Elizabeth had only just settled into her chair, her thoughts still half caught in the quiet weight of morning, when Hill entered with the announcement that Mr. Bingley had arrived.
“Oh, my dear Mr. Bingley!” cried Mrs. Bennet, springing to her feet with all the fervour of a woman whose fondest hopes had just walked through the door. “How punctual! How very attentive!”
Bingley entered with his usual buoyant step and easy smile, offering cheerful greetings to each member of the household. Elizabeth’s eyes, however, flicked almost at once to the hallway beyond him. Empty.
Her heart gave the smallest jolt before she could stop it.
Jane, serene and luminous as ever, tilted her head gently. “You are still alone, sir?”
Mr. Bingley laughed, an easy, untroubled sound. “Darcy is not yet arrived, no—but I do not think it a cause for concern. He is an early riser, certainly, but even he cannot travel from Town at dawn and expect to arrive by breakfast. I daresay he will appear by noon, or shortly after. He left word of his intention to come as soon as he was able.”
This, Elizabeth knew, was intended as reassurance. Jane offered a soft smile, and Mary murmured an approving "Indeed," returning to her jam with methodical grace. Mrs. Bennet, more absorbed in her own triumph at Mr. Bingley’s attentions, barely registered the absence. Yet in Elizabeth’s chest, the tightness did not ease.
Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together. “Well then, all is as it should be. Lydia and Kitty, you may go to Meryton after breakfast, but do not loiter. I must speak with your aunt about wedding matters—there is ever so much to plan—"
Lydia, already half out of her chair, gave a delighted squeal. “Oh yes, we must tell Aunt Philips everything! Come along, Kitty—do not drag your feet as you did yesterday.”
But Kitty did not rise. Her spoon paused in her bowl, and a flush crept up her neck. “I don’t know that I wish to go today,” she said quietly.
Lydia stared. “Don’t be absurd. You always go.”
“I didn’t yesterday,” Kitty replied, her voice low but steady.
Lydia scoffed. “That was because you were sulking. If you are still sore over what I said about the baker’s boy, then I suppose I ought to say I’m sorry—but truly, it was only a jest. You must learn not to be so thin-skinned.”
Kitty’s brows drew together. “It wasn’t very funny.”
Mary, setting down her knife with deliberate care, interjected. “Kitty had thought to look over the church accounts with me. They have been left in terrible disorder since Easter.”
Mrs. Bennet, who had been only half-attending the exchange, now turned her full attention upon them. “Nonsense, Kitty! A little walk will do you good—and your sister was only teasing. Do not make a fuss over nothing.”
Kitty hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Mary, who gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. Then, with a sigh more weary than willing, she stood. “Very well.”
“There now!” Mrs. Bennet declared with satisfaction. “All settled. The two of you may be off as soon as breakfast is done. We must not waste the morning.”
And with that, she launched into fresh speculation about the wedding—whether white roses or blush would better suit Jane’s complexion, whether Bingley’s coach could be relied upon for a proper procession, and whether lace was still being made in Bath, as she had once heard it was. There was ever so much to plan, she said, and she insisted that a full six months’ notice was absolutely necessary for proper arrangements.
“Hasty?” Mr. Bennet drawled, lowering his paper. “My dear, if the wedding lasts as long as your planning, they shall celebrate their golden anniversary before they reach the altar.”
Mrs. Bennet did not dignify her husband’s remark with anything so formal as a reply. She sniffed, declared lace a precious and endangered commodity, and resumed her disquisition on wedding cakes with renewed vigour. The room soon filled with her delighted chatter and Jane’s soft blushes, while Elizabeth, feeling the weight of unspoken thoughts, rose and mentioned, with quiet intent, that she meant to walk out for air. Mary, who had observed the breakfast proceedings with her usual composure, set aside her book and offered to accompany her.
They had scarcely reached the front door before Jane and Mr. Bingley appeared in the hall—smiling, flushed, and clearly relieved to find opportunity.
“May we join you?” Jane asked at once. “I believe I should go quite mad if left to help Mama count ribbons again.”
Mr. Bingley, with laughing eyes, added, “It is a very serious matter, Miss Elizabeth. We have already spent half an hour debating the difference between ivory and cream.”
“Come then,” Elizabeth said, managing a smile, though the lightness in her voice did not quite reach her heart. “There is air enough outdoors to cure any number of colour disputes.”
They made their way along the shaded path just beyond the garden, where the hedgerows stood in full leaf and the sun filtered gently through the branches. The quiet rhythm of walking soon loosened Mr. Bingley’s tongue, and it was not long before he exchanged a meaningful glance with Jane, who gave a small encouraging nod.
“We hoped,” Jane began softly, “to speak with you, Lizzy. There is something we wish to do—but Mama, I fear, will not hear of it.”
Elizabeth turned her head. “What is it?”
“We wish to be married soon,” Mr. Bingley said quickly. “Not in six months’ time. It feels too far away—and Jane agrees. We are both quite decided.”
Elizabeth slowed her pace. “How soon?”
