Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Elizabeth noticed. Miss Bingley noticed that Elizabeth noticed. After a moment, the lady leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Miss Elizabeth, may I ask you something—quite privately?”
“Of course.” Surprise colored her tone. This is unexpected. They withdrew to a quiet alcove, and Elizabeth waited for the lady to speak.
Miss Bingley hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her fan. “Do you believe my brother’s attentions are…discomfiting for Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth chose her words with care. “Jane is kind to everyone. She listens generously and does her best to put others at ease.”
Miss Bingley studied her face, searching for something more definite. “That is precisely my concern. My brother has a tendency to mistake kindness for encouragement.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small, noncommittal smile. “Jane’s true feelings are not always easily read. She dislikes causing pain and will often sacrifice her own happiness to spare another’s.”
Miss Bingley exhaled softly, her gaze returning to the pair across the room. “I would not wish Charles to importune a lady who does not return his sentiments. Nor,” she added more quietly, “would I wish Miss Bennet to feel herself obliged by attentions she did not seek.”
Elizabeth regarded her with renewed interest. There was genuine concern there—awkwardly expressed, perhaps, but unmistakable.
“I believe Jane would speak if she were truly distressed,” Elizabeth said at last. “But she prefers harmony to confrontation.”
Miss Bingley nodded slowly. “Yes. I see that now.”
For a moment, they stood together in thoughtful silence, watching the room ebb and flow around them. Then Mrs. Hurst approached, diverting the conversation to safer ground, remarking upon the music and the refreshments, and Miss Bingley followed her lead with practiced ease.
Elizabeth’s attention, however, drifted once more toward the door. Darcy had arrived, Colonel Fitzwilliam by his side. He joined her immediately.
“You look as though you are bracing yourself,” he murmured, inclining his head toward her with a smile meant only for her. “May I be of service?”
Relief softened her expression before she could stop it. “If nothing else, your presence improves my fortitude.”
“That is high praise indeed,” he replied quietly.
His gaze went briefly across the room—toward Jane—where Colonel Fitzwilliam had already engaged her in conversation, Mr. Bingley hovering nearby with unmistakable tension in his posture.
Darcy’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, but he said nothing more.
Before Elizabeth could remark upon it, Sir William’s booming voice cut cheerfully through the din.
“My friends, my friends! If I may beg your attention for a moment!”
Conversation faltered in uneven ripples as heads turned. Sir William stood near the center of the room, positively radiant, his chest puffed with importance as he surveyed the expectant faces before him.
“I am delighted—delighted beyond measure—to see that everyone has now arrived. Lucas Lodge is quite full, I assure you, and my wife and daughters are most gratified by such enthusiastic attendance.”
A murmur of polite amusement passed through the crowd.
“And,” Sir William continued, lowering his voice theatrically, “as everyone here is well aware, our neighborhood has lately been seized by a most…spirited interest in antiquities.”
Elizabeth felt Darcy’s attention sharpen beside her.
“The treasure hunting,” Sir William declared with relish, “has captured imaginations far and wide. I confess, I myself could not resist participating.”
This announcement drew a ripple of excited whispers.
Sir William reached into his coat pocket and produced a small bundle wrapped carefully in cloth. He held it aloft for a moment, allowing anticipation to build, before unwrapping it with deliberate care.
“There,” he announced triumphantly.
Nestled in the cloth lay a small gold brooch—delicate in form, its surface worked with a pattern that caught the candlelight and scattered it back in warm gleams. Though modest in size, it was unmistakably ancient.
A collective gasp swept the room.
“Oh!”
“How extraordinary!”
“Real gold?”
“Found here?”
Sir William beamed as though he had personally minted it. “Discovered upon the common,” he said proudly. “Not far from Oakham Mount where all the other searches have taken place.”
Elizabeth’s heart stuttered painfully, and she stiffened. She felt rather than noted Darcy’s gaze upon her face.
Before Sir William could continue, Mr. Bingley stepped forward, his face flushed, his genial manner nowhere to be found.
“I must protest,” he said sharply. “That land borders Netherfield. It is entirely possible—indeed, likely—that the object was found upon my property.”
A hush fell.
Sir William blinked, momentarily taken aback, but recovered quickly. “My dear Mr. Bingley, I assure you, the location was well within the common—”
“Then a proper survey should be conducted,” Bingley interrupted, his voice rising. “It is only fair to determine the true owner.”
Murmurs spread again, this time edged with discomfort.
Sir William’s smile thinned, though he retained his dignity. “The true owner,” he said firmly, “is the Crown. As the law clearly states, any gold or silver antiquity discovered must be surrendered. I have already contacted the appropriate authorities.”
The words landed like a blow on Elizabeth’s conscience.
Bingley stared at him, incredulous. “You did what?”
“I informed them of the find,” Sir William repeated calmly. “It is my duty as a loyal subject.”
“That is absurd,” Bingley burst out. “To give away something of such value without—without discussion? Without consideration of—”
“Charles,” Mr. Hurst said quietly, stepping forward.
Bingley rounded on him. “Do not patronize me—”
Hurst did not argue. He simply took Bingley firmly by the elbow, his grip unyielding but discreet. “You require some air,” he said. “Come.”
“I do not—”
But the words dissolved as Hurst steered him toward the door, murmuring something too low for others to hear. The room exhaled as they departed, tension easing but not disappearing entirely.
Sir William cleared his throat. “Well,” he said briskly, “I thought it best to be transparent. Now—shall we have music?”
Applause followed, polite but subdued, as conversation cautiously resumed.
Elizabeth realized she had been holding her breath.
Darcy leaned slightly toward her, his voice low. “Desperation,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed upon the doorway through which Bingley had exited, “has a way of driving men toward folly. I fear my friend stands perilously close to it.”
There was sorrow in his tone, unfeigned and heavy. If only he knew how near to folly my family falls.
Elizabeth glanced toward Jane, who had gone pale but remained composed, Colonel Fitzwilliam speaking gently to her now, his expression attentive and protective. Elizabeth’s chest tightened.
“And the rest of us,” she said softly, “must hope it does not carry beyond reason.” She was not speaking of Mr. Bingley any longer, but Darcy could not know that.
Darcy met her gaze. “Hope—and vigilance.”
For a moment, amid the resumed music and forced gaiety, they stood together in quiet understanding, aware that the evening had taken a turn none of them could undo—and that its consequences were only beginning to unfold.
“Mr. Bingley’s behavior tonight was beyond the pale.” Jane’s quiet voice penetrated the darkness as she climbed beneath Elizabeth’s coverlet. The bed creaked softly with the added weight, and the curtains stirred faintly as a draft slipped through the imperfectly latched window.
“Indeed, it was. To accuse Sir William in such a manner—and among company!” Elizabeth turned onto her side to face her sister, though she could barely make out Jane’s features in the dimness.
“It was abhorrent. Mr. Darcy grows more and more concerned with his friend’s behavior.
” She could still picture Darcy’s tightened jaw, the restrained sadness in his eyes as Hurst had guided Bingley away.
That concern had been genuine—and troubling.
Jane sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of disappointment rather than anger.
“I find myself dreading Mr. Bingley’s presence. What happened to the amiable gentleman who was all a gentleman should be?”
She paused, the silence stretching just long enough for Elizabeth to sense what was coming.
“Why can he not be more like—”
Jane cut off abruptly, the words themselves seeming to startle her.
“More like Colonel Fitzwilliam, perhaps?” Elizabeth supplied gently.
“Yes.”
Jane’s admission came on a breath.
“I admit I like Mr. Bingley less and less every day. There is something lacking—maturity, maybe.”
Her fingers twisted in the sheet between them.
“He speaks as though the world owes him satisfaction, and when he does not receive it, he grows…sharp.”
Jane’s voice dropped even further.
“Could Mr. Bingley’s behavior be spurred by jealousy alone?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Darcy’s confidence echoed in her mind: his careful phrasing, his reluctance to speak ill of a friend. “Though I am not at liberty to say, no, it is not,” she answered quietly. “Darcy tells me there are…other things weighing on Mr. Bingley’s mind.”
Jane shifted closer and grasped Elizabeth’s hands beneath the covers, her touch warm and earnest. “Then I must be kinder and more understanding.”
Elizabeth squeezed her fingers in return.
“Yes, dearest, but do not mistake pity for something more.” She fell silent for a moment, her heart thudding as she weighed a decision she had been postponing for far too long.
The secret pressed against her chest until it felt impossible to breathe around it.
Finally, she spoke. “I have something to tell you. I have kept it a secret for weeks and can no longer do so without bursting.”
Jane stilled at once. “Lizzy?”
Quickly, though not without trembling pauses, Elizabeth told her sister about the treasure hoard she had discovered.
She spoke of the dew-covered field, the first flash of gold in the soil, the dreadful exhilaration of uncovering history with her bare hands.
She told Jane how their father had hidden it away, how the crate had vanished and reappeared in the floor safe, and how he still had not decided what to do with it.
The words tumbled out in a hushed rush, as though naming the thing might summon it.
Jane listened in stunned silence.
“Why can he not be like Sir William?” Elizabeth burst out in a harsh whisper, frustration breaking through her restraint.
Jane shifted. “A brooch is much smaller and less valuable than what you found. Though I do not approve, I can see why Papa hesitates.”
“But he has no reason,” she protested. “Mr. Darcy and I are courting, and anyone with eyes can see that Colonel Fitzwilliam is falling in love with you.”
Jane spoke again, her words echoing Elizabeth’s thoughts and deftly changing the subject. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has not yet asked for a courtship.” The words were mild, but Elizabeth knew her sister well enough to hear careful control beneath them.
“Yet his attentions are marked,” Elizabeth countered softly.
No matter what the future holds, Papa should do what is right with the hoard.
Oh, the expression on his face when Mama told him about Sir William’s discovery and how he notified the proper authorities…
The memory made her shiver. Papa turned a shade of red I do not believe can be healthy.
“It will all be well,” Jane said, though whether she reassured Elizabeth or herself, Elizabeth did not know. She rolled over and pressed a kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek, warm and familiar. “I shall see you in the morning.”
Elizabeth listened to the soft rustle of sheets as her sister slipped from the bed and crossed the room. The door opened and closed with barely a sound, leaving Elizabeth alone once more.
She lay awake in the darkness long after, staring up at the faint outline of the canopy above her.
Gold hidden beneath floorboards. A father paralyzed by conscience and fear.
A friend unraveling under the weight of secrets and debt.
And a courtship begun in hope, shadowed by truths she had not yet shared.
And Darcy—steady, principled, watching her with concern that grew deeper each day.
How much longer until I must tell him everything?
she wondered, her thoughts looping restlessly.
Though she had previously resolved to tell him soon, she delayed time and time again.
Soon, she would have no more excuses. Sleep came at last, slow and uneasy, carrying her into dreams where candlelight gleamed off ancient gold and every choice glittered with both promise and peril.