Chapter Twenty-Four
“Does Sir William entertain often?” Darcy asked as they walked side by side through Longbourn’s little wilderness, a winding path bordered by untamed hedges and the last stubborn blooms of autumn.
The air was uncommonly warm for the season, the sort of day that felt like a borrowed kindness, and Elizabeth wished to take every opportunity to be out of doors before the weather inevitably turned.
“Yes,” she replied. “He is fond of company, and hosts gatherings whenever he can. They increase in frequency during the colder months.” She smiled faintly, thinking of Sir William’s enthusiasm; his booming laugh, his eagerness to assemble half the county beneath his roof at the slightest provocation.
“Then I shall look forward to the event,” Darcy said, his tone lighter than it had been in days, “and to being in your company.”
Elizabeth felt warmth bloom in her chest at the easy sincerity of it.
She glanced at him, noting how relaxed he appeared here, away from his friend’s estate and its complications, his shoulders less rigid, his expression open.
“How did your exodus from Netherfield Park transpire?” she asked.
“Since removing to Purvis Lodge, you have been most difficult to consult.”
Darcy’s expression shifted at once, the cheer fading into a mixture of annoyance and something close to sorrow. “Bingley accused me of facilitating my cousin’s attempts to ‘steal’ Miss Bennet’s attention. Naturally, I protested vehemently.”
Elizabeth exhaled softly, more in exasperation than surprise.
“Mr. Bingley is doing an admirable job of pushing my sister away without Colonel Fitzwilliam’s aid.
Jane avoids confrontation and discord, and the more Mr. Bingley attempts to assert his ‘prior claims,’ the more Jane is apt to avoid him.
” She shook her head, still marveling at how the gentleman had changed from the amiable neighbor who had purchased Netherfield into the jealous, brooding, possessive suitor he now appeared to be.
Darcy shook his head in turn. “I hardly know my friend anymore. How could I have misjudged him so badly?”
“We all make errors in judgment,” Elizabeth said gently. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley simply hid the worst parts of his character. Or perhaps the circumstances of your relationship never allowed the defects to make themselves known.”
He reached for her hand then, his touch warm and steady, and gave it a brief, reassuring pat.
“Whatever the case, I am disappointed. His lot would not be so hard if he would accept my help. He begged me to assist him, but since that assistance is not in a manner of which he approves, he chooses to ignore my words.”
They rounded a bend in the path, the wilderness opening into a small clearing shaded by a large, leafless tree whose bare branches stretched like dark lace against the pale sky.
There, seated on a stone bench, were Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
They leaned toward one another, heads close, deep in conversation.
Jane’s face was animated; her eyes bright, her smile quick, and her usual serene composure softened by genuine engagement.
Elizabeth slowed without meaning to. They look very well together, she thought, struck anew by the ease between them. Her sister’s animation had become increasingly common whenever she was in company with this particular suitor.
As Darcy and Elizabeth approached, Jane noticed them and shifted instinctively, edging away from her suitor a fraction. A handsome blush spread across her cheeks, yet despite her withdrawal, she made no attempt to remove her hand from Colonel Fitzwilliam’s grasp.
“It is time to return to the house,” Darcy said, a touch of humor threading his voice. “We shall need to return to Purvis Lodge to dress for our evening out.”
“Ah, yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied readily, though his attention did not leave Jane. “Sir William’s gathering. Their hospitality is abundant, though not so wonderful as Mrs. Bennet’s.”
“The company will be the same, however,” Elizabeth said lightly.
Her quip earned a deeper blush from Jane, who raised an eyebrow at her sister in warning even as she smiled.
“Go on now,” Jane said, shooing them away with gentle insistence. “Colonel Fitzwilliam and I will follow.”
Darcy led Elizabeth back toward the house, the path narrowing again as hedges closed in around them. “Was Mr. Bingley’s…disappointment at your departure what kept him from calling today?” she asked.
“He would prefer to have your sister to himself regardless,” Darcy replied frankly, “but yes. I believe he means to call on Miss Bennet when my cousin and I are not here.”
“He will be hard-pressed to do so,” Elizabeth chuckled. “You are both here more often than not. My dear mama has gone distracted at having two such distinguished gentlemen calling on her daughters.”
Darcy smiled at that, then paused and turned to face her fully. “What will she do when those suitors become sons-in-law?”
Elizabeth’s heart leaped into her throat, and she smiled despite herself. “What is this? Do you announce your cousin’s intentions so cavalierly?”
“Minx,” he said softly. “I believe I said sons-in-law, as in plural.” He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his thumb warm against her skin.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, her breath hitching as the world narrowed to the feel of him, the quiet certainty in his presence.
“Elizabeth, you must know—” His voice lowered, the moment narrowing until it seemed to belong to them alone.
“I thought you said it was time to depart, Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flew open. Jane and Colonel Fitzwilliam had rounded the corner and were suddenly upon them, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression unmistakably amused.
Darcy’s hand dropped at once, though regret flickered across his face before he masked it. Elizabeth felt the loss of it more keenly than she wished to admit. He offered Elizabeth his arm with formal composure. “That I did,” he replied to his mischievous cousin.
Elizabeth silently cursed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s timing. She was quite certain Darcy had been about to kiss her.
The four returned to Longbourn together, the house coming into view just as Mrs. Bennet emerged onto the steps, her delight at seeing her daughters’ companions written plainly upon her face.
Amid her effusions and eager inquiries, the ladies bid their suitors farewell, promises exchanged for the evening ahead.
“Well, it is good we will see them later, is it not, Jane?” Elizabeth nudged her sister as they turned toward the door.
Jane nodded, her smile soft and thoughtful, and together they went upstairs to prepare for an evening at Lucas Lodge—each carrying her own hopes, questions, and quiet anticipation into the hours ahead.
Elizabeth arrived at Lucas Lodge with a curious sense of anticipation humming beneath her composed exterior.
The carriage had scarcely come to a halt before the sounds of company drifted outward—voices layered upon one another, the bright peal of laughter, the scrape of chairs being set in motion.
Sir William had outdone himself again, it seemed.
Mrs. Bennet entered first, all animation and eager smiles, followed by Jane, whose calm grace formed a pleasing contrast to her mother’s bustle.
Elizabeth trailed behind them, already surveying the room with the excited interest of one preparing to observe and evaluate.
Mary followed last, her gaze instinctively scanning the gathering even as she accepted greetings and curtsied where required.
Elizabeth told herself she was merely taking in the scene, but she knew precisely whom she was waiting to see.
Darcy had not yet arrived, and the absence pressed upon her awareness more than she liked—more than she could easily dismiss.
She took care to settle herself near Jane and allowed her eyes to wander as acquaintances approached and withdrew.
Sir William, radiant with pride, swept past them more than once, loudly proclaiming his delight at such excellent company.
It was not long before the Netherfield party announced itself.
Mr. Bingley entered with his usual enthusiasm, his smile broad and unmistakable, his attention already fixed upon Jane, she drawing him in like a beacon.
Miss Bingley followed, her posture elegant and her expression carefully neutral, with Mrs. Hurst at her side, looking content to be amused by whatever the evening provided.
Elizabeth watched as Mr. Bingley made directly for her sister, greeting Jane with a warmth that bordered on possessive.
He positioned himself at Jane’s side almost at once, leaning in to speak with animation, his laughter ringing just a shade too loudly.
Jane responded with her habitual kindness, smiling, listening, replying with gentle courtesy—but Elizabeth, who knew her sister better than anyone, detected the faint reserve beneath it.
She resisted the urge to intervene.
Instead, she found herself joined by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, who approached with a civility that would once have surprised her, but now merely intrigued her.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley said, inclining her head. “How very pleasant to see you again. Lucas Lodge grows more crowded with each passing minute, does it not?”
“It does indeed,” Elizabeth replied easily. “Sir William never does things by halves.”
Miss Bingley smiled languidly.
“He has a talent for gathering half the county into one room. I admire the enthusiasm, though I confess it can be rather…warm.”
Elizabeth returned the smile, noting the absence of sharpness in Miss Bingley’s manner.
The woman who had once scrutinized her with barely concealed disdain now seemed—if not warm—at least sincerely polite.
Miss Bingley’s gaze drifted, just briefly, toward her brother.
Her brow furrowed as she observed him speaking intently with Jane, his posture angled possessively inward, his manner suggesting he meant to guard his place.