Jane shifted, gently. “They were exceedingly kind, Mama.”
“Kindness is quite beside the point. It is opportunity that restores one’s spirits. And I am sure it did you good as well, my dear—walking, dining, dancing—why, I have no doubt Mr Bingley was in constant attendance.”
Elizabeth hid a smile behind her cup.
“As for Elizabeth,” Mrs Bennet continued, waving a hand in her direction, “she was never truly ill. A little faintness, nothing more. I told Mrs Long as much myself. Still, it is very proper that she should come home now, having been so very much admired.”
Charlotte’s mouth twitched. “Naturally.”
Jane flushed, but smiled all the same.
Charlotte set her cup down at last. “How did you find Miss Bingley, then?”
Jane hesitated, colouring. “She is—very accomplished.”
“And very invested,” Elizabeth supplied. “In comfort, order, and the proper placement of guests.”
Charlotte laughed. “That sounds like a study in itself.”
At that moment, the door opened. Papa entered with a letter in his hand and an expression of mild, anticipatory resignation—the look of a man about to inflict news upon his family and prepared to enjoy it despite himself.
“My dear girls,” he said, “I trust I am not interrupting a critical examination of wealthy gentlemen, dogs, or the moral character of Hertfordshire society?”
Elizabeth brightened. “Only its entertainment value.”
“Excellent. Then you will all be pleased to know that we are shortly to receive another visitor for your amusement.”
Mama sat up at once. “A visitor?”
“Yes. A cousin, my dear.”
“Amalecousin?” Mama demanded. “Is he single?”
Papa unfolded the letter with deliberate care. “He is one Mr William Collins, and no, my dear, I gather there is no Mrs Collins. He is newly ordained, and presently residing in Kent. He proposes to arrive tomorrow, to make our acquaintance, survey our domestic arrangements, and no doubt secure the happiness of the family in some manner yet to be determined. He writes with great enthusiasm and very little punctuation.”
Mama clapped her hands. “Mr Collins! Oh, I should hate the very sight of the man but… Youdidsay he was single? A clergyman, too—how respectable.”
Charlotte leaned forward, suddenly alert. “How very interesting. Mr Collins of—?”
“Hunsford,” Papa supplied. “Under the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
Jane looked between them. “That sounds… formidable.”
“Oh, it will be educational,” Papa said pleasantly. “I trust we shall all survive it.”
Charlotte lifted her teacup again, smiling into the rim. “Well,” she said, “I should very much like to be present for that.”
“That makes one of us,” Elizabeth laughed.
Chapter Seventeen
Meryton was busy inthe late morning, carts edging past one another in the narrow street, voices overlapping in the practiced disorder of a market day. Darcy crossed it with purpose, coat buttoned, hat low, Brutus pacing at his side with unaccustomed restraint. The dog drew glances, but Darcy pretended to ignore them.
The clerk looked up as Darcy entered, surprise flickering into recognition and then sharpening into something closer to uncertainty.
“Mr Darcy. Good morning.” He glanced instinctively toward the door, as though expecting explanation to follow.
“Good morning.” Darcy removed his gloves with unhurried precision. “I was told the parish records are kept here.”
