It was the second week in February when the two young ladies set out together from Gracechurch Street for the town of Hertford. The drive was not as talkative as it could have been, and it was not only due to the fact that their uncle had, most thoughtfully, sent a manservant with them; both sisters had some rest to catch up with and a lot to think upon.

It had been a week since Charles’ proposal, and not a day had passed without Jane seeing Mr. Bingley by daylight and by candlelight. Their engagement was not official and he could not very well stay from before breakfast until after supper everyday; yet his afternoon calls were always far beyond the proper half-hour and Mrs. Gardiner had gladly invited him twice to partake their late meals. Jane smiled, thinking her aunt couldn’t have done more anyway, since every other night had been busy with entertainments.

How lucky that Charles had also been invited to the Caine-Jackson musicale! She had seen his eyes lighten when she had entered the music-room and blushing, had smiled at his haste to be by her side. Of course Lizzy had observed as much; and her, “With luck there will be no footman with a tray in his path…” had only reinforced her grin. She didn’t know how she had managed to remain poised during the recital. He had been so attentive to her, whispering in her ear every title of every song, showing her on her program what song they were hearing, commenting softly – still in murmurs right by her ear – on the purity of the soprano’s voice or the pianist’s talent. Of course, she had relished in the feeling of his breath on her neck; all the more since she had had some wicked difficulties with her hearing that particular evening, and he had felt compelled to repeat tirelessly his comments. She also held her program to him several times to be sure she hadn’t been mistaken and he had very obligingly placed her gloved finger on the appropriate indication. She was wearing a dreamy mask, remembering how delightful it had been to be the object of his flirting and to flirt back.

It was amazing how they understood each other by then. True, they had spoken a great deal when together, since due to a constant chaperoning imposed by Mrs. Gardiner, they could not partake in more physical yet as lovely activities; but he had mostly claimed his unworthiness of her and she had mostly begged him to believe she had forgiven him and she had her share of the blame. Overall, she felt they had resolved those feelings, but since it was so sweet to hear him reiterate that she was the most perfect living creature, she'd resolved upon keeping an open discussion. She blissfully sighed, remembering another bit of their exchanges.

“Jane, you’re so accomplished! I wasn’t aware you stitched.”

“I love you too, Charles.”

"Good gracious!" cried she, realising how long the silent moment had been, "it seems but a day or two since you arrived! – and yet how many things happened!"

"A great many indeed," said her companion with a happy sigh, “and there are still many to come.”

Jane blushed. “Charles told me he would call on Papa this evening…” she couldn’t repress a sad sigh.

Elizabeth laughed. “Come now Jane, I’m sure it’s hard not to see him but it’s not for that long! You knew we could not travel with him in his carriage! And you have me for yourself alone! You should not sigh so loudly, I may be offended.”

Jane giggled. “I’m sorry Lizzy… I do enjoy being with you, and I’m so glad you were here to witness all these events. Your teasing made it real…”

Elizabeth giggled back, “Oh! If you’re not convinced of your good luck, just wait ‘til Mama learns you’re engaged. There’s no way you could have doubts after that!”

Laughing, Jane could not but scold sweetly her sister. After a while, she resumed their conversation, “I was not merely talking about Charles earlier. Just think about how many evenings we’ve been out! I particularly enjoyed Much ado about nothing; I found the actress who played Hero wonderful, indeed.”

“’Tis true the play was quite good. I liked Beatrice better – but then ‘tis the character I prefer in the play!”

Silence fell anew in the carriage as the ladies’ minds brought them back to the theatre. Jane had been sitting by her beau and, in the dim light, had enjoyed the entertainment with her hand in Charles’. Not that it had been a quiet embrace, his thumb had tickled her palm, then drawn hundreds of path from her wrist to each of her fingers tip; she had opened wide her hand; he had turned it over and kept entwining and releasing her fingers, each time caressing the whole length of them with his. And in spite of the gloves, she had once again relished in the growing pleasant need he managed to create in her. Fortunately they had been sitting in the front row of their box, with Lizzy by Charles’ side and her aunt, her uncle and Mr. Darcy behind them; and as engrossed as was her sister in the play, Jane rather doubted she had been aware of anything.

Elizabeth’s thoughts were reliving the same evening, her face lit by a smile. She hadn’t spoken with Jane about her little hand-play with her fiancé; she hadn’t been prying, but Mr. Bingley’s complete absence of reaction at some witty lines had drawn her attention. It had seemed a delightful game! Her mind wandered then to another occupant of the box. It had been the last time they had seen Mr. Darcy before his departure to Pemberley, and she felt something curiously akin to missing him. He had left three days after their outing in the Park but, until then, he had come with Mr. Bingley for his daily calls and had even had supper with them once. Truthfully, if only for these two days, he had been as present as her sister’s betrothed; and when she tried to fairly evaluate where his attentions had been, she could not but admit th at, without snubbing her aunt and uncle, he had bestowed on her a great deal of consideration. She had stopped trying to reconcile the old Mr. Darcy – the aloof and haughty one – with the new Mr. Darcy – who had almost flirted with Mrs. Gardiner, to her delight and amusement; and, instead, had observed and… enjoyed… his courteous and charming behaviour.

But how can I understand what happened at the theatre? Do I read too much in his gestures? Is my imagination getting the best of me? And why would it want to make me believe that? Elizabeth shuddered and absentmindedly rubbed the back of her neck, at the base of her bonnet. This was the place where, during most of the play, she had felt prickles, as if her nape was under attentive scrutiny. This was also the place where she had distinctly felt the tickle of soft hair, then a breath of warm air, as a deep voice whispered, “I beg your pardon”. She had afterwards understood that Mr. Darcy, who was sitting just behind her, had been retrieving his program from the floor; yet the box was not large and he was a very tall gentleman, she was fairly sure he could have done the same without b ending so much… It was so difficult to imagine Mr. Darcy flirting – and with her, of all people– yet how could it be comprehended otherwise?

She chose to stop pondering his actions. She didn’t know when she would see him next, as abrupt as had been his departure to his estate; and with so few hours spent together – at least since he had decided to present a more pleasing face to the world – she didn’t think she could make a fair judgement. Time had proven that she had grossly mistaken his character once; she was keen on proving – even if only to herself – that she had become more careful.

As they drew near the appointed inn where Mr. Bennet's carriage was to meet them, Elizabeth remembered the tale they had made up to explain her sudden departure to London. They spent the uneventful trip in their father’s carriage trying to elaborate a story that wouldn’t be too untrue – so as not to offend Jane’s feelings – and yet wouldn’t jeopardise too much her secret. After all, if Jane’s heart had been truly wounded, so this unexpected illness had not been such a lie, and her recovery was true.

When they alighted from the carriage, even their father had come to the door to greet them. Their mother and two younger sisters were loudly commenting on Jane’s good looks, Mary uttered something nobody listened to and Mr. Bennet only smiled, a wink towards his Lizzy indicating to her he was very glad to see her back and aware and happy of the London events. They managed to flee quickly to their own rooms against the promise that they would tell them all very soon about the newest fashions.

As soon as the ladies were gathered in the drawing room for tea, Lydia burst out with her most excellent piece of gossip. “It’s about dear Wickham! There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King. There's for you! She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool; gone to stay. Wickham is safe!”

Mary, who had been bustling with the same news, added, "She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him."

"But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side," said Jane.

Lydia snorted, "I am sure there is not on his. I will answer for it he never cared three straws about her. Who could about such a nasty little freckled thing?"

Elizabeth caught her sister’s eye. If Lydia herself had noticed Mr. Wickham‘s lack of interest in Mary King, surely there was something wrong in his behaviour.

Mrs. Bennet, who had been shunned by her youngest, broke Mary’s comment about looks not being the essence of goodness. “Oh! Lydia! Who cares about Mr. Wickham when such wonderful news has been circulating for a few days…”

Before Lydia or Kitty could interrupt her, she carried on, “Mr. Bingley is coming down! ‘Tis quite sure, you know, for Mrs. Nicholls was in Meryton three nights ago; your Aunt Philips saw her passing by, and went out herself on purpose to know the truth of it; and she told her that it was certain true. He comes down tomorrow at the latest, very likely today. She was going to the butcher's, she told her, on purpose to order in some meat for yesterday, and she has got three couple of ducks just fit to be killed."

Jane blushed crimson and exchanged an enquiring look with Lizzy. What was she supposed to do? Charles had told her he would come before supper to ask her father’s consent; was she to divulge the truth right away to her mother or would it be wisest to wait for her betrothed’s call? She didn’t have time to make her mind up, as Mrs. Bennet had still not finished.

“Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. I reminded my sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. But it is quite certain he is coming!"

Just as Jane had decided to relate the conclusion of the London happenings, a solid knock was heard upon the front door of the house. Then, much to everyone’s – but the two oldest Bennet daughters’ - dismay, Mrs. Hill didn’t appear to introduce the caller. Jane took a deep breath in and started to reveal her news.

Mrs. Hill knocked softly and entered the library. “Mr. Bingley to see you, Sir.”

“Good evening to you Mr. Bennet,” said the gentleman as he ventured inside the room and closed the door behind him.

Mr. Bingley dreaded the moment to come, as he had since he had proposed to Jane. Well aware that he would normally be considered a most suitable match – almost an unexpected one, he feared his abandonment of Jane would render him unworthy in Mr. Bennet's opinion. His usual eloquence and ease of speaking completely fled him at the moment when he needed it the most.

“Mr. Bingley! What a surprise! What could draw you back in Hertfordshire in the depth of the winter?”

Since Mr. Bennet had been kept informed by his brother since Jane’s and Mr. Bingley’s unexpected meeting, he perfectly knew that his daughter and her suitor had come to an understanding, and he had been expecting the gentleman. In fact, he’d rather thought that Mr. Bingley would have waited until the morrow for this call; but, from what Mr. Gardiner had told him, the young man was nothing if not utterly determined to call Jane his wife as soon as he could. A visit on the very day of his return was, after all, highly commendable.

Under his elder’s close scrutiny, Mr. Bingley stuttered, “Mr. Bennet, Sir, I’m very happy to see you.”

The old gentleman chuckled, “And so am I, Sir.”

Mr. Bingley’s embarrassment increased. “In fact, Sir, I came here with a purpose…”

The slightly ironical pose of Mr. Bennet’s eyebrow eventually totally disconcerted his companion. For a few awkward seconds, his throat appeared unable to manage the words he was pronouncing. Mr. Bennet took as much pity on him as he could.

“Come now, Mr. Bingley! You’ve not come all this way to show me you were such a great imitator of fishes.”

Seeing the young man’s eyes bulge, Mr. Bennet mildly berated himself, and, taking it upon himself, he went to the decanter and gently asked his companion, “May I offer you some port? After such a long trip, you must be parched. And please, do sit down!”

Mr. Bingley fell heavily in the closest armchair, nodded and eventually managed to ask, “You know I arrived today?”

“Indeed I do, Sir! The news of your return has been bristling in the Hertfordshire drawing rooms for a few days now. Jane’s and Lizzy’s coming back went almost unnoticed because of you.”

Slightly uneasy as he knew news of his departure had been travelling as fast a few months ago, he took an unhealthy gulp of his drink and replied, “I’m honoured, Sir. But then, the neighbourhood has always been very friendly…”

Was it due to the liquor on his empty stomach? Was it the teasing light in Mr. Bennet’s eye? Was he just emboldened by his newfound confidence or by his companion’s last comment? Whatever the reason, he surprised even himself by continuing with, “I must say that I’ve always been more than welcome by all the mothers of the area.”

Mr. Bennet’s first reaction to this so un-Bingley-like reply was a very un-Bennet-like gaping mouth. Then he roared out a violent burst of laughter and sat heavily in his chair. Mr. Bingley was soon laughing as hard as him, and it was a while before the conversation could resume. Since the ice had so efficiently been broken, it went on more freely.

“Well, Sir. I believe I still owe you the reason for my call. I’ll put it bluntly. I wish to marry your daughter Jane, and I’d be very honoured if you’d consent to the match.”

Mr. Bennet smiled warmly, “I cannot say this comes as a surprise and I see no reason to hesitate. I suppose she has agreed?”

“Indeed she has, Sir. A week ago, on the 7th of February.”

Mr. Bennet’s grin widened, “So I heard, so I heard.”

“You did?” Mr. Bingley asked, bemused that the news travelled that fast.

“Oh! Do not worry! ‘Tis not yet public news in the area; indeed, Mrs. Bennet herself is…” Mr. Bennet’s speech was interrupted by a loud shriek resounding through the house. He raised an acknowledging eyebrow, “… was not aware of it. No, ‘tis my brother Gardiner who informed me of his meeting with you. He even went as far as seeking my agreement on his decision.” Mr. Bennet looked almost sternly at his future son. “I trust Jane. She hasn’t got Lizzy’s quickness, but she’s a smart girl. If she consented, there must have been a good reason for your untimely disappearance, so I see no reason to interfere.”

Mr. Bingley was torn between trying to explain their misunderstanding and shame over his lack of confidence at the time. He chose not to dwell on the subject and instead, just asked, “So I have your consent?”

Mr. Bennet stood and held out his hand. “You have my consent.”

Mr. Bingley popped up from the armchair, eagerly took the proffered hand and shook it vehemently.

“Very well, very well. Let’s go now! I’m sure Jane’s impatient to see you. “

As Mr. Bingley dashed out of the library, Mr. Bennet sedately followed, “And I’m sure Mrs. Bennet will be thrilled to see you too!”

“Mama, it is indeed quite certain Mr. Bingley is coming. Actually, he is now in Father’s library.”

Kitty’s strident, “What?” startled Lydia who had been looking out of the window to find clues about the identity of the caller. Mary didn’t even wince, her eyes firmly focused on her book.

Mrs. Bennet only replied, “Don’t be silly, Child. It’s not even sure he’s arrived in Netherfield yet; he cannot be with your father!”

Elizabeth only smiled encouragingly at her sister.

“Indeed he is, Mama,” Jane insisted. “He told me he would call on Papa this very evening.”

“Nonsense, Jane!” Mrs. Bennet answered, her voice edging its highest pitch. “Do not vex me! How could he have told you that? You’d have had to see him!”

Elizabeth looked with amazement at her mother. Could it be that she could not grasp the implications of Jane’s replies?

“Mother, I did see him.”

Something in her eldest’s tone made Mrs. Bennet realise she was missing something. She turned towards Elizabeth. “She did see him?” asked she, unbelieving hope in her voice.

Elizabeth only nodded.

“He’s here to ask for Father’s consent,” Jane went on sweetly.

“What?” Mrs. Bennet shrieked louder and higher than ever before. She was already on her feet, trying to have Jane stand up too. Had she been able to focus on anything but her astounded overwhelming delight, she’d have seen the heart-felt happiness that lightened her newfound favourite daughter’s eyes.

“We happened to meet a fortnight ago… He proposed… I consented… I’m so happy, Mama!”

Mrs. Bennet was by then forcefully embracing Jane. “Oh! My dear, dear Jane! I’m so happy too! I am sure I shan't get a wink of sleep all night. I knew how it would be. I always said it must be so, at last. I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing! I remember, as soon as ever I saw him, when he first came into Hertfordshire last year, I thought how likely it was that you should come together. Oh! He is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!"

For once, all her daughters shared her joy – even if more quietly for some of them. Jane was soon surrounded by everyone save Lizzy, and her eyes grew misty at the pleasure her news gave to all her dear family.

Even though Mrs. Bennet’s rapture hadn’t receded when Mr. Bingley entered the drawing room, his broad-smiling appearance strengthened it anew.

“My dear, dear Mr. Bingley! How good it is to see you!”

Mr. Bennet quietly closed the door and winced at the loudness of his wife’s greeting. “Mrs. Bennet,” said he nonetheless. His failure at catching his wife’s attention – one of many – made him tap on her shoulder. “Mrs. Bennet! I believe I have an announcement to make.”

This quietened Mrs. Bennet immediately. “Oh yes! Of course!”

She demurely sat back in her chair, everyone but the gentlemen copying her. She focused her attention on her husband. Lydia and Kitty were not so quiet; their father shushed them with a warning glance.

The look of pure adoration Jane sent Charles was answered by a look of sheer happiness and utter confidence. Mr. Bennet observed the exchange and put as much enthusiasm as he could mutter in his speech.

“Jane, Mr. Bingley has asked and been granted my permission to marry you.” As he saw her wipe away something from the corner of her eye, he asked teasingly, “I hope this is not unhappy news?”

“Of course, it is not!” burst out Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth could not repress a giggle. Her father acknowledged it and excused himself, “I believe my work is done, here.”

It was an evening of no common delight to them all; the satisfaction of Jane’s mind gave a glow of such sweet animation to her face, as made her look handsomer than ever. Kitty simpered and smiled, and hoped her turn was coming soon. Mrs. Bennet could not give her consent or speak her approbation in terms warm enough to satisfy her feelings, though she talked to Bingley of nothing else for half an hour; and when Mr. Bennet joined them at supper, his voice and manner plainly showed how really happy he was.

Mrs. Bennet eventually found a subject of deep discontentment – although she tried to voice it not to offend too much her intended son-in-law.

“Jane, you cannot be serious. I’m sorry Mr. Bingley, but I cannot plan a wedding in barely more than a month. Think about the trousseau, the wedding dress, the wedding breakfast… And what about the flowers? There are not flowers to be found at this time of the year! No, Jane, Mr. Bingley, I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait until after Easter.”

Jane and Charles had chosen their wedding date taking into account Charles’ eagerness, Lizzy’s planned trip to Kent and Jane’s forecasting her mother’s opinion. Jane tried to explain her mother that Elizabeth could not disappoint Charlotte but she wouldn’t hear of it.

“Who cares about Charlotte Collins?” she grunted.

“Well, Mama, I care,” replied Elizabeth.

Seeing that his soon-to-be mother was about to go on about delaying the chosen date, Mr. Bingley interfered, “Mrs. Bennet. I would not have anyone of my acquaintance disappointed because of my marriage. And anyway, I am quite determined to have Miss Bennet as Netherfield’s mistress as soon as I can.”

Mrs. Bennet was so eager to please him that she tried to listen to him; and what she heard rather pleased her.

“Jane will be so good as Netherfield’s mistress! I’m sure the house needs her.”

Elizabeth winced at the implication that Caroline had not been such a good one.

“Not that Mrs. Nicholls is not a good housekeeper, mind you… But a home is never as well kept than when there’s a real lady of the house.”

Mr. Bingley, still slightly surprised at the efficiency of his voicing his opinion, pushed his luck further, “Exactly my point Mrs. Bennet! Which is why I really think we should marry on the 19th of March and why… I’d like Miss Bennet to come to Netherfield so that she may say what changes she wishes.”

“Aye my Dear! You must go! And I must go to help you! You’re terribly right, Mr. Bingley! Shall we go tomorrow?”

“Mama…” Elizabeth tried to interfere.

“With a wedding date so close, there’s no time to loose!”

Jane smiled her agreement at the scheme, her betrothed beamed at the confirmation that he would have her as his wife when he wished it.

“Of course, Mrs. Bennet. I’d be very happy to welcome you and Miss Bennet for tea; Miss Elizabeth, would you like to come too?”

Elizabeth frowned at the proposal. Was the confident new Mr. Bingley still mildly afraid of his future mother in law? She smiled, “I’d be delighted, Sir.”

The younger sisters soon began to make interest with Mr. Bingley for objects of happiness, which he and Jane might in future be able to dispense. Mary petitioned for the use of the library at Netherfield; and Kitty begged very hard for a few balls there every winter.

“I have a grander idea,” interfered boldly Lydia, “Mr. Bingley must give an engagement ball! It has been so long since we’ve been dancing…”

Jane and Elizabeth gasped at her audacity.

Although the idea did take his fancy, Mr. Bingley knew that, without his sister, he was not up to such a challenge. “Well, Miss Lydia, ‘tis a very good idea, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” Seeing the youngest pout, he added, “But I promise that we’ll have a ball at Netherfield after the wedding!”

Mrs. Bennet had been thinking about the best way to proclaim her good luck to her neighbours. If a ball could not be put together, a dinner was exactly the thing to replace it. She imposed the idea, decided that it would happen two days hence and ordered Mary to fetch a pen and paper to start planning the menu and the guest-list. Jane and Charles were so engrossed in celebrating their reunion that neither reacted; Elizabeth did it on their behalves.

“Mama, the engagement dinner cannot be held without Mr. Bingley’s sisters. You cannot choose the date all by yourself!”

Hearing his name snapped Mr. Bingley’s attention back to the drawing room conversation. “Oh! My sisters will be here; they are to leave London tomorrow with Mr. Hurst. We shall not delay the dinner because of them.”

Mrs. Bennet addressed a silent I-knew-it look at her daughter; she would have been more vocal, if not for Mr. Bingley’s ongoing speech.

“Mr. Darcy should be here too. I received a letter this morning; he said that his business had been resolved before he arrived in Derbyshire and that he would leave immediately to come here. I expect him by tomorrow night.”

Fortunately, Elizabeth’s sudden blush at the news went unnoticed save by Mr. Bingley. Well, Darcy… What would you make of this reaction? You do well in coming, Man…

Thus, he barely heard Mrs. Bennet grunting, “Well, any friend of yours will always be welcome here, to be sure…”

As the evening grew late, and despite – or because – of the excitement around the engagement news, yawns started to become more frequent. Mr. Bingley reluctantly took his leave for the night, and was seen to the door by the whole family. Mrs. Bennet contrived to have just Jane see him to his carriage; Elizabeth grinned. At least, under her mother’s chaperoning, Jane and Mr. Bingley would be able to secure private moments much more easily.

“Jane, I’m truly the happiest man on Earth. I cannot wait for tomorrow…”

“I cannot wait either to see you but to enter Netherfield as its future mistress… ‘Tis so frightening!”

“Jane,” he scolded her tenderly, “you’ll be perfect as Netherfield’s mistress; your mother certainly knows how to keep a house and you help her so much! And anyway, Mrs. Nicholls has been here forever and, she will be a great help to you. The only thing that matters is that you’ll soon be by my side.”

Jane’s eyes showed him how appreciated his confidence was and how much she agreed with his last statement. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Sleep well, my love,” said he as the footman closed the door of the carriage.

When he was gone, Mr. Bennet turned to his daughter, and said, "Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman."

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.

"You are a good girl;" he replied, "and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well together. Your tempers are by no means unlike. You are each of you so complying, that nothing will ever be resolved on; so easy, that every servant will cheat you; and so generous, that you will always exceed your income."

"I hope not so. Imprudence or thoughtlessness in money matters would be unpardonable in me."

"Exceed their income! My dear Mr. Bennet," cried his wife, "what are you talking of? Why, he has four or five thousand a year, and very likely more."

Mr. Bennet had already fled to his library and her daughters were heading for their rooms. Without any ear to listen to her, she mumbled to herself about all the things she’d have to do on the morrow and in the coming month. So many things to do, so little time; she hoped her nerves would bear it!

Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 23 - R rated

Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 23 - PG13