Page 6 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

The Netherfield Contingent

Elizabeth stood on the far side of the assembly hall with Jane and their friend Charlotte Lucas, studying their neighbors with interest. While her mother and Kitty generally decried public assemblies as not having anyone worthy of Kitty and the dowry Mama had bestowed upon her, Elizabeth took delight in them. She enjoyed the liveliness and being among people, and especially the opportunity to socialize with Charlotte. Mama did not approve of the daughter of a shopkeeper calling on them, and Elizabeth couldn’t call on Charlotte, who was generally working in the shop and hadn’t the space or staff to accept afternoon calls. Thus, opportunities to be in the company of her friend were few.

But in that moment, while Jane and Charlotte peered eagerly at the hall’s entrance awaiting the arrival of the Netherfield Park contingent, the reason Mama had permitted them to attend, Elizabeth watched Mary. She, Jane, and Mary had been all over Meryton and the surrounding communities for days, hiding caches of funds where they could be discovered by a needy populace. Mary kept diligent records of their donations, and Elizabeth knew she hoped to complete the distribution of Mr. Darcy’s and Mr. Bingley’s stolen wealth that evening.

In a frumpy gown, her hair pulled back severely, Mary glided through the throng. On occasion, Elizabeth had seen her younger sister feign tripping in order to blunder into someone so she might place funds on their person, but that had not been necessary yet tonight. Unremarked upon by most and possessed of nimble fingers, Mary could generally slip a sum into a coat or even a reticule without anyone the wiser. Elizabeth liked to tease her that when Jane married and Azile and Enaj retired, Mary would turn to pickpocketing to secure ‘charity’ from the wealthy.

She watched Mary slip around a circle of chatting gentlemen and wondered if she’d augmented any of their wallets. Even though she knew what her sister was about, Elizabeth couldn’t catch her in the act. Papa Arthur had called her a gifted pickpocket. Not something on the usual list of accomplishments for a young lady.

But then, neither were riding astride, fencing, pugilism, or marksmanship.

Nearer to the entrance, Mama, Kitty, and Thomas waited, a noticeable gulf around them. Thomas, being but thirteen, did not truly fit in at an assembly. At least, not in his role as head of the household, rather than off somewhere playing with other lads. Normally, Mama would have left him home with Lydia and Matthew, but she wanted him to introduce her to Mr. Bingley.

Aside from that wish, Elizabeth knew her mother and Kitty preferred to remain aloof. As Dovemark exceeded all but Longbourn and Netherfield Park in size, Mama didn’t consider their neighbors worthy of her favorite daughter. Especially once Mama had bestowed upon Kitty the whole of the five thousand pounds that had been her dowry. Mrs. Oakwood often said that her dowry had made her worthy of a gentleman and therefore, as Kitty was already a gentleman’s daughter, the same dowry should secure her a peer.

A collective gasp sounded, cutting into Elizabeth’s musings. She turned her attention from her relations to the entrance, eager to see who Mr. Bingley had brought to their assembly with him. Rumor had flown about, describing all sorts of gentlemen and ladies as being in attendance at Netherfield Park.

Her excitement went as flat as a ruined soufflé. There, paused in the doorway to preen under the many eyes turned his way, stood Mr. Collins. Somehow, he managed to appear both imposing and ridiculous all at once. The first due to his height and bulk, the second accomplished by his red, square cut coat. A garment which boasted so much gold embroidery that Elizabeth assumed the weight of it to be behind the sheen of sweat coating Mr. Collins’ loathsome face.

“What is he doing here?” Charlotte muttered.

Looking past her, Elizabeth took in Jane’s white face.

Skirting his brother, Robert Collins disappeared into the gathered throng, mostly ignored. While some in Meryton disliked their cousin Robert simply for being a Collins of Longbourn, most accepted him as the complete opposite of his older brother. In fact, rumor whispered about the village said that Robert Collins was no Collins at all, having been born a mere five months after Mr. Collins Sr. married his mother, a wealthy widow who had died not long after his birth.

Elizabeth might even concede to Robert Collins being a pleasant individual, did she not loathe all Collinses. His true progeny or not, she couldn’t forgive Cousin Robert for being raised by the man who had cast them from their home, who’d robbed so many of their hard-earned funds, and who, worst of all, had shot Papa Arthur.

From where he still stood in the entrance, Mr. Collins’ gaze settled on Jane. His eyes narrowed, avarice flashing within.

“I…perhaps I should depart,” Jane murmured.

“He never attends assemblies.” Charlotte twined her hands together before her. “What do you believe he would say if I approached him and reminded him of the outstanding sum he owes my father’s shop?”

“I imagine he would form any number of repugnant expressions with those too-thin lips and simply walk away,” Elizabeth replied, most of her attention devoted to Jane and the worry on her face. “He would not dare to ask you to dance.”

Jane swallowed, nodding.

Charlotte looked back and forth between them, her brow creased, and whispered, “Surely, your father proved that Mr. Collins has no right to approach you.”

“Papa Arthur has been gone for nearly seven years,” Elizabeth replied just as quietly, as Mr. Collins started across the room in their direction. “Mr. Collins may require a fresh lesson in chivalry.”

Charlotte shook her head, her gaze going to Thomas. “You cannot expect Mr. Oakwood to duel him.”

Elizabeth would much rather do so herself. Azile would teach their foul cousin a stern lesson. Or, if the lout preferred pistols, Enaj could have the honor.

“I should leave before he can speak with me,” Jane said anxiously.

“No.” Elizabeth would not have her sister run away, nor miss an opportunity to dance with Mr. Bingley. “Charlotte and I, between us, can keep him from you. Let us take a turn about the room.”

Even as she spoke, unwitting aid came in the form of their mother and Kitty. Mrs. Oakwood, who forgave Mr. Collins the sins of his father and refused to believe he had any of his own, thrust Kitty into his path. Their mother made no secret of her hope that her favorite daughter would reclaim Longbourn for them as Mr. Collins’ wife. His face pinched with dislike, Thomas joined them.

Mr. Collins eyed the curtsying women with a frown, his mouth opening and closing in a quick reply. His attention snapped back to Jane, but Mrs. Oakwood was speaking. While Elizabeth could not hear her mother’s words from across the room, she felt confident that Mr. Collins would be occupied for some time. When Mama wanted to talk, little could halt her.

Elizabeth took Jane’s arm and turned her away. In silent support, Charlotte came around them to walk on Elizabeth’s other side, both of them between Mr. Collins and his prey, though only Charlotte was as tall as Jane. As they walked, Elizabeth kept her attention half on their horrible cousin, sneaking peeks around Charlotte. The moment Mr. Collins turned fully to her mother and Kitty, Elizabeth yanked Jane into an alcove. Charlotte followed.

Releasing Jane, Elizabeth peeked out. “He is looking about now, but Mama is still talking. I do not believe he saw where we went.”

“We cannot hide here all evening.” Jane rubbed at her brow. “If I depart, at least you and Charlotte may still enjoy yourselves.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “As soon as he stops searching, we will move nearer to the entrance. We will be behind him then. People rarely turn fully around.” At least, that was what Papa Arthur had taught them, and what Elizabeth’s experience showed to be true.

Charlotte chuckled. “Were you a man, you could be a general like your papa, Miss Elizabeth.”

A shock of worry raced through Elizabeth. She knew better than to appear so calculating before anyone but Jane and Mary. She smiled easily, though. “I simply want Jane to have every opportunity of dancing with Mr. Bingley. She is going to charm him, and then he will purchase Netherfield Park and put someone other than Mr. Collins up for magistrate.”

Charlotte sighed. “Oh, if only that were true. It would be wonderful.”

“It will be,” Elizabeth said stoutly, and turned to peek at Mr. Collins again.

“You cannot know that,” Jane murmured.

“I can and I do,” Elizabeth cast back.

“Miss Elizabeth very well may be correct,” Charlotte put in. “After Mr. Bingley met with Mr. Morris, Mr. Morris told my father that Mr. Bingley asked after you quite extensively, Miss Bennet. And later, when he met Papa, he asked about you all over again. The whole village is speaking of how he’s only let Netherfield Park because he ran into you on the street. Quite literally.”

“Oh dear.” Jane cast Elizabeth a worried, warning look. “That is a great deal of gossip.”

“But all of it good,” Charlotte said staunchly. “No one ever has a bad word to say about you.”

Elizabeth answered her sister’s worry with the barest nod. She felt it as well. The weight of knowing they were the subject of too much attention. Still, she kept her voice light as she said, “The only reason for you not to wed Mr. Bingley would be if you decide he does not suit you, but do not believe for a moment that I missed the way you looked at him when you met.”

The blush of Jane’s cheeks darkened in the dim light of the alcove. “You do realize that he must also believe that I suit him? He may not, you know, despite Mr. Morris starting rumors he ought not start.”

With a shrug for what couldn’t be undone, Elizabeth reached for Jane’s hand. “Come. Kitty and Mama have our cousin well occupied. Now is our chance.”

They slipped from the alcove and around the edge of the room, quickly gaining a space beside the opening into the hall’s modest foyer. Mr. Collins had begun scanning again, but as Elizabeth predicted, he did not turn around. He bowed to their mother and Kitty, ignored Thomas’s presence, and moved deeper into the room, searching. Some of his lackeys, Mr. Robinson and Mr. Goulding among them, moved through the crowd, angling to intercept him.

Elizabeth cast her gaze over the assembled men and women. Several had begun to line up for a set, but she saw no sign of Mr. Bingley having arrived during the brief moments they were hidden. She did, however, catch sight of Mary’s severe coif. Not moving through the crowd as usual, she stood speaking to . . . Robert Collins.

Elizabeth frowned. In saving Jane had she neglected Mary? She would not want to doom her sister to a set with a Collins.

But as Elizabeth watched, he bowed, and Mary curtsied, and they moved apart. Elizabeth let out her breath. Whatever Cousin Robert had wanted, Mary had obviously dealt with, employing her usual efficiency.

A clatter of footfalls and the well-shaped vowels of cultured voices bubbled from the foyer. Elizabeth nudged Jane, who turned, her expression eager, and stepped forward into the open doorway.

To almost collide with an equally keen Mr. Bingley.

He took a half step back, blinked at Jane, and broke into a grin. “Miss Bennet. I’d hoped to find you in attendance.”

Jane smiled back. “And I you, though perhaps we should endeavor not to keep meeting with such abruptness.”

A tall young woman, along with a slightly older one and an undistinguished gentleman, all spilled in around Mr. Bingley. To Elizabeth’s surprise, the emotion elicited by his presence rather than his expression, Mr. Darcy appeared behind Mr. Bingley, glowering. Much as his ill-humor amused her, it also contradicted her earlier impression of the gentleman. His sternness did not, in fact, infringe upon his comeliness as she’d first decided. Still, she would prefer to see him smile.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, may I present my sisters, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and my brother by marriage, Mr. Hurst.” Mr. Bingley looked about with a slight frown of confusion. “Darcy should be here somewhere as well.”

“I am,” Mr. Darcy said flatly, making no move to come around Mr. Bingley to join them.

Mr. Bingley’s frown vanished. “Right, and you already know Mr. Darcy. Louisa, Caroline, Hurst, this is Miss Bennet, and Miss Elizabeth, and…” He trailed off with a questioning look at Charlotte. “Your fifth sister?”

Elizabeth would not mind if that were true, but as it was not, she replied, “Our friend, Charlotte Lucas. Her father is Meryton’s mayor and owns the village’s largest shop. Surely, you have taken note of Lucas’s Sundries, right in the center of the main street?”

“Certainly. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lucas,” Mr. Bingley said enthusiastically. “I have met your father. Fine fellow.”

Beside her brother, Miss Bingley exchanged a grimace with Mrs. Hurst.

Charlotte curtsied at least as well as any gentleman’s daughter and said, “Thank you, Mr. Bingley. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.”

“Our other sister is here, however. With our mother and Thomas. I am certain they will be delighted to meet you.” Elizabeth turned to point them out and caught sight of Mr. Collins pushing his way through the throng in their direction. Swiveling back to Mr. Bingley, she said, “But a set is starting. Better you should dance first and endure introductions later. They can be so time consuming, do you not agree?”

Mr. Bingley and his companions stared at her, obviously uncertain how to reply. Miss Bingley’s eyebrows appeared ready to climb up to join the towering ostrich feathers that topped her head, and Mr. Darcy’s expression spoke of someone who had bitten into an apple to find half a worm.

Jane blushed and hissed, “Elizabeth.”

Charlotte, however, looked past her and sighted their nemesis. She gave Elizabeth a meaningful stare, then curtsied. “I am pleased to meet you all, but if you will excuse me?” The gentlemen offered quick bows as, squaring her shoulders, Charlotte marched off to intercept Mr. Collins.

Elizabeth would assure Charlotte later that she was the very best of friends, but knew she could not delay Mr. Collins for overlong. He was not above a certain amount of rudeness, especially to someone of Charlotte’s standing.

“My apologies, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said sweetly. “I do not know what possessed my sister to be so forward.”

“I was overcome by my desire to see you happy.” Elizabeth caught Mr. Bingley’s gaze, no easy feat for he’d fixed his attention on Jane. “Jane does so love to dance, and a set is starting this very moment.”

“Elizabeth,” Jane protested again.

Beyond her, Elizabeth took in their mother, Kitty, and Thomas drawing nearer through the crowd, a fresh obstacle in her quest to see Jane and Mr. Bingley manage a set. Elizabeth could think of no way to delay them but to intercept them, but if she left Jane’s side, would her sister coax an invitation from Mr. Bingley? The musicians strummed the opening chords.

Mr. Bingley recovered from his initial shock to bow to Jane. “It seems, Miss Bennet, that your sister will not be satisfied until you do me the honor of partnering me for this set, if you will?”

Her cheeks aflame, Jane nodded and placed her hand in the one he proffered. Mr. Bingley tucked her hand on his arm and immediately drew her away in the direction of the about-to-begin dance.

Relief washed through Elizabeth. Turning, she followed the progress of the two through the crowd. Their goal the end of the line of dancers, their path took them near enough to Charlotte and Mr. Collins to make Elizabeth hold her breath. Sighting Jane, he turned, but Charlotte sidestepped, remaining between them.

“I believe I require punch,” a pinched voice said. “Mr. Hurst, escort me.”

Mr. Hurst offered his wife his arm. The two moved away without another word.

“Country manners certainly do differ from London ones, do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley flipped open a feather fan as she spoke, then studied Elizabeth over it.

Mr. Darcy scrutinized her as well, his coolness offset by the perplexed line of his brow. “Not all country manners. I find the manners in Derbyshire dissimilar to those displayed here in Hertfordshire.”

“Oh, certainly, one would not see anything uncouth in Pemberley. Not with you and dear Georgiana as guides.”

“It is my sorrow to have represented all of Hertfordshire so poorly,” Elizabeth cast back with no trace of sadness or apology in her voice. She would offend the Prince Regent himself to keep Mr. Collins away from Jane.

Miss Bingley’s gaze slid from Elizabeth to take in Mr. Collins, who now stood alone, glaring at the dancers with sullen hostility. “It does, however, occur to me that your eagerness may be born of sisterly affection, Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr. Darcy cast Miss Bingley a surprised look before following her gaze to Mr. Collins. Immediately turning away, as if the sight of Elizabeth’s cousin disgusted him as much as it did her, Mr. Darcy refocused on Elizabeth. “Sisterly affection is laudable.”

They would condescend to be understanding, would they? Amused, Elizabeth replied, “Indeed. Being one of five sisters, I hold sisterly affection as quite sacred.”

“As do I.” Miss Bingley lowered her fan. “And I imagine you must often fend off the attentions of unsuitable gentlemen who simply want a connection to the Oakwood line.”

Though she did not wish to spoil the growing accord between them, Elizabeth could not affirm that. “I am afraid I know little of the Oakwood line. Or, indeed, if there is one outside of my brothers Thomas and Matthew.”

“You have no relations in, perhaps, Nottinghamshire?” Miss Bingley asked with ill-concealed intentness.

Elizabeth had devoted little time to considering what other relations Papa Arthur might have, and so answered slowly, “My stepfather did not speak of his family often.” Now that she gave the matter consideration, it seemed odd. But then, Papa Arthur had been so involved with them. So present. Buying Mama bonbons. Overseeing every detail of the construction of their home. Teaching her, Jane, and Mary to ride and the gentlemanly arts of war. As well as French and skills that Elizabeth suspected could only fall under the category of spy craft. “He was more likely to speak of his time serving the Crown, though there was much he could not tell us of that.”

Much of the interest in Miss Bingley’s face drained away. Her fan came back up, fluttering.

“Why could a general not speak of his service to the Crown?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth took in his glower with the growing suspicion that Mr. Darcy always appeared slightly offended. “He never said as much, but I always suspected that his service to the King fell under the category of clandestine. I do know he spent considerable time in—” She broke off, full of chagrin. In a bid to impress the two, she’d nearly spoken about France.

She, Jane, and Mary never brought up their stepfather’s time in France. Not with those outside their family, who might make the connection between them and the Boney Bandits, nor those inside the family. Their mother and younger siblings were unlikely to recall Papa Arthur’s French lessons if not reminded.

“Time in?” Mr. Darcy repeated, his frown all for her now.

“In the regulars.” Elizabeth worked not to hurry her words, a sure sign of guilt. “I imagine it is considered improper to speak of such things to us girls.”

“Certainly.” Miss Bingley gave a delicate shudder. “War is no subject for ladies.”

“Where did your stepfather serve?” Mr. Darcy asked.

Elizabeth turned an innocent look on him. “I believe we only now established that Miss Bingley and I are not meant to converse about such matters, Mr. Darcy.”

Miss Bingley flicked her fan at Mr. Darcy. “You must excuse Mr. Darcy for being a man. They are obsessed with all things martial, and one of his cousins serves, so he has an even more vested interest in such matters.”

“I will if you insist.” Elizabeth couldn’t quite contain a smile as, with as much sincerity as she could muster, she said, “Mr. Darcy, I forgive you for being a man.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Elizabeth, whatever do you mean by keeping this lovely lady and gentleman trapped here in the doorway?” her mother’s voice cried.

Elizabeth turned to find that Mrs. Oakwood, Kitty, and Thomas approached. Unable to resist tormenting her mother, Elizabeth replied, “You are correct, Mama. I’m certain Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy would like to leave this inauspicious location and explore the hall.”

Mrs. Oakwood huffed as she halted before them. “Nonsense. I forbid anyone from moving until I have been introduced to these fine people.”

“But if you do not know them, how do you know they are fine?” Elizabeth asked.

Thomas giggled. Kitty, her expression offended on their mother’s behalf, jutted out an elbow, catching Thomas in the shoulder. He rubbed his coat sleeve, glaring at her.

“Really, Elizabeth. Sometimes I believe there is no hope for you.”

“Yes, Mama,” she agreed, quelling any other reply in view of how frantically Miss Bingley’s fan had begun to flutter.

Thomas stepped forward to bow, then cleared his throat. “Mr. Darcy, may I present my mother, Mrs. Oakwood, and my sister, Miss Catherine.”

Elizabeth’s mother and sister curtsied.

Mr. Darcy bowed in return. “Mr. Oakwood, it is pleasant to see you again. Mrs. Oakwood, a pleasure. Miss Catherine, there are many Catherines in the annals of my family. A formidable name.”

Mr. Darcy started to turn to Miss Bingley but Mrs. Oakwood preempted him with, “We call our Catherine ‘Kitty.’ Kitty is such a fine, lively name, do you not think? It speaks of a young woman who is vital and joyous, rather than someone sour or ancient. You can always tell when a Catherine has been labeled a—”

“Mama,” Elizabeth cut in, her tone begging for silence on the matter. Somehow, she could not picture anyone using the nickname Kitty in Mr. Darcy’s family.

“What?” Mrs. Oakwood blinked at her. “I am certain all the Catherines in Mr. Darcy’s line are Kittys.” She turned a preening smile on Mr. Darcy. “Aren’t they?”

“No.”

Mrs. Oakwood’s jaw hinged open.

Behind her fan, Miss Bingley coughed, the sound suspiciously like suppressed mirth.

Mr. Darcy gestured to her. “May I introduce Miss Bingley?”

Miss Bingley offered an elegant curtsy, though her face spoke of how little she felt the recipients of the gesture warranted the courtesy.

Mrs. Oakwood turned to Thomas. “Thomas, properly greet the lady.”

Thomas huffed a sigh, then reached out and caught Miss Bingley’s hand. “Miss Bingley, it is an honor to welcome a lady so lovely as yourself to Meryton.” He bowed over her gloved fingers.

Her fan drooping, Miss Bingley looked down at him in mild horror. “Yes. Well. Thank you.” She retrieved her hand and turned to Elizabeth’s mother. “Mrs. Oakwood, you are not a moment too late. I was asking Miss Elizabeth about your late husband’s relations but she has proved a paltry source of information on the subject.”

Elizabeth’s mother waved that off. “As will I, to be certain. My Arthur did not care to speak of his family, and I am not one to press, mark my word. I’m very skilled at seeing when a person wishes to speak, and when they do not, and my Arthur did not care to converse about his relations, no matter how many times I asked nor for how many years I pressed him. He said they weren’t worth knowing.”

“Ah, I see.” Apparently not one to be easily defeated, Miss Bingley continued, “But certainly you know where they are to be found. After all, you must have notified them when he passed.”

“I certainly did not. I left that to Mr. Phillips, didn’t I?” Mrs. Oakwood yanked a handkerchief from her lace-draped sleeve. “Oh, my poor Arthur. ”

“I beg your pardon,” Miss Bingley said with sudden contrition. “I did not realize his passing was recent.”

“It was seven years ago,” Elizabeth said blandly.

“And we are all still terribly sad about it,” Kitty snapped, glaring at Elizabeth before pulling out a handkerchief of her own and adding her sniffles to their mother’s.

“I am going to have some punch,” Thomas said firmly. “Miss Bingley, would you care to accompany me?”

Her expression bemused, she nodded, though she pretended not to see the arm he offered. Shrugging, Thomas dropped his arm and set out, Miss Bingley by his side.

“Punch will suit me as well, if you will excuse me,” Mr. Darcy said.

Mama lowered her handkerchief. “If you are going, Mr. Darcy, and as you are not yet dancing, I am certain my Kitty would care for punch, and when you return with it, we will discuss what we may do about your lack of a partner.”

Mr. Darcy’s face pinched.

“Let me show you to the refreshments,” Elizabeth offered quickly.

His nod seemed reluctant but he gave it. They set out after Thomas and Miss Bingley.

Halfway to the punch table, Elizabeth lightly touched Mr. Darcy’s arm to gain his attention, then drew him aside. She halted by a row of unoccupied chairs set against the wall and he regarded her leerily, appearing quite perplexed.

He did have a knack for being rather stern, the effect enhanced by his strong jaw, broad shoulders, and height. Elizabeth wondered if he always held his face the way he did now, with lines of thought creasing his brow. She had the strangest compulsion to smooth them. “I would like to apologize for the behavior of my family, and of myself,” she said, wondering if those lines would ease. “Miss Bingley was correct that my desire to see Jane dance with Mr. Bingley stemmed in great measure from my desire to ensure she was not asked by another. I assure you that while I am not bashful, I am not usually so very forward either.”

“No, I cannot picture you as bashful,” he said slowly. “Nor, based on our brief acquaintance, did I imagine you to be ill-mannered.”

“I truly do apologize.”

“May I assume the gentleman who evoked such extreme necessity is Mr. Collins?”

Elizabeth studied Mr. Darcy’s face, trying to deduce why he asked. He’d shown marked disgust when he sighted her cousin earlier, but had that disgust been a ruse? Being new to the region and with him and Mr. Bingley seeming so upright, she couldn’t quite believe the two were in league with Mr. Collins. Yet, so many of the gentlemen of her acquaintance bowed to the man, some out of fear, like her Uncle Phillips, but others out of avarice for the funds his corruption brought them. It would not shock her to add two more to the list.

A sick, sinking feeling swirled in her gut, for she, Mary, and Jane already held such hopes for Mr. Bingley. Elizabeth tamped her worry down. She had no reason to suspect Mr. Darcy of holding any regard for her horrible cousin.

Except that he and Mr. Bingley had been in Mr. Collins’ office that day they’d stepped out onto the street, and then Mr. Bingley had let Netherfield Park. Elizabeth had assumed because he was smitten with her sister, but what sort of reason was that for a gentleman to take on a new residence? Based on her experience, gentlemen were self-serving and avaricious. Could she truly hope that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were any different?