Chapter Thirty-One
The drawing room at Darcy House caught the morning light differently than the grand rooms at Matlock House had done, Elizabeth noted.
Softer somehow, less imposing despite the evident quality of the furnishings.
She sat beside Jane on a cream damask settee positioned near tall windows that overlooked the street, her fingers tracing idle patterns on her skirts while they waited for Mr. Bingley’s arrival.
A week had passed since the wedding, since potions and body swaps and impossible revelations, and life had settled into something that felt almost normal if one did not think too carefully about the strangeness of it all.
Elizabeth had returned to Longbourn briefly, but her mother had asked too many questions, and Elizabeth decided it would be best to stay in London, at Darcy House, until her second wedding day arrived.
Jane sat with perfect posture beside her, hands folded in her lap with the composure that had always come naturally to her.
But Elizabeth saw the tension in her sister’s shoulders, the way her gaze kept drifting to the window as though she could will Mr. Bingley to arrive sooner through sheer force of attention.
Or perhaps delay him. Elizabeth could not quite tell which Jane hoped for, and suspected her sister might not know herself.
Darcy had written to Mr. Bingley three days ago, a letter Elizabeth had not read but whose contents she knew.
An admission of fault, an explanation of his interference in separating Bingley from Jane, and an invitation to call at Darcy House when convenient.
The letter had been Darcy’s idea, offered during one of their careful conversations as they navigated the strange territory of their marriage that was and was not yet fully a marriage.
He had seemed genuinely troubled by his past actions, had wanted to make amends in whatever way he could.
The sound of footsteps in the entrance hall made both sisters straighten, Elizabeth’s hands stilling on her skirts while Jane’s fingers tightened momentarily against each other before relaxing again into studied calm.
When Bingley himself entered, Elizabeth felt her chest constrict at the sight of him.
He looked exactly as she remembered, all eager energy and open expression, his fair hair slightly dishevelled as though he had run his hands through it repeatedly during the carriage ride over.
His eyes found Jane immediately, lighting with pleasure so genuine and unguarded that Elizabeth felt like an intruder witnessing something too private for observation.
“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said, his voice carrying warmth that seemed to fill the room. His steps quickened as he crossed toward them, his smile wide enough to show teeth. “How delightful to see you again. You look wonderfully well. London clearly agrees with you.”
Jane rose with movements that suggested neither haste nor reluctance, finding some middle ground that spoke of careful control.
Her answering smile reached her lips but did not quite extend to her eyes, Elizabeth noticed.
Nothing like the radiant joy that had once transformed Jane’s face whenever Bingley entered a room in Hertfordshire.
“Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, her voice carrying its usual gentle warmth but lacking the breathless quality it had held during his previous courtship. “How kind of you to call. Please, do sit. Elizabeth and I were just discussing how pleasant the weather has been this week.”
They had been discussing no such thing, but the polite fiction served its purpose.
Bingley settled into the chair nearest Jane with barely contained energy, his attention fixed on her face with intensity that made Elizabeth want to look away.
Instead, she remained seated, offering her own greeting when Bingley finally remembered her presence enough to acknowledge it.
“Mrs. Darcy,” he said, the title still sounding strange to Elizabeth’s ears even a week after acquiring it. “I must congratulate you on your marriage. Darcy is a fortunate man. Though I confess I was surprised by the suddenness of it all.”
“It was rather sudden,” Elizabeth agreed, keeping her voice light despite the complicated truth beneath those simple words. “But sometimes these things happen quickly when circumstances align properly.”
Bingley nodded enthusiastically, already turning his attention back to Jane before Elizabeth had finished speaking. “Miss Bennet, I had hoped I might see you again, had been considering a return to Hertfordshire, but circumstances kept preventing it.”
The excuse sounded weak even to Elizabeth’s ears, and she saw Jane’s expression flicker with something that might have been disappointment or perhaps relief that circumstances had indeed prevented his return.
“I have barely been at Longbourn since Christmas,” Jane replied, her hands folding more tightly in her lap. “I stayed with my aunt and uncle in Cheapside for a while, and now reside with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, to keep my sister company in these early days of her marriage.”
Elizabeth watched the exchange with growing understanding.
Jane’s responses were perfectly polite, her manner warm enough that Bingley would find no fault with it.
But there was distance there, a reserve that had not existed during their earlier acquaintance.
She sat slightly angled away from Bingley rather than leaning toward him as she once had.
Her smiles came a beat slower than they should, as though she had to remember to produce them rather than offering them spontaneously.
And Mr. Bingley seemed not to notice these subtle withdrawals.
He spoke of his time in the north, of Netherfield which remained leased though he had not yet returned to it, of mutual acquaintances from Hertfordshire.
His conversation flowed with the easy charm Elizabeth remembered, but it felt now like water running over stones rather than finding purchase in soil that might help it grow. ”
Elizabeth shifted on the settee, drawing Bingley’s attention briefly. “Mr. Bingley, you mentioned a possible return to Netherfield. Will you take up residence there soon?”
Bingley’s expression showed uncertainty, his enthusiasm dimming slightly. “I am not certain. The lease continues until Michaelmas, but I have been considering other options. My sisters prefer London, you see, and Caroline in particular has been urging me to consider properties closer to town.”
The mention of Caroline Bingley made Jane’s posture stiffen almost imperceptibly. Darcy had been honest with Jane and Elizabeth about Caroline’s attitude towards Jane, about her unkind words, and Jane was clearly still hurt by the betrayal of someone who had pretended to be her friend.
Jane rose suddenly, her movement graceful despite its abruptness. “Forgive me, I believe I left my embroidery in the morning room. I shall return in a moment.”
She glided from the drawing room before either Elizabeth or Bingley could respond, leaving them in silence that felt awkward without Jane’s presence to anchor it.
Bingley watched her go with expression that showed confusion mixed with concern, as though he sensed something was wrong but could not identify what.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Bingley said, turning to Elizabeth with boyish enthusiasm that seemed almost desperate. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see Miss Bennet again. She is just as lovely as I remembered. More so, perhaps. Time has only enhanced her beauty.”
Elizabeth felt sympathy stir in her chest despite everything.
Bingley’s feelings were genuine, his affection for Jane real even if he had allowed himself to be influenced away from her.
But Jane’s feelings had clearly changed, had cooled in the months of separation until what remained was respect without the warmth of love.
“Jane is indeed lovely,” Elizabeth agreed carefully, choosing words that would not encourage false hope. “She has many admirers in London.”
The statement was true enough, though Elizabeth had not intended it as a warning until the words emerged. Bingley’s face fell slightly, his enthusiasm dampening as he processed this information.
“I see,” he said quietly. “I had hoped... that is, I had thought perhaps...” He trailed off, unable to complete whatever confession he had been building toward.
Jane’s return interrupted the moment, her embroidery basket in hand and her composure fully restored. She settled back onto the settee beside Elizabeth, resuming conversation with Bingley as though the interruption had never happened.
They spoke for another quarter hour, the talk ranging over safe topics that required no particular intimacy or understanding.
Bingley maintained his enthusiasm throughout, but Elizabeth saw it begin to waver as Jane’s polite distance continued.
He must have sensed it eventually, must have recognised that something had changed.
When Bingley finally rose to take his leave, his movements lacked the energy with which he had entered. He bowed over Jane’s hand with less assurance than he had shown earlier, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“I hope we may meet again soon, Miss Bennet,” he said, the words carrying question rather than assumption.
“It is always pleasant to see friends,” Jane replied, her tone warm but noncommittal in ways that made the answer’s true meaning unmistakable.
Elizabeth walked with Bingley to the drawing room door, offering her own farewells with genuine kindness despite the melancholy that had settled over the visit. She watched him depart down the hall toward the entrance, his shoulders slightly slumped in ways they had not been upon arrival.
When she returned to the drawing room, Jane remained on the settee, her embroidery forgotten in her lap and her gaze fixed on the window. Elizabeth settled beside her sister, waiting for Jane to speak first.