The carriage turned through the gates and immediately the world beyond was alive with movement. The avenue meandered through parkland whose gentle curves seemed perfectly in harmony with the rugged landscape beyond, but there was nothing tranquil about the activity that filled it. A pair of gardeners were fixing bright bunting to a line stretched between two ancient oaks, while farther on several servants wrestled with an enormous painted target.
"It does not feel as though we are arriving at a house party," said Jane.
"No?"
"It feels..." She searched for the right word. "Almost like a fair."
Elizabeth thought she had chosen exactly the right description. Everywhere she looked people were buzzing around and the crush of carriages was more intense now. Footmen dartedbetween horses, unloading luggage with practised efficiency, a group of maids giggled under the portico and somewhere beyond the house came the cheerful sound of hammering followed by laughter.
Chaffley Hall stood itself stood beyond a broad sweep of lawn. Its mellow honey-coloured stone glowing warmly beneath the afternoon sun. The building itself was handsome without being austere, and swathed in ancient knots of ivy and tumbling summer roses. The house appeared to have sprung up by degrees—a wing projected at an unexpected angle, Tudor windows sat comfortably beside Grecian pillars and terraces appeared to have been added on here and there at a whim. The whole ought to have looked untidy. Instead, it gave the impression of a house that had been cherished for generations, each family leaving something of itself behind.
The broad gravel sweep before the entrance was alive with movement. Ladies descended from carriages while maids rescued bonnet boxes and shawls from beneath the seats. Gentlemen greeted each other with hearty handshakes before being swept away by bustling footmen directing uncertain guests with military efficiency. Everywhere there was noise and the cheerful confusion that accompanies the beginning of any large gathering.
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken and looked to her father.
Mr Bennet followed her gaze across the crowded gravel. "Well," he said quietly, "there is nothing for it now."
"No?"
"Only to get out of the carriage and start having your adventures, my Lizzy."
A footman was already at their carriage door before it had quite come to a halt. "Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mr Bennet." He touched the brim of his hat as he repeated the names to another servant, who immediately disappeared towards the house carrying a leather-bound ledger almost as large as Elizabeth's travelling trunk.
"Efficient," murmured Mr Bennet as he descended and turned to hand first Jane and then Elizabeth to the gravel.
Elizabeth had scarcely found her footing before one of the fair-haired young ladies she had noticed upon the road detached herself from the crowd and came hurrying towards them. "I knew it was you!" she exclaimed, stopping just short of the carriage. "I told Clara I recognised your bonnet."
Elizabeth laughed. "I am delighted to hear my headwear made such an impression."
"I am Harriet Sitcombe and I think you must be sisters, because you have just the same smile, though not quite the same eyes."
Before the younger lady could continue, her sister appeared at her shoulder, looking faintly horrified. "Harriet!" she said under her breath. "You cannot simply introduce yourself."
Harriet looked entirely unrepentant. "Why ever not? It is hardly an ordinary social occasion, Clara, and we ladies must stick together." She gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial wink.
Jane, who had until now remained determinedly composed, burst into laughter. "I am afraid," she said, still smiling, "that my sister and I are quite incapable of taking offence. I am Jane Bennet, this is my sister Elizabeth, and this"—she turned to the gentleman beside them—"is our father, Mr Bennet."
"Ladies," said Mr Bennet, bowing politely.
Clara returned the bow with a graceful curtsy before administering a discreet elbow to her sister's ribs.
Harriet blinked. "Oh!" she said, hastily following suit. "Forgive me."
The Bennet sisters returned the gesture, although Jane had to stifle another giggle.
Harriet clasped her hands together. "How fortunate! I cannot wait to meet her. My aunt warned us she is quite—" Clara's elbow found her ribs for a second time that afternoon. "—unconventional," Harriet finished with a wince.
The butler regarded her for a long moment. "Now, if the Bennet family would be so good as to follow me, my lady is expecting you."
???
Pritchard led them not into the grand reception room Elizabeth had expected, but into a small parlour overlooking a pretty cottage garden. It stood in complete contrast to the magnificent entrance hall through which they had just passed. Here there was no marble floor or gilded portraits, only polished oak, well-filled bookcases and armchairs that sagged in the middle from extended use. The windows stood open to admit the warm afternoon air, carrying with it the scent of honeysuckle and the murmur of arriving guests.
Lady Hortensia herself was seated in a well-worn wing-backed armchair beside the empty grate. A little table at her elbow was crowded with books, correspondence and a neglected embroidery frame, while fresh flowers filled every available corner of the room. It was plainly the room in which she lived rather than one in which she merely received her guests, and Elizabeth found herself warming to it, and to the lady herself..
She rose as they entered, not without effort, and Elizabeth judged her to be well into her eighth decade. She was dressedwith an elegance that belonged to another age. Her gown of soft silver silk was cut in a fashion Elizabeth had seen only in portraits, its full skirts and delicate Mechlin lace recalling the previous century, while her hair was still dressed high and lightly powdered in the old style. Her back was bowed a little and she leaned lightly upon an ebony cane, but there was nothing uncertain about the clear grey eyes that settled upon Mr Bennet.
"Thomas," she said warmly, holding out her hand.
