Chapter Six
The next morning, Elizabeth carefully unfolded the letter she had reread every day since receiving it.
It had only been a few weeks, but already the paper looked worn and the ink had begun to fade in places.
She had memorized every word of it, but merely playing those words over in her memory was not the same as letting her eyes roam over the tight, elegant script.
Every reading evoked something different in her heart.
At first, there had only been indignation, then regret, and then surges of acrimony in between her bouts of mortification.
Elizabeth supposed she would keep reading Mr. Darcy’s letter until she felt nothing – no anger on Jane’s behalf, no disdain for Mr. Bingley, who had been so easily manipulated, no shame at her own poor judgement.
She did not feel nothing, this morning; her hand trembled a little as she nearly tore the letter in her haste to unfold it.
Perhaps tomorrow she might leave it be. She told herself that by tomorrow, she would have either seen him again, or been granted some relief to put aside her fears of facing him.
Either he would be of the party that arrived at Richmond Cove today, or he would not.
Elizabeth felt silly in supposing that what felt so monumental to her could signify at all to the Goulding ladies. They likely did not know, or did not care, about the briefly interesting acquaintance between herself and Mr. Darcy, which must be of little significance to anyone but herself.
Jane opened the door and slowly entered from the small parlor that connected their bed chambers. “Will you take tea on the balcony with me, as we did yesterday? The rain has let up, for now. Oh! Lizzy, not again – why must you torment yourself?”
Elizabeth frowned and tucked the letter away. “I cannot help it, Jane.”
“It is as if you expect it to have changed, that one day you will look at it, and it will say something else.”
“That would certainly make it interesting,” Elizabeth said, attempting more levity than she really felt.
She tied her dressing gown around her waist and stepped into a soft pair of slippers and followed her sister out to the balcony for a cup of tea before they dressed for the day. As Jane said, it was not presently raining, but dark clouds surrounded them, and even the distant sea looked ominous.
Jane sipped her tea, studying Elizabeth curiously. “What do you hope to find? In the letter, I mean – why do you read it still? If you did not so often profess your hatred of the man, I might think – well, perhaps you protest too much.”
Elizabeth had her own cup of tea raised half way to her lips, and her hand hung there, suspended before her as she froze with panic at Jane’s suggestion. She stared down into her tea as if she might find some clarity in it.
“Perhaps I wish to remind myself that I might still resent his many wrongs, even if I was mistaken in one aspect of his character – his being ill-used by Mr. Wickham, rather than the reverse, does not absolve him of the rest of his offenses.”
“But why should you wish to think of him at all, after such an unpleasant quarrel?”
Again Elizabeth had no ready answer, and she was obliged to search within herself.
She felt Jane’s surprise mirrored on her own face as she spoke.
“It is most astonishing to me that I knew him so little – that I could be so blind to his regard for me, to his motives for speaking to me and staring at me as he did. I thought he wished only to find fault in me….”
“Because you only wished to find fault in him,” Jane said with a lopsided smile. “I suppose it must be some recompense, having such a vivid imagination as yours, if one is to be blind. You might see whatever you choose.”
Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. She was amazed and impressed at her sister’s assessment, which was unvarnished by her usual forgiving optimism. “Jane! I….”
“Lizzy, do you truly regret only the failings of your own discernment?”
“And the severity of my refusal, to be sure… and the pain I undoubtedly caused him….”
“I believe you think of Mr. Darcy more than I ever thought of Mr. Bingley, though you would rather worry about me than yourself. But if these two gentlemen do not arrive at Richmond Cove today, I suspect you will be more disappointed than me, Lizzy.” Jane gave Elizabeth’s hand an affectionate squeeze, and then she stood, tipping her face upward as a few droplets of rain began to fall.
Elizabeth stood so quickly that she nearly toppled her chair behind her. “On the contrary, Jane. Come, let us dress ourselves, for I am eager to begin the day. I am hopeful that we will meet only strangers today, and be vastly happier for it.”
***
Jane was not entirely convinced that Elizabeth was being honest with herself, but she had no wish to quarrel with her sister.
Jane had indeed begun to think less of Mr. Bingley – she reflected on their time together less frequently, and she thought less of his character, when she did consider his defection.
He had been persuaded so easily to give her up; she found that she was acting in accordance with her own wishes by letting him go.
Instead, Jane wished to occupy herself with the present, and not the past.
She liked Captain Wentworth, though her interest was tempered with caution.
Every circumstance seemed more favorable on this occasion than last autumn, for his sister was kind and encouraging, and her own relations’ solicitude would be no hindrance to her.
Jane felt she was a little wiser, and though she had every cause for optimism, she would not pin all her hopes on one outcome.
Elizabeth had already made a new friend in Miss Anne, and Jane had done the same with Harriet. Resolved as she was to refrain from obsessing over the expected new arrivals as Elizabeth did, Jane devoted herself to bolstering Harriet’s confidence as they played cards with the two amiable captains.
Jane was not as naturally gregarious as Elizabeth, but she was not awkward or uncomfortable with speaking more than her usual custom. In fact, she began to enjoy the novelty; without Elizabeth’s witty verbosity to carry the conversation, she was perfectly capable of doing so herself.
She asked questions of all her companions, for nobody ever objected to speaking of themselves.
She asked Captains Benwick and Wentworth of their time in the navy, and subtly encouraged Harriet to do the same.
Captain Wentworth had served for several years longer than his younger friend, but though he had much to say, he soon began to comprehend what Jane was about.
He shared a knowing gaze with her as he finally sat back and allowed his friend to speak more.
When Captain Benwick’s conversation turned melancholy, Jane managed to steer the subject to Harriet, and she was pleased to see Captain Benwick listening intently.
“Highbury is a charming village, full of kind and solicitous people who are fond of society. Last autumn, I was fortunate enough to befriend Miss Emma Woodhouse, who is the finest lady in Highbury. Her father owns Hartfield, a lovely estate not far from where I reside, at Mrs. Goddard’s establishment.
Or rather, where I used to reside – I have been invited to live with my godmother, Lady Blanche.
I shall miss Highbury and all my friends there, but Lady Blanche says they are welcome to visit whenever they like.
I cannot think why Miss Woodhouse took such a particular interest in me – she is very grand.
She is beautiful, and so clever and accomplished! ”
“You are perfectly lovely yourself, Harriet. Is she not, sir?” Jane offered Captain Benwick an encouraging smile, and he inclined his head civilly.
Jane tried again. “How did you and Miss Woodhouse occupy yourselves? We may find we share some favorite pastimes – if your friend was very accomplished, I am sure she must have been a wonderful influence.”
“She influenced me chiefly in self-indulgence,” Harriet said with a rueful laugh.
“We did often attempt to improve ourselves together. We made reading lists, and we occasionally perused a few books together – once we even put together a book of riddles – but generally we were indolent. We visited with her former governess, Mrs. Weston, who lately married Emma’s nearest neighbor, and over the winter we were often in company – small dinner parties, and the like. ”
“Are you fond of society? You must have enjoyed visiting with friends so regularly.”
Harriet furrowed her brows. “Mostly, yes. There was a gentleman I admired – the local vicar – but he recently married a lady from Bath, whom Emma does not like at all. I shall only say that her disposition is more proud and refined than one may expect of a vicar’s wife, who ought to have a heart open to all her neighbors. ”
“Well said, Miss Smith. I daresay you are being too generous. I am sorry for your heartbreak.” Captain Benwick managed to turn the conversation once more to his own lost love, Miss Fanny Harville, and Jane exchanged a look of disappointment with Captain Wentworth.
Before she could salvage the discussion, a break in the rain led to the first new arrival of the day, a handsome gentleman named John Willoughby of Combe Magna.
His dark hair and air of poetic intensity was more to her sister’s taste than Jane’s, but Elizabeth hardly looked at the newcomer; she appeared more interested in Colonel Brandon’s evident displeasure at the sight of the young man.
Lady Julia Bixler and Miss Elliot were vastly pleased by the new arrival, and began to rally the rest of the party into walking in the garden for as long as the weather would permit.
Jane had worn a favorite new pair of slippers, which she had no wish to dirty, and she bid her friends not fret over waiting for her – she would not be long in returning to her room to change into boots she would not mind soiling if there was mud.