Chapter 8 #3
“If she wishes it, yes. The journey is short enough to be managed safely, provided she remains warm.”
Jane answered before either woman could speak.
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Bennet turned toward her. “You would rather come home?”
Jane nodded. “I should rest easier in my own bed. And I fear we have already overstayed our welcome here.”
Elizabeth promptly disagreed. “Mr. Bingley has been nothing but kind.”
“I know,” Jane said. “Which makes imposing upon that kindness all the more uncomfortable.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression gentled.
“Very well. We shall prepare without delay.”
She turned to Elizabeth.
“Go pack your things, darling. We shall leave within the hour.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Mama… the carriage?”
Mrs. Bennet’s mouth pursed almost imperceptibly.
“It appears several fittings had worked themselves loose,” she said evenly. “Once discovered, it was a simple matter to repair.”
Something in her tone pricked at Elizabeth’s suspicions straightaway.
Her mother met her gaze directly.
Then, very slightly, she shook her head.
Not now.
Elizabeth understood instantly.
She nodded her head and said nothing further.
Packing required little time, though Elizabeth found herself more distracted than she ought to have been by thoughts she had no business entertaining while folding gowns. Several times she paused entirely, recalling some particular moment from the morning walk.
His expression when she spoke of her father.
The warmth in his voice when he defended her.
The absurd seriousness with which he promised reform.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together firmly.
This would not do.
Mr. Darcy remained proud, reserved, and capable of astonishingly poor first impressions. A single agreeable morning could not erase all prior evidence to the contrary.
Her hands stilled over the open trunk.
No man had ever apologized to her so sincerely.
The realization carried uncomfortable weight.
By the time she finished, Jane had already been dressed for travel in one of her simplest gowns and wrapped securely in shawls against the damp air outside.
Mrs. Bennet supervised the process with calm efficiency while simultaneously directing servants, thanking Mr. Jones, and ensuring fresh blankets were carried downstairs for the carriage.
Elizabeth admired her afresh.
Nothing ever seemed to overwhelm Grace Bennet for long. Difficulties were acknowledged, sorted, and managed with steady practicality.
Together they descended to the drawing room to take their leave.
Bingley rose directly upon their entrance.
“You are leaving already?”
Mrs. Bennet smiled warmly. “Mr. Jones believes Jane may safely return home, provided we keep her warm.”
Bingley remained unconvinced. “Are you certain it is wise to travel so soon?”
“There are hot bricks waiting in the carriage,” Mrs. Bennet assured him. “And the distance is short. We shall have her home and tucked into bed again before long.”
Bingley hesitated, plainly reluctant to relinquish responsibility, though he bowed politely.
“I hope Miss Bennet continues to improve.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “You have shown my daughters every kindness. We are greatly obliged to you.”
“You owe me no obligation.”
“Nonsense. Hospitality deserves gratitude.” Mrs. Bennet smiled. “Once Jane is restored, perhaps you and your sisters might dine with us next week.”
Bingley beamed. “We should be delighted.”
Miss Bingley’s expression suggested somewhat less delight, though propriety prevented objection.
During the exchange, Elizabeth became aware—painfully aware—of Darcy’s attention.
At last, she raised her eyes to his.
He bowed—not deeply, just a slight dip from his shoulders.
Such a small gesture ought not to have affected her so strongly.
There was something in his expression—something intent and unmistakably warm—that sent heat rising instantly into her cheeks.
Elizabeth turned away almost at once.
Absurd.
Utterly absurd.
And still her pulse betrayed her.
Mrs. Bennet noticed nothing. Or perhaps she noticed everything and simply chose silence.
The farewells concluded shortly afterward.
Bingley assisted Jane into the carriage with such earnest care that Elizabeth suspected her sister’s recovery might now depend partly upon surviving his attentions without excessive embarrassment. Mrs. Bennet followed, then Elizabeth after her.
Darcy remained near the steps as the door closed.
For one brief moment before the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth met his eyes again through the window.
His expression had changed now, stripped of reserve.
The look confused her far more than pride ever had.
The carriage began to move.
Mrs. Bennet adjusted the blankets around Jane with efficient tenderness. “There now. We shall have you home directly. Cook has broth waiting, and Mrs. Hill has already aired your bed.”
Jane leaned back carefully. “Home sounds heavenly.”
“And hot tea,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “Strong enough to revive even Lydia’s good sense, should such a miracle ever be required.”
Jane giggled weakly before coughing again.
Elizabeth sat beside her, allowing Jane to rest against her shoulder once the coughing eased.
“You shall be quite spoiled for the next week,” she said.
Jane’s eyes drifted closed. “I do not think I mind.”
Mrs. Bennet nodded at them both.
The remainder of the journey passed peacefully. The repaired carriage moved smoothly now, though Elizabeth noticed her mother’s gaze drift more than once toward the opposite seat with an expression of restrained exasperation.
By the time Longbourn appeared, Jane had nearly fallen asleep completely.
Servants hurried out to meet them upon arrival, and within minutes Jane had been conveyed upstairs, settled once more in her own chambers beneath familiar blankets and attended by every comfort the house could provide.
Elizabeth remained only long enough to ensure Jane was resting comfortably before following her mother back downstairs.
Mrs. Bennet paused in the morning room doorway once they were alone.
“I believe,” she said carefully, “that your brothers were playing with the carriage.”
Elizabeth stared. “Thomas and Toby?”
“Mm.”
“Mama.”
Her mother sighed and removed her gloves.
“They deny understanding precisely what they were doing,” she said. “Whether that denial is wholly truthful remains open to interpretation.”
Elizabeth’s suspicions grew.
“They meddled with the carriage?”
“So it would appear.”
“And the axle broke because of it?”
Mrs. Bennet nodded once. “Thankfully not far from Netherfield.”
Elizabeth pressed a hand briefly against her forehead.
“What possessed them?”
“I suspect,” Mrs. Bennet replied dryly, “that they believed themselves engaged in some grand strategic endeavor.”
Elizabeth stared at her mother.
Then, very slowly, understanding began to dawn.
“No.”
Mrs. Bennet’s expression remained suspiciously neutral.
Elizabeth felt horror and reluctant amusement collide.
“They are confined to the nursery for the remainder of the week,” Mrs. Bennet said firmly. “And your father intends a very serious discussion regarding the dangers of meddling with carriage fittings.”
Elizabeth sank into the nearest chair.
The twins.
Of course it was the twins. Her brothers had somehow contrived to strand her and Jane at Netherfield. Heat rose instantly into her cheeks as fresh understanding followed the first. They had done it deliberately. Not merely mischief, but on purpose.
Elizabeth covered her face briefly with one hand. “What,” she muttered, “are those mischievous boys about?”
Mrs. Bennet’s lips twitched despite herself. “My dear, if you discover the answer, I beg you to share it with me.”