Page 15 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

“But he has not yet settled,” Kitty added quickly. “Only his housekeeper and cook have been seen in the village.”

“Uncle Phillips says he is expected to return to London today, now that the papers have been signed,” Lydia chimed in. “But he will return with a large party next week.”

Mrs. Bennet gave a dramatic sigh and pressed a hand to her bosom. “Then we must be ready. Everything must be spotless. I shall have to speak with Hill, and you must each purchase a new gown. Well, not Lydia or Mark.”

She turned to the twins. “You must both be presentable when he comes to call. Elizabeth, do not go tramping through the fields every day now—your hem is always stained with grass. And Mark, be sure your best coat is brushed. One never knows what connections a man of fortune may bring.”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “He has not even arrived yet, Mama.”

“Well, someone must marry him, and I would prefer it be one of my daughters, and not those awful Lucas girls,” Mrs. Bennet said firmly. “And he may be in attendance at the Meryton assembly, so there is no harm in being prepared.”

Mark grinned at Elizabeth, who sighed heavily but said nothing. I wonder if one of the men we saw riding—the ones that Mark says he knows—is this Mr. Bingley? But if so, then who is the other man?

As the conversation turned to gowns and hair ribbons, Elizabeth caught Mark’s eye again. With a tilt of her head, she gestured toward the door, and together they slipped out, the chaos of Netherfield and matrimony still echoing behind them.

“I have missed this house,” Mark said fondly. “It is chaotic—but it is home.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Yes. And I expect it is about to grow even more so.”

∞∞∞

“Mark,” Mrs. Bennet said sweetly over breakfast the following morning, “I do think it would be very neighborly if you and your father were to pay a call on Mr. Bingley this morning. You know how important first impressions can be.”

Mark, half-way through a bite of toast, smiled politely. “We were going to walk the fields near our boundary with Haye Park today. The far wall has collapsed in two places.”

Mr. Bennet gave a grave nod. “A matter of vital importance. One cannot be expected to attend to gentlemen when stonework is falling into the sheep pasture.”

Mrs. Bennet blinked rapidly. “Well, surely he shall still be there tomorrow. He is living there, after all.”

The next day, she raised the subject again—this time at tea.

“Perhaps tomorrow, then? You must not let another day pass, or someone else may get the first invitation.”

“We have an important meeting with our steward and Sir William,” said Mr. Bennet blandly. “A crisis about a new grain measure.”

“I also promised to speak to Mr. Hill about the cider press,” added Mark, not looking up from his book.

Mrs. Bennet pressed her lips together.

By the third day, she was openly pacing.

“You must call. You must ! Think of the girls—think of the assembly. What shall we do if he dances only with the Lucases? How can you bear to see your daughters become old maids because of your neglect?”

Mr. Bennet merely hummed, seated at his writing desk with a letter in hand. Mark was trimming a quill and offered only a noncommittal shrug.

The following evening, as Elizabeth sat with Kitty and Lydia near the fire, the conversation turned—again—to gowns and lace and prospects.

“Do you think Mr. Bingley will notice the embroidery I am adding to my muslin?” Kitty asked innocently, holding up the gown in her lap.

Mrs. Bennet threw down her fashion magazine with a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, who cares about embroidery? Goodness knows Mr. Bingley will most likely never notice your dress, as your father and brother refuse to oblige me! I am sick of hearing Mr. Bingley’s name spoken in this house! I wish I may never hear it again!”

There was a stunned silence.

Mr. Bennet set down his book, raising one brow. “My dear, I am truly sorry to hear that. For Mark and I paid a call on him this morning. And now that the acquaintance has been established, I fear there is no escape.”

Mrs. Bennet gasped. “You—? You—!” She shot upright, one hand fluttering to her chest while the other pointed accusingly. “You have been to see him? And you did not tell me ?”

Mark stood at once. “I am sorry, Mama. We only meant to tease you. We had hoped to surprise you with the news on the night of the assembly.”

“It was only this morning,” Mr. Bennet added mildly. “A very brief visit. And we had intended it all in good fun.”

Mrs. Bennet sat back down abruptly, pressing a handkerchief to her temple. “You will give me palpitations one day.”

“We did not mean to cause distress,” Mark said sincerely. “I promise.”

“Well, I am distressed,” she sniffed. “But I am also delighted. Do tell us everything— everything .”

“I shall begin with the most surprising bit,” Mark said, now grinning. “I already know Mr. Bingley.”

Gasps rose from three corners of the room.

“You what ?” cried Mrs. Bennet.

“Truly?” Jane asked, her eyes wide.

Mark nodded. “We were at Cambridge together. We met during my first year. He was already there but left in the middle of Michaelmas term. His father died rather suddenly. His sisters persuaded him to remain at home during the mourning year, and when it ended, they convinced him not to return.”

“Because they missed him?” Kitty asked.

“Because they wished for him to escort them about in society,” said Mark dryly. “That began about six months ago. His sister Mrs. Hurst married not long after the Season opened. Their father left them very comfortably off, and they have been urging him to buy an estate. But he was not quite ready.”

“So why Netherfield?” Elizabeth asked, now leaning forward.

“I saw him again in London a few months ago, before I returned home. We caught up, and I mentioned that Netherfield had stood empty for years. He had heard of it and asked my opinion. I told him it was lovely but needed life again.”

“You recommended it?” Jane asked.

“He said he would consider leasing before buying, just to see how he liked country life. And it seems he took my advice.”

Mrs. Bennet let out a soft squeal and clapped her hands. “Oh, Mark, you dear, clever boy! This is wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!”

Elizabeth gave him a mock glare. “And you were going to let us all walk into the assembly unprepared?”

“I was going to surprise you all,” Mark said with a sheepish smile. “But when I saw how upset Mama was, it felt wrong to keep the truth.”

“You are forgiven,” said Mrs. Bennet magnanimously. “But only if you tell us—what is he like?”

The room fell into eager quiet.

Mark leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“Charles Bingley is the kindest man I have ever known. Jovial, generous, good-humored. He is not the most studious fellow, but he is clever in his own way. He plays the violin passably and rides well. He enjoys dancing and never sneers. He is loyal to his friends and respectful to elders, though his sisters can be rather... formidable.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Bennet with satisfaction, “we shall just have to outshine them.”

“We?” Elizabeth said under her breath.

Jane caught her eye and hid a smile.

Kitty leaped to her feet, crying out that she must have new ribbons. Lydia, too, rose from her chair, though her cries were about the unfairness of not yet being out and therefore unable to meet Mr. Bingley or have the opportunity to dance with him.

Mrs. Bennet began calling for Hill to fetch her a fresh list of repairs for the drawing room. Mr. Bennet resumed reading, apparently unmoved.

Elizabeth turned to Mark and whispered, “You really ought to have waited until the assembly.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I know. But I cannot abide making Mother cry.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Then you are too soft-hearted for this family.”

He winked. “No one is truly hard-hearted here. Not even Papa.”