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“Never mind telling me that I must visit Mr. Bingley at once,” Mr. Bennet said to his wife the day after that gentleman was known to have arrived. “I have just come back from Netherfield.”

“I knew you could not fail your daughters,” she happily declared. “What is he like? Is he handsome?”

“I cannot say. I do not know what you think constitutes a handsome man.”

“A fine figure. An attractive countenance. A pleasing expression,” she irritably explained.

“And a red coat,” Lydia declared.

“Then I must report that Mr. Bingley is not handsome. His coat was blue.”

“His coat is irrelevant,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Can you not even recall if he had regular features? Or the colour of his hair? Or anything useful?”

“I believe his features were symmetrical, and his hair was golden. And he smiles a great deal. One would expect a man inundated with visitors to be short-tempered, but Mr. Bingley was astoundingly cheerful.”

“Did you hear that, Lydia? He is obviously perfect for you, just as I said he would be. I expect he will come to call tomorrow morning, so you must put on your prettiest dress.”

The next day the whole family sat in wait, with Mrs. Bennet eagerly watching out for the sight of a handsome stranger.

Quite a few people went by, heading in both directions, and in Bobby Turner’s case, over a fence and across a field.

But none of them interested Mrs. Bennet.

She was only wanting to see Mr. Bingley.

The sight of a horse almost threw her into a state of excitement until she realized that it was only Mr. Goulding. As he disappeared out of her view, the vicar of Longbourn came into it.

“Mr. Hastings is coming to call. Don’t forget to tell us what he is saying, Mr. Bennet.”

The vicar, an elderly man whose head was often in the clouds, entered with a puzzled expression as though he had inadvertently floated into their home.

However, he said good morning in English, which was an excellent beginning for a man who didn’t seem to know the difference between his native tongue and those ancient languages which Mr. Bennet so unaccountably found interesting.

But it was useful that he did, or else half of what Mr. Hastings said would be incomprehensible. Like his next words. Mrs. Bennet would have been as much in the dark as some of her neighbours must be without Mr. Bennet to explain that nuntium magni momenti meant news of great import.

Nodding his agreement with this translation, Mr. Hastings elaborated. “I have decided to engage a curate.”

Mrs. Bennet didn’t think this news of much import. She didn’t need her husband to tell her that curates could rarely afford to marry.

“He was highly recommended,” Mr. Hastings said.

This was followed by some more words which she could not understand, but Mr. Bennet supplied, “A very worthy man.”

“And well connected.” Being himself descended from a distinguished family, Mr. Hastings was not oblivious to worldly considerations. “He is a Charlton.”

Now Mrs. Bennet was interested. A well-connected curate could be another potential husband after all.

Not for Lizzy, who must be brought to see the sense of marrying Mr. Collins.

But perhaps one of the Lucas or Long girls.

With her own daughters sorted out, she was happy to turn her mind toward matches for others.

Mr. Hastings had again lapsed into words which Mrs. Bennet did not understand.

She looked eagerly at her husband, hoping to hear that Mr. Charlton had more than just a curate’s income.

It did not need to be a great fortune. Just enough to support a lady with low expectations.

The Lucases and the Longs were used to making do.

But Mr. Bennet said, “He comes from a poor branch of the family.”

So much for that idea. But at least the curate would be useful to the vicar, who had a tendency to forget more than just what language he was speaking.

He was still forgetting that, but presumably he was referring to himself rather than the curate because Mr. Bennet supplied, “Mind and body are not what they once used to be.”

“I know that feeling,” Mrs. Bennet said. “My mind is full of fog, and my body is determined to be difficult. Nobody knows what I suffer.”

“Patientia!” the vicar cried enthusiastically. “The noble art of forbearance. It is a great thing indeed. The heroes of Greek literature knew that suffering makes the man.”

“It doesn’t make the woman,” Mrs. Bennet muttered.

Oblivious to her discontent, Mr. Hastings delivered an excited speech, again incomprehensible, but from words like tolerantia, Mrs. Bennet could guess that he was still going on about suffering, and his enthusiasm for that subject was disconcerting.

At the end of this flow of words, Mr. Hastings remembered that there was somewhere else he needed to be. But he paused upon the threshold, looked back, his face gleaming with inspiration, and declared, “Indeed, one might say that suffering is an opportunity.”

Mrs. Bennet was so taken aback by this horrifying notion that Mr. Hastings was gone before she could protest. The vicar was a good man, but he had no idea about suffering. Or opportunities.

That reminded her of Mr. Bingley, so she resumed her surveillance, but now the traffic in the lane had slowed considerably. A tradesman this way, a farmer that way, a hen slowly pecking up the lane. And then nothing for over half an hour.

“What a waste of time,” Kitty grumbled. “We could have gone to visit our aunt instead and heard all the latest gossip.”

“We still can,” Lydia declared, jumping up from her seat. “I’ve had enough of waiting for Mr. Bingley. Let’s go to Meryton and see what the officers are up to.”

“No, you mustn’t,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “He may yet come.”

“No, he won’t,” Lydia said on her way out of the room.

“Have patience,” Mrs. Bennet said, but she was addressing the back of the door.

Not bothering to pick up the glasses again, she consoled herself by deciding that Mr. Bingley wasn’t coming today.

Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door. And Mr. Bingley was announced. A very handsome young man with an exceptionally cheerful expression. Just what Lydia would like. Foolish girl!

After introductions had been made, Mrs. Bennet said, “And I have two other daughters, both very pretty girls, especially the youngest, who is also particularly good-natured.”

She paused for him to respond, but he said nothing.

“She is a very lively girl and always cheerful.”

She paused again, but Mr. Bingley was not paying attention.

Instead he was gazing upon Jane in rapture.

The man was obviously besotted. With the wrong daughter, but still one of hers, which was the important thing.

Mrs. Bennet could not complain about this development.

Her plans would just have to be adjusted.

Mr. Madison might be a little disappointed not to have Jane, but since his feelings were not passionate, he should not mind having Lydia instead.

She was rather young to be a mother, but her youth was exactly what his daughters would like best about her.

They would appreciate her liveliness, and it would be good for their excessively serious father.

“I am very fond of society. There is nothing I like more than an evening party, or better yet, a ball.”

These words drew Mrs. Bennet’s attention back to Mr. Bingley. This was the sort of conversation she liked. Nothing about legislation and committees.

“Once I am settled, I hope to hold balls of my own. And plenty of other parties.”

Oh, dear. Lydia was going to be very sorry to have missed her opportunity for getting Mr. Bingley.

A husband who wanted to entertain frequently was just what would suit her best. But at least Mr. Madison was not unsociable.

He would not object to his wife giving lots of parties.

Purvis Lodge could not properly accommodate balls, however.

He must look for a house with a ballroom.

“My younger sister is going to keep house for me, and the elder will be joining us for a few months, along with her husband. And one of my friends will also be coming to stay.”

A friend! Perhaps he would suit one of Lady Lucas’s daughters or Mrs. Long’s nieces. Assuming that he could afford a wife.

“What does your friend do?” she asked, wondering what income the man had.

“Mostly he sits in his library reading books and coming up with excuses to avoid going out.”

It didn’t sound as though he would suit anyone. But Charlotte might be glad to have him since she didn’t have a romantic nature.

“Darcy and I are an odd pair of friends,” Mr. Bingley said. “Not much alike in temperament or interests, yet somehow we enjoy each other’s company.”

Jane made a comment about differences not hindering friendship, and the two of them began eagerly discussing the subject.

This was a hindrance to determining if Mr. Darcy could afford to marry Charlotte, but that could be discovered another day.

Right now Jane and Mr. Bingley were getting along extremely well, and Lizzy was remembering not to put herself forward.

She was a good girl when she wasn’t being difficult.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Mrs. Bennet said after their visitor left. “I do not know what might have happened if Lydia had been here, but I am afraid Mr. Bingley will not look at her now. He could not keep his eyes off you, Jane. I would not be surprised if he proposes before the week is out.”

“I would be excessively surprised,” Jane said. “Mr. Bingley seems much too sensible to do something so foolish. And I certainly would not welcome such an ill-considered offer.”

Mrs. Bennet eyed her with disappointment. It was not like Jane to be difficult. “I hope you are not going to say that you would never marry him.”

“I am not going to say anything,” Jane said, and then she didn’t.