“Miss Bennet! Mr Bennet, Mrs Gardiner, Mr Gardiner, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lydia.” Mr Bingley beamed at each in turn, bowing with boyish exuberance. “I am glad to see you all.”
“Likewise, sir. I assume your business concluded in a satisfactory way?” Mr Bennet replied.
“It did. I hope I am not intruding with my impromptu visit.”
“Not at all. It is never an intrusion when the visitor brings such evident good humour,” Mr Gardiner said. “Please sit with us. Would you like a drink?”
Tea and cakes were summoned, while Mr Gardiner poured each gentleman a bit of brandy. The conversation flowed easily. Mr Bingley’s eyes kept straying to Jane, who contrived to look everywhere but directly at him, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her. Lydia watched the scene with a sullen pout, arms crossed over her chest.
Mr Bingley set down his cup with determination. “The weather is so uncommonly fine. Might I prevail upon you all to join me for a turn in the park? The children would enjoy it, I am sure, and fresh air is the best tonic after so much…indoors.”
Jane glanced at Elizabeth, who nodded with a conspiratorial smile. Lydia muttered something about her poor ankle, but no one pressed her to join them.
“Your uncle has business to attend to, and I should remain with Lydia,” Mrs Gardiner responded, “but I am sure Jane and Elizabeth would be happy to oblige. Are you sure the children will not trouble you?”
“Not at all, Aunt. You know how much I enjoy their company,” Elizabeth answered.
Thus, the little party set out: Mr Bingley and Jane walking a decorous few paces ahead, Elizabeth shepherding her young cousins behind. The park was alive with the soft chatter of birds and the rustle of bare branches promising buds.
Elizabeth kept her distance, giving the couple privacy while pretending great interest in her cousins’ games. She stole glances forwards: Jane’s head inclined towards Mr Bingley, her laughter soft and musical; Mr Bingley gestured animatedly, then paused to offer his arm with touching solicitude. They spoke earnestly, heads close together. Then, quite suddenly, they turned back.
Jane’s face was radiant — positively luminous. Mr Bingley wore the broadest, most foolish grin Elizabeth had ever seen on a grown man. They walked quickly now, almost hurrying, as though some delightful secret propelled their steps.
Elizabeth’s heart gave a joyful leap. She knew that look. She had seen it on other happy couples, though never so sweetly as now on her sister’s countenance. A proposal — surely! And it had been accepted!
They reached Gracechurch Street in high spirits. Mrs Gardiner immediately took the children to the nursery to change; Lydia was resting in her room.
Mr Bingley at once asked for leave to speak privately with Mr Bennet. The two gentlemen disappeared into the library for about half an hour, while Jane whispered her happiness to a tearful Elizabeth.
Soon afterwards, Mrs Gardiner returned to the party, and all waited eagerly, Jane grasping Elizabeth’s hand tightly. Eventually, the door opened again. Mr Bennet emerged first, looking equal parts amused and resigned.
“Well, my dears,” he announced, “it appears we are to have a wedding. Mr Bingley has done us the honour of requesting Jane’s hand. I confess I have told him plainly about the scandal that presently surrounds our family and asked him to consider the matter thoroughly. Apparently, he was alreadyaware of our circumstances, but he was not to be deterred from his plan. Mr Bingley is one of the finest men I have ever met, and quite in love with Jane.”
“Papa!” Jane whispered, blushing becomingly while gazing at her betrothed. Mr Bingley laughed outright, delighted.
“I confess Darcy told me what happened. When he first went in search of Wickham and Miss Lydia, he confided in me and asked that I search for some of that scoundrel’s creditors to assure them they would be paid. I admit I intended to propose that very day, but I had to delay my intentions.”
“You choose the perfect moment to propose, Mr Bingley,” Mrs Gardiner said, then the room erupted in congratulations and cheering.
“So it is true?” Lydia’s voice suddenly interrupted them. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression black, supporting herself on the doorframe.
“So Jane is to marry Mr Bingley after all,” she said loudly, cutting through the rejoicing like a knife. “Just as George said she would. And if I had married George, Mr Bingley would have been my brother and could have supported him — paid his debts, found him a living. But now everything is spoilt!”
The room froze.
Jane’s colour vanished. Elizabeth felt heat rush to her face in mortified fury. Mr Bingley blinked, dumbfounded.
Mr Bennet’s expression darkened to something quite alarming.
“Lydia,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet, “mind your words.”
“But—”
“Mind. Your. Words.” He advanced a step, leaning on his stick. “That man is a lazy, depraved scoundrel who would ruin any woman foolish enough to tie herself to him. I would never allow you marry him, especially now that Mr Bingley has generously taken away the danger of ruin from our family. I would not have allowed this kind, honourable man to give that scoundrel a penny! No brother-in-law on earth — not Mr Bingley, not the Prince Regent himself — would ever support such disgusting idleness and vice.”
Lydia’s lip trembled, and she burst into noisy tears.
“You cry, but you have no sense to learn from your foolishness. You shame us all over again with every word you speak. Go to your room and stay there until you learn wiser speech!”
