Page 37 of Companions of Their Youth
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.
“Youmustcall. Youmust! 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 youdid 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.
“Youwhat?” 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.”
