Mrs Bennet’s misery was soon to be diverted by the arrival of her brother, Mr Gardiner, his wife, Mrs Gardiner, and a lively bunch of nephews and nieces. Aunt G was a great favourite of Jane and Lizzy, and despite their mother’s complaining how both had been nearly married—or at least had a boyfriend—and now neither were and neither had even a boyfriend, they managed to escape from time to time for a session at the lively Fortescue Inn, where over a bottle of blush and a game of pool, they talked of university options. After the merits of Durham, Bristol, Exeter, York, St Andrews, Oxford, King’s College, London, Edinburgh, Plymouth, Bath, and Brighton had been discussed at length, the last ball potted, and Jane had left temporarily to wash her hands, the talk turned to love.
“But Bingley is completely and utterly crazy about her, Aunt G!” said Lizzy, sitting down at a small wooden table and drawing up another stool for her aunt. Lizzy was anxious for her wise aunt to understand the situation clearly.
“Many a young man declares himself crazy about a pretty girl one week and then another the next,” demurred Aunt G.
“Yes, but this is the real thing,” insisted Lizzy, leaning forward. “He is insanely in love. Anyone could see that. He hangs on Jane’s every word, follows her around like a devoted spaniel, ignores all the other Salcombe babes.”
“So why has he abandoned her?”
“Because his sister and the despicable Darcy think she is not good enough for him. They have stolen Bingley away!”
Aunt G gasped at this revelation, recovering only just in time to welcome Jane back to the table, where the evening took a very merry turn as they were joined by the jovial Wickham. Another bottle of blush led to some jolly banter. Aunt G could not fail to notice the glow that passed between Lizzy and Wickham. Common ground in knowledge of the late Mr Darcy was found between Wickham and Aunt G, which led to much discourse about Darcy’s father—a fine old gentleman both agreed—and of his proud, ill-natured boy, of whose characteristics Wickham was quite clear, and Aunt G had to search her memory banks to see if she could recall what the boy was like, but was guided by Wickham until at last she did vaguely recall that he might have been proud and ill-natured. Last orders were called, and the four returned in a slightly unsteady state to 3 Island Street for coffee, where lively conversation continued until the early hours.