Chapter 3
Once Jane Bennet reached Longbourn’s garden, with the excuse that she must deadhead the spent blooms on the rosebushes, she took a few deep breaths. She had so many whirling thoughts, it was harder than usual to maintain her mask of gentle kindliness.
One of the most prominent thoughts was that Mr Darcy had not believed her.
Almost a year ago, when the Bennets had first met Mr Darcy, it had taken Jane a while to learn to read his moods and motivations—although she certainly had done so long before her self-deluded sister had.
At least, she supposed that Lizzy had finally learnt, if she had accepted a proposal of marriage from the man!
Jane had realised in late October of last year, at the gathering at Lucas Lodge, that Mr Darcy admired Lizzy.
By the third week of November, even though she had spent days ill in bed, unable to study Mr Darcy’s expressions, she was almost positive she had mastered the small changes in the way the reserved man spoke and gazed and moved and smiled.
She was quite certain she knew most of what he felt and some of what he thought.
The galling thing was that she knew then that he was sceptical of her serenity, of her good-heartedness, of her angelic nature she had so successfully portrayed to everyone, her whole life…. And, crucially, he was sceptical of the regard she had for his friend.
That last bit might have been Jane’s fault.
The first night they all met, she had preferred Mr Darcy to Mr Bingley, and she had attempted to show him her preference in the subtlest of ways.
She could tell that he had noticed and correctly interpreted her signals of interest, but he firmly rebuffed her, and it was Mr Bingley who showed attraction to her.
Ever since then, Jane had felt terrified that Mr Darcy would use the fact that she was settling for second-best against her, to turn Mr Bingley away from her—and then she would be back to where all the Bennets sisters had started: worried about their lack of dowries and the entail on Longbourn making it so that, when their father died, they would be homeless.
She had been almost certain that Mr Bingley would propose at the Netherfield ball.
But, though he paid her every attention, and though he bemoaned the fact that he had to go to London for a few days to complete some necessary business, he did not offer for her nor speak to her father.
And then Mr Bingley did not return. He did not send word.
He did not even say goodbye, let alone explain his defection.
It was all Mr Darcy’s fault. As of the New Year, Jane had hated him for spurning her discreet flirtation, hated him for turning Mr Bingley away from her, and most of all hated him for discovering what even her sisters and parents had not seen.
Since then, her hatred had doubled—nay, tripled!
Of all things, to discover that somehow Lizzy had seen Mr Darcy—according to the letter announcing the betrothal, Lizzy had seen Mr Darcy when she travelled to Kent and again when she travelled to Derbyshire.
But, strangely, her supposedly dear sister had not said or written a word to Jane about those meetings.
As far as Jane knew, Lizzy had been avoiding Mr Collins and enjoying Charlotte’s company in Kent, and passionately seeking the sublime in nature, with the Gardiners in Derbyshire.
After sending no word at all of even seeing Mr Darcy, let alone speaking with him, suddenly Lizzy wrote that she had been wrong about him, and that they were engaged.
The regard Mr Darcy had for her sister, which Jane had detected so long ago, which Lizzy had misunderstood and scorned at that time—to think that it had resulted in Lizzy marrying well!
Lizzy, who walked for miles and even ran on occasion, despite the fact that it was not the done thing for a gentlewoman to do.
Lizzy, who read all manner of books and learnt all sorts of subjects that ought only to be learnt by men, who spoke so decidedly rather than demurely, who laughed when she should have smiled and smiled when she should have cast her eyes down in modesty—she was the one who would save the family?
The horrible thing was, Jane’s very legitimate hatred for Mr Darcy had this week spilled over into hatred for Lizzy. That did not feel at all good.
Everyone “knew” that Lizzy and Jane were close—although how close could they have been, when Lizzy had not said a word about her seeing Mr Darcy in Kent?
Her father had announced that they had to come up with a story, an excuse, something to tell Mr Darcy—something that would cause him to become angry with Lizzy, abandon all thoughts of her, turn away from her in anger.
Of course Papa had turned to Jane for an idea that would accomplish the goal.
She had been certain that the tale of Lizzy eloping with Mr Wickham would cause Mr Darcy’s anger and jealousy to ignite.
His pride and reserve would not allow Mr Darcy to shout or carry on, but there would be definite signals of his distress, his envy, his desire to have nothing more to do with her sister.
For heaven’s sake, just seeing Mr Wickham speaking with Lizzy in the streets of Meryton had caused Mr Darcy’s nostrils to flare in suspicion.
Jane’s plan was brilliant, and it should have been foolproof.
And yet, she had seen the telltale signs in the set of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes: Mr Darcy had not believed her. He did not even believe the letter—which Jane had laboured over for hours, painstakingly copying Lizzy’s handwriting!
With Mr Darcy’s disbelief, Jane was afraid. The Bennets were supposed to guarantee that he would leave the area in a huff, determined never to speak of Elizabeth Bennet again. However, if he did not believe that story…what would he do?