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From her lofty vantage point in the drawing room, Lady Catherine observed, with thinly veiled vigilance, her brother’s sundry guests: the Bennet sisters to her left, the Bingley sisters to her right. More than anything, her ladyship wished she could turn back the hands of time and return to those glorious days of old when people knew their place in society, a time when people of inferior birth, and thereby lesser means, did not dare to aspire to connections with their superiors.

As much as she loved her late sister, Lady Anne, she could not help but blame her for the inclusion of so many inferior people in her midst, for if she had not married George Darcy, no one in the proud Fitzwilliam family would ever have found themselves dining with people who were connected to trade. That she also had married a wealthy gentleman escaped Lady Catherine entirely, for her late husband’s family had fortune and connections.

She was disturbingly familiar with the bargain the elder Mr. Darcy had struck with his old friend all those years ago, but having interrogated the eldest Bennet daughter and found her wanting, Lady Catherine surmised she had nothing to fear in that quarter. Despite the young lady’s manifold attractions, she knew her nephew too well to suppose he would ever align himself with such inconsequential people.

Her ladyship threw a quick glance to her right.

The same may be said of that little upstart, Caroline Bingley. A sardonic smile graced her countenance. I daresay my dearest nephew hardly knows that young woman is alive.

Lady Catherine thus decided that she would remain another week before removing herself from Pemberley to the comforts of her brother’s country home, the earl’s estate in Matlock and her own childhood home, where she was certain to be shielded from such low company.

I shall leave my daughter Anne and her companion here if for no other reason than to serve as a constant reminder to my nephew of where his true affections ought to be.

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sat away from the others, engaged in a private tête-à-tête. Her manner hinting of a bit of playfulness at her sister’s expense, the older woman said in a low voice, “I see there is quite a bit of competition for your Mr. Darcy’s attention, dearest Caroline.”

“Dearest Louisa,” Miss Bingley cried, “pray have a bit of compassion for my nerves. You know very well that such a matter as this is nothing to laugh about.”

“Who’s laughing? I speak nothing but the truth, save that part about the gentleman being your Mr. Darcy.”

“You may laugh all you like, but soon I shall have the last laugh when I am the next mistress of Pemberley.”

“Indeed, the master of Pemberley did escort you into the dining parlor. Did he offer you his hand in marriage along the way?”

“No, he did not and supposing he did, I certainly would not consider such a proposal—not even for all this. When I speak of wishing to be the next mistress of Pemberley, I intend to attain that status by marrying the man that I love.”

“If you say so,” said Mrs. Hurst. Here, she paused and sipped her tea. “No doubt, Miss Bennet is of the same mind. I do not envy our brother, Charles, one bit.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“It seems our brother is quite taken by the lovely Miss Bennet. Perhaps someone ought to tell him that the young lady is here solely for the purpose of securing Fitzwilliam Darcy’s hand in marriage.”

“May I remind you once again, dearest Louisa, that this is no laughing matter. That you would wish to vex me by suggesting such a thing is unforgivable. Is it not bad enough that I have to contend with the sickly little Anne de Bourgh’s presence?”

“It is not my intention to vex you. I speak nothing but the truth, for I have it on very good authority.”

“Allow me to guess the source of your intelligence—your lady’s maid.”

“You know how well Mrs. Laxley excels in ferreting out the truth.” Louisa then went on to inform her sister of all the pertinent details as told to her by her lady’s maid.

At length, Caroline said, “Ordinarily, I would believe her, but in such a case like this, I simply cannot. The Darcys may associate with people of such low consequence in comparison to their own, but surely they would never permanently align themselves with such people through marriage,” Caroline decried, conveniently forgetting that their brother's fortune, an inheritance of nearly one hundred thousand pounds, had been acquired by trade.

One thing was certain in Miss Bingley’s eager mind: Her presence at the large gathering at Pemberley that summer was absolutely and undeniably essential. Having spurned more than one offer of marriage since she made the acquaintance of her brother’s friend, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, she felt she had come much too far to abandon her hopes of being the future mistress of Pemberley

She blamed her brother for her lack of success in that particular endeavor thus far, for she was certain that if he would but recommend her to his friend, his friend would then be obliged to be more amenable. She suspected that Mr. Darcy would not be disappointed in the least little bit were her brother to set his cap on the young Miss Georgiana Darcy. As Caroline liked to ask herself, why not make it a family affair?

With or without her brother’s assistance, the young lady was determined that this was her year. She would be engaged to Mr. Darcy by the end of summer for certain, even if she had to resort to those feminine arts and allurements that she had previously shied away from. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Desperate times indeed. Miss Bingley eyed Lady Catherine de Bourgh proudly perched on a fine velvet-covered chair as though she were a queen. It seemed there was not a single living soul in all of England who did not know that her ladyship was determined to force an alliance between her sickly daughter - an heiress no less - and her nephew Fitzwilliam Darcy. Knowing the latter as well as she liked to suppose she did, Miss Bingley was hardly threatened by that unlikely event unfolding. However, the intelligence from her brother that two other young ladies were to be part of the country party was a matter of some concern to Miss Bingley.

If what her sister had said was true, everything she knew about Fitzwilliam Darcy informed her he was simply going along with the current scheme for the appeasement of his excellent father.

Surely he intends to marry someone of his own choosing. The man I know and love is too independent and strong-willed to do any such thing as agreeing to an arranged marriage that was conceived by two half-intoxicated young men years before he was born.

Still, she would leave nothing to chance. There was always the possibility that this Miss Bennet might not be so easy to get rid of, especially once she had laid eyes on the beautiful grounds at Pemberley and enjoyed a summer-long glimpse of all that the life of the future mistress of Pemberley must surely entail. Indeed, Miss Bingley did not intend to leave anything to chance. Her plan was to spend as much time in company with Fitzwilliam Darcy over the coming weeks as she possibly could—reminding him at every turn of just how perfect she was and how she possessed everything he might possibly wish for in a wife.

“No doubt, our brother is being thoroughly acquainted with all the particulars of the Bennets’ presence here as we speak,” said Louisa, effectively piercing her sister’s silent conjecturing.

“I dearly hope you are mistaken. It is not my wish that he should be told of the peculiar nature of the Bennets’ presence here at Pemberley,” Miss Bingley replied sharply. “On the contrary, I am more than pleased to have Charles do everything in his power to divert Miss Bennet. Let our brother bask in her smiles. I prefer that one hundred times more than the prospect of watching her simper in that silly, affected manner of hers at Fitzwilliam Darcy.”