By then, the musicians had packed away their instruments, the candles were burning low, and the guests were making their final courtesies. The hum of the assembly faded into the chill quiet of the street outside.
And with that, Elizabeth followed her family into the crisp night air, her soft whisper to Pippin—and the dog’s cheerful bark—mingling with the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels beyond.
CHAPTER THREE
Longbourn – October 1811
MR. BENNET HAD LONG since retired by the time his family returned from the Meryton assembly, and so missed entirely the triumphs, embarrassments, and commotion that had filled the evening. The following morning, when the family gathered for breakfast, he sat at the head of the table with his usual air of quiet amusement, unfolding his newspaper as if the world beyond Longbourn held little that could surprise him.
“Well, my dear,” he said at length, peering over the top of the paper, “I hope the assembly did not prove a disappointment. I presume every young lady danced to her heart’s content, and that your labours have secured the happiness of at least one daughter?”
Mrs. Bennet, who had already been fidgeting with her napkin in anticipation, seized upon the invitation with delight. “Oh, Mr. Bennet, you cannot imagine such an evening! It was the most charming affair I ever attended. You have deprived yourself of the greatest pleasure by staying at home. Mr. Bingley danced twice with Jane—twice!—and everyone declared them the handsomest couple in the room.”
She leaned forward eagerly, the glow of triumph in her cheeks. “He is all that is agreeable and pleasant! His manners are so easy, his smile so delightful. I have no doubt he will fall violently in love with Jane before the week is out.”
Mr. Bennet lowered the paper a fraction. “I hope, then, that he recovers from the blow quickly enough to call soon.”
“Do not tease me, Mr. Bennet,” cried his wife. “I assure you, there was nothing trifling in his manner. I know the signs, and I saw it plain as day—his eyes never left her face. His sisters, most elegant women, were there as well, though a trifle proud, and his friend Mr. Darcy—well!”
She broke off, fluttering her handkerchief. “I have never witnessed such arrogance. He is the proudest, most disagreeable man alive. He scarcely spoke to anyone all evening, and looked about him as though the company smelt of turnips. He danced with no one, and then stood about with that air of disdain that would sour even the punch!”
Mr. Bennet’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed? Then I am doubly glad I remained at home. Pride, my dear, is the one guest who never leaves early.”
Lydia, who was already buttering her toast with great energy, laughed. “He did look quite cross, Papa, but I thought him very fine. I heard he has ten thousand a year!”
Kitty nodded eagerly. “Yes, and that his estate is the grandest in Derbyshire. I should not mind a proud husband if he had such a grand estate.”
Mrs. Bennet cast them both an exasperated look. “Hush, foolish girls. Mr. Darcy is not worth the powder to blow him up. Mr. Bingley, now—there is a gentleman!”
Jane coloured softly. “Mama, pray do not speak so. Mr. Bingley is indeed very amiable, but we just met him.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You will not convince Mama of that, my dear. She has already settled the matter, and half of Meryton along with her.”
Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, Lizzy. I only said what everyone could see. Two dances! And such looks between them! Depend upon it, he is quite taken by her.”
Elizabeth raised her brows at her father. “You see, sir, there is no need to hurry the courtship. It is already arranged.”
Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and leaned back, his expression full of mischief. “Then I must offer my congratulations, Jane. To think I should gain a son-in-law without the trouble of receiving him!”
Jane’s gentle smile deepened, though her cheeks flushed still more. “You make too much of it, Papa. Mr. Bingley is only good-humoured.”
“Good humour is a dangerous beginning,” said Elizabeth. “It may lead to affection, and affection—Heaven preserve us—to matrimony.”
The laughter that followed filled the room, until Mrs. Bennet, unwilling to be diverted from her chosen subject, changed tack with sudden solemnity.
“But we have not spoken,” she declared, “of the dreadful scene your dog created, Lizzy! I thought I should die of mortification. In all my days I never saw a room so scandalised. I am sure half of Meryton believes we live in a kennel!”
Elizabeth, in the act of pouring coffee, nearly spilt it for laughing. “Poor Pippin. I fear her manners were not equal to the occasion.”
“Manners!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Manners! Bounding into a ballroom like a wild beast, muddying Mr. Darcy’s boots—oh, the shame of it! How could you allow it?”
Elizabeth set down the pot, her eyes bright with suppressed amusement. “I did not allow it, Mama; she allowed herself. I daresay she found the company irresistible.”
At that moment, as if summoned by her mistress’s defence, the door opened, and in trotted Pippin herself—clean, content, and entirely unrepentant. Her nails clicked cheerfully upon the floorboards as she made a circuit of the table, tail wagging in expectation of toast crumbs.
Mrs. Bennet gave a cry of despair. “There! There she is, the disgrace of the Bennet name! Out of my dining room this instant!”
Mr. Bennet looked up from his tea, his mouth twitching. “Come, my dear, you cannot be angry with a creature so faithful. She has followed Elizabeth from the ballroom to the breakfast room—one must admire consistency.”
