty, who were pink-cheeked and breathless from the cold, chattering excitedly about shops and soldiers.
Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with one hand, peering around the room with gleaming eyes. “Well! What company! Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy—such a pleasure to see you here! I trust you have been made comfortable.”
“Most comfortable, madam,” Mr. Bingley assured her with a sunny bow.
Mr. Darcy followed with a more measured, correct inclination of the head. “Madam.”
Fully aware of what was bound to follow, Mr. Bennet waited patiently, then cleared his throat and spoke with deliberate meaning.
“Come now, my dears, do sit down. I have two announcements to make—if you can restrain yourselves for a moment from extolling bonnets and the virtues of militia officers.”
Mrs. Bennet bristled but subsided onto a chair, waving her daughters to sit around her. Lydia and Kitty obeyed with poor grace, already exchanging gleeful giggles.
Mr. Bennet folded his hands atop his cane, eyes twinkling. “First, you will be delighted to know that Mr. Bingley has informed us Netherfield’s renovations are nearly finished, andhe intends to hold a ball in the last week of November. We are all invited.”
Mrs. Bennet gasped so audibly that Darcy started slightly. “A ball! At Netherfield! My dear Mr. Bingley—what an honour! We shall be most delighted to attend!”
Kitty clapped her hands. Lydia squealed outright. “A ball! Oh, how wonderful!”
Bingley’s answering smile was wide enough to split his face. “It will be my pleasure entirely.”
Mr. Bennet allowed the happy noise to subside before lifting one hand. “Yes, yes, enough squealing, my loves. Now for my second item of business—if you will be silent enough to hear it.”
He let the hush settle just long enough before continuing.
“I must also inform you that Mr. Darcy has done me the honour of asking permission to write to Elizabeth from Pemberley, where he returns tomorrow. He made the request properly, here, in company, and both Elizabeth and I have accepted it with gratitude.”
The silence was instant and total for half a second—then Mrs. Bennet gave an incredulous little squawk.
“Write to Lizzy? You mean—letters? Oh!” Her eyes flew wide as if the very concept overwhelmed her.
Her husband’s mouth twitched. “Yes, my dear. Letters. From Derbyshire, no less.”
Mrs. Bennet blinked at Mr. Darcy, comprehension dawning, then gratitude, then something perilously close to rapture.
“My dear Mr. Darcy!” she cried, leaping up from her chair in a complete abandonment of etiquette. “Oh—you excellent young man—how generous—how respectful—oh, bless you—bless you!”
And before anyone could stop her, she had crossed the room and actually embraced him.
Darcy went utterly rigid, eyes wide, arms pinned to his sides as the lady clung to him, murmuring incoherent thanks.
Elizabeth turned scarlet and half-rose from her seat. “Mama!” she gasped in mortification.
Jane exclaimed faintly, “Mother—please!”
Bingley was speechless, blinking rapidly at the tableau before him.
Even Kitty and Lydia fell into shocked giggles at the sight.
Mr. Bennet merely leaned back in his chair, watching the scene with malicious pleasure.
