Chapter Thirty-One #3
Jane found herself actually laughing at the woman.
She could not account for the wild laughter that poured out of her for several minutes, as if her nerves could bear no more misery, and her anxious mind had sought to convince her that she was merry as anything.
Everything felt utterly absurd. “Miss Bingley, you astonish me! You have often spoken of having moved in society a great deal, just as I have done; I expected you to be more astute in the ways of the world. It is entirely possible to be perfectly content in one’s home village, and I am sure London is full of any number of ladies who married well and are still as lonely as anything. ”
“What a charming view of the world, if a little naive,” Miss Bingley said with a sniff. “Nobody who marries well could ever lament it as dearly as they should repine a life of genteel poverty and utter obscurity.”
Jane felt an unusual sensation as her lips curled into a sneer. She had never despised anybody in the whole course of her life, and had certainly never felt the urge to strike another person, yet now her fingers twitched with the impulse.
“We shall have to agree to disagree for another fortnight, Miss Bingley – until the date you have set for your wedding. If indeed it takes place, I shall wish with all my heart that your views remain so steadfast. My own plans for the future certainly paint a very different picture. It is indeed a pleasant one, from which you are as absent as you are in Emma’s portrait gallery. ”
Miss Bingley turned her gaze toward the boundary hedge along the lane, where a gentleman on horseback was approaching; Jane recognized the silhouette at once.
“Well, here comes my other beau,” Miss Bingley purred.
“Your schemes shall come to naught, Miss Fairfax, as I mean to tell your hoyden of a sister – but it is always wise to have a second iron in the fire.”
As Miss Bingley moved past her, she came closer than necessary along the path, shoving bodily against Jane. She was distracted watching Frank’s approach and lost her balance. She tumbled into a large rose bush and cried out at the scratches that tore at her.
Miss Bingley abandoned her without a backward glance, but Mr. Knightley perceived Jane’s distress and hastened to her aid. He bounded down the steps of the verandah where he was keeping Mr. Woodhouse company and wrapped his hands around Jane’s waist to haul her out of the thorny bush.
She braced her hands on his shoulders as she regained her balance, and for a moment she was lost to the rhythm of his labored breaths.
And then the many scratches along her arms began to sting, and she noticed that her gown was snagged and torn.
Her face burned with heat – not from shame, but a fiery rage at Miss Bingley’s insolence.
Her mockery had felt so severe at the time, but now she could only wish she had been capable of worse.
With one arm still about her, Mr. Knightley brought his fingertips to Jane’s chin and turned her face until she looked up at him. “You are hurt,” he cried, his eyes roving over her. “That will never do. May I assist you?”
“I… I am… yes, please,” Jane breathed, the pain of her scratches ebbing away in the bliss of his embrace. He released her, and Jane flinched as one of her bleeding cuts grazed his coat. Her arm was streaked red. “Oh! Your coat – I have marked it.”
“You are bleeding,” he gasped. He swiftly removed his cravat and tied it around her arm. Jane drank in the sight of him: the unbuttoned top button of his shirt, the dishevelment of his hair, the strong fingers that tied the starched linen around her wound.
“Will you come into the house, Jane? I believe my housekeeper can get you some ointment for the other cuts – I shall send for Mrs. Martin if I have nothing in our stores.”
Mr. Knightley guided her toward the manor with his hand on the small of her back, walking very close to her, and Jane could only nod her head, still in a state of dumb amazement at how her unpleasant encounter with Miss Bingley had swiftly become a moment of wonder at Mr. Knightley’s perfection.
He led Jane into a large, sunny parlor and bid her sit on the sofa. “Wait here, if you please; I shall fetch the ointment at once. Mr. Woodhouse thinks we should send for Doctor Perry – what do you think?”
“Oh – no – that is hardly necessary,” Jane said, suddenly a little embarrassed. She did not even want the ointment; she only wanted Mr. Knightley to stay with her, though she was not bold enough to ask it of him.
A few minutes after he left through the enfilade doorway that led further into the house, Frank sauntered into the room from the front corridor, grinning widely.
“I thought I was disobliged to be riding in all this heat, after I had just ridden here and back yesterday, and must face another return journey yet – but look at poor Jane! I saw Miss Bingley shove you – whatever did you say to vex her?”
“Miss Bingley is quite capable of behaving just as she chooses,” Jane replied, desperately wishing him away before Mr. Knightley returned.
“Perhaps she perceived how attentive Knightley was to you yesterday and wished to create an opportunity for you to again receive his attentions.”
“And perhaps you make too much of his civility after your own indifference to me at Box Hill,” Jane said, her heart aching at his jaunty, taunting manner.
“A man can always tell when another man is interested in his lady.”
“I shall have to ask Mr. Bingley.”
Frank smirked, and Jane wondered how she could have ever loved the man before her. “I ought to take it as a compliment that my beautiful Jane has such a distinguished admirer.”
“Perhaps his attentiveness strikes you because he does not pay such addresses to every lady he encounters, as some young men seem to do.”
“Have I not wooed you properly, Jane? At Bath and at Weymouth, I was obliged to conceal our engagement; you never objected until now. I wonder what has changed.”
“I have,” Jane said. She trembled, but forced herself to speak the next words. “I no longer wish to continue our connection, so much have I altered.”
Frank still wore a defiant smile, and he stalked toward her. “I never imagined you could be so changeable. Ought I to blame the influence of your sister, or do you really prefer the master of all this?” He gestured around them to indicate the splendor of Donwell.
“Both,” Jane said flatly. “But above all, I believe you might reasonably blame yourself and how you have behaved. I am only grateful for the superior example that has taught me to expect better of a gentleman, and the strength I have learned from my sister to accept nothing less. Even if I should remain unmarried forever, I should be better contented than to be played for a fool.”
Frank’s countenance hardened, and he opened his mouth to speak; Jane braced herself for something inevitably vitriolic, but just then Mr. Knightley entered the room with a small jar of ointment.
“Miss Fairfax, I hope you have not been too uncomfortable; I recalled I had something in my study that eased a paper cut last week. Shall I assist you in applying the salve?”
Frank glared at them, then gave a curt nod. “I am sure Miss Fairfax will be much obliged to you.”
Jane breathed a long, deep sigh as Frank stormed out of the room.
Mr. Knightley perched on the sofa beside her and began applying the salve to Jane’s arm; she knew she ought to tell him she could do it herself, but she found his touch comforting, and he did not seem to think it odd that he should aid her in such an intimate way.
For a moment, Jane let the soothing sensations ease her anxiety, and her fingers lightly curled around his hand as he held her wrist to apply the salve. When Mr. Knightley completed his ministrations, his grasp slid down from her wrist, and his hand clasped around hers.
“I must confess that I heard your conversation with Mr. Churchill before I entered the room.”
“Oh.”
“I… I should not have listened, and I owe you an apology, but I cannot be sorry that you have seen that man for what he is. Neither can I repine that your heart should be free... that perhaps I may have some hope….”
Mr. Knightley gazed earnestly at Jane, and she realized he was as frightened of what had grown between them as she was.
“What you said about time – that to be often in company with someone might leave one always looking forward to the next occasion… I believe you were perfectly right, sir. As to hope – I have hardly dared….”
He smiled warmly at her and brought her hand to his lips. “We must both have hope, Jane.”
She absolutely did; it fairly swelled within her, and Jane began to think that time meant very little in comparison to hope. She had always been ready to give her heart to him, and no impediment now stood in her way. She leaned closer and brushed her lips against his….