Chapter One

Posted on January 17, 2009

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

"My dear did you know that we have new neighbours.' The voice was excited and high pitched. 'They are moving in tomorrow.' It continued getting higher and higher as she became more and more excited 'Well not quite neighbours, they are moving into the large house on the corner … Netherfield hall I think it's called.'

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood-

"Well you learn a new thing every day." This voice was so different from the other voice that it was instantly recognisable that the excitement wasn't shared.

-this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families-

"Indeed it is because Mrs. Long just told me all about it, the lovely lady from next door. She heard it from Mrs Turner, you know Elsa's mum, oh you must know her, she is Lucy's friends, sisters, cousins, pen-pals, half-sister, and she heard it out just last night. Do you know who is moving in or more importantly do you want to?" The original voice continued.

-that he is considered as the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.

"I had no idea, as I have not such great connections as the Mrs Long's of this world' my father replied, failing to even look up from his newspaper. 'I'm also pretty sure you will feel obliged to tell me whether or not I wish to hear it.'

My mother looked thrilled, almost as though my father had shown enthusiasm at the news. "They are called the Bingley's' she continued, emphasising each gesture with large hand gesture. 'Even better they have three children, a son and two daughters.' The speech was continues, she did not even take a pause to breath 'and another boy staying with them, a cousin or a nephew or well someone they know anyhow. Doctors, good doctors, they are but most importantly rich doctors. A little birdie even mentioned that they will put in an appearance at our annual charity ball! Such rich and well thought of people can't fail to make a donation! Imagine how marvellous it will be to have such a family living in our little town!" My mother finally took a breath and finished her monologue.

Until my mother's entrance and speech had begun, I had been enjoying reading my favourite book of all time, Pride and Prejudice. However I found myself reluctantly abandoning my well thumbed copy as the direction of my mother's loud and high pitched voice was too much to put up with. Now that reading was an impossibility I found myself joining in the conversation, as a spectator of course, actually speaking would have encouraged it to continue.

My mother's sky blue eyes sparkled with excitement, making them almost pretty, as she started to talk again. 'Do you know the ages? Of the children I mean?' It did not seem to occur to her that as my dad was unaware of the existence of the Bingley's until she had brought them up it would have been a very amazing coincidence if he been aware of their ages.

Pretending to look thoughtful my father patiently replied 'I am sorry but I don't know, put me out my misery and tell me.' My mother never could pick up on sarcasm and therefore never noticed my father's constant use of it or his unique dry humour. Since we had this conversation every time there were new people in the neighbourhood, my father knew what was coming next and folded up his newspaper. Rolling his intelligent brown eyes at me he waited for my mother to go on, we both knew this was going to take a while. I smiled. Once mum got going there was no stopping her.

"Well," my mother looks pleased that my father is finally obliging "the boys cant be more than eighteen, the girls are seventeen and eighteen but I am sure it doesn't matter how old they are, the boys are what matters.'

Looking bored almost bordering on indifferent my father replied with curiosity 'why do I care how old they are?'

"Hunny!" my mother exclaimed exasperated, "wouldn't it be lovely if our girls had boyfriends, rich boyfriends, who could save them from running a newsagents the rest of their lives" I rolled my eyes at this.

"Well I do believe you have everything sorted and planned my Dear. Do the girls get a say in this or have we decided already? And you never know, maybe one of the boys will take an interest in you." teased my father.

"Don't be stupid, I don't plan exactly! Besides I can't promise to be pretty anymore, not with all these children, prettiness quite goes away when you reach my age" my mother replied quite flustered. "I just think we should send darling Jane, are prettiest one, with a welcome to the neighbour hood plate of cookies."

"No I can't agree with that, I think we should send Lizzy, who will not drop the plate and is more likely to be able to manage witty and lively conversation than her very silly sisters" argued my father smiling at me. I was definitely daddy's little girl.

"How can you be so annoying and on purpose, leave it up to me and I shall sort it all out!" my mother replied in a grumpy tone. She rose and flounced out the room, thereby ending the conversation and hurried off to continue planning the Charity ball. Shrugging my father picked up his newspaper again and smiling continued to read. I in turn headed for my bedroom and much longed for peace and quiet.

Chapter Two

Posted on January 18, 2009

Five minutes later found me sitting, well more like lying, on my bed reading again. Well pretending to read and in reality pondering the new neighbours and what it would be like to finally have someone in our tiny town who didn't know us. The boys were of little interest to me as I know from experience that they would be drawn to my oldest sister Jane like a moth to a flame. By far the prettiest yet completely unaware of it she was born a naturally oblivious heat breaker. She has just turned eighteen and a waterfall of honey blonde waves, a perfectly unfairly blemish free complexion, sapphire blue eyes that look like moving water and a scarily polite and definitely naive personality mean she is admired by any boy fortunate enough to be acknowledged by her. Always happy, courteous and pleasant to be around she seems to bare almost no faults and in this way appears almost inhuman. Just don't tell her I said that. She is the kind of person that if she wasn't my sister I would probably hate her. She might date one of the boys. It is pretty much guaranteed she will become friends with them.

It was almost laughable to conceive my sister Mary, the child who comes next after me, the middle one, dating a well-groomed rich boy even moving away from her music long enough to talk to one. When she isn't playing she is sprouting passages from the bible and teaching us morality. Mary would make no attempts to get to know or make friends with the Bingley girls of that much I was certain. She had no friends of which we had heard and seemed to prefer the company of her piano to anyone else. She had mousey hair, a pale complexion, a plain face, and was quiet, shy and kept to herself as much as possible. Leaving her as unlike our family in temperament as Jane was in looks.

Lydia and Kitty give teenage girls everywhere a bad name. They are hyper and bubbly and silly. Boy mad in every sense of the term and can be only very loosely defined as moral in that area. They would find it very much not worth their while to be seen associating with two girls, who being well mannered and civilized probably have far more important things to discuss than this week's hottest guy. The boys however are a different matter, provided they have looks which match their wealth the two girls will be drooling over them in seconds. They will, I can reliably guess, not be subtle about it either. When I last checked with them, which was a while ago as I can never keep up with their goings on, Kitty was having difficulty deciding which out of three boys she would allow to accompany her to the school dance and Lydia being unable to make a decision either had decided to just date two at once and see one on the side.

Every night after Jane and I would give nick names too each new boy who passed by our bedroom on his way to Kitty's or Lydia's. It was always different, we never saw the same guy twice. Lydia, despite being the youngest, was the loudest and most obnoxious of the two and always got what she wanted. She got a thrill out of wanting what she couldn't have. Lydia was also the tallest of us five and quite pretty. Kitty was also pretty but despite her being one year Lydia's senior she was and is her clone. Following her around like an adoring puppy, doing exactly what she does. Mary, Lydia and Kitty looked most like our mother, where I looked most like our father and Jane looked adopted, her beauty left her excluded.

My mother might once have been pretty; in fact I am sure she was, having looks similar to Kitty and Lydia's. But age and having five daughters had played its part and her beauty was waning. What she lacked in beauty she made up for in enthusiasm and I knew she would throw herself upon the Bingley's fuelled by her desire to be connected to all the right people, the rich and the famous.

My dad, in his distant way, would be a good neighbour to the Bingley's no matter how much he annoyed my mother by claiming differently.

I surveyed myself in the mirror with a critical eye. I wasn't bad looking. My dark brown hair which I usually wore pinned back and my soft brown eyes saved me from being as plain as Mary, but my pale freckled complexion and my lack of classic looks prevented me from being as beautiful as Jane. Roundish cheeks made me look younger than my seventeen years. I could almost predict that I would not make friends with posh rich kids. My mother says I am rude and it is true to a certain extent that I tend to jump to conclusions and make snap judgments. Deciding to no longer bother myself with the new family I returned to my book and immersed myself in the world of Jane Austen.