Chapter 10 #2
Darcy found himself steered into the sitting room, familiar to him from his prior calls, and yet now strange in being received with such warmth. Elizabeth took a plain wooden chair nearest the hearth. Darcy remained standing her side until Mrs. Bennet insisted he sit as well.
“Never mind the upholstery, dear. I daresay it could use a cleaning anyway.”
He had once dismissed her as frivolous and fawning—yet she treated him now with the same unreserved kindness she had once shown Bingley, and without any hope of advantage.
It was humbling.
If a sodden stranger arrived at Pemberley—especially on Boxing Day, of all days—claiming acquaintance with Georgiana, he might offer them dry garments. But they would be shown to the kitchens, not his drawing room.
“Oh, but what dreadful weather,” Mrs. Bennet continued without pausing for breath. “Hill says it came on quite sudden—did you get caught very far down the lane?”
“We had just passed Lucas Lodge,” Elizabeth replied, accepting a towel and blotting her face. “It struck before we could reach shelter.”
Mrs. Bennet tsked and bustled to adjust the fire screen. “Well, I am sure you must be frozen. Poor lambs. So, tell me—how did you meet Mrs. Collins?”
“I was visiting Kent recently, where I encountered Mr. Smith.” Elizabeth gave Darcy a fond smile, and he nearly forgot it was all a pretense. “One thing led to another, and… well, here we are, newly married as well.”
“Oh, that is wonderful! And how is my daughter? I imagine she has taken to her duties quite well. She always was a bright one.”
Darcy’s heart wrenched as he saw the flash of pain in Elizabeth’s eyes. “Yes,” she managed to say. Darcy could hear the slight hitch in her voice. “Indeed. She… seems to have settled in.”
“Such a good match,” Mrs. Bennet said, settling herself on the edge of the settee with the air of one entirely satisfied with her own foresight. “So very suitable. Of course, we always thought the eldest would marry first—our Jane is such a beauty—but it was not to be.”
Darcy watched as Elizabeth arched a brow over a fine eye. “No?”
Mrs. Bennet’s face pinched ever so slightly.
“Mr. Bingley—he is the gentleman who let Netherfield last autumn—he left rather suddenly, you see. Quite shocking. Everyone thought… well…” She fluttered her fingers vaguely.
“But no engagement was ever announced. And a young lady must be sensible, must she not?”
She smoothed her skirts. “Mr. Collins had been disappointed, of course, when Lizzy first refused him—silly girl! But then when he turned his sights towards my Jane—who was heartbroken and pining after Mr. Bingley—Elizabeth changed her mind. I daresay the matter was settled quite practically.”
Darcy gripped his teacup, fighting to keep his expression neutral. So even with my absence, Mr. Bingley still abandoned Miss Bennet and Netherfield. It was not entirely my fault.
“Jane,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “has not been quite herself since. She rarely goes out. But she is the gentlest creature—she bears things with such grace.” Her voice dropped. “Though I do worry. She grows thinner by the day.”
Elizabeth frowned in concern at her mother, and—for a moment—Darcy wished he could kiss her cares away. He was also surprised by Mrs. Bennet’s sincerity. There was no lamenting the loss of Bingley’s fortune, but rather genuine concern over her daughter’s emotions.
He had believed her to be coarse, and often she was—but in warmth, in welcome, she far outshone many women of higher rank.
Certainly more than Lady Catherine ever has.
“Ah! Here she is now. Jane, darling! Where have you been?”
Darcy stood before he realized what he was doing, and then Elizabeth’s sister entered the room.
Jane looked very much the same—elegant, fair, her features lovely as ever. But Darcy saw the difference at once. Her smile, though immediate, did not reach her eyes. Her figure, though graceful, seemed frailer. And there was something heavy in her expression—something quiet and pained.
Elizabeth shifted, and he could tell that she longed to run to her, to embrace her and hold fast and tell her everything would be well. That is how it will feel for me with Georgiana, I imagine.
Instead, Darcy said with careful gentility, “It is a pleasure to meet you. Mrs. Collins spoke so fondly of her sister.”
Jane glanced at her mother, then back at Elizabeth. “You are… friends of Lizzy’s? You seem familiar somehow, but I am not certain…” Her voice trailed off.
Darcy felt the ground shift slightly beneath his feet as Elizabeth replied, “Yes, I met her when she came to the Hunsford parish.”
Bowing, Darcy added, “We were passing through and wished to pay our respects. Your mother has been most kind.”
“Did you, perhaps, bring a letter from her? Correspondence of any kind?”
Unprepared for this question, Elizabeth looked at Darcy, who shook his head. “No, I am afraid our schedules did not allow time for that. We were not even sure if we would come here as we journeyed. I am taking my wife north to Derbyshire to meet my sister.”
“Oh, I see.”
Darcy had not thought it possible for Jane to appear more subdued, but the light in her eyes dimmed further still.
The silence that followed stretched a beat too long before Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands.
“Well! I daresay you have had enough talk—come, let us see if Cook can spare a few biscuits for our guests. And perhaps a dry gown for Mrs. Smith. I daresay you are of a size with Lizzy. Jane, could you fetch one from your room?”
That Mrs. Bennet’s cheer extended so easily to a married couple of modest name and damp boots made him feel a fool for the pride he had once placed in lineage alone. He had always believed himself generous. Civil.
But perhaps his civility had been more arrogance than kindness.
Jane hesitated, her gaze lingering on Elizabeth. But then she turned obediently and went upstairs. Mrs. Bennet frowned at Darcy, looking him up and down. “I would offer you something of my husband’s to wear, sir, but I am afraid that you are much taller than him.”
“That is… very generous of you, madam, I thank you for the offer, but I am quite alright.”
“Perhaps one of the manservants has something… I will have Hill ask.”
Before Darcy could protest, Mrs. Bennet bustled from the room. As the door shut behind them, Elizabeth sank slowly back into her chair, heart pounding.
“There is something very wrong with Jane,” she whispered to him.
∞∞∞
Every part of Elizabeth’s body thrummed with anxiety.
There was something wrong—she knew it with certainty.
Jane’s smile had been too thin, her voice too still.
Whatever had happened, it weighed heavily on her sister’s heart, and Elizabeth’s own heart ached with the need to understand it, to fix it.
Before she could decide what to do, however, Jane reappeared in the doorway.
“If you will come with me,” she said softly, “you can change in the guest chamber.”
Elizabeth rose at once. “Thank you.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I shall remain here until your return.”
She followed Jane up the familiar staircase, her hand brushing the smooth wood of the banister she had once slid down as a girl.
Everything looked the same—the gilt-framed landscapes, the threadbare runner, even the faint creak on the third stair—but the warmth of home felt distant, like something glimpsed through glass.
Jane led her to the guest room at the end of the hall. The fire had been recently stoked, the curtains drawn against the storm’s gray light. As soon as the door shut behind them, Elizabeth turned.
Her sister’s composure faltered the moment they were alone.
The gown—which Elizabeth recognized as one of her own—trembled slightly in Jane’s hands.
Elizabeth took it from her sister and set it on the bed.
Jane began to excuse herself, but Elizabeth asked her to remain and help her with the buttons in the back.
“Now, Jane,” Elizabeth said gently as the final button was secure, “your sister has confided much in me about you.”
Jane froze. Her eyes widened in sudden panic.
Elizabeth blinked, confused by the reaction. She softened her voice still further. “I can tell you are troubled. Please, will you not tell me for yourself? It did your sister much good to confide in me, and I think you will find the same.”
Jane’s throat worked soundlessly. Then, with a small, broken sound, she set the gown on the bed and pressed her hands to her face.
“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed, rushing forward, but her sister was already shaking with sobs—quiet at first, then deeper, the kind that came from long restraint.
“I am so ashamed,” Jane choked. “So very ashamed. I did not mean for any of it—oh, my dear Lizzy. My poor, dear sister. I never wished it to end this way.”
Elizabeth knelt beside her, though her heart was pounding. “End what way? Dearest, you are trembling. Tell me—whatever it is, you must tell me. It will ease your heart to speak of it.”
Jane drew a ragged breath, lowering her hands at last. Her face was blotched and wet, her blue eyes shining with anguish.
“I cannot bear it any longer,” she whispered. “I feel so guilty, just so guilty for everything that has happened to her. To Elizabeth. She should never have had to marry him. It was my fault. All my fault.”
Elizabeth hesitated, her pulse roaring in her ears. “What do you mean, your fault?”
Jane swallowed hard, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her voice was barely audible.
“I am with child.”