Chapter Text
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that an expensive, single-family home in posession of six bedrooms and five bathrooms must be in want of an expensive, single family to occupy it. For months, Netherfield, a home so old and grand that it had been around since the time when houses were given names, had sat vacant with no indication of ever being sold. So, when the large, red "For Sale!" sign was finally removed from the front lawn, a buzz of speculation began to circulate among the Bennets' neighbors.
"Did you see?" Mrs. Bennet shouted from the kitchen, "Did you see that Netherfield finally sold?"
Mr. Bennet, who had been hiding out in his home office, gave one last mournful look at the large stack of books on 19th Century America sitting on his desk. Planning his lectures would have to wait. Sighing, he ventured forth to the kitchen.
"What was that?" he asked absentmindedly. There would be no peace in the house until he heard his wife's news. Never mind the impending start of the semester or the three separate articles he was currently revising.
Mrs. Bennet scrubbed vigorously at a sheet pan in the sink. "Well, Amelia Long just called to tell me that the sign is gone from the yard," she said in a rush.
"Mm." Mr. Bennet acknowledged. Little else was required of him, though his nonchalance was not endearing him much to his wife.
"You could at least act like you care, Thomas. Don't you want to know who's moving in?" she demanded. The suspense, it seemed was getting to her; she'd gone in for a third round of scrubbing and rinsing the same pan.
He shrugged. "Clearly, you want to tell me. And I won't object to hearing it," Mr. Bennet said.
With a self-satisfied, conspiratorial smile, Mrs. Bennet spun around to face her husband. A spray of soapy water narrowly missed Mr. Bennet's arm. "Amelia says she saw a couple come and meet with the realtor a few days ago and they absolutely loved the place. And they were driving a black Mustang, so..."
There were two things Mrs. Bennet loved above all else: being first to know the varied goings-on of her neighborhood, and speculating about the relative wealth of everybody she came in contact with. Her conversation with Amelia Long was evidently satisfactory on both counts.
"Well, that explains everything, my dear. What were their names?" Mr. Bennet asked.
"The Bingleys," Mrs. Bennet replied. "And they have two daughters and a son—all three in high school—which, of course, is perfect for our girls." She said this with the same air of significance that she'd adopted when discussing the Bingley's car.
Brevity was not one of Mrs. Bennet's talents, and Mr. Bennet knew that. When he asked, "What does that have to do with our girls?" it was not out of curiosity, but necessity; he only hoped to move the conversation along. Only then could he return to his study, undisturbed.
She looked smug as she took the bait and pretended to wash another dish. "For one thing, it wouldn't kill our girls to make friends outside of the Lucas family—especially a family that has money like the Bingleys clearly do," she said loftily. "And as for the boy... well."
It was with ill-concealed amusement that Mr. Bennet replied, "So, a wealthy family moved here just so our daughters will have a few friends, maybe secure a prom date or two? How very generous of them."
"I'm not saying that's the only reason they're here. But believe me, that boy will be head-over-heels for our Jane in no time. So, we have to go over and introduce ourselves. Soon."
Here, a strange gleam lit up Mrs. Bennet's eyes. It was a look Mr. Bennet hadn't seen in a number of years; certainly not since she'd successfully convinced her aging parents to put a down-payment on a timeshare in Florida... under her name. Their deaths (and the subsequent reading of their wills) had necessitated selling the timeshare, but for several years she considered it her finest achievement to have secured a vacation home with no cost to herself.
In other words, Mrs. Bennet was scheming.
Mr. Bennet knew better than to put a stop to her plans. "Well, you feel free to introduce yourself at any time you please. That Bingley boy can have his pick of the litter."
"That would be quite the first impression," Mrs. Bennet scoffed. "I'm not nearly extroverted enough for that. Besides, this kind of thing requires a little bit of delicacy."
Although he hummed his understanding, Mr. Bennet cast about in his mind for even one situation in which his dear wife managed to demonstrate delicacy. "Just be sure to put in a good word for Lizzie," he finally said. This would nettle Mrs. Bennet, which is why he said it. He couldn't stop her from concocting plans for their daughters and this unknown neighbor, but he could at least get a good laugh out of acting purposely obtuse.
And it worked. It always did. Mrs. Bennet bristled as she chided, "Stop playing favorites. Jane is much prettier than Lizzie, anyway."
"At least Lizzie has some sense," he replied, sincerely grateful that he could say that of even one of his children. He had lost hope of instilling any sort of sagacity in his youngest three daughters.
In typical fashion, Mrs. Bennet began to rub her temples as though fending off a headache. She often took pleasure in playing sick when she knew she stood at an impasse with her husband. "I feel a migraine coming on," she said shortly. "You've never had any respect for my nerves."
"Dear, you know that's not true," Mr. Bennet said. "After all, you and your nerves have been dear friends of mine our whole marriage."
Mrs. Bennet sniffed. "You have no idea how much pain I'm in," she said petulantly.
"I can only wish you a speedy recovery, my dear. We need you alive and well for all the other wealthy families moving into our neighborhood."
Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Mrs. Bennet inhaled sharply. "Well, it'll do me no good, since you refuse to come with me to visit any of them," she said.
Mr. Bennet smiled mildly in response, waving over his shoulder as he retreated to his office. As payment, Mrs. Bennet refused to speak to him for the rest of the evening. Mr. Bennet found he could bear the silence rather well.