Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth and Aunt Madeline stepped into the sitting room situated between their conjoined suite of rooms as the simple mantel clock struck three. Jane stood by the mullioned window, her pale hand pressed against the cool glass, and cast yet another anxious glance at the empty carriageway below.
“No sign of Mr. Morgan,” she murmured, turning from the window to take a seat near the fireplace.
It was unlike Mr. Morgan to arrive late for anything, let alone something he held so close to his heart, and Elizabeth was certain he loved her sister with every fibre of his being.
“He assured us he would arrive this afternoon.” Aunt Madeline said, her tone practical. “We must leave at first light if he wishes to speak with your father before Sunday service, and secure the immediate reading of the banns.”
“Would a week’s delay be so dreadful?” Elizabeth asked gently, taking a seat in the chair next to her sister.
Jane shook her head. “It is a deadline of my own making, and perhaps I should not be so rigid in this matter. As long as we marry, that is the ultimate goal.”
“If it brings you any comfort,” Elizabeth teased, leaning forward ever so slightly, “I dare say Mr. Morgan is every bit as impatient as you.”
At this, Jane’s cheeks bloomed the colour of a summer rose, and Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s sweet embarrassment.
“Come,” she said to Jane. “A bit of shopping may lift your spirits. I noticed a charming haberdashery on our way to the inn, and I am convinced they are in dire need of a portion of our allowance.”
“I do not…” Jane began, hesitation furrowing her brow.
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth interrupted, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “A brisk walk and a new bonnet will work wonders.”
Jane hesitated, then smiled. “Very well.” She turned to Aunt Madeline. “Do you care to join us, Aunt?”
Aunt Madeline shook her head gently, settling back into a winged armchair upholstered in faded damask. “I believe I will stay with your uncle and the children. Should Mr. Morgan arrive before you return, I will direct him to you.”
“Thank you,” Jane said softly, offering a grateful nod. She looked back at Elizabeth. “Once again, you have enticed me to walk and shop.”
“You would think, by the look on your face, that I was part of the Inquisition, forcing you to try on pretty hats and scarves.”
“I do not, and you are correct. I need to divert my thoughts, and a new bonnet is just the thing.”
Within minutes, the two sisters were on their way to the small village near the inn, two footmen flanking them at a respectful distance.
The path to the village wound between hedgerows of holly and budding hawthorn, and within fifteen minutes they found themselves before the haberdashery’s painted sign.
Inside, the scent of calico and lavender pressed warmly against them, and metres of silk ribbons called to Jane’s indecision.
After trying on narrow-brimmed bonnets lined with soft muslins, velvet turbans, and a particularly jaunty hat trimmed in peacock plumes, they emerged at last under a sky streaked with gold.
They approached the inn’s broad stone steps when a sudden voice rang clear across the courtyard.
“Miss Bennet!”
All colour drained from Jane’s face, and Elizabeth immediately took a firm grip of her hand. “Allow me.”
Jane disengaged her hand from Elizabeth’s, but not before giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I can fight my own battles, Lizzy.”
They turned to see Mr. Bingley striding towards them, his countenance alight with cordial surprise, Miss Bingley trailing close behind with an air of thinly disguised annoyance.
“Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, inclining her head with composed courtesy. “Miss Bingley.”
“I can hardly believe we are staying at the same inn,” he declared, behaving as though it had been but a moment’s absence since they had last seen him. “You look absolutely lovely, you as well, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied. “Are you and your sister on your way to Town?”
“We were in town to settle our affairs, and are now off to Scarborough,” he said, his gaze fixed tenderly upon Jane. “Your beauty has only deepened since I last beheld you.”
“Why are you here?” Miss Bingley interrupted rudely.
“We are travelling with our aunt and uncle to Bedfordshire,” Jane said before Elizabeth could reply.
“Do they have relations there?”
“Yes, my uncle’s sister,” Jane said smoothly.
Elizabeth suppressed a smile at the graceful misdirection Jane imparted to the two siblings. The sister in question was their own mother, the former Mrs. Bennet.
“Come, Charles,” Miss Bingley said, taking a firm hold of her brother’s arm. “We must settle into our suite of rooms.”
He acquiesced, though not without casting Jane another ardent glance.
“Will you and your sister dine with us this evening? I can make arrangements for one of the private dining rooms.”
“I… that is, I shall ask my uncle. We are expecting another member of our party to join us.”
“They are most welcome. It shall be like old times.”
Miss Bingley rolled her eyes in exasperation. As much as Elizabeth did not wish to dine with the Bingley siblings, she rather enjoyed tweaking the nose of the supercilious miss.
“We shall speak with our uncle,” Elizabeth said, “and send a note with our response.”
“I shall not take no for an answer, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Bingley said, smiling wide. “It has been far too long since your family graced my company. I am eager for news of Meryton.”
Both Elizabeth and Jane exchanged glances with one another. So much to reveal, so much more to conceal.
The next morning, Jane’s hand froze on her teacup when Mr. Bingley entered the inn’s public room, his eyes widening with unmistakable delight.
What bad luck, that after eight long months of silence since his departure from Meryton, their paths crossed in this most unexpected of places, the Waddling Duck, an obscure inn situated halfway to Bedfordshire.
The Gardiner / Bennet party had successfully avoided Mr. Bingley and his sister last evening by staying away from the public rooms. Mr. Morgan arrived barely half an hour before they were to dine, and uncle, upon learning of the Bingley sibling’s arrival, had arranged for their meal to be served in the inn’s private dining room, pressing a generous tip into the palm of the owner after asking that he keep such information to himself.
Unfortunately, this morning, Aunt Madeline and Elizabeth decided they should visit the necessary before their departure, and Jane was temporarily alone in the main tap room.
“Miss Bennet!” Mr. Bingley presented her with a deep bow, then hurried to sit next to her, his enthusiasm suggesting an intimacy they had never truly shared. “I had hoped to see you again before we departed… what remarkable serendipity.”
His gaze lingered, taking in the tailored travelling dress, and the soft tendrils of golden hair arranged artfully beneath her bonnet.
With great strength of will, Jane maintained perfect posture even though she was greatly discomfited by his lingering appraisal.
She glanced towards the doorway. Oh, that her aunt and sister would make their appearance soon.
Her uncle and Mr. Morgan would not be back for some time, having gone to arrange matters with their drivers, leaving her quite alone with the man who had once held her heart in his inconstant hands.
“Your journey with your sister will take several days. I imagine Miss Bingley is eager to continue onward,” she said. Perhaps the mention of his sister might restore some propriety to his manner.
“How could I leave when it would mean parting from such loveliness as yours?” he replied, leaning closer.
“Mr. Bingley, I must insist—”
“Charles!” Miss Bingley swept into the room and their conversation stopped. “You must reprimand the innkeeper at once. The accommodations here are positively medieval. This morning’s washing water was scarcely lukewarm, and the linens smell like stale onions.”
“As we will not be returning to this establishment, why should I trouble myself over such a trifling matter?”
“Trifling!” Miss Bingley’s nostrils flared, and two spots of colour bloomed high on her cheekbones. “Have they no understanding of who we are? Our position demands proper deference.” She raised her chin with practiced disdain. “This wretched inn shall receive no recommendation from me.”
“I regret your disappointment with the accommodations,” Jane murmured. The owner had been quite obliging with her family and Mr. Morgan. “Our family has found the service here quite satisfactory.”
Miss Bingley’s cold gaze fell upon Jane, her thin lips curling into an undisguised sneer.
“How unsurprising. Having dwelt among society’s lowest ranks, you must find this ramshackle establishment quite palatial.”
“You would be surprised where my footsteps have trodden,” Jane offered as a mild warning, her placid blue eyes hardening like sapphires. “Your acquaintance with our family was brief and a long time ago. Much has changed since then.”
“Speaking of change,” Miss Bingley interjected, “how fares your youngest sister? Has she found a suitor among her red-coated admirers? Has motherhood agreed with her?”
“My sister has not married, nor has she birthed a child.” Jane’s voice had grown quiet, but steel ran beneath her words. “Where did you hear such nonsense?”
“No one needed to inform me, Miss Bennet.” Miss Bingley’s voice dripped with honeyed venom.
“At my brother’s ball, my own eyes beheld your sister draping herself about an officer like ivy on a trellis, her bosoms barely contained within the bodice of her made-over gown.
One can easily infer what her future holds. ”
Jane stood, fingers trembling in restrained anger, curled against her side.
“I will thank you to keep your coarse opinions to yourself. If I hear any more of this kind of slander, I will advise my father, who will take action.”