Chapter 18
“Ikeep thinking of his face,” Jane said.
Elizabeth had not spoken of Mr. Bingley since Jane’s quiet acknowledgement on Wednesday that he would not be calling again, and that it was by her choice. She had then been so calm and so busy that they had all felt obliged to be calm and busy around her.
To own the truth, Elizabeth had been both shocked and a little hurt by her sister’s silence, for although she had waited patiently, Jane had not spoken to her about her intention to withdraw from Mr. Bingley before she had done it.
It was an enormous decision to have made, and normally they spoke about everything.
Elizabeth thought perhaps Jane had not wished to be talked out of her decision, and she knew herself well enough to admit that she might have tried.
She had lain awake two nights running, listening through the wall for any sounds of distress, but there had been none.
It was now Friday at three o’clock. The children were upstairs at their lessons, Uncle Gardiner was at the warehouses, and Aunt Gardiner was out about her errands, after which she would convey her husband home in the carriage.
It was at this moment, when they were alone together, that Jane was at last disposed to speak.
“He looked at me as though I had struck him,” Jane said.
Elizabeth put down her work.
“And then he thanked me, Lizzy. He thanked me for my honesty, and for the happiest weeks of his—” Her needle stopped. She looked at it for a moment, and then drew it through, and her voice was once again level. “He behaved just as I knew he would.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “I should like to hear it in order, if you are willing. You never even let on that you were considering breaking with Mr. Bingley.”
“I think I knew just after New Year’s, but I could not bear to hurt him. Then I realised that I was only making it worse by not telling him.”
“So long?”
“Yes. I will tell you everything, but I fear you will think me ungrateful.”
“I think you many things, dearest, but ungrateful has never been among them.”
Jane smoothed the work in her lap. “Mr. Bingley is the kindest man I have ever known. That is not in question, so there is no need to defend him to me. He treats everyone, high or low, with the same cheerful attention, and when he and I are alone, he gives me his full attention too.” She paused.
“I admire that about him. But it is also the root of my difficulty.”
“His cheerful nature?”
“I have spent several months with him now, and I have learned that Mr. Bingley is never so entirely himself as when in a crowd of twenty people.”
Elizabeth could not see the difficulty, and so she simply nodded at her sister to continue.
“I began to understand that if I married him, I should spend my life at the edge of that crowd, waiting for his notice. I would be home, and he would be at his club. Or we would be out and he would be pulled into a crowd of people he knew and I would be forgot once the introductions were complete.”
“Did Mr. Bingley ever say—”
“He would love me dearly, Lizzy, and I know I should have all of him that his friends could spare.”
Elizabeth had seen it, the knot of laughing people surrounding Mr. Bingley, and Jane standing just to the side. She had been distracted by Lady Anne and the Darcy siblings, and though she had always meant to ask Jane about it, she never had.
“It seems I am more selfish than I believed,” Jane said.
“I enjoy evenings out, but I would not wish to be out every night. Sometimes I will want my husband content to be at home and quiet with me, and I want to own the better part of his conversation and attention. Mr. Bingley adores society and comes alive when he is in it. He is not a man who will ever wish to stay home of an evening. He would not even know how.”
“Not even if he had a sweet, beautiful wife to return to?” Elizabeth asked. “I am sure he would be happy to compromise and be in society less once you are wed.”
“You misunderstand, Lizzy. This is not a habit that can be altered by compromise, nor a fault that can be mended.” Her voice was very even. “It is not a fault at all. It is his nature.”
“Did you tell him how you feel?”
“No.”
“Jane.”
“No, I never shall, and you must promise me not to either.” For the first time there was something urgent in her voice. “Think, Lizzy. If I had given him the reason, what would he have done?”
Elizabeth thought. “He would have sworn to change.”
“He would have promised to become someone else. And he would have tried, for he is the most obliging man in England. But he would have been unhappy, which is the very last thing I wish for him. He would have sat at home with me while his heart was at his club or a ball or a dinner, and in five years’ time either I should have made him dull or he should have made me lonely, and we would each have been too kind to say so. ”
She drew her thread through, twice. “So I told him only that I wished him well. He could not argue with that.” After a moment, she looked up and held Elizabeth’s gaze. “I know I am right, Lizzy. But I have caused Mr. Bingley pain, and that hurts me as well.”
Elizabeth sat back. She knew that their neighbours in Meryton considered Mary the most accomplished of them and she herself the wittiest. But Jane thought and felt more deeply than all her sisters together.
Elizabeth had refused two men in her life.
One she had liked, one she could not abide, but neither refusal had cost her a night’s sleep.
Jane loved Mr. Bingley, but she had seen that their happiness would only be found in different sorts of lives and had made the decision to end their association.
Elizabeth was not at all certain she could have done it.
“It is very brave of you, Jane.”
“I do not feel brave. But I know it was right.”
Elizabeth moved to sit next to her sister. “I am only sorry you felt you had to carry such a burden alone.”
“I needed time to understand what I felt. And then I needed time to decide what to do about it.”
Elizabeth pressed her sister’s hands and let it be. Jane did not want rescuing; she never had. She would simply have to do what she could for Jane now.
“I must write to Mamma,” Jane said.
“Shall I do it?”
“No. If the letter is in my own hand, she cannot claim I was persuaded by anyone here.”
“She will still make the attempt.”
“She may.” There was a gleam in Jane’s eyes now, a small reminder of her dry humour, which surfaced primarily in moments such as these. “You may answer the reply. That will be more difficult.”
“There will be six pages, crossed, and the word Netherfield will appear at least three times on each one,” Elizabeth said.
“Alongside Mr. Bingley’s income, I am sure,” said Jane.
They laughed then, softly and helplessly, grief and relief bound up together. Jane wiped at her eyes, and Elizabeth put a handkerchief into her hand. That made them laugh again, for Jane had always been the one to offer hers first.
The knocker sounded below. Jane’s hand found Elizabeth’s to squeeze it one more time, and then it was over. The maid knocked, then came in bearing the cards of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley.
Jane’s chin rose. “Well,” she said mildly. “I was not expecting they would come.”
Mr. Bingley’s sisters entered with a great show of solemnity and brightly coloured dresses of the finest muslin. Mrs. Hurst curtsied. She then took the chair nearest the fire and arranged her bracelets upon her wrist.
Miss Bingley crossed the room to Jane with both hands extended, her face composed into an expression of tender concern which Elizabeth was certain had been practised in the glass.
“My dear Jane. We came the very moment we could.”
Which was only after, Elizabeth thought, making many visits yesterday to reassure their friends there would be no connexion between their family and the Bennets after all.
Jane did not take Miss Bingley’s hands.
Miss Bingley lowered them. “It was such a shock that I said to Louisa I could hardly credit it—our sweet Jane—and yet here you are, so composed. So brave.”
“It is kind of you to come,” Jane said. “Will you take tea?”
“Tea?” Miss Bingley asked, startled. But she recovered quickly. “Yes of course, if you will not think us troublesome.” She glanced at her sister. “It will allow us time to talk.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Hurst added.
“Charles is so—” Miss Bingley paused, evidently searching among many excellent words and finding none equal to the delicacy of her position. “He is much affected.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Jane.
The tea was brought in then, and for a few minutes the necessities of milk, sugar, and cups sufficed where their conversation did not.
“So noble,” Miss Bingley added, and looked quickly at Mrs. Hurst, who contributed a heavy sigh and a shake of her head. “So very noble in his silence.”
“You must not think he complains of you,” Miss Bingley began. “Quite the reverse. He is discretion itself. He told us only that the connexion was at an end, and that the decision”—a small pause, exquisitely placed—“was yours. Charles quite insisted on this point.”
“He did,” said Mrs. Hurst, with feeling. “He was most particular.”
“He is a model of chivalry,” said Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth would have liked very much to pour Miss Bingley’s tea over her head.
“He is very good,” Jane agreed. “But it is true. I ended the acquaintance, Miss Bingley. There was no understanding between us, but the break, such as it was, was mine.”
Mrs. Hurst’s bracelets went still.
Miss Bingley hesitated. It was only once, but it was clear her little play had been based on different lines. “Yours?” she said.
“Mine,” said Jane.
“I cannot believe it. You ended—” Miss Bingley looked at Mrs. Hurst, whose eyes widened, then dropped to her seed cake. No assistance being available from that quarter, Miss Bingley said in a pinched voice, “Forgive me. We had—that is, we had naturally supposed—”