Page 54 of Colour My World
Chapter 17
Hertfordshire, August 1811
The fields stretched in measured rows, golden with late summer grain, awaiting the harvest. The scent of cut hay mingled with the tang of churned earth, freshly turned in readiness for the autumn planting. Hedges, thick with bramble and the last blackberries of the season, lined the narrow lanes while fruit weighed heavy on the trees in estate orchards. Though still abundant, the land breathed with the quiet anticipation of change.
At Longbourn, the servants moved through the slow rhythm of late summer. The Bennets stored preserves, trimmed the hedgerows, and spoke with tenants. Assured of a good yield, Mr Bennet planned for the hiring fair in Meryton, where labourers would secure employment for the coming year. The evenings carried a crispness not yet autumnal but a warning of its approach.
Socially, the neighbourhood was in fine fest. The peak of summer visits had passed; families who had spent the warmer months travelling had returned. The Lucas family entertained frequently as Sir William clung to the season’s remains with his customary optimism. Mrs Long’s nieces had visited from Ware but had since departed, and Miss Pope, the new curate’s sister, had made herself known among the more respectable families.
At Lucas Lodge, speculation over a newcomer from the north had become a favourite topic, though no one knew anything definitive. Lady Lucas assured her friends that a gentleman of fortune never remained unwed for long. Charlotte listened without comment.
At Longbourn, the talk was more restrained. The Bennets,once given to excitable speculation, now met such news with measured interest. Mr Bennet, amused but unbothered, commented only that the new tenant would soon learn the pleasures and pitfalls of Hertfordshire society. Mrs Bennet noted the news with a thoughtful nod and said no more.
* * *
The drawing room curtains filtered the afternoon sun. Shadows from the ivy beyond danced along the walls, shifting with each whisper of the breeze. The air carried the faint scent of wood polish and the last of the summer roses arranged in a Chinese vase on the mantel.
A steady ticking from the clock above the hearth mingled with the rustle of pages and the muted melody of the pianoforte drifting from the next room.
Elizabeth sat in the corner,Lyrical Balladsin her lap. Beside her, Jane bent over her embroidery hoop, each stitch of her needle as graceful and measured as her nature. The soft strains of Mary’s playing wove through the air, a muted harmony that underscored a pleasant afternoon. Kitty and Lydia sat side by side on the large seat beneath the tall windows, their heads together in conspiratorial whispers. A bright scatter of ribbons surrounded them as they giggled in low delight.
The colours floated above them like well-known silhouettes on a familiar horizon. Elizabeth had long since ceased to marvel at them. Unless anairestartled or unsettled, she let them pass without notice, like the toll of the church bell on a windless day.
But her family’s aires, she always heeded. They were her compass.
Elizabeth glanced at Mrs Ecclestone, whose gaze remained sharp despite the room’s tranquillity. When her eyes met Elizabeth’s, she winked. A quiet reminder that the general wasever on duty.
Elizabeth smiled and turned another page. A subtle shift in the doorway caught her attention.
Mrs Bennet entered, framed by the afternoon light, her pale-yellowairedeepening to amber. She fanned her face. The quiet grace with which she moved, so different from years past, did not go unnoticed.
Well done, Mama.There was a flicker of orange beneath the amber. Excitement, restrained. She clasped her hands before her. “Mr Bennet, have you heard? Netherfield Park has been let at last.”
Mr Bennet, seated near the hearth in a high-backed chair, seemed absorbed in his weekly broadsheet. His attentiveness, however, did not fool Elizabeth in the slightest. A chocolate-brown border edged the cool tan of his usual aire, expectation beneath feigned indifference.
Her father, she noted, was enjoying himself far too much. He lowered his broadsheet. “No, I had not.”
Mrs Bennet settled in the chair beside him, composure intact. Elizabeth bit back a smile as orange spots flickered about her head.
“Mrs Long told me all about it.”
“Did she?”
“Would you like to know who has taken it?”
“As you desire to tell me, I have no objection to hearing it.”
Mr and Mrs Bennet, by now, had everyone’s attention.
“Mrs Long says a young man of large fortune from the north of England has taken Netherfield. He came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place and was so much delighted with it that he agreed with Mr Philips immediately. He is to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by the end of next week.” Her mother sat primly, the orange spots fading away.
“What is his name?” Mr Bennet asked.
“Bingley.”
“Is he married or single?”
“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune, four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!” The orange spots reappeared and danced about her coiffure.
