Mrs. Bingley’s Sister (The Austen Novels)

Chapter 3

Elizabeth rose early, as she often did. These past many nights since the birth of Jane's little girl had been restless and sleepless, as Jane was up often throughout the night to nurse the babe, and Elizabeth was up to rock the sleeping infant while Jane collapsed in exhaustion.

The night before, Elizabeth had dismissed the wet-nurse and aided her fretful sister in readying for the long evening ahead.

"Oh, Lizzy, if I could describe the pain at being away from her," Jane said with a furrowed brow as she took the fussing newborn baby from Elizabeth's arms, "Oh, sweet babe, Mama is here now, shh."

Soon the babe was nursing to sleep while Jane sat up in the bed, with Elizabeth sitting nearby. Her mind had been diverted by the presence of Darcy, of course—but she couldn't possibly talk to Jane about that at a time like this.

"Shall I call for some tea?" Elizabeth offered, to which her sister closed her eyes tiredly and nodded her assent. She rose and did so, and very soon after the tea tray arrived, Elizabeth prepared the tea for her sister. The babe, thankfully, was nursing while sleeping at Jane's breast, and there was a calmness now overcoming the room. Elizabeth could see Jane's eyes start to flutter as she finished her tea. Elizabeth watched as the baby naturally released from the breast, eyes still shut and closed, and, as they had done many a time before, Elizabeth gently extracted the infant from Jane's arms and moved quickly to sit in the rocking chair, with the babe still sleeping upon her chest. She watched silently as Jane slid down to lay her head upon her pillow and finally sleep. Elizabeth had no real qualms with her nights being so occupied; there was something enchanting about the smell of a newborn baby's head, it was true.

But her nights had been fretful and sleepless long before the little girl's arrival, though she did not confide this fact in anyone, not even Jane.

Jane's nights these last final months of her confinement had been difficult for her, due to the growing physical discomfort of being with child, as well as the anticipation and worry for the birth itself. The midwife, Mrs. Jones, was an old Welsh woman who seemed to know much more about what to expect than anyone else Jane and Elizabeth knew, including their own mother. Mrs. Bennet was always repeating some frightful anecdote about what could go wrong during birth, which would upset Jane extraordinarily, and Elizabeth finally had to set a firm boundary with Mrs. Bennet to keep her from disrupting Jane's peace those final months of pregnancy. The midwife had approved of Elizabeth's efforts, though at first it had seemed that Elizabeth's efforts only distressed Jane even more.

"What if Mama needs to see me, Lizzy? You cannot be so cruel to her," she had said one autumn day in October, as they took a slow, meandering walk along the grounds of Netherfield.

"Mama is being cruel to you by filling your mind with distressing stories," Elizabeth said, "She is doing you no service to be filling your mind with such troubling things. You have heard Mrs. Jones: it is best for your confinement to be as pleasant as it can be, and there should be nothing to distress or vex you."

Jane sighed and looked at Elizabeth, saying, "Well, our dear sister Lydia certainly was not aware of Mrs. Jones's instructions for no vexation during my confinement, was she?"

Elizabeth could only nod in sad agreement with that assessment. Lydia and Wickham's elopement had been such a horrible ordeal—and Elizabeth had not even been made aware of it while it ensued!

"I do wish you would have told me when it happened," Elizabeth said solemnly, "For I do despise that you endured such a shock on your own."

"Oh, I know," Jane admitted, "But you had already been so good to me, and you were likely enjoying your journey to see the lakes. I could not trouble you, not when Bingley was capable of taking care of things for our family...” she paused but then added further, "And Lizzy, you seemed so forlorn after Hunsford. I know you say you do not wish you had accepted him, but you seem to have regretted your actions toward him all the same."

Anytime a mention of "him" was uttered, it was about Darcy. Elizabeth knew Jane didn't say his name because she was trying to avoid upsetting her, and she could appreciate her sister's careful consideration of her feelings, which was all the more incredible, considering it was Jane whose feelings needed to be protected, as she was expecting a child. Such was the angelic nature of Elizabeth's sister: the lady put everyone else's needs and wants before her very own.

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.

"I was somewhat saddened, it is true. I do deeply regret my actions toward the man..."

She trailed off. They had had this semblance of a conversation many a time before. She never revealed to Jane her tumultuous thoughts about Darcy, however: how these thoughts kept Elizabeth up most, if not all, nights. Indeed, Elizabeth barely enjoyed the lakes because every evening after the darkness would fall, she would lie there, still very much awake, wondering about Darcy, wondering how she could have been so wrong about the man...

Wondering what she would say if she ever saw him again.

And now here she was, living at Netherfield, and Darcy staying as a guest. She had only seen him but briefly—being so busy with Jane and the new babe—but she knew that today they would be in one another's presence yet again for the christening. She readied herself for a quick morning walk; Jane had just nursed the babe back to sleep, and Elizabeth was able to set the infant down in the small bassinet without waking her. She relished having a moment away to be alone in her thoughts. She had gotten used to taking solitary walks here at Netherfield after they became too tiring for Jane late in her pregnancy, and the grounds of Netherfield were beginning to feel more like home than Longbourn's, as funny as that seemed.

Elizabeth shuddered at the dreadful memory of yesterday's dinner and her abysmal attempt at conversation with Darcy. How the man must have detested being anywhere near her.

And how could she even blame him?

She made her way out of doors just as the sun was rising in the sky. It was a crisp morning, not too cool, but not warm at all, either, and she was grateful for the start of what looked to be a clear day ahead. Surely this boded well for the christening.

Suddenly, not long after she began walking out onto the grounds, Elizabeth heard the sound of a rider moving across the field. She looked up, not realizing whom it must have been—whom of course it must have been—and saw it was none other than Darcy himself. He was riding away, not facing her direction, so he saw her naught. She watched him as he came to a slow halt.

How elegant he looked upon the back of a horse. He was tall, strong, and athletic; she could tell that much, even from so far a distance as hers. She let out an unconscious sigh as he started off once more, riding further and further into the distance. She felt the wind pick up—chilly—and now there was a cloud blocking the rising sun, casting a shadow over the scene. She shuddered a little, pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, and turned away from the sight of the rider, fading into nothing.