Chapter Twenty-Three
The day after learning of their middle sister’s elopement, Elizabeth shared a sofa with Jane, her mending, and their joint misery.
Word had reached them late yesterday that Mr. and Miss Bingley had left for London.
Certain news of Mary’s elopement couldn’t have spread that quickly, Jane seemed convinced they’d departed because of Elizabeth’s bad behavior.
They had argued the matter all evening, and started again come morning.
Elizabeth did not care to be at odds with her older sister, Jane’s disappointment and sorrow slicing into her heart.
“It is the only explanation for why they would leave so suddenly and without offering their farewells,” Jane murmured under her breath, jabbing her needle forcefully enough to make Elizabeth wince.
“That, or because they mean to return with alacrity,” Elizabeth whispered back. “It is not as if London is far.” Like Scotland. To Scotland and back was a journey of weeks. A month, even. Before that sort of journey, a person should find a way to bid farewell to anyone about whom he cared.
“You simply found that man, and then told Colonel Fitzwilliam about him?” Jane whispered, pulling her needle through.
“I have told you twenty times already,” Elizabeth cast back, her voice rising in aggravation despite her best effort.
Mrs. Bennet turned their way with a frown.
Elizabeth clamped her mouth closed and dropped her gaze to her work.
A moment later, Jane’s soft voice once again reached her, saying, “Why would he leave so abruptly?”
Perhaps because he never intended to offer for you at all and he seeks to make that clear? But Elizabeth did not say those words aloud. No matter how much Jane’s readiness to join the others in blaming Elizabeth hurt, she would not deal like pain to her sister.
Jane let out a long, sad sigh. “Maybe you are correct. Maybe he will return today.”
Her sister’s hope hurt almost as much as her anger, making Elizabeth long to help. Perhaps their father knew something and had not told them. Mr. Bennet often delighted in tormenting them thusly. Bundling her work, Elizabeth stood.
“Where do you think you are going?” Mama asked.
“To Papa’s study to collect a book.”
“No, you are not.”
“I am not?” Elizabeth stared at her mother in confusion.
“You and Mary and your books. You are both contrary and ill-behaved, and you are the two who are always reading. I blame books for undermining the good behavior I have struggled, against your natures, to instill in you.”
Even though her true plan had been to speak with Mr. Bennet about Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth did not care for being denied books. “Mary and I do not read at all the same things.”
“Precisely.” Mrs. Bennet’s voice held triumph. “That is how I know it is all books. Would I had not taught either of you to read.”
As Papa had taught her and Jane to read, and they had taught Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, that declaration only fueled Elizabeth’s ire.
“They both play pianoforte as well,” Lydia put in before Elizabeth could form her next argument. “Perhaps that is also a terrible influence.” Her eyes were wide and guileless as she spoke, but the moment their mother turned back to Elizabeth, Lydia smirked.
“No more pianoforte either, until I discuss the corrupting influence of music with the rector,” Mrs. Bennet declared.
Elizabeth remained standing, half inclined to go to her father’s study regardless. Papa would let her stay there, would he not? Shelter her from Mrs. Bennet’s unreasonableness?
“A carriage is coming,” Kitty said excitedly, turning all eyes in the direction of the front window.
Lydia swiveled full around, kneeling on the couch. “Oh, it is Mr. Bingley’s.”
Painful hope suffused Jane’s face.
Squinting, Kitty protested, “You cannot tell that it is Mr. Bingley’s carriage yet.”
“I can. My eyesight is exceptional, and I recognize the team.”
“You are guessing so you can pretend about your eyes.”
As her youngest sisters commenced to argue, Elizabeth retook her place on the couch. She shoved her sewing basket beneath. Jane, mending already stowed, pinched her cheeks, sat up very straight, and turned a smile on the parlor doorway.
Several impatient moments later, Kitty harumphed and pivoted back around to sit properly on the sofa.
“I was right,” Lydia crowed.
“Hush,” Mrs. Bennet hissed. “And do sit like a lady.”
Lydia complied as a maid announced Mr. Bingley, who entered moments later, his gaze riveted to Jane.
“Mr. Bingley, how wonderful to see you,” Mrs. Bennet said as they all rose. “We heard that you followed Mr. Darcy to London, and without a word of farewell, you naughty man. We were quite dismayed, I must assure you. Especially my Jane. Will you have tea, sir?”
Blinking, Mr. Bingley turned to Mrs. Bennet. “I must decline for now, madam, as I wish to have a private word with your husband.” He returned to staring at Jane.
“A word with Mr. Bennet?” A wide grin split Mrs. Bennet’s face. “Well, be off with you, then. He is in his study.” Mrs. Bennet gestured to the maid at Mr. Bingley’s side, who waited to see if tea was required. “Sally can show you the way.”
“I will show him,” Jane said, standing. “There is something I must say to him before he speaks with Papa.”
“There is?” Mr. Bingley asked with sudden worry.
“There most certainly is not,” Mrs. Bennet snapped.
Jane leveled a calm, even look on their mother. “He must know, Mama.”
“Know?” Lines creased Mr. Bingley’s brow. “What must I know before I ask…before I speak with Mr. Bennet?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Bennet said so loudly that everyone winced.
Mr. Bingley looked from face to face, his own confused.
Jane drew in a deep breath. “Mary has eloped to Scotland with Mr. Collins. We have every expectation that they will wed there.”
Mrs. Bennet fell back against her couch with a wail. Kitty and Lydia watched Mr. Bingley with wide, avid eyes.
Mr. Bingley blinked rapidly. “I, ah, I see.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, ah…” His gaze went to Elizabeth and he frowned.
Did he somehow blame her for Mary’s behavior as well? Elizabeth cocked her chin, defiant.
“Should they return wed, it will not be so great a scandal,” Jane said softly. Her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, she continued, “I will understand if you do not wish to speak with my father until we know Mary’s fate.”
Elizabeth would not understand. Either Mr. Bingley loved her sister enough or he did not, and if he did not, why, then, he could—
“I will speak with Mr. Bennet now,” Mr. Bingley said firmly, squaring his shoulders. “I know the way to his study. If you will please excuse me?” He bowed to the room.
Jane sank back down onto the sofa as Mr. Bingley walked away. Trembling, she squeezed her eyes closed. Silence draped the room. Jane appeared as if any stray breath, any too-loud sound, would shatter her.
“He must mean to ask Papa for his consent still,” Elizabeth said tentatively.
“Yes.” Mrs. Bennet sat up straighter. “Elizabeth is correct.” She added a glare to that, the admission obviously galling her.
“Why did he look at you like that?” Jane whispered, turning to Elizabeth. “As if you hold the key to my worth?”
“I do not know.” Annoyance kindling in her gut, Elizabeth reiterated, “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Nothing we know about,” Lydia observed.
Elizabeth cast her youngest sister a murderous look.
Lydia shrugged. “You have obviously done something.”
Elizabeth clamped her lips tight over her anger, aware an outburst would only fuel her mother and sisters’ speculations.
Yes, she had met Fitzwilliam several times while out walking, most of those times not, in truth, by chance, but she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“It is not as if I eloped to Scotland,” she muttered.
That returned them to heavy silence…finally broken by two sets of footfalls.
Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bingley entered the room, both looking at Elizabeth’s older sister. “Jane,” Mr. Bennet said. “Mr. Bingley would like to walk with you, so he may ask you something. I have given him my permission to do so.”
Joy transformed Jane’s visage from worried to radiant in a heartbeat, shining from her like sunlight cutting through banked clouds. For his part, Mr. Bingley stared at her with obvious adoration, and Elizabeth decided he must love Jane well enough indeed.
In a show of considerable restraint, Mrs. Bennet made no sound until Jane and Mr. Bingley were all the way down the drive.
Then her elation broke forth, driving Elizabeth from the room.
Fortunately, her mother seemed neither to notice nor to care, and Elizabeth hoped the new restrictions on her would be summarily forgotten now that Jane was engaged.
Even if not, Mrs. Bennet would be out and about, visiting everyone in the neighborhood to impart the happy news.
For the next several mornings, though her announcement would have reached London too late to be added on the first day, and their papers were generally a day old, Jane preempted their father, who always read the news over breakfast. Tea at her elbow and Mrs. Bennet beside her, for the prospect of Jane’s engagement announcement had their mother rising earlier than usual, Jane secured the society pages before handing over the rest, to Mr. Bennet’s clear amusement.
On the third morning, as Elizabeth reached for the jam, Jane let out a gasp.
“Did you f—” Mrs. Bennet began, before breaking off in an exclamation of her own, to which she added, “No! Oh, my poor Kitty.”
Plucking up the small crystal bowl of strawberry preserves, Elizabeth frowned. “Poor Kitty?”
“Poor me?” Kitty reiterated from the parlor doorway, following Lydia into the room.
“Yes, poor you.” Mama shook her head. “You had such high hopes when it came to Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth set the jam down with a dull clunk. “Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Jane raised stricken eyes from the paper. “He has become engaged to Caroline Bingley.”