Netherfield Park was only a few miles distant, and they arrived at the handsome modern house in no time. Charlotte had never been inside before, and was happy to look around at new sights and objects of interest, and admire the furnishings and paintings. The Netherfield party welcomed them with varying degrees of cordiality, and initial bows, curtseys, and compliments were dispensed with graciously enough. Mrs Bennet was soon taken upstairs to see her elder daughters, while the gentlemen exchanged remarks concerning the rotation of crops and the hunting season. These were hardly enlivening topics, especially for the young ladies present, but their turn came soon enough. Sir William asked for a tour of the library, and Mr Darcy was obliged to lead him from the room. Charlotte’s brothers, still panting from their walk, took this as their chance to escape to the stables, and more socially interesting conversation could begin, especially once the younger Bennet sisters began a planned attack on Mr Bingley, clamouring for a ball. To this he made courteous noises of agreement, while stipulating that they should wait until their eldest sister had fully regained her health.

The party was a large one, which increased once Mrs Bennet and Lizzy had descended from Jane’s quarters, and Mr Darcy returned to join the company, though without seeming to take any pleasure in it, which intrigued Charlotte. She took it upon herself to engage him with a query as to whether he had much leisure for reading, and although he replied unsmilingly, there was no disdain in his tone: ‘I do not read as much as I might wish. I feel I must remain informed of developments at home and abroad, and rely on newspapers, especially when in the country.’

Encouraged, Charlotte responded, ‘I seldom read the papers, as my father provides us with a daily digest. I never know whether print is his friend or foe, as reading the news seems to aggravate as much as enlighten him.’

Mr Darcy had no opportunity to respond. There was a slight commotion as the parlourmaid bobbed in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, madam,’ she addressed the lady of the house, ‘but Lady Lucas’s Jenny is here with a message, madam, to say that Miss Lucas is required at home right away.’

Mrs Bennet shot Charlotte, who was clenching her hands in her lap, a look that combined shrewdness with malice. ‘A shame you have to leave us. I hope your mother is quite well?’

Charlotte wanted to scream, stamp her feet, and throw china across the room. Mrs Bennet knew perfectly well that she was being called home to deal with some housekeeping emergency, and not the sudden frailty of a mother generally as strong as a carthorse. ‘She was in good health this morning,’ she murmured, rising to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster.