“Ah,” said Mr. Bennet, without lowering his paper, “our wanderer returns. Let no one say we are not a family of curious appetites—some take their refreshment from toast, others from frostbitten hedgerows.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly and entered, curtsying before seating herself. “Forgive me, sir. I find the morning air more invigorating than burnt porridge.”
“Then you have not tasted today’s porridge,” he replied drily. “It may yet surprise you.”
But before Elizabeth could lift her cup, the butler entered. “Mr. Bingley,” he announced.
Mrs. Bennet rose so swiftly her chair gave a faint scrape upon the floor, her face wreathed in smiles and triumph barely disguised. “Mr. Bingley! We are so delighted to see you this morning—please, come in, come in. We are all quite at your service.”
Mr. Bingley entered with his usual warmth and a modest bow. “Good morning, Mrs. Bennet. I thank you for the invitation. I hope I find Miss Bennet well.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to Jane, whose serene expression did not falter, though the motion of her hands over the teapot slowed just perceptibly. Her cheeks, however, bloomed with a soft colour that needed no commentary.
Mr. Bennet folded his paper with exaggerated precision. “Mr. Bingley,” he said, “your punctuality in breakfasting with the Bennet household is exceeded only by your taste in company. Do sit. I am sure my wife has made quite certain that the toast is celebratory.”
He gestured to the chair between Jane and Mrs. Bennet—where, naturally, Mrs. Bennet had insisted he should be placed. Bingley accepted it at once, his smile growing brighter as his gaze lingered, quite without apology now, on Jane.
Elizabeth, watching them both with a heart full of fondness and caution, turned back to her tea.
“Jane,” said Mrs. Bennet, as if the girl were not already at his elbow, “be sure to offer Mr. Bingley the warm bread. And perhaps another egg, if Cook has not destroyed them.”
Elizabeth took a sip of tea and prepared herself to endure the next quarter hour with what dignity she could muster.
Just as the tea had been poured and the eggs passed with only minimal maternal interference, the door burst open with such force that Mary flinched.
"Oh!" cried Lydia, bounding into the room as though summoned by trumpets. "Is that Mr. Bingley at our table? How fine! I daresay it shall be nothing but wedding breakfasts from now on."
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. Jane’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. Mrs. Bennet gave a high, delighted titter and said, “Lydia, do not tease so!”—though her tone suggested she hoped for no such restraint.
Bingley, to his credit, only laughed, colouring slightly as he reached for the jam.
“We must have a ball!” Lydia continued, undeterred. “It must be the first thing settled, for what is the use of a wedding if we cannot dance at it?”
Elizabeth glanced at her father, who had resumed his paper with a grim sort of resignation.
Mr. Bingley, still smiling, said, “I should be most delighted, Miss Lydia, to host one—but I must beg a little patience. My sisters are not yet returned from Town, and I cannot begin such an event without their counsel. In a month’s time, perhaps.”
“Oh, they are nothing to do with it,” Lydia declared. “We shall make a plan and then they may join it later!”
“That,” said Mr. Bennet, rising from his chair, “is my cue to depart. When my youngest daughter begins issuing social decrees over the breakfast table, I must assume the end of civil society is at hand.”
And with that, he exited, humming to himself.
Mrs. Bennet turned to the room in a flurry of ribbons and agitation. "Jane, Mr. Bingley—you must both come with me to Meryton this morning! Your aunt must hear the news directly—she will be beside herself! The whole town will be talking by noon. Everyone must see us together."
Jane, seated beside Mr. Bingley, looked slightly alarmed. "Mama, perhaps another day—"
Mr. Bingley smiled apologetically. "Indeed, I must beg your pardon, ma’am, but I cannot join you this morning. I have but half an hour—my steward is expecting me."
Mrs. Bennet paused, visibly deflated for a moment, then rallied with fresh purpose. "Well then! Jane, you must remain. It would be quite wrong to leave Mr. Bingley unattended when the morning has offered such excellent company. Lizzy, fetch your bonnet at once. Mary, you shall come too—whether you scowl or not. Kitty, do not dawdle. And Lydia—of course, you shall come as well. Aunt Philips must hear everything, and we must look our very best."
Elizabeth, still seated with her tea, looked up mildly. "Mama, I have letters to write this morning. I fear I cannot spare the time."
Mrs. Bennet waved a hand. "Then stay, Lizzy, if you must. But the rest shall accompany me."
"I’ll go!" Lydia cried, springing to her feet. "Aunt Philips will want to know every detail. I shall tell her about the ball, and Mr. Bingley’s visit, and—well, she’ll be wild with curiosity!"
Mary, still buttering her toast, spoke first, her tone even. "I believe Kitty and I had set aside this morning to catalogue the music books. They are in dreadful disorder."
