CHAPTER ONE
Meryton Assembly – October 1811
ELIZABETH BENNET HAD NEVER MUCH approved of the first week in October, at least not for the last three years. It was ever the season of the Meryton assembly, that event which her mother, Mrs. Bennet, regarded as the summit of social consequence. Nothing delighted that lady more than to exhibit her five daughters like a brood of hopeful chicks before any gentleman whom she considered of rank or fortune sufficient to make one of them his wife. Perhaps, in her earlier days, Elizabeth had known some pleasure in the bustle of preparation and the novelty of new acquaintances in Hertfordshire, but this particular evening inspired in her no such animation.
She stood near the window, listening with but half an ear to her friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas, who was discoursing upon the recent arrivals in the neighbourhood and speculating with sensible curiosity on their prospects.
“Lizzy,” said Charlotte at last, her eyes narrowing with affectionate reproof, “if I did not know you better, I should think you were not attending to me at all.”
Elizabeth started slightly and turned her head. “Did you speak?”
“Exactly my point,” returned Charlotte with a laugh, giving her friend a light tap upon the arm. “You have not heard a single word. What, pray, has engaged your attention so entirely?”
“Pippin,” Elizabeth replied, her lips curving into a smile that could not be suppressed.
“Pippin?” Charlotte repeated in astonishment. “Surely you do not mean—”
“I do,” Elizabeth whispered, her eyes bright with mischief. “She is here.”
Charlotte glanced through the window into the lane. Beneath the halted carriage, a brown spaniel, patched with white, was making free with the narrow space, her glossy coat glimmering in the lamplight as she slipped neatly beneath the axle. Her long ears swung with every bound, and her plumed tail waved in proud satisfaction as she emerged on the other side.
She darted between the arriving horses and carriages with the confidence of a seasoned general. The horses were far less composed: a grey sidled and tugged at his traces, while a bay tossed her head in protest. The spaniel, entirely undeterred by such a display, darted beneath another carriage, carrying herself as though the whole of the lane were her rightful domain.
“Your dog?” cried Charlotte, before recollecting herself and lowering her voice. “You have not brought your dog to the assembly?”
“Hush!” Elizabeth pressed a finger to her friend’s sleeve. “Not so loud. She followed the carriage silently from Longbourn and would not be dissuaded. I fear she has contrived to slip inside.”
Charlotte’s countenance expressed mingled amusement and alarm. “Does your mother know of it?”
“Certainly not,” Elizabeth said, laughing softly. “Had she the least suspicion, she would have stopped the carriage and ordered poor Pippin secured in chains before we had quitted the drive.”
Charlotte shook her head, though her smile betrayed her indulgence. “You will quite ruin your mother’s nerves one of these days, Lizzy.”
"Not before she quite ruins mine," Elizabeth said. The light in her eyes shifted and brightened, as if lit from within by some private joke she was only too willing to share.
The two ladies laughed heartily at their own jest, and Elizabeth cast another glance toward the window. Her spaniel appeared to have caught sight of her through the glass, for the little creature sat wagging with self-satisfaction before returning to some fresh mischief beneath the carriage. Elizabeth turned back to her companion with a smile.
“Now, Charlotte, I have been quite inattentive. What was it you were saying before I lost all sense of propriety?”
“I was speaking of Mr. Bingley,” Charlotte replied, folding her hands neatly before her. “He seems to be the most important of the new arrivals in Hertfordshire this year.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “Ah, yes — Mr. Bingley. My mother has scarcely spoken of anything else for the past week. Five thousand a year, handsome, single, and newly settled at Netherfield Park — mama could not have dreamt of a more convenient miracle.”
Charlotte laughed softly. “Then your mama must be much like mine in that regard.”
“Oh, Lady Lucas is no match for my mother upon such a subject, and you know it,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “Mama has contrived to speak of Mr. Bingley at breakfast, dinner, and tea. We cannot eat a single dish without her wondering what he might think of it. She is already convinced that Jane will attract his notice — indeed, I believe she considers the match half made already. She even begged my father to call upon him the very day we heard that Netherfield was let. But Papa, only to amuse himself at her expense, refused to stir from his library, declaringhe would wait until Mr. Bingley called first. You may imagine Mama’s distress at such obstinacy.”
“You mean Mr. Bingley and his friend have not yet called at Longbourn?” Charlotte asked, her brows rising.
“Not yet,” Elizabeth said with a grimace. “Mama only told us he has come into the neighbourhood with his sisters, a brother-in-law, and several servants — but no mention was made of any friend.”
Charlotte drew breath to reply, but at that instant the door of the assembly room was thrown open. Conversation faltered; heads turned; and all eyes were fixed upon the party entering.
At the head of the new arrivals came a young man, perhaps six-and-twenty, whose open countenance and ready smile bespoke a cheerful and obliging temper.
“That is Mr. Bingley,” Charlotte whispered, though the name was hardly necessary. A hush had fallen over the room, and in another instant, the air was alive with murmurs concerning the newcomer and his fortune.
Behind him followed two elegantly dressed ladies, both attired in white muslin gowns trimmed with pale blue ribbons and adorned with pearl ornaments. From their striking resemblance, Elizabeth easily perceived them to be Mr. Bingley’s sisters. She recalled her mother’s report that one of them was married to one Mr. Hurst, which was quickly confirmed when her eyes fell upon the two gentlemen who brought up the rear.
