CHAPTER TWO #2
Elizabeth met Jane's eyes in the mirror. "Mr Darcy has ten thousand a year, a handsome face, and no temptation to dance with me. We understand one another perfectly."
Jane set the last pin upon the table. "You are laughing, but you were hurt."
Elizabeth looked down.
With anyone else, she might have denied it. Jane's gentleness did not make falsehood easier; it made falsehood feel mean.
"For a moment," she admitted. "Not because he disliked my face. Because he thought his dislike important enough to announce."
Jane rested both hands upon her shoulders. "Perhaps he regretted it. He watched you afterward."
"To see whether tolerable features improve with exercise?"
"Lizzy."
Elizabeth covered one of Jane's hands with her own. "Do not worry. I shall survive Mr Darcy's indifference."
She meant it.
What she did not know was how soon his indifference would become far more troublesome than his contempt.
* * *
Mr Bingley did not lose his way down the hill.
He called at Netherfield before noon, stayed an hour and twenty minutes, and spent at least fifty of those minutes attempting not to look exclusively at Jane.
By the time he departed, Lady Bennet had invited his whole party to dine the following week, Kitty and Lydia had learned that Longbourn's north attic still creaked in cold weather, and Sir Thomas had obtained a promise that the eastern copse would not be used for shooting until the tenant cottages beyond it were warned.
Two days later, an invitation arrived from Miss Bingley.
"For Jane alone," Lady Bennet said, examining the note. "That is marked attention."
"From Miss Bingley?" Elizabeth asked.
"From the sisters, which is nearly the same as from the brother when one lives in the same house."
Sir Thomas folded his newspaper. "The logic escapes me."
"Everything escapes a man who wishes not to understand it. Jane, you must go. The weather is clearing."
Beyond the breakfast-room windows, rain had diminished to a fine silver haze.
The distance between Netherfield and Longbourn was less than three miles by road and considerably less across the fields.
Jane could have taken the carriage. Lady Bennet, who had not lost her ability to hope for romantic inconvenience, suggested a horse.
"If it rains again, they cannot send you home."
Jane colored. "Mama."
"I do not mean that you should become ill. Only damp enough to require tea."
"She will take the carriage," Sir Thomas said.
Lady Bennet looked at him. Ten years of a more attentive husband had not taught her meekness, but it had taught her that he did not issue commands merely to amuse himself.
"Very well. Though the lanes are perfectly passable."
The carriage was required unexpectedly before Jane could depart. A tenant's little boy had fallen from a hayloft, and Sir Thomas would not wait for Mr Jones to find another conveyance. Jane watched the horses disappear down the drive.
"I can remain at home," she said.
"Or ride," Lady Bennet replied, too quickly.
Sir Thomas was gone. Miss Harwood judged the weather improving. Jane wished to go and did not wish to confess how much. Within half an hour she rode from Netherfield in a dark blue habit, accompanied by a groom.
The weather betrayed every opinion offered of it. The fine mist thickened before they reached the lower lane. Then the clouds opened.
Jane arrived at Longbourn soaked through.
Bingley met her in the hall with alarm so sincere that Caroline could not hide her displeasure. Fires were lit, dry clothes found, and hot wine prescribed. By evening Jane's throat ached. By morning she had a fever.
The note sent to Netherfield was written in Bingley's hurried hand.
Elizabeth read it twice.
"I am going to her."
"The carriage has not returned from Mr Robinson's farm," Lady Bennet said. "The axle was damaged in that dreadful lane. We shall send as soon as it is repaired."
"I shall walk."
Mary looked toward the windows. The rain had stopped, but the lawns shone and low clouds crowded the horizon.
"Lizzy, the lower path will be mud."
"Then I shall wear boots."
Lady Bennet protested. Miss Harwood offered to accompany her, but Kitty's cough had worsened and Lydia was one unguarded hour away from climbing the roof in search of excitement. Elizabeth kissed Mary's cheek, promised to send word, and set out with a maid.
The short route between the estates crossed two meadows, a narrow footbridge, and a rise from which Longbourn's chimneys appeared among old elms. Elizabeth had walked it since childhood. The landscape carried a double memory now: the freedom of the fields and the shape of the home they had left.
Mud caught at her boots. Wet grass darkened the hem of her brown walking dress. At the footbridge she lifted her skirts and laughed when the maid nearly surrendered a shoe to the bank.
By the time they reached Longbourn, Elizabeth's cheeks were bright from exertion and several curls had escaped beneath her bonnet.
Darcy saw her from the breakfast-room window.
He had been listening to Caroline describe the inconvenience of an invalid when motion beyond the lawn drew his eye. A woman crossed the last field with quick, certain steps. Her dress was muddied, her bonnet damp, and her attention fixed upon the house.
He knew her before he saw her face.
"Who can that be?" Mrs Hurst asked.
Bingley reached the window. "Miss Elizabeth."
He left the room before Caroline could answer.
Elizabeth entered the hall as a servant moved to take her cloak. Bingley came toward her with both hands extended, checked himself before touching her, and said, "Your sister is better this morning. Jones is with her now. I am very sorry. We ought to have sent her home before the rain worsened."
"Jane possesses a mind of her own, Mr Bingley. I do not hold you responsible for the clouds."
His relief was visible. "You must come to the fire."
"I must see Jane."
Mr Jones emerged from the staircase before she could ascend. He had attended the Bennets for years and spoke to Elizabeth without ceremony.
"A cold and fever. No danger if she rests. She will remain abed today and likely tomorrow."
Elizabeth let out the breath she had held since reading the note. "May I sit with her?"
"If you do not exhaust her."
Jane slept much of the morning. When awake, she apologized for creating trouble.