Chapter 15 #2
Elizabeth did not slow her horse until Longbourn came fully into view.
Only then did she draw rein, breathing more deeply, her composure settling back into place with practiced ease.
The footmen halted behind her as she dismounted, one stepping forward to take her reins while the other offered his arm.
She accepted automatically, her thoughts too occupied to mark the familiar motions.
Superior understanding, she thought with a flash of irritation as she crossed the threshold. As though he has any notion at all.
Mr. Darcy’s words echoed in her mind—not their substance so much as the certainty with which he had delivered them. Obligation. Scrutiny. Responsibility. As if those burdens were known only to those born into great estates and illustrious names. As if suffering were exclusive to rank.
If only you knew, she thought fiercely. If only you had lived even one year as I have.
Her life had been shaped by other people’s displeasure since childhood—by a prince who wielded affection and attention as punishment or a means to control, by rules designed not for her protection but for her management.
She had learned early that power did not ennoble simply because it was inherited.
And dear Aunt Caroline—how much had she endured beneath the weight of rank?
Elizabeth paused in the entry hall, her gloves still in her hand, the memory pressing in upon her.
Caroline of Brunswick: clever, warm-hearted, generous to a fault—and bound for life to a man who despised her.
Forced into marriage for politics, stripped of her child, surveilled, maligned, investigated, controlled.
Her generosity mocked, her loneliness exploited.
That, Elizabeth thought, is what class and status can mean when affection is absent.
She had not spoken blindly to Mr. Darcy. Her opinions were not borrowed. They were forged in observation, in lived consequence. She had seen what happened when choice was denied, when a woman’s worth was measured only by her usefulness to men in power.
Elizabeth squared her shoulders. She would speak to her uncle.
It was time to ask—plainly, directly—what boundaries still governed her future.
She was no longer a child to be shuffled between households at another’s whim.
She would not drift into marriage negotiations half-blind, uncertain of what she was permitted to refuse.
Decision made, she moved toward the drawing room and stopped short. Chaos reigned.
Mrs. Bennet was everywhere at once, issuing instructions with breathless enthusiasm while maids darted about like startled birds. A carriage had already been called; cloaks and parcels lay arranged upon a side table. The air fairly vibrated with excitement.
“Elizabeth! There you are!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, catching sight of her at last. “Do not stand there staring—Jane has been invited to dine at Netherfield this afternoon! I told her at once she must accept. Such an honor!”
Elizabeth blinked. She had never seen her aunt so agitated. “This afternoon?”
“Yes, yes, immediately after tea. The carriage will convey her. I would have sent you as well, but Miss Bingley specified only Jane. Still—very promising!” Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together, practically dancing.
“Oh, I always said it would begin this way. If his sisters are showing such an interest, it certainly means their brother has made his intentions known.”
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted instinctively to Jane. Her cousin shrugged, and Elizabeth resolved to speak to her before her departure.
There was not an opportunity until it was nearly time for her cousin to leave. Mrs. Bennet oversaw Jane’s preparations, finally leaving her in peace to speak with Mr. Bennet about some matter.
Elizabeth took advantage of her aunt’s absence to seek out Jane.
Her cousin stood near the window in the parlor, dressed for departure, her expression composed but thoughtful. She looked—Elizabeth noted with approval—exceptional.
Jane’s gown was pale blue silk, the shade chosen with care to complement her fair complexion without overwhelming it.
The bodice was modestly cut, the sleeves long and elegant, with delicate embroidery at the cuffs.
Over it she wore a cream pelisse, tailored and warm, fastened with covered buttons that caught the light.
Her muff was of soft white fur, unadorned but fine, and her bonnet—simple in shape—was trimmed with a narrow ribbon rather than feathers or flowers.
Her gloves were kid leather, pale and perfectly fitted.
Town fashion, Elizabeth observed. But restrained. Sensible.
Jane caught Elizabeth’s eye and gave the faintest shake of her head.
Elizabeth crossed the room at once.
“Lizzy,” Jane said softly when they were near enough to speak without being overheard, “may I have a word?”
They retreated a step toward the window, Jane lowering her voice.
“I am…uncertain,” Jane admitted. “I am pleased, of course. Mr. Bingley is exceedingly kind. But his sisters—”
Elizabeth did not prompt. She waited.
“They do not like me,” Jane continued. “Nor our home. Nor the neighborhood. They smile, but it is not warmth. I fear I may say something amiss.”
Elizabeth studied her cousin’s face, noting the tension beneath her serenity.
“You will say nothing amiss,” she replied firmly. “But you must be careful what you answer.”
Jane frowned slightly. “Careful?”
“Think before you speak if you are asked about our circumstances,” Elizabeth said. “You owe no one an explanation of your worth. And remember this—” She met Jane’s gaze. “You are not fortunate because you have been noticed. Mr. Bingley is fortunate to have noticed you.”
Jane’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “You always know how to say things.”
“I know how the world works,” Elizabeth returned gently. “And I know you.”
Jane hesitated. “Elizabeth…do you think they will be unkind?”
“They may be impertinent,” Elizabeth allowed. “That is not the same thing. Answer politely. Do not volunteer more than is asked. And if you feel uncomfortable, you may always say you are fatigued.”
Jane nodded slowly, taking comfort from the advice.
“We shall speak more when you return,” Elizabeth added. “You will tell me everything.”
Jane reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly. “I promise.”
Mrs. Bennet swept over then, declaring that it was quite time and urging Jane toward the door with excited commentary about punctuality and impressions. Elizabeth watched as her cousin donned her muff and gloves, her composure settling once more into place.
As the carriage departed, Elizabeth remained standing at the window, her earlier resolve only strengthened.
Think before answering, she had told Jane.
She would take her own counsel.
Soon, she would speak with her uncle. Then, she would decide how much longer she was willing to let others define the limits of her life.
Jane returned to Longbourn later than Elizabeth had expected.
The house was already quieting for the night when Elizabeth heard the carriage wheels upon the gravel and, a moment later, Jane’s familiar step in the corridor.
Elizabeth rose at once and went to her door, admitting her cousin without waiting for a knock.
Jane’s pelisse had been removed, her bonnet set aside by a maid, and she stood there in her gown, looking composed but subdued.
“Come in,” Elizabeth said softly, closing the door behind them. “You look as though you have much to tell.”
Jane gave a small, weary smile and crossed the room to sit upon the edge of the bed. Elizabeth joined her, folding her hands in her lap and waiting.
“It was pleasant,” Jane began, as though reciting a lesson she had already practiced. “Mr. Bingley was attentive—very much so. He would have had me speak of nothing but myself if he could have managed it. We dined comfortably, and the conversation was agreeable enough.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “And yet?”
Jane sighed. “And yet his sisters…”
She paused, searching for words that were neither uncharitable nor na?ve.
“They were not unkind,” she continued carefully.
“Not openly. But there was a chill beneath every civility. Miss Bingley questioned me closely—about our family, our connections, our habits here in the country. Mrs. Hurst scarcely addressed me at all unless she was obliged. The other gentlemen were not in attendance.”
Elizabeth’s expression hardened. “It is as I suspected.”
Jane looked down at her hands. “I am certain now that they do not approve of their brother’s attention. They watched us constantly. Miss Bingley in particular seemed displeased whenever he addressed me directly.”
“And Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked. “Did he notice?”
“I think he did,” Jane admitted. “He attempted to smooth matters—to draw his sisters into conversation, to praise the neighborhood, to insist upon its comforts. But it only seemed to vex them further.”
She hesitated before adding, “It left me wondering whether his regard can withstand such disapproval. How can a fledgling affection survive being smothered at its source?”
Elizabeth leaned forward, her voice firm but gentle. “If Mr. Bingley allows his sisters to dictate to him—if he permits their disdain to govern his feelings—then he is not a man worthy of my favorite cousin.”
Jane looked up, startled but thoughtful. “You truly believe that?”
“I do,” Elizabeth said without hesitation. “Affection that must beg permission from others is already on precarious ground. A man who cannot stand by his own judgment will not stand by a wife when it matters most.”
Jane considered this in silence. At length, she nodded. “I believe you are right. Still…” Her voice softened. “It is disappointing. I had hoped—”
Elizabeth reached for her hand. “Hope is not foolish,” she said kindly. “But neither is caution. You have conducted yourself with perfect propriety, and whatever comes of this will be no reflection upon you.”
Jane smiled faintly, squeezing Elizabeth’s fingers. “Thank you, Lizzy. I am glad to have spoken of it. I feel lighter for it.”
“So you should,” Elizabeth replied. “Now, you must rest. Tomorrow will bring its own discoveries—and we shall meet them together.”
Jane rose then, her spirits steadied if not wholly restored, and as the candlelight dimmed and the house settled into sleep, Elizabeth remained awake a little longer, resolved that whatever course this attachment took, it would do so on terms worthy of the woman she loved as a sister.