24 • Bennets

Mr. Bennet’s spirits considerably lightened, so much so that he returned to his place at the dinner table regardless of the Wickhams’ choosing to dine with the Philips. The entire demeanour of the Bennet household was unusually bright, with the exception of Mrs. Bennet’s general confusion over the whole matter.

Lydia, when she came for her now briefer visits, seemed an equal mixture of perplexity and anger; two sentiments of which she was highly unfamiliar and uncomfortable experiencing. Wickham was much the same: polite and affectionate with his arsenal of pretty things to say, especially once his visit to Mr. Jones corrected his broken nose.

The day of their departure soon came, rather faster than originally intended. The sun was shining in the morning that the Wickhams arrived for their final breakfast, and the air was still golden when they gathered in front of the house for their farewells. Mrs. Bennet was forced to submit to the separation, especially as her husband by no means entered into her scheme of their all going to Newcastle.

“Oh, my dear Lydia!” she cried, holding her youngest close. “When shall we meet again?”

“Oh, lord! I don’t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”

James, from his place behind his family, sensed Lydia’s inclination to prefer those years to her current circumstances.

“Write to me very often, my dear,” their mother sniffled, releasing Lydia and wiping her nose on a handkerchief.

“As often as I can, but you know married women have never much time for writing. My siblings may write to me. They will have nothing else to do.”

A high-pitched giggle came from her, but it lacked her usual self-entitled conviction as she turned to the last individual to whom she must bid farewell: her brother.

James lethargically threw out his arm. Flattening her brow to look as fierce as she could manage, Lydia stomped over and put her arms around his middle. “How could you?” she hissed in his ear.

“If he ever hurts you, I’ll do it again.”

That caught her off guard. For a second, brother and sister stared at one another before Lydia’s haughty demeanour returned. “You are ridiculous.”

“Someone has to set the standard for you to live by,” he returned.

“I am an established woman now!” she declared, though in his ears it was the same Lydia he had always known.

“If you take anything I say seriously,” he pleaded softly, “take this: integrity is in actions, not speech. Stop bloody talking and be the woman you want so many to fawn over. You’re finally free from this place, as you so desired.”

“I am the one with so many friends, Lizzy. You are so stupid in forgetting!”

“Quantity and quality and all that,” James exhaled, defeated. He let her skip back to the carriage, where her husband offered his hand to assist her inside it. He then turned fully to James and bowed, but proceeded no further. James returned the courtesy and silently watched them depart, his mother’s handkerchief waving after them.

His father had come to stand beside him. “I think the bump will suit him. He is a fine fellow, and fine fellows do wield injuries so well.”

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” James admitted under his breath.

“Perhaps,” his father agreed. “Society does so forbid violence but when the occasion provides the opportunity for it, I am pleased you carry yourself efficiently.”

Silence befell them as they observed Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary calling after the carriage while Lydia was hanging out of the window, waving her scarf at them. Mr. Bennet considered, “He simpers and he smirks, and makes love to us all. If he teaches Lydia proper charm, they may take over the country.”

“I didn’t expect you to speak so highly of him,” James teased.

“I am sorry for ever recommending him to you,” his father’s voice softened.

“You didn’t know,” James assured.

“That is the crux of my conundrums. I’m not as omniscient as I like to feel,” Mr. Bennet sighed, then passed a smile to him. “And now we are ourselves again.”

“Something like that,” James agreed as they collectively moved back into the house. He and Jane began a long walk around the property, going as far as Netherfield, where the housekeeper and gardeners waved to them familiarly.

“It does feel as if a storm has settled,” Jane considered, looking up at the clean, white façade, stacked with its classical columns. “I don’t feel the same longing or severance to this place as I once did.”

“It’s been a shell for most of our lives,” James considered.

“It was a lustrous delusion,” his sister crooned, “turning it into a proper home.”

“Not a delusion,” James soothed. “Just escaped hopes.”

“Perhaps you might buy it one day,” she surprised him.

“What?” he laughed breathily. “Be serious.”

“I am,” she remarked as the gravel path crunched beneath their boots. The sky had changed so the air was soft and fragrant with rain. Patches of sunlight sparked green around them even while it began to sprinkle. “Your candles are always in demand. You might save enough to extend our property.”

“My fantasies are humble ones,” he retorted with mirth. Then he checked himself, “For the most part.”

Jane looked at him with a kind, knowing smile before exhaling, “What are we to do now? It feels almost as if the world has stopped with the dream. How do we make it pick up again?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We should visit Charlotte.”

“I agree,” she hummed, holding onto his arm while their pace quickened under the drops. Bumping together, they made their way home, wherein Hill met them with a hot kettle for their room. Mary and Kitty soon joined them with a deck of cards, with which the siblings spent the gentle rain together.

* * * * * * *

The loss of her daughter dulled Mrs. Bennet for several days.

“I often think,” she said while gazing out of the parlour window, “that there is nothing so bad as parting with one’s friends. One seems so forlorn without them. They never distinguish the afterward of a child leaving home.”

James replied bluntly from behind his book, “This is the consequence, you see, of marrying a daughter.”

“Lizzy!” Jane scolded diagonally from him.

He shrugged indifferently. “It must make you better satisfied that your other three are single.”

Their mother made a gruff sound. “It is no such thing. Lydia does not leave me because she is married, only because her husband’s regiment happens to be so far off. If that had been nearer, she would not have gone so soon.”

James did nothing to hide his sigh of disagreement while he heaved himself out of his chair. “I am going to Meryton. Have you need of anything?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. Bennet disregarded.

“May I go?” Kitty asked in the corridor.

“You needn’t ask. Bring a shawl; it’s warmer today but the seasons are still making up their minds.”

Once wrapped in her dusty blue, wool shawl, they walked into town, firstly stopping at the tailor’s in the hopes of acquiring scrap fabrics deemed out of fashion and therefore value. Kitty successfully came away with two rolls at a lesser price: a brown cotton with a lye stain, and a remarkable amount of mustard seed satin.

“Can you believe no one has used this in two years?” she exclaimed on their way to their aunt’s.

“Pinks and greens are the coveted colours of late,” he observed as they entered the milliner’s shop. Indeed, various shades of warm pastels hung over the cutting table while green, silk flowers had been arranged in vases like bouquets. Kitty lifted a weaved sun hat with some of the flowers pinned over the brim—

“Well hello, hello,” their uncle Philips greeted, coming down the stairs. Kitty went to him for a kiss on her cheek while James met him for a handshake. “How are things at Longbourn? I won’t pretend like we didn’t enjoy the commotion, nor relish its disappearance.”

Kitty replied, still with the hat on her head, “Mama is healing but all is well.”

James was wrapping ribbons around his wrist, estimating their likeness on a glass or tin jar while he listened to their uncle ask, “Did you happen to meet—eh—blimey, known her for years but can’t remember her name. The housekeeper of your neighbors. Netherfield. She was just here.”

Kitty and James exchanged glances and shook their heads. “No,” she said. “She must’ve gone into a different shop.”

“Aye, the butcher’s, to be sure,” he voiced as he came around the counter to retrieve the scissors for James. “She’s preparing the house for a new arrival.”

Kitty looked to her brother, who whined, “Ugh…who is it this time?”

“Didn’t ask. I can’t remember her name so I didn’t bother prying. She seemed pleased, well enough, so potentially no one dastardly.”

Kitty returned the hat and stood next to James measuring the amount of ribbon he wanted. “Did she say when they were coming?”

“No, but I reckon before the month’s through,” he guessed. “She mentioned something about hunting so I was more inclined to think of their duration.”

Kitty clutched her purchases while it was James’s turn to admire his successes on their way home. He slid a thin piece of lace through his fingers, considering if he should save it for Jane since the silken hoops were certainly out of his usual budget—

“Lizzy!”

“Hm?” he realized she had been speaking.

“I said it’s a man! A man is moving into Netherfield, or I haven’t heard of any huntresses.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, pushing the lace back into the bag. “I wouldn’t count on it being a young person, though. And only Hill particularly enjoys hunting, so other than niceties, we may not see them much.”

“Oh,” Kitty pondered. “Then do you think an older person would have a daughter? It would be nice to have someone to meet. Are you all right?”

His yawn finished and he wiped his watering eyes. “I just need some sleep. The afternoon is not my time. You may be the one to give mama the news, if you want.”

“Mmm…” she pursed her lips to the side. “I don’t wish to stir up new feelings when she is still eclipsed by current ones. I’ll draw up some designs for these.”

She returned to being content with her fabrics and James passed his bag to Jane the moment they met in the foyer. “Oh! This is pretty,” she found the lace.

“Then it’s yours,” he decided easily, on his way up the stairs.

“You won’t be using it?” she queried.

“You’ll be cleverer with it than I,” he made by answer. A rumbling chirp greeted him from the bed, where small Darcy was lifting his head. The pink tongue curled out of the cat’s mouth while the ears flattened in a yawn. James chuckled, “Likewise.”

He slid underneath the covers as the cat stood, spine arching in a stretch. James’ hand slid over the head; he observed the overgrown fur around the ears. “You’ll be a shaggy puss. I’ll introduce a comb to you, later.”

Darcy seemed thoroughly content in settling back into a nap.

* * * * * * *

James did not intend to sleep through the day, but his eyes next opened to Jane rubbing between his shoulder blades. “Jamie. It’s a new day. You should eat.”

“Mm,” he hummed. Perhaps he showed the intention to rise, so she left him, but he fell deeply back into the waters of slumber.

He could only guess it was the afternoon when thunderous feet finally roused his eyes open. “Lizzy!” Kitty called. “Lizzy, wake up!”

He stared groggily at her running from the doorway with no further explanation. A flash of dark hair revealed Mary equally energetic before Jane returned and outright pulled him up.

“Where’s th’fire?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.

“Netherfield!”

He squinted at her. “It’s on fire?”

Jane sighed jadedly. “No, Lizzy. New occupants are moving in and our mother is in a fit.”

“Really?” he blinked up at her. “Already? How long did I sleep?”

“You knew?” she looked puzzled.

“Our uncle told us he’d met the housekeeper when Kitty and I were in town,” he yawned anew.

“Well mama has been to see our aunt and she’s fluttering about the house.”

“Fine. Fine,” he said wearily, rising toward the summons. Donning fresh clothes, he was rubbing a cream on his face as he descended the stairs. Straight to the kitchen, he dropped into a chair the moment he saw the kettle already on the stove, although he felt quite inclined to doze as his head fell against his hand—

“I know it is! I know it is!” Mrs. Bennet’s voice rang, startlingly close by.

“Mama, please, Jamie’s just risen,” Jane’s velvet tone hushed. She flew past him into the kitchen, pouring the barely whistling kettle into a pot on the island counter.

“Has he?” she chimed. “Lizzy? Lizzy!”

His mother appeared, and after kissing his head, she just as quickly scolded, “How could you not tell me that Netherfield was let once again?”

“Because who cares?” he yawned. This was proving a constant affliction.

“Who—?” she clipped. A low, frustrated growl came from her. “I have just been to see my sister. And do you know what she’s told me?”

“The housekeeper is readying the house,” he moaned, letting his head fall back on his hand.

“Indeed she is!” she stormed. “Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton today as well! I saw her pass by, myself, and my sister had to be the one to tell me, ‘Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister’!”

“Who?” James blurted dumbly.

“Mr. Bingley!”

“Our Bingley?”

“How many Bingleys do you know?” she almost shrieked.

Jane intercepted, “He’s not exactly ours since the whole county seems to lay claim over the poor soul, the moment he’s within a mile of us.”

“We don’t know anything,” James declared tiredly. “We know someone is arriving for the area’s hunting, and therefore we are to deal with the noise of gunpowder and hounds.”

Mrs. Bennet drew herself up like she was greatly proud of herself. “His things have already been arriving all morning. And what’s more, Mr. Bingley had no less than seven ducks at his ball while he was here last year! And I did not miss the opportunity to rush into the butcher’s to ask what order Mrs. Nicholls had put in—three pairs!”

“Not much of a hunter if he’s ordered the housekeeper to the butcher’s,” James remarked, and then his head lifted. “Perhaps it is Charles.”

His sister sighed raggedly. “It merely guarantees the person is fed for the week.”

James picked up, “Didn’t you say something or other when he left that you would have not a thought nor action to do with him?”

Mrs. Bennet paused, clearly having forgotten. “Well, not that I care about it. No, not at all. Of course he is nothing to us. I am sure I never want to see him again, however he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen?

“But that is nothing to do with us. However if a single new detail of his coming arises, I demand to know at once!”

She left her eldest children, perhaps to find better catharsis in her younger pair. James was then able to properly look at Jane, who had not been able to hear of Charles’ potential arrival without changing colour. Her eyes darted to him, sensing their weight on her.

“I know I appear distressed.”

“That’s putting it rather mildly,” he said gently. “I didn’t think it was him, really. It never occurred to me to tell you.”

“I understand,” she nodded despite her hitched breath. Jane held her diaphragm as she voiced, “It is just as you said, we have only speculated—I am only confused, because what a surprise it would be! I only feel that I should be looked at.”

He let her piece together her words and then interpreted, “It isn’t so much an expectation…so much as a hope?”

She exhaled haughtily, not because of him but for her own fortitude. “I assure you that the news does not affect me with either pleasure or pain. Even as we act under the belief that it is indeed Mr. Bingley, I am glad of one thing, that he comes alone. Because we shall see the less of him.”

James’ brows tilted slightly, a frown of disagreement. Without his sisters, Charles was moved by his own wants.

“Not that I am afraid of myself,” Jane continued, “but I dread other people’s remarks.”

It occurred to James that he had never told her of seeing Bingley at Pemberley. Lydia had so encompassed his thoughts that Charles really had been far removed from all consideration. He did not think the information a balm for the moment so instead he suggested, “It is easier to refuse and ignore social engagement when one has other pursuits. There won’t be anyone to speak to if you have any ideas for me.”

Her hand had moved to her face, pushing her cheek up as she stared at him. “Ideas for what? Oh, the lace?”

“I was considering using it for the candles, unless you would like to use it with Kitty’s projects?”

She blinked, her eyes brightening with the immediate distraction. “I was considering…although it would render the lace useless…”

His head lifted. “Useless?”

“I was considering if we put a powder over the semi-dried wax. If we sifted it over lace, and then peeled it up, the design would be left in the negative space.”

His lips parted. “A doily would be better. And Kitty can make those out of linen thread.”

He stood suddenly, going to the lower cabinets in the corner. Crouching and digging through the clangs and noise, he emerged with tarnished, metal containers previously used to hold oil for lamps. “If Hill can remove the tops of these—”

“How many of those do we have?” Jane picked up.

“Oh dozens. Papa uses oil during the summer since the fireplace is too warm to read by. You haven’t noticed these? They’re cached all over the house.”

“I’ve only seen the glass ones. We’ll need to be sure they’re clean of oil,” she considered, taking the bottle and smelling the spout.

James opened a drawer at the counter and removed paper and pencil for them to mark down all of their thoughts and chores. Eventually Hill arrived and confirmed that either he or a known man in town could adjust the bottles for their needs. James marked down other ingredients that Jane did not understand until he rapidly sketched his ideas on the pages.

“We’ll need a decent adhesive. Something which does not dry sticky,” she ruminated.

“Kitty!” James called. Their sister joined the conversation before she ran for her sewing books, in search of what chemical binders were used in apparel.

With such toing and froing, Mr. Bennet soon arrived and slaked his curiosity by joining his children and Hill into Meryton. They strode into their aunt’s shop, where their uncle was working so Jane was relieved from the topic of Netherfield.

Between Hill’s resourcefulness and their aunt’s supplies, James and Jane soon busied themselves within the kitchen. Mrs. Bennet declared some mild complaints at her family’s going into Meryton so late in the day instead of with her that morning, but otherwise left everyone to do as they wished. Hill prepared a simple roast with potatoes in the oven, leaving the stove free for James while Jane and Kitty worked on renovating the oil tins into candles.

When the ladies retired to bed, their brother continued working with the company of his father, who sipped his tea over his book at the window. After a while, the book closed and he stood. “Sunrise is soon. Get to bed or you’ll be trapped in this pattern.”

“All right,” James answered indifferently. Mr. Bennet gazed at him trimming the wicks off the queue of finished candles. He lifted one of the square containers, feeling its weight and the rounded corners while he observed the semi-polished metal. The dark tarnish was a gradient to the shining, polished side while coarse salt was sprinkled over the top of the wax for texture.

Another, entirely polished candle was partway sprinkled with cinnamon, in which the dirtied doilies had left elegant hoops in the wax.

“I’d enjoy seeing what you make with copper.”

James peered up at him as if he thought his father had already gone, but he just as quickly returned to his task. “Copper is expensive.”

“So you charge more,” Mr. Bennet answered simply.

James peeked at him but returned, “I don’t know where to get copper jars or cups.”

“Next I go to London, you will join me. Keep a list.”

With that, he made his was up the short set of stairs. “Good night,” James said after him.

“Good night, good night,” he hummed.

* * * * * * *

Mr. Bennet’s words came true in the following days as James’s personal clock was delayed some six hours compared to his family. He doggedly came down the stairs of the kitchen to find Jane smiling over his finished collection. “These look wonderful, Lizzy.”

“Why are you telling me? You did them.” He poured his tea and nodded a silent thanks to Hill placing a dish of buttered toast before him.

Jane’s weight sagged to one hip as she smiled with sisterly annoyance. “Well thank you, but I am not the one spending all hours of the night in here.”

“You still have glue on your fingers. I can see chicken down on them.”

She picked a tuft off her thumb. “They were especially ornery today. But we have eggs.”

He chuckled as his tea rose to his lips—

“Oh my god! Oh my god!”

James gulped as their mother fluttered past the doorway, and then back once more, and then into the kitchen. Jane was the one who asked, “Mama?”

“Sit down,” James offered at the sight of Mrs. Bennet’s scarlet face.

“Absolutely not! If I sit, I’ll expire. I have just been from Netherfield! Good heavens, I surely ran all the way here—”

“Really?” James sassed. “You didn’t take the carriage?”

“Hush, Lizzy, and listen! I went to see Mrs. Nicholls, you know, because that poor woman is so often alone in that great house with nothing but footmen for company—”

“What’s wrong with footmen?” Mary arrived in the doorway with Kitty.

“—We must be decent neighbors, after all! And bless her, she was certainly weary from a great deal to do so spontaneously. And then he just walked in! Mr. Bingley walked into the room! Never mind that we were in a butler pantry—good lord—he heard my voice and sought me out to say hello! I must talk to your father.”

She then rounded on James, “You thought I was quite mad! Never mistrust a mother’s intuition!”

James’ brows reached for his hairline as he silently continued drinking his tea. Their mother’s voice moved through the walls as she followed after her husband, demanding that he call upon Bingley to make the obligated pleasantries.

“You will wait on him, of course!”

“I think not, my dear,” the baritone was heard. At hearing him draw near, Mary and Kitty rushed into the kitchen to evade their parents by looking productive with their siblings.

More murmurings were heard before Mr. Bennet appeared, perhaps also seeking evasion in the kitchen. “No, no. You forced me into visiting him last year, and promised if I went to see him, he should marry one of my daughters. But it ended in nothing, or a great deal of somethings we wish not to revisit, and I will not be sent on a fool’s errand again.”

Mrs. Bennet fisted her skirts, freeing her feet to navigate the stairs in his wake. “You must! It is absolutely necessary such attention be made from all the neighboring gentlemen on his returning to Netherfield!”

Mr. Bennet met his children’s gazes—each hastily ducking their heads, leaving him to his wife’s mercy—as he rotated to face her. “ ‘Tis an etiquette I despise. If he wants our society, he may seek it, and what need is there for myself when you have already done the deed well enough? He is reminded that we are alive, where we live, and I will not spend my hours running after my neighbors every time they go away and come back again. He’s a ginger delight, not the pope, and even then would I have my reservations.”

James snorted as he pivoted to conceal his face behind Jane.

Mrs. Bennet declared, “Well! All I know is that it will be abominably rude if you do not wait on him, at the very least negating my mistake! Had I have known, I would have made inquiries properly! Not entered as if to interrogate Mrs. Nicholls!”

“I highly doubt he thinks as much, dear, especially since he forewent social rules and met you directly.” Mr. Bennet claimed James’ toast and settled by the window.

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes moved around the room keenly. Her children boldly peeked at her but otherwise kept themselves removed. “Then you shan’t prevent my asking him to dine here. We must have Mrs. Long and the Gouldings soon. That will make thirteen with ourselves, so there will be just enough room at table for him.”

She threw her shoulders back to march up the steps. Mr. Bennet slouched in the window seat. “How auspicious a number with which you seek to torment me.”

When the silence settled over them, Kitty murmured, “She’s not really inviting him to dinner, is she?”

The answer, which they received the following day, was thankfully no, however they were only spared by Mrs. Bennet’s desire to thoroughly vanquish her neighbors in seeing Mr. Bingley without their attendance.

And so he was to arrive for tea.

“You could take up drinking,” James suggested the evening before the fated afternoon. Jane flapped her hands as she paced their bedroom; little Darcy followed her on the bed, occasionally pawing the air for attention. “Forego tea and sleep through the day.”

Jane did not even bother with an answer to that and instead said, “I am sorry that he comes at all. It would be nothing. I could see him with perfect indifference—”

“You call this indifference?”

“—but I can hardly bear to hear it thus perpetually talked of.”

“Who’s talking? You’re pacing,” he remarked from his place in the bed.

“Mama means well, but she does not know—no one can know how much I suffer from what she says. Happy shall I be when his stay at Netherfield is over!”

Her brother’s brows lifted, impressed. “That may be the first you’ve admitted to our mother’s faults."

“Lizzy!” Jane pleaded.

The book sagged into his lap. “I wish I could say anything to comfort you, but it is wholly out of my power. We must, at least, commend mama for not outright naming you at all. You could use this to your advantage and go to Meryton, or to Charlotte’s, if you’re truly wanting to escape obligation.”

“He comes tomorrow,” she huffed.

“Then I suggest you get packing.”

Her fingertips rubbed her forehead as she halted on the floor. Her eyes pulled to him when he released a brief sound of mirth. “The preaching of patience to a sufferer is usually denied me, because you have always so much. You must feel my satisfaction in seeing you brought so gracefully down from the angels.”

“I am hardly angelic,” she exclaimed. James smiled at the sight of her light blond hair in unusual fluffy disarray.

“Your former composure begs to differ. You’re truly a Bennet now.”

He stayed up with her, both from his own lack of sleep and for her worries. She finally dozed as the light began to change in their room. James made sure their low fire kept the room warm for her to sleep through the morning, but she was up early enough to wash, dress...and then wait.

The whole house waited; between stale sitting or fretful moving about, all the Bennets apart from the patriarch were in various states of anxiety. James remained the kitchen, preferring to squeeze a ball of beeswax between his hands instead of waiting with his sisters in the parlour.

Clearly neither did they, for Jane eventually arrived and Kitty and Mary went back and forth as the day changed to afternoon.

“When the hell do people drink tea?” he finally asked.

His sisters shook their heads around him, already exhausted by—

Jane’s head jerked up. Kitty and Mary reacted to her and then James heard it: horse hooves.

In an instant, the house erupted with commotion. Mrs. Bennet cried, “He’s here! He’s here! So help me, if that’s Hill herding the—I see him! Oh good lord!”

Kitty and Mary ran for their kerchiefs, stuffing the fabric into their dresses before Mary turned around for Kitty to roll up her braid, pinning it to the back of her head.

“Jane! Jane!” their mother heralded, fussing over her hair even after James had fluffed her fringe and smoothed her bun. Their mother pushed the loose tresses behind her ears, decided against it, and pulled them back around her face before Jane pushed her away. Mrs. Bennet knocked over a saucer in her haste to move the parlour pillows and Kitty shrieked as she dropped a cup and immediately stepped on it.

“I hear more than one horse,” Mary said from the window.

“Of course! Of course, he’d use the carriage,” Mrs. Bennet assumed as she swept up the broken bits with swiftness.

“There is a gentleman with him, mama,” Mary said.

James landed on couch beside the window with Mary, and then Kitty, while Jane managed to keep her composure by the table. They each had to lean far right to see the paddock on the other side of the property, but through it rode Mr. Bingley and—

James shot back from the window as if he had been burned. He stumbled back, innately finding Jane as she emerged from her stupor to catch her brother’s hands. They mirrored ill complexions at one another. “William’s here,” James croaked.

Jane frowned, her eyes vacant. “Charlotte’s husband? Why would he be here?”

“What? No—William’s here!”

“Mr. Collins’s first name is William,” she nodded, but she was facing an equivalent wall of befuddlement.

James scoffed, “No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is,” she insisted, but as her mind slowly caught up, their mother was waving the matter aside.

“Some acquaintance or other, my dear. I am sure I do not know—”

“It’s Mr. Darcy!” Kitty yelled. Mrs. Bennet joined her daughters on the couch, ogling the state of events outside.

“Oh,” Jane breathed.

“Oh!” James growled pointedly at her.

They both snapped into the present as it was her turn to scoff incredulously, “You really didn’t know Mr. Collins’s first name?”

“Who cares?” he retorted the same moment he made a chair skid over the floor.

Mr. Bennet startled mildly from where he was passing in the corridor. “Goodness. How did we ever weather through poor Bingley’s company before?”

Mrs. Bennet and Kitty flew off the couch, the latter meeting her brother. “Do you think Georgiana’s with him?”

James ignored her since Jane was suddenly very close to his face. “Lizzy, was Charles there when you visited Pemberley?”

He felt his mouth fall open as he gaped like a fish. “I, um, we-well, yes. Yes?”

Life returned to Jane’s cheeks as she flushed. “Lizzy! Why on earth didn’t you tell me?”

“It wasn’t important!”

Mrs. Bennet drowned out any disagreement she might have had. “Good gracious! Mr. Darc—Lord Darcy! We’ve never had a—well any friend of Mr. Bingley’s will always be welcome here to be sure, but—Hill! Cease whatever you’re doing and find our finest brews!”

Mr. Bennet calmly moved aside for her to run toward the kitchen, however she did not make it there.

The bell rang, and the house froze with silence.