28. True Confessions
True Confessions
Much as Elizabeth revelled seeing the happiness Jane and Mr Catesby took in each other’s company, when Aunt Gardiner returned to the sitting room with Susan and a book the girl was learning to read, she made her escape, explaining she owed a letter to Charlotte to thank her for her hospitality and assure her of her safe arrival in town.
Since then, she had been left to her own thoughts, free, for a time, from explaining herself to her aunt and sister since Mr Catesby’s arrival only minutes after Mr Darcy had nearly pulled Mr Bingley from the house.
She had hoped Mr Darcy might return to speak to her.
Certainly, he had looked at her enough to show his concern.
She blushed thinking about his almost bashful expression when handing her ‘her’ book.
It made for an ingenious excuse to call, but what was the reason behind it?
Did he wish to explain his abrupt leave-taking in Kent or…
How did he learn I was in town—and of my whereabouts?
Had Colonel Fitzwilliam got word to him, or had Lady Catherine sent an express warning him of a repulsive presence polluting the shades of London?
The dreadful dowager could have learnt from Mr Collins, or through Charlotte or Maria, where her aunt and uncle resided.
Earlier, Elizabeth had leafed through her new book in a corner of the parlour, while Jane and Mr Catesby conversed in whispers and smiles.
Her sister had been looking at her curiously throughout Mr Darcy’s visit and was clearly shocked when Elizabeth had roused herself from near silence to ring a peal around Mr Bingley.
How bewildering this morning had been for her sister!
Jane knew Elizabeth had grown doubtful of Mr Bingley’s faithfulness, but Elizabeth had allowed her to think it was the influence of his sisters.
Never had she hinted at what she herself had seen and heard.
As much as she had misunderstood what she had witnessed, Elizabeth believed she was not wrong that such imprudence revealed something wanting in Mr Bingley’s character, as did his inaction towards his sisters’ thin civility.
She knew she must explain herself to Jane and hope that she would agree. Will she be unhappy with me for my interference, well-meaning though it was? Her sister was not of a resentful character, but she would have every reason to be cross.
Long ago, before Elizabeth truly knew Mr Darcy’s character, she had grumbled about him arranging and managing the affairs of others.
How little she knew herself, for was that not what she had done?
Assumed that Mr Bingley’s character was defined by one or two careless actions and judged him unworthy of Jane?
A kind man can be careless, but a man who was so kind he could not rise up and condemn the pettiness and cruelty of his own sister was a man too capricious and irresolute for her to call brother.
She preferred a man whose smiles were rare, whose decency and steadiness and tenderness lay underneath a strong, handsome figure.
A man who loved only a fortunate few but did so with his entire heart.
A man whose voice and image she could not—did not want to—banish from her thoughts.
I hope I see him again.
Mr Darcy had been so angry when they had parted at Rosings, so deeply upset by her disclosure about Miss Bingley’s letter.
Had that prompted him to leave, or had Lady Catherine attacked him as she had Elizabeth?
Had he worried Miss Bingley’s falsehoods had spread in town?
Much as Elizabeth worried she had earned his enmity, his appearance this morning—especially the frustration she saw in his expression as he hurriedly left, a frustration which she shared—gave her confidence he would attempt to see her.
Or she could try to see him. Elizabeth sat up and reached for the book he had brought to her.
Earlier, she had wondered whether she might find a note hidden inside or a marker on a specific page.
Lord Byron’s book was clearly new, lacking a bookplate, its pages pristine and seemingly untouched.
It was merely a justification—an astonishing thing!
—for him to call. Was it a touching gesture of concern for her welfare, or did Mr Darcy hope to secure her silence on what they had discussed in Kent regarding his sister?
If Mr Darcy would purchase a book to invent an excuse to come to Gracechurch Street, she could imagine a reason equally as farcical to call on him, such as returning the tome to him.
And yet she should not. Even if she knew his direction—and Elizabeth knew only that his home was in Grosvenor Square—she had been deemed improper and wanton by Lady Catherine.
I would appear just as his aunt pronounced me—vulgar and grasping.
Such words better described Caroline Bingley, and lo that Elizabeth Bennet suffer such a comparison!
It was late in the afternoon, after the children had gone to the nursery and Mr and Mrs Gardiner were preparing for dinner at the home of one of her uncle’s clients, that Elizabeth found Jane and drew her to the small parlour.
She told her the long and winding tale that had begun with a hairbrush thrown by Miss Bingley.
Jane’s pale, astonished expression caused Elizabeth to say, contritely, as she looked at her sister in concern, “I am sorry that, through my errors and blunders, you have been made to revisit the unhappiness of those days.”
“You should have told me yourself long ago,” Jane responded mildly but with obvious reproach. “I would not have believed Mr Bingley to be so bad, but his sister’s behaviour has been lacking sincerity and kindness.”
Elizabeth bit back a smile at her sister’s inability to deliver the savage judgment Miss Bingley so deserved. “She acted in her own interests, regardless of the feelings—or welfare—of any other.”
Jane said nothing for several moments. Although Elizabeth was encouraged that the revelations had not caused her sister to weep, she found the silence terrible to her spirits. Eventually, Jane murmured, “You should not have presumed so much.”
“No, for which I will ever castigate myself.” I thought the worst of two men, neither of whom were deserving of my censure. Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed, realising in dismay that her own tears were late in coming. “I acted in your best interests, or at least that was my intent. I am sorry.”
She felt Jane’s arms enclose her. “I do not wish you to rebuke yourself or think you have caused me unhappiness. You were wrong to judge Mr Bingley’s actions, but I cannot be angry, for you were not wrong about his heart, or mine. I am too happy today.”
“Jane?” Elizabeth pulled herself from her sister’s embrace.
“Mr Catesby has proposed.”
“Oh! But when? Did Aunt Gardiner leave you two alone for a moment?”
“A very long moment and a most fruitful one,” Jane replied, her eyes dancing with joy. “Mr Catesby and I thank her for her kindness and discretion.”
Elizabeth laughed with delight and requested a full accounting.
When Jane finished, Elizabeth said, “Mama will be so pleased. ‘A large estate and a house in town. You will have the finest gowns and carriages!’” She rose and spun round, fluttering her hands and sending her sister into peals of laughter.
“Mr Catesby has spoken to our uncle, who asked him to come dine with us tomorrow. He suggested escorting us to Longbourn so he may speak to Papa.”
Elizabeth’s reluctance to leave London could not have been more profound.
She had spent weeks—months—consumed with ensuring Jane’s felicity.
Now it had been attained, and she wished desperately to consider her own happiness.
I do not know whether Mr Darcy is to be part of achieving it, but my curiosity about his dealings with Miss Bingley must be satisfied even if my heart is not.
“I told him he may escort me, but you will remain with my aunt,” said Jane. “I believe it unfair to remove you from town and a man I believe may be your suitor, one who is unlikely to feel at ease at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth could hide neither her surprise nor her relief and pressed her sister into yet another embrace. “And Papa says I am the clever one,” she said, laughing, before demanding Jane provide her every detail of Mr Catesby’s proposal.