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“They have not lived there for more than a decade. When my agent suggested a sale, the idea struck them as fortuitous.”

“Mr Bingley willingly gave up his right of first refusal, then?”

“I am afraid I talked him around, Elizabeth. He has no interest in land, and when I pointed this out, he owned he would much rather buy a better house in London and escape the city in summer by going to Bath. But in truth, will not your sister Jane be more comfortable marrying this summer without Bingley being underfoot?”

We subsided into small talk, and on the following day, Mr Darcy arrived for the sole purpose of securing the harnesses on his carriage horses, handing Mary and me up, and riding escort until we reached the outskirts of London.

There, he came to my window, tipped his hat, and with my heart swooning painfully, I went home to Longbourn.

My wedding, set for the twenty-second of May, caused no small uproar in the neighbourhood in which I grew up.

That Netherfield Park was ready for my inspection as the future mistress of the place by the eighth of the month, only added to the notoriety of my upcoming nuptials.

The general interest, the salacious glee of the gossiping matrons who anticipated a great wedding, and even the bustling expectation of the shopkeepers, threw my mother into predictable tumult, and thinking to put her mind elsewhere, I took her to see the house—not as a visitor but as mother of its mistress.

Expecting the worst, I was gratified by the sudden change in my mother’s demeanour when the great doors opened.

She met Mrs Nicholls with a modicum of dignity, and upon going from room to room, looking into cupboards and closets, and picking over the place from top to bottom, she was, for once, ready to be pleased by everything.

When we ended in the kitchen, the reason for her complacence became clear because she said with a sly glance at me, “Lizzy, I have been thinking that your wedding breakfast at home will be a terrible squeeze.”

I wrote to my intended.

Dear Mr Darcy,

I am sorry to call you by such a formal appellation still, but having been in love with Mr Darcy for some while, I do not yet fancy writing a love letter to a stranger named Fitzwilliam.

My news is just what you would expect. Longbourn is very noisy, my father is determined to be contrary about everything, and Mama’s nerves are so delicate that we have taken to mixing up jars of a tonic sent to us by Jane’s betrothed.

The highlight of this turn is to Jane’s benefit, for yesterday, some mention of that ‘other’ wedding on the fifth of June earned only a dismissive wave of Mama’s hand—a trifling by comparison to what spectacle of grandeur we face a fortnight from today.

But this is not the reason for my letter, my love.

Mama and I have settled that our wedding breakfast will be held at Netherfield Park, that the thing will need to be ‘done up right,’ if we are to hold up our heads at all.

And now it falls to me to assure you that you may safely indulge whatever excesses you wish in regards to Netherfield.

In exchange for these concessions to my mother’s requests, I have put forward my fond hope that my aunt Gardiner will serve as your hostess until I am free to take up my place.

My thinking is that we shall enjoy a few tolerable entertainments, and hopefully, we shall be spared evenings at Longbourn altogether.

All that remains is to admit that you were very right to purchase Netherfield, though I trust you are too much the gentleman to openly gloat over having won the point.

Your very own devoted fiend,

Elizabeth

Darcy

At last! I had been given something meaningful to do.

Summoning my town butler and housekeeper, I barked out a series of orders, and by the day after Elizabeth’s letter arrived, three carts loaded went forth from London to Hertfordshire.

Thither also went three of my maids, my cook’s assistant, and the under-butler, a young man shaping up well who I thought should be given the job of head man at Netherfield.

It was with gratification that a few days thereafter I received another letter from my love. After a tender greeting, she wrote:

Clearly, I did not know what I asked of you, or did I imagine the depth and breadth of your capacity to provide. Netherfield Park is positively turned upside down and inside out, and my mother has never crowed more loudly of her cleverness in securing you for one of her daughters.

Mr Thomas, my first butler, is directing the arrangements with deference to my opinion which in itself is a novelty, and the village is in a high state of readiness on account of the extra work many of our people have secured.

You will be greeted in the style of conquering hero when you come to marry me, and if the cottagers’ children do not throw flowers in front of your carriage as you progress towards the estate, I shall be very surprised.

But the sugared plum on this cake has been the genius of your management of my father. You would stare to witness his serenity when subjected to Mama’s raptures over your excellence. I bow down to you, sir, for you are a wonder.

I smiled in satisfaction, for I had been rather clever with regard to Mr Bennet.

I had found Mr Gardiner at his office immediately after reading Elizabeth’s letter, and together with one of his clerks, we went into the heart of the city.

We scouted the second-hand booksellers which abound in certain quarters, and in the space of a few hours, I had amassed a modest haul of books, three hundred twenty in all, with which to furnish Netherfield’s library.

I then sent Mr Bennet a letter, asking if he would condescend to look over the collection and direct its placement on the shelves.

Flattery was not my strong suit, but I managed to hint at my confidence that he would know best what to do.

In the coming week, I spent my time before leaving for Hertfordshire with my man of business, my banker, and with a handful of my London friends.

After filling every morning with the necessary work of securing another estate, of looking carefully at my accounts, and adjusting my investments to secure them for the future, I went to my club for the afternoons.

There I met Lord Cobham and spoke to him for an hour about horses.

I also dined on a Wednesday with Creston and Richardson, known to me from my days at Cambridge, and on the following day, I listened to Charles Middleton’s insights with regards to European movements in the colonial world.

In all these encounters, I wondered if they would be my last—if after marrying down , in the prevailing wrong-headed sense of things, I would be set aside by men I valued.

The sober fact that I may very well lose friends I countered with remembrances of Elizabeth Bennet’s fiery eyes or the way in which she carried a gown, from her shoulders to the ground.

A queen born could not possibly move more gracefully.

Then thinking that I must sooner or later see my uncle, I went to his townhouse.

“What is this about Anne?” the earl grumbled at me.

“She has no partiality for me, and I have none for her, sir.”

“Partiality! Harrumph! Who has need of partiality in a marriage? But perhaps you could do better.”

“Perhaps I could. I hear Langford lost heavily at cards last night.”

This constituted the rhythm of my visit.

When my uncle brought up the advantageous match he hoped for from me, I countered with some on dit I had heard about my cousin, his heir.

We parted politely but readily, and I went to see the countess.

She too, having heard I had decided against Anne de Bourgh, was in mind of my marriage and what she could get out of it.

“What of Barnstaple’s daughter?”

“Who?”

“Eleanor. The young lady I introduced you to at dinner when last you came.”

“I am sorry, Aunt. I do not remember her at all. But who are you thinking of for Langford?”

I continued to be stupid when my prospects were brought up and sharply curious of my cousin’s fated match.

That my aunt was having difficulty finding someone rich enough to help them financially and foolish enough to attach themselves to a spendthrift did not make my probing comfortable for her, and when at last I concluded my call, I felt a little relief that, should they cut me, I would be spared their incessant grasping.

By the time Richard arrived from Pirbright to take me to be married, I was fully and philosophically acquiescent to the consequences of marrying Elizabeth Bennet.

The whole lot could go hang if they did not like it, and with that resolution, came a lightness of spirit I had not known since childhood.

We arrived in Hertfordshire, and reflecting my state of newfound liberty, I threw the doors open to the neighbourhood.

I hosted Sir William Lucas and his family with a sumptuous dinner.

The Bennets came too, of course, and Mrs Gardiner managed to move lightly between the rival matrons by complimenting them by turns.

Elizabeth arrived in an envelope of pale gold silk and smote me anew, and even Richard looked admiringly at her radiant glow.

“Will I do, Mr Darcy?” she said to me when I managed to pull her away from Georgiana to greet her privately.

“Will you do what, Miss? Floor me with your effulgence? I am blinded, my love.”

“What do you think of the house?”

“What house?” I asked, still looking into her eyes.

“Your humble country dwelling, sir. The hovel in which you will be required to camp from time to time when rubbing elbows with your rustic relations.”

I looked around, and not wishing to betray that it was, in comparison to Pemberley, a very modest house, I commended her taste.

“How are things progressing for your mother’s breakfast?” I asked.