Chapter 6 #3
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth—pray come in.”
The warmth of the house met them like an embrace.
Miss Bingley appeared in the hall, her expression shifting from polite welcome to something more complicated as she took in their condition.
“Good heavens.”
Jane, still composed despite the circumstances, spoke first. “Our carriage suffered a mishap. The axle cracked upon the road, and as we were so near, we chose to walk.”
“And were caught in the rain,” Elizabeth added.
Miss Bingley’s gaze moved over them with careful attention. “You are quite soaked.”
“Entirely,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Hurst joined her sister, her brows lifting slightly at the sight.
“This is most unfortunate.”
“It cannot be helped,” Jane said.
Miss Bingley turned to the servant. “Have rooms prepared without delay. Dry clothing must be brought. You cannot remain as you are.”
They were shown upstairs directly thereafter.
Elizabeth’s hair was unpinned, her gown exchanged for one provided by their hostess, her shoes replaced. The process required time, though not so much as might have been expected. When at last she was ready, she paused before descending, considering briefly the events that had brought them there.
The broken axle, timed just before the onset of rain. Suspicion crossed her mind, though she dismissed it soon after. There was no reason to suppose design where chance sufficed.
She joined Jane downstairs. Jane’s color had deepened, though whether from exertion or something else, Elizabeth could not determine.
After a few minutes of conversation with the ladies of the house, supper was announced. They entered the dining room together.
Miss Bingley received them with renewed civility, though her earlier expression had not altogether vanished. There was something sharper beneath it now, a kind of attention that did not rest easily.
“I trust you are more comfortable.”
“Yes, thank you,” Jane said.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “We are obliged to you.”
Miss Bingley smiled. “It is nothing.”
They took their seats. The meal began. Conversation followed, though it did not flow with the ease Elizabeth had expected. Miss Bingley directed much of it, her questions shaped with care, her observations placed with intention.
Jane, perhaps still affected by the rain, answered with less reserve than usual.
“I understand you have lived your entire life at Longbourn,” Miss Bingley probed.
“Yes.”
“And your family resides there entirely?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “Along with our mother and father, you have yet to meet my younger sisters and the twins.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Your mother had twins?”
“My stepmother,” Jane corrected herself. “Mrs. Bennet.”
Elizabeth’s attention shifted.
Miss Bingley leaned forward slightly. “Your stepmother?”
Jane nodded. “She married our father some years ago.”
“How interesting.”
Elizabeth set down her fork.
“She has been most kind to us,” Jane continued.
“I am sure she has,” Miss Bingley said. “And your own mother?”
“She died when we were young.”
A pause followed.
Miss Bingley’s expression eased, though not fully. “How very sad.”
Jane did not respond.
“And your family connections?” Miss Bingley asked. “You have relations in town, I believe.”
Jane smiled slightly. “My uncle resides near Gracechurch Street. He is very near his warehouses.”
“He is in trade?” Miss Bingley said.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth spoke then, her tone even. “Mr. Gardiner is a respectable gentleman.”
“Of course,” Miss Bingley replied. “I did not suggest otherwise.”
Mrs. Hurst glanced between them.
“And it was through this connection that your stepmother became known to your father?”
Jane answered without pause. “Yes. My uncle purchased my stepmother’s late husband’s business. It was through that acquaintance that she and my father were brought together again.”
“Again?” Miss Bingley said.
“They had known one another before,” Jane explained. “I was very pleased when Mama and Elizabeth came to live with us.”
“How very fortunate,” Miss Bingley said.
Elizabeth met her gaze. “Very.”
Miss Bingley turned her attention to Elizabeth more directly. “Miss Elizabeth, you are not a Bennet, then? Did you live in town for some time before coming to Hertfordshire?”
Most had forgot that Elizabeth was not a Bennet. “I did.”
“Near Mr. Gardiner?”
“For a period.”
Miss Bingley’s smile returned. “You must have found it very different from the country.”
“I found it instructive.”
“And preferable?”
Elizabeth considered. “No.” In truth, she had hated town.
Miss Bingley’s brows lifted slightly. “Indeed?”
“I prefer Longbourn.”
Jane’s hand moved slightly upon the table.
Miss Bingley studied Elizabeth for a moment longer, then turned the conversation elsewhere.
The remainder of the meal passed with less direct inquiry, though the earlier tone had not wholly faded.
Elizabeth observed Jane more closely. The color remained. There was a brightness in her eyes that did not belong to animation.
“You are not well,” Elizabeth said.
Jane shook her head. “It is nothing.”
Elizabeth frowned. “It is not nothing.”
Jane attempted a smile.
Miss Bingley noticed. “Miss Bennet, you appear unwell.”
“I am only a little fatigued.”
“You must go upstairs at once,” Miss Bingley said. “You cannot remain here in such a state.”
Jane rose without complaint. Elizabeth followed. They were shown to a chamber, where Jane was assisted to rest.
Elizabeth remained with her. “We should not have walked. We ought to have sent word,” she said.
“It is truly nothing, Lizzy.” Jane leaned against the pillows.
Elizabeth took her hand. “You must rest now.”
Jane closed her eyes.
Elizabeth remained beside her until her breathing settled. At last, she rose. She returned downstairs, making her way to the parlor. To her surprise, the gentlemen had returned. They stood in the sitting room, Bingley animated as ever, Mr. Hurst already seeking comfort, and Mr. Darcy—
Elizabeth’s attention faltered.
Miss Bingley’s expression, when Elizabeth entered, had tightened.
“Well?”
“Jane is not well,” Elizabeth said. “She is resting.”
Miss Bingley gave a graceful nod. “I feared as much.”
Mr. Darcy stepped forward. “The roads are unlikely to be passable tonight.”
Elizabeth regarded him.
“But your carriage—”
“Has returned with difficulty,” he said. “The rain has worsened the conditions.”
Elizabeth felt the implication. She would have to remain. “Then we are wholly dependent upon your hospitality,” she said.
“You are most welcome,” Mr. Bingley said.
Elizabeth dipped her head slightly. “We are obliged to you. Pray, excuse me so I might see to my sister.” Upstairs again, she paused at the door before entering. Elizabeth pressed her hand briefly against the wood before opening it.
She would not think of him now, of how his gaze had searched her face with evident concern, as though wishing to assure himself she was well. No, for now, Jane required her attention.
Elizabeth settled once more beside the bed, drawing the coverlet more closely about Jane’s shoulders. The warmth of the room had deepened since the fire was stirred, but Jane’s hands remained cooler than they ought.
“You are more feverish,” Elizabeth said, touching her wrist.
Jane stirred slightly. “It will pass.”
“It must,” Elizabeth replied, though her tone held more resolve than certainty.
Jane’s eyes opened briefly. “You should not remain constantly above stairs. They will expect you below.”
“I have no desire for their expectations.”
Jane’s lips curved. “You cannot escape them forever.”
Elizabeth allowed a small sigh to leave her. “I have managed tolerably well thus far.”
The word lingered between them, unspoken in its meaning.
Jane regarded her. “Did Mr. Darcy wish to speak with you again?”
“You noticed at Lucas Lodge?” She had thought Jane far too preoccupied with Mr. Bingley.
“I did. And I noted how you avoided him.”
She made no effort to deny it.
Jane’s gaze remained steady. “Will you continue to do so?”
Elizabeth hesitated. “I do not know.”
Jane’s eyes closed again, though her expression relaxed. “He appeared sincere. Perhaps he wishes to make amends for his poorly chosen words.”
Elizabeth peered down at her sister’s hand. “Perhaps. Sincerity, after such a beginning, is not easily credited.”
“No,” Jane said. “But it may be proven.”
Elizabeth did not answer.
The fire shifted, casting a steadier light across the room. Outside, the rain continued, its rhythm constant against the windows. The evening had settled in fully now, and with it a sense of enclosure that left little room for escape.
Below, voices rose and fell—faint, indistinct, though present enough to remind her of what she had left behind.
Elizabeth drew her chair closer to the bed.
“Rest,” she said.
Jane obeyed.
Left to her own thoughts, Elizabeth found they did not wander far. They returned, as they had throughout the day, to the same point—an unfinished conversation, an apology not given, and the uneasy awareness that she had, in some manner, prevented it.
She could not decide whether she was justified in doing so.
That, more than anything, troubled her.