Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth
When Mr Bingley arrived at the Bennet townhouse, Jane had received him in the drawing room with more composure than she had shown during his previous visits.
Jane was often anxious about meetings of such nature, and her recent lack of nervousness revealed a growing comfort with the aforementioned gentleman.
Elizabeth was chaperoning in place of their mother, whose bedroom door had remained closed since breakfast and showed no signs of opening.
What had passed through Mrs Bennet's mind as she left the breakfast table yesterday and what specific confidence she had given Mrs Bingley, were necessary details Elizabeth did not yet know.
Thus far, she had relayed word of Mary's wish for quiet to the household and enforced it, informed the housekeeper that Mrs Bennet was not to be disturbed, and had then positioned herself in the drawing room.
Mary was still upstairs. She had asked to have her dinner brought up the previous day, said little and had only emerged once to retrieve a book whose title Elizabeth had not caught.
She had sent word this morning that she was quite well and needed time to herself, and Elizabeth was not too worried because Mary's requests for privacy were usually accurate accounts of what she required.
Moreover, there was enough happening in the household to manage without adding to Mary's difficulties.
So it was only the three of them together — Bingley, Jane, and Elizabeth, with her needlework, which served the same function it always did in these situations, namely to provide her hands with an occupation while her attention went elsewhere.
"Two of them confined to their rooms simultaneously," Mr Bingley murmured. "That is a considerable coincidence."
"It is less of a coincidence than a related cause," Elizabeth replied, without looking up from the needlework.
"Forgive me if the atmosphere is more morose than usual," Jane said.
"On the contrary." He replied, smiling at Jane, "I grew up in a household occupied entirely by women until Louisa married Hurst and thus added another male influence to the household.
When he is present and not asleep. I am accustomed to the domestic weather of a female establishment. It does not startle me."
Jane blushed deeply. "Thank you for saying that."
"I have been thinking," he continued, "that we ought to go to the theatre again before the season ends. There is a new comedy at Drury Lane that Colonel Fitzwilliam says is very good, although his taste in comedy runs somewhat dry, I am not certain that is a reliable recommendation."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam's sense of humour is perfectly sound," Jane said. "He simply enjoys things without reservation, which is not a sign of bad taste."
"That is a generous interpretation."
"Enjoying something wholeheartedly will never be a defect."
"Indeed. Yet at times, I can perhaps be too cautious in my enthusiasms."
"Cautious is not the word I would use to describe it."
"What is your proposed alternative?"
"I’d say you’re responsive," she said. "You respond to what is in front of you. The comedy might be broad, but if it is funny you will laugh at it. You will not falsify amusement if it’s not funny and the response will be honest either way."
He gazed at her with the intrigued look he invariably produced when she said something he had not anticipated but found to be right. "That is a considerably nuanced assessment. Most people wouldn’t think that deeply."
"A lot of people don’t pay adequate notice, but I do. Particularly with those I care deeply for. " Jane murmured, then appeared to realise she had said it out loud, and glanced down at her hands.
Mr Bingley, to his considerable credit, did not make her feel she had said too much.
He simply continued, having gotten a valuable compliment that he refused to handle clumsily.
"And what do you think of comedy in general?
I have always found it the hardest form to judge.
One either finds it funny or one does not, and there is no arguing the difference. "
"I think comedy requires generosity in the audience. One has to be willing to be amused. If you approach it with the intention of deciding whether it merits amusement before you allow yourself any, the comedy will always be lost."
"Like entering a room thinking about how you appear."
Jane turned to him in puzzlement. "I'm sorry?"
"Something Miss Elizabeth told the Garroway girls, apparently.
The purpose of entering a room is to see, not to be seen.
I heard it from Georgiana Darcy, who heard it from either Charity or Diana.
It seems to apply rather well." He glanced at Elizabeth in the corner.
"I imagine that is the sort of thing one says when a lot of time is spent on thinking. "
"On the contrary, it is the sort of thing one says," Elizabeth replied, "when one has spent two mornings trying to explain deportment to a girl who reads novels under the desk."
Mr Bingley laughed at this, and Jane stared questioningly at Elizabeth, who responded in turn with an unspoken look that expressed that she would explain later.
Elizabeth noted, not for the first time, the force of attraction between Jane and Mr Bingley.
There was an ease with which they discovered the depth of each other’s minds, doing so with a mixture of pleasure and relief.
Mr Bingley was not the sort to entertain several courtship interests.
She had seen enough of that variety over the years to know the difference.
Instead, his focus on Jane was full of devotion and that much was obvious in the softness in his eyes when he gazed at her and the complete attention he paid when visiting.
She excused herself on the grounds of fetching a cup of tea from the morning room, which was true, but also because she wished to provide the lovebirds some minutes of unsupervised conversation.
Neither Jane nor Mr Bingley appeared entirely devastated by this development. Elizabeth left them to their conversation, convinced she must be the only chaperone who knew when her absence was more useful than her presence.
The morning room was two doors along the hall and the tea was placed tidily on a table.
She had the caddy in hand and was turning back towards the door when a movement in the hall caught her eye.
There was a tall figure, recently arrived, saying something to a footman who hovered with a hat and gloves that had just been taken.
She went in for a closer look.
Mr Darcy was in the hall.
He appeared to have arrived with some purpose, but pulled up short upon discovering the hallway empty.
He wore no expression she could read with immediate certainty, which was not unusual for him, but there was something in his bearing that drew her attention.
It seemed as if he was holding an internal feeling in check.
He looked startlingly relieved to see her. "Miss Elizabeth, I apologise for arriving without notice. I am aware it is irregular."
"It is, indeed. What is the matter?"
He dismissed the footman with a brief, well-communicated look, and the man withdrew with admirable tact, leaving them standing in the hall.
"Is Miss Mary well?"
The question was unexpected enough that she took a moment to answer, not from any want of reply but from the reflex that came from having learned to be careful with sudden questions from unexpected quarters. "She is quite well. Why do you ask?"
He met her gaze without inhibition. She had come to realise it was something he did when he intended to be direct, without the hedging that most people deployed as a courtesy.
"I have come across a piece of information that may be of relevance to your family.
I concluded you should be made aware of it before others are. "
The word others had a foreboding element to it that she registered without yet being able to place.
"What have you come across?"
He opened his mouth to speak.
Elizabeth heard the sound of footsteps, but it faded, just like every other sound or view. All that mattered to her, as her heart beat rapidly in her chest, were the next words Mr Darcy intended to say.