A Better Understanding, page 16
But what if Richard was not the impetus? Grinding his teeth, Darcy considered the other option. Had he not thought, weeks ago now, that Caroline might be desperate enough to trap him? In that scenario, Mrs. Hurst became the most likely accomplice. Miss Bingley would have to be desperate indeed, to try something under Lady Matlock’s nose. His aunt prided herself on the measures she took to ensure propriety at her events. So why—
The realization slammed into him, and Darcy stifled a groan. He was a fool. Of course Caroline Bingley was desperate. Richard’s comment from the beginning of the evening came back to him, and this time it made perfect sense. Oh, I am sure she could stomach Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth is a different story… Don’t be dense, Darce.
Caroline Bingley knew he was in love with Elizabeth. She would have noted the changes in his behavior, realized he was no longer trying to resist the attraction. And he was to dance the last set with Elizabeth. He had planned to ask if he could call on her, when they all returned to Hertfordshire for Bingley’s wedding. Had Caroline anticipated that as well? If so, the last chance for her to become Mrs. Darcy was—now.
He had walked straight into the trap. Furious, Darcy spun on his heel and strode for the door. He flung it open—and collided with a soft body. The lady stumbled back, tripping on her skirt. She fell hard, head knocking against the opposite side of the hallway, and slumped to the floor.
Blast. It was, of course, Caroline Bingley, and for a long moment Darcy considered leaving her. If it was an attempted trap, then she deserved nothing less. On the other hand, if there had been a misunderstanding, he could not walk away and leave her injured by his own actions. Honor and responsibility warred with common sense. Surely it would not take long to fetch a maid—no, it must be his aunt, so no rumors were spread—but what if she was truly hurt?
She moaned, a hand fluttering up to touch her head. Darcy closed his eyes, praying he made the right decision. Then he took two long strides across the hallway and scooped her up. He would put her on a couch in the library before going for help.
Darcy faced a second dilemma just inside the library: close the door or leave it open? After a second’s hesitation, he toed it mostly closed and hurried across the room, eager to be free of his unwanted burden.
She did not move as he deposited her on the couch, but another low groan escaped her.
“Miss Bingley?” he asked cautiously. Blast, blast, blast!
The hand returned to her head, and her eyebrows fluttered. Leave now, he told himself, taking another step back.
“Mr. Darcy?” she murmured, eyes still closed. Her lips moved again, but he heard nothing.
“I will return with help in a moment,” Darcy said.
Her face contorted as if in pain, and she twitched her hand as if summoning him closer. Blast and damnation. Gritting his teeth, Darcy moved closer and bent down.
The hand not on her forehead reached out and grasped the front of his shirt. Darcy froze in shock—and then she tugged on it weakly. Clearly she wanted him to lean closer. Did it hurt to speak? He braced a hand beside her head and complied, inclining his head so his ear faced her lips.
The door creaked ever so slightly, and fear flooded through his stomach. He looked up as much as he could without moving, wishing fervently for his cousin, or perhaps his aunt—anyone who would not misunderstand and flee rather than helping.
But it was not Richard or Lady Matlock peering around the doorway with shock and horror on their face, and Darcy’s heart threatened to stop.
It was Elizabeth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth
What on earth had she just walked into? Horrified, Elizabeth took a step back, hoping to leave before either person saw her. When Mr. Darcy had not appeared for their second dance, she had gone looking for him, but never expected to find him bent over with Caroline Bingley gripping his shirt, her skirts in a mess around her legs. To think she had imagined herself falling in love with Mr. Darcy! He could not have—
Across the room, his eyes met hers. There was no shock, no annoyance or surprise or guilt. Mr. Darcy’s expression was nothing short of desperate, eyes pleading with her silently, and in that instant Elizabeth understood perfectly. The whole scene had somehow been arranged. He had been tricked.
Mortification flaming into fury, she didn’t stop to think as she looked back down the hallway. At first glance it was empty, but—there, someone moved at the end. If she was Caroline, she’d have ensured someone would come “discover them” to guarantee that Mr. Darcy was honor bound to marry her. Not waiting to see if the person in the hallway would continue to the library, Elizabeth hurried across the room and flung herself onto her knees besides the couch, reaching out and forcibly removing Caroline’s hand from Mr. Darcy’s shirt to hold it in both of her own. “Mr. Darcy, I am so glad you found us!” she exclaimed. “I did not know what to do; she just collapsed!”
Caroline’s eyes flew open, wrath written in every line of her face. She drew breath just as the door slammed open behind Elizabeth.
“Good heavens!” a woman exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Miss Bingley is hysterical,” Elizabeth replied instantaneously, turning on her knees to find Lady Matlock—oh, thank the Lord it was her—crossing the room on swift feet. “I heard her say she wanted a moment of cool and quiet and followed to make sure she was well. We became close acquaintances in Hertfordshire; it seemed only natural. I arrived just in time to see her collapse and begin ranting. Oh, I was so worried! Mr. Darcy found us just before you arrived. Could you send for a glass of wine? We may need smelling salts as well. My mother gets fits like these sometimes, and the salts work best for her.”
She had spoken so rapidly Elizabeth was out of breath by the time she finished, but the story was out. Now it would be her word against Miss Bingley’s, and she knew which version Mr. Darcy would support. And, oh! Caroline would so dearly love being compared to Mrs. Bennet.
“I will get the wine,” Mr. Darcy added immediately, stepping back. “Miss Bingley will be in good hands with my aunt.”
“Sarah, get my salts,” Lady Matlock said without looking away from Miss Bingley, and the maid who had followed her into the room disappeared as well.
Eyes never moving from Caroline’s face, the countess knelt beside Elizabeth and put the back of her hand against Caroline’s forehead. “Hysterical indeed,” she murmured. “I am glad you were present, Miss Elizabeth. I would be very displeased to hear of a compromise at my ball. Anyone found to be orchestrating one would never be invited back again, no matter who they are. I do not hold with such things.”
Miss Bingley blanched and—as she had multiple times since Lady Matlock’s entry—drew breath to speak.
“Don’t do that, girl,” the countess snapped, then added in a softer tone, “Save your breath. Breathe. We will have Darcy fetch your sister and send you home; you will feel better soon. No need to tax yourself.” Under Lady Matlock’s stern gaze, Miss Bingley didn’t dare say a word.
Mrs. Hurst appeared in the doorway just before Mr. Darcy returned with the requested glass of wine. The maid followed him in with Lady Matlock’s smelling salts. A trickle of other party-goers trailed in their wake, full of questions. Elizabeth happily relinquished her spot at Caroline’s side to Mrs. Hurst. A very different story may have passed between the sisters as they spoke in whispers, but Elizabeth made sure to repeat her own version of events to the crowd gathered at the door. Mr. Darcy offered confirmation, and Elizabeth was sure that, no matter what Caroline Bingley said later, theirs was the story that would be believed. Deception of any sort was Mr. Darcy’s abhorrence, after all, and she was sure many of those present would not have believed him capable of telling a lie.
At last, Lady Matlock rose and turned to the gathered crowd. “Out,” she commanded. “This is a ball, not a carnival exhibit. The lady was quite hysterical; she needs calm and quiet to regain her composure.”
Apparently the Countess of Matlock was not a woman to cross, for the group let her usher them from the room without protest. At last, only Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy remained by the door. The gentleman’s eyes met hers, and in them was a depth of feeling, of gratitude and something she could not name, that Elizabeth had never seen before.
He took half a step closer, hand twitching as if he would reach out. “Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, voice so low only she could hear, “I cannot—I must tell you—”
The door, half closed behind Lady Matlock, burst open again to reveal Jane and Mr. Bingley. “Caroline?” Mr. Bingley asked, eyes darting from Mr. Darcy to his sisters and back.
“She will be well,” Darcy responded, easing away from Elizabeth. “It is lucky Miss Elizabeth was present when she collapsed.”
“Collapsed!” Mr. Bingley exclaimed. He hurried towards his sisters. Jane stopped by Elizabeth, linking an arm through hers, and Elizabeth closed her eyes in frustration. For once, Jane’s light touch did not calm her nerves in the slightest. What was he going to say?
“Come, Lizzy,” Jane said after a moment, glancing over at the three Bingley siblings. “The last dance is nearly finished. We ought to say our goodbyes. I am sure Caroline does not need our assistance now.”
Mr. Darcy had turned as if to leave, but at this he looked back. “If you will allow me, I will see you home so Mr. Bingley can attend to his sister.”
Jane voiced her approval, and Mr. Bingley’s was quickly gained as well. Elizabeth said nothing on the walk back to the ballroom. The music was indeed dying, and as it faded exhaustion fell over Elizabeth like a heavy blanket. She sagged ever so slightly before catching herself; it would not do to appear anything less than perfectly poised.
Lady Matlock appeared before the group while they donned their outerwear, surprising Elizabeth when she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you so much for your assistance, dear. I would have been remiss if any tragedy occurred, and I believe it might have if not for you. I shall hope to see you again soon.”
Then she was gone, and not until the next afternoon, traveling back to Longbourn with nothing to do but think, did Elizabeth realize exactly what the countess had meant. Lady Matlock, it seemed, had determined the truth of the matter and Elizabeth’s role in it. It appeared that she approved.
Unfortunately, the realization did nothing to calm the question that Elizabeth returned to time after time. What had Mr. Darcy meant to say to her? She replayed the words in her mind, closed her eyes and tried to recall exactly what expression had lit his dark eyes. I cannot—I must tell you— Must tell her what?
He had given her no other clues that night. The ride back to the Gardiner’s had been quiet. Of course, Jane was present, and Elizabeth could scarcely bring herself to look at the gentleman sitting across from her. He was so large! Had he always taken up that much room? She supposed so, but it had never been driven home in such a fashion. There had been a moment, when he handed her down from the carriage, when she swore he had held her hand a moment longer than necessary, squeezed it with more force than might be considered polite, but—oh, what had he meant to say?
It was a relief to arrive home and throw herself into wedding preparations. Their trunks must be unpacked from the journey, and then Jane’s repacked with all her old belongings as well as the new. There were shoes and bonnets to trim, fights to settle, and of course the wedding breakfast to help plan. Elizabeth put herself between Jane and her mother on countless occasions, welcoming the mental effort it took to keep Mrs. Bennet calm and on task.
At last the day arrived, and despite her own turmoil, Elizabeth could not help but greet it with joy. There was no time for her usual morning walk, but she did not mind today. There would be time for walks later. In fact, Elizabeth anticipated a great many walks in her future. Mr. Bingley and Jane were leaving for a wedding tour that would last a fortnight, but when they returned to Netherfield Elizabeth intended to make the three-mile trek often.
“Will you enjoy having the room to yourself?” Jane asked as Elizabeth brushed out her sister’s golden hair, refusing to think it would be the last time she did so.
“You assume that Kitty won’t move in the second you are gone,” Elizabeth laughed. “With the amount of shrieking that comes from the room Kitty and Lydia’s room, it can’t be restful for either of them.”
“Poor Kitty,” Jane mused. “Perhaps you ought to invite her to stay with you. I am sure you could calm her down over time and discover the sensible young lady hidden beneath all those fripperies and outbursts. I am only teasing!” she added as Elizabeth tugged hard on the bottom of her hair. “And really, Lizzy, you know there is always a room for you at Netherfield should you wish it. For as long as you like.”
“You may regret that,” Elizabeth said, resuming her brushing. “I may move in and never leave.”
“Or perhaps you shall marry as well, and we can take turns visiting each other. Oh Lizzy, I pray that you will be as lucky as I have been.”
Unbidden, Mr. Darcy appeared in Elizabeth’s mind. She could scarcely breathe as she recalled his face mere inches from hers while they waltzed, the look he had given her in the library, the warmth that had settled around her when he wrapped his coat around her shoulders.
Jane was watching her in the mirror, expression far too understanding for Elizabeth’s liking. She tugged on her sister’s hair again and said, “Very well, I shall begin pestering my new brother as soon as you return home from your wedding tour. You must promise to host a great number of balls so I may dance with all of the eligible young men. They cannot have poor breath or step on my toes, and I absolutely refuse to accept a husband that speaks only of horses or hunting!”
“Perhaps we can convince the local musicians to play a waltz,” Jane said. She reached back and took the hairbrush from Elizabeth, laying it on the toilette table. “It looked as if you enjoyed that dance.”
“It would not do to encourage Lydia,” Elizabeth replied swiftly. “And really, Jane, how did you manage to tear your attention away from Mr. Bingley long enough to notice anything about me?” She certainly hadn’t noticed her sister during the waltz.
Jane burst out laughing and Elizabeth flushed, realizing what she had revealed. “Oh, Charles and I had a lovely conversation about our favorite people,” Jane said. “You know Mr. Darcy is to stand up with him, do you not?”
“Yes, you told me. Twice. Stop it, Jane, or I will accuse you of playing matchmaker.”
Her sister laughed again. “After what I endured this autumn, can you blame me? The entire neighborhood was determined to play matchmaker for me.”
It was a different ball that came to mind this time, a haughty voice not yet dear as he asked, “Are all unions in your neighborhood decided in such a way … by parties wholly unrelated to the couple in question, and formed on the slightest amounts of evidence? By Sir William’s logic, I suppose I ought to congratulate you on our impending marriage.”
She did not want to think about that comment, the disdain in his tone. “It turned out well in the end,” Elizabeth said instead.
The door flew open and Mrs. Bennet hurried in, Kitty in her wake and Lydia laughing from the hallway. “Oh, Jane, I am all afluster!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “But why are you not dressed? We must hurry!”
“It doesn’t take three hours to put on a gown,” Lydia said, leaning against the doorframe. “Jane has attended enough balls and assemblies I am sure she knows what it takes to get ready.”
“Hush, Lyddie,” Mrs. Bennet scolded, and Elizabeth met Jane’s eyes in the mirror. Their mother very rarely checked Lydia’s behavior at all. “Jane is not just going to a ball,” she continued. “Can you imagine what the neighbors would think if she showed up looking anything less than her best?”
Elizabeth bit back a smile; Jane appeared to do the same. “I was just about to call for Betsey, Mama,” Jane said. “And Kitty—you are the best of all of us at trimming bonnets. Could you make sure mine is ready for when I leave?”
Kitty shot Lydia a triumphant look; Lydia stuck out her tongue, and Mrs. Bennet hurried out of the room calling for Betsey, nearly colliding with Mary. Jane looked up at Elizabeth. “I am going to miss being ‘one of the Bennet sisters,’” she said softly.
Mary entered and dropped down onto the bed behind them. “Will you, truly?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the squabble that had sprung up between Lydia and Kitty.
Jane turned on the stool to face the middle sister. “Truly,” she told Mary.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mary smiled back. “It would be strange, getting ready for anything without fielding tears or dodging flying slippers.”
“Don’t forget stolen ribbons,” Elizabeth added. “So many stolen ribbons.”
Jane looked up at her, tears welling up in her eyes. Silently, she held out a hand to both sisters, and Mary hopped up from the bed to take the one extended to her.
“You’re not going so far,” Elizabeth said, squeezing Jane’s hand tightly, “and you’ll never stop being one of us. I promise you that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darcy
Everyone said afterwards there had never been a more beautiful bride, but Darcy scarcely noticed Jane Bennet, not when the lady beside her stole the very air from his lungs. Elizabeth wore pale green, the gown cut and trimmed to highlight her figure. Her hair was styled simply, as if in the rush of ensuring Miss Bennet looked perfect, her own appearance had been an afterthought. Really, he ought to attend to the service, but it was very hard when all he wanted to do was stare at her.
He had ridden out early that morning, hoping to see Elizabeth along one of the paths she walked so often, but had found nothing but empty lanes and a biting wind. Even now, as he stood at the front of the church, she did not look at him. Of course, Darcy admonished himself, they day was not about them. Elizabeth was a better attendant to Miss Bennet than he was to Bingley—her attention was all on her sister, as was right.
The realization slammed into him, and Darcy stifled a groan. He was a fool. Of course Caroline Bingley was desperate. Richard’s comment from the beginning of the evening came back to him, and this time it made perfect sense. Oh, I am sure she could stomach Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth is a different story… Don’t be dense, Darce.
Caroline Bingley knew he was in love with Elizabeth. She would have noted the changes in his behavior, realized he was no longer trying to resist the attraction. And he was to dance the last set with Elizabeth. He had planned to ask if he could call on her, when they all returned to Hertfordshire for Bingley’s wedding. Had Caroline anticipated that as well? If so, the last chance for her to become Mrs. Darcy was—now.
He had walked straight into the trap. Furious, Darcy spun on his heel and strode for the door. He flung it open—and collided with a soft body. The lady stumbled back, tripping on her skirt. She fell hard, head knocking against the opposite side of the hallway, and slumped to the floor.
Blast. It was, of course, Caroline Bingley, and for a long moment Darcy considered leaving her. If it was an attempted trap, then she deserved nothing less. On the other hand, if there had been a misunderstanding, he could not walk away and leave her injured by his own actions. Honor and responsibility warred with common sense. Surely it would not take long to fetch a maid—no, it must be his aunt, so no rumors were spread—but what if she was truly hurt?
She moaned, a hand fluttering up to touch her head. Darcy closed his eyes, praying he made the right decision. Then he took two long strides across the hallway and scooped her up. He would put her on a couch in the library before going for help.
Darcy faced a second dilemma just inside the library: close the door or leave it open? After a second’s hesitation, he toed it mostly closed and hurried across the room, eager to be free of his unwanted burden.
She did not move as he deposited her on the couch, but another low groan escaped her.
“Miss Bingley?” he asked cautiously. Blast, blast, blast!
The hand returned to her head, and her eyebrows fluttered. Leave now, he told himself, taking another step back.
“Mr. Darcy?” she murmured, eyes still closed. Her lips moved again, but he heard nothing.
“I will return with help in a moment,” Darcy said.
Her face contorted as if in pain, and she twitched her hand as if summoning him closer. Blast and damnation. Gritting his teeth, Darcy moved closer and bent down.
The hand not on her forehead reached out and grasped the front of his shirt. Darcy froze in shock—and then she tugged on it weakly. Clearly she wanted him to lean closer. Did it hurt to speak? He braced a hand beside her head and complied, inclining his head so his ear faced her lips.
The door creaked ever so slightly, and fear flooded through his stomach. He looked up as much as he could without moving, wishing fervently for his cousin, or perhaps his aunt—anyone who would not misunderstand and flee rather than helping.
But it was not Richard or Lady Matlock peering around the doorway with shock and horror on their face, and Darcy’s heart threatened to stop.
It was Elizabeth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elizabeth
What on earth had she just walked into? Horrified, Elizabeth took a step back, hoping to leave before either person saw her. When Mr. Darcy had not appeared for their second dance, she had gone looking for him, but never expected to find him bent over with Caroline Bingley gripping his shirt, her skirts in a mess around her legs. To think she had imagined herself falling in love with Mr. Darcy! He could not have—
Across the room, his eyes met hers. There was no shock, no annoyance or surprise or guilt. Mr. Darcy’s expression was nothing short of desperate, eyes pleading with her silently, and in that instant Elizabeth understood perfectly. The whole scene had somehow been arranged. He had been tricked.
Mortification flaming into fury, she didn’t stop to think as she looked back down the hallway. At first glance it was empty, but—there, someone moved at the end. If she was Caroline, she’d have ensured someone would come “discover them” to guarantee that Mr. Darcy was honor bound to marry her. Not waiting to see if the person in the hallway would continue to the library, Elizabeth hurried across the room and flung herself onto her knees besides the couch, reaching out and forcibly removing Caroline’s hand from Mr. Darcy’s shirt to hold it in both of her own. “Mr. Darcy, I am so glad you found us!” she exclaimed. “I did not know what to do; she just collapsed!”
Caroline’s eyes flew open, wrath written in every line of her face. She drew breath just as the door slammed open behind Elizabeth.
“Good heavens!” a woman exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Miss Bingley is hysterical,” Elizabeth replied instantaneously, turning on her knees to find Lady Matlock—oh, thank the Lord it was her—crossing the room on swift feet. “I heard her say she wanted a moment of cool and quiet and followed to make sure she was well. We became close acquaintances in Hertfordshire; it seemed only natural. I arrived just in time to see her collapse and begin ranting. Oh, I was so worried! Mr. Darcy found us just before you arrived. Could you send for a glass of wine? We may need smelling salts as well. My mother gets fits like these sometimes, and the salts work best for her.”
She had spoken so rapidly Elizabeth was out of breath by the time she finished, but the story was out. Now it would be her word against Miss Bingley’s, and she knew which version Mr. Darcy would support. And, oh! Caroline would so dearly love being compared to Mrs. Bennet.
“I will get the wine,” Mr. Darcy added immediately, stepping back. “Miss Bingley will be in good hands with my aunt.”
“Sarah, get my salts,” Lady Matlock said without looking away from Miss Bingley, and the maid who had followed her into the room disappeared as well.
Eyes never moving from Caroline’s face, the countess knelt beside Elizabeth and put the back of her hand against Caroline’s forehead. “Hysterical indeed,” she murmured. “I am glad you were present, Miss Elizabeth. I would be very displeased to hear of a compromise at my ball. Anyone found to be orchestrating one would never be invited back again, no matter who they are. I do not hold with such things.”
Miss Bingley blanched and—as she had multiple times since Lady Matlock’s entry—drew breath to speak.
“Don’t do that, girl,” the countess snapped, then added in a softer tone, “Save your breath. Breathe. We will have Darcy fetch your sister and send you home; you will feel better soon. No need to tax yourself.” Under Lady Matlock’s stern gaze, Miss Bingley didn’t dare say a word.
Mrs. Hurst appeared in the doorway just before Mr. Darcy returned with the requested glass of wine. The maid followed him in with Lady Matlock’s smelling salts. A trickle of other party-goers trailed in their wake, full of questions. Elizabeth happily relinquished her spot at Caroline’s side to Mrs. Hurst. A very different story may have passed between the sisters as they spoke in whispers, but Elizabeth made sure to repeat her own version of events to the crowd gathered at the door. Mr. Darcy offered confirmation, and Elizabeth was sure that, no matter what Caroline Bingley said later, theirs was the story that would be believed. Deception of any sort was Mr. Darcy’s abhorrence, after all, and she was sure many of those present would not have believed him capable of telling a lie.
At last, Lady Matlock rose and turned to the gathered crowd. “Out,” she commanded. “This is a ball, not a carnival exhibit. The lady was quite hysterical; she needs calm and quiet to regain her composure.”
Apparently the Countess of Matlock was not a woman to cross, for the group let her usher them from the room without protest. At last, only Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy remained by the door. The gentleman’s eyes met hers, and in them was a depth of feeling, of gratitude and something she could not name, that Elizabeth had never seen before.
He took half a step closer, hand twitching as if he would reach out. “Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said, voice so low only she could hear, “I cannot—I must tell you—”
The door, half closed behind Lady Matlock, burst open again to reveal Jane and Mr. Bingley. “Caroline?” Mr. Bingley asked, eyes darting from Mr. Darcy to his sisters and back.
“She will be well,” Darcy responded, easing away from Elizabeth. “It is lucky Miss Elizabeth was present when she collapsed.”
“Collapsed!” Mr. Bingley exclaimed. He hurried towards his sisters. Jane stopped by Elizabeth, linking an arm through hers, and Elizabeth closed her eyes in frustration. For once, Jane’s light touch did not calm her nerves in the slightest. What was he going to say?
“Come, Lizzy,” Jane said after a moment, glancing over at the three Bingley siblings. “The last dance is nearly finished. We ought to say our goodbyes. I am sure Caroline does not need our assistance now.”
Mr. Darcy had turned as if to leave, but at this he looked back. “If you will allow me, I will see you home so Mr. Bingley can attend to his sister.”
Jane voiced her approval, and Mr. Bingley’s was quickly gained as well. Elizabeth said nothing on the walk back to the ballroom. The music was indeed dying, and as it faded exhaustion fell over Elizabeth like a heavy blanket. She sagged ever so slightly before catching herself; it would not do to appear anything less than perfectly poised.
Lady Matlock appeared before the group while they donned their outerwear, surprising Elizabeth when she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you so much for your assistance, dear. I would have been remiss if any tragedy occurred, and I believe it might have if not for you. I shall hope to see you again soon.”
Then she was gone, and not until the next afternoon, traveling back to Longbourn with nothing to do but think, did Elizabeth realize exactly what the countess had meant. Lady Matlock, it seemed, had determined the truth of the matter and Elizabeth’s role in it. It appeared that she approved.
Unfortunately, the realization did nothing to calm the question that Elizabeth returned to time after time. What had Mr. Darcy meant to say to her? She replayed the words in her mind, closed her eyes and tried to recall exactly what expression had lit his dark eyes. I cannot—I must tell you— Must tell her what?
He had given her no other clues that night. The ride back to the Gardiner’s had been quiet. Of course, Jane was present, and Elizabeth could scarcely bring herself to look at the gentleman sitting across from her. He was so large! Had he always taken up that much room? She supposed so, but it had never been driven home in such a fashion. There had been a moment, when he handed her down from the carriage, when she swore he had held her hand a moment longer than necessary, squeezed it with more force than might be considered polite, but—oh, what had he meant to say?
It was a relief to arrive home and throw herself into wedding preparations. Their trunks must be unpacked from the journey, and then Jane’s repacked with all her old belongings as well as the new. There were shoes and bonnets to trim, fights to settle, and of course the wedding breakfast to help plan. Elizabeth put herself between Jane and her mother on countless occasions, welcoming the mental effort it took to keep Mrs. Bennet calm and on task.
At last the day arrived, and despite her own turmoil, Elizabeth could not help but greet it with joy. There was no time for her usual morning walk, but she did not mind today. There would be time for walks later. In fact, Elizabeth anticipated a great many walks in her future. Mr. Bingley and Jane were leaving for a wedding tour that would last a fortnight, but when they returned to Netherfield Elizabeth intended to make the three-mile trek often.
“Will you enjoy having the room to yourself?” Jane asked as Elizabeth brushed out her sister’s golden hair, refusing to think it would be the last time she did so.
“You assume that Kitty won’t move in the second you are gone,” Elizabeth laughed. “With the amount of shrieking that comes from the room Kitty and Lydia’s room, it can’t be restful for either of them.”
“Poor Kitty,” Jane mused. “Perhaps you ought to invite her to stay with you. I am sure you could calm her down over time and discover the sensible young lady hidden beneath all those fripperies and outbursts. I am only teasing!” she added as Elizabeth tugged hard on the bottom of her hair. “And really, Lizzy, you know there is always a room for you at Netherfield should you wish it. For as long as you like.”
“You may regret that,” Elizabeth said, resuming her brushing. “I may move in and never leave.”
“Or perhaps you shall marry as well, and we can take turns visiting each other. Oh Lizzy, I pray that you will be as lucky as I have been.”
Unbidden, Mr. Darcy appeared in Elizabeth’s mind. She could scarcely breathe as she recalled his face mere inches from hers while they waltzed, the look he had given her in the library, the warmth that had settled around her when he wrapped his coat around her shoulders.
Jane was watching her in the mirror, expression far too understanding for Elizabeth’s liking. She tugged on her sister’s hair again and said, “Very well, I shall begin pestering my new brother as soon as you return home from your wedding tour. You must promise to host a great number of balls so I may dance with all of the eligible young men. They cannot have poor breath or step on my toes, and I absolutely refuse to accept a husband that speaks only of horses or hunting!”
“Perhaps we can convince the local musicians to play a waltz,” Jane said. She reached back and took the hairbrush from Elizabeth, laying it on the toilette table. “It looked as if you enjoyed that dance.”
“It would not do to encourage Lydia,” Elizabeth replied swiftly. “And really, Jane, how did you manage to tear your attention away from Mr. Bingley long enough to notice anything about me?” She certainly hadn’t noticed her sister during the waltz.
Jane burst out laughing and Elizabeth flushed, realizing what she had revealed. “Oh, Charles and I had a lovely conversation about our favorite people,” Jane said. “You know Mr. Darcy is to stand up with him, do you not?”
“Yes, you told me. Twice. Stop it, Jane, or I will accuse you of playing matchmaker.”
Her sister laughed again. “After what I endured this autumn, can you blame me? The entire neighborhood was determined to play matchmaker for me.”
It was a different ball that came to mind this time, a haughty voice not yet dear as he asked, “Are all unions in your neighborhood decided in such a way … by parties wholly unrelated to the couple in question, and formed on the slightest amounts of evidence? By Sir William’s logic, I suppose I ought to congratulate you on our impending marriage.”
She did not want to think about that comment, the disdain in his tone. “It turned out well in the end,” Elizabeth said instead.
The door flew open and Mrs. Bennet hurried in, Kitty in her wake and Lydia laughing from the hallway. “Oh, Jane, I am all afluster!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “But why are you not dressed? We must hurry!”
“It doesn’t take three hours to put on a gown,” Lydia said, leaning against the doorframe. “Jane has attended enough balls and assemblies I am sure she knows what it takes to get ready.”
“Hush, Lyddie,” Mrs. Bennet scolded, and Elizabeth met Jane’s eyes in the mirror. Their mother very rarely checked Lydia’s behavior at all. “Jane is not just going to a ball,” she continued. “Can you imagine what the neighbors would think if she showed up looking anything less than her best?”
Elizabeth bit back a smile; Jane appeared to do the same. “I was just about to call for Betsey, Mama,” Jane said. “And Kitty—you are the best of all of us at trimming bonnets. Could you make sure mine is ready for when I leave?”
Kitty shot Lydia a triumphant look; Lydia stuck out her tongue, and Mrs. Bennet hurried out of the room calling for Betsey, nearly colliding with Mary. Jane looked up at Elizabeth. “I am going to miss being ‘one of the Bennet sisters,’” she said softly.
Mary entered and dropped down onto the bed behind them. “Will you, truly?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the squabble that had sprung up between Lydia and Kitty.
Jane turned on the stool to face the middle sister. “Truly,” she told Mary.
To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mary smiled back. “It would be strange, getting ready for anything without fielding tears or dodging flying slippers.”
“Don’t forget stolen ribbons,” Elizabeth added. “So many stolen ribbons.”
Jane looked up at her, tears welling up in her eyes. Silently, she held out a hand to both sisters, and Mary hopped up from the bed to take the one extended to her.
“You’re not going so far,” Elizabeth said, squeezing Jane’s hand tightly, “and you’ll never stop being one of us. I promise you that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Darcy
Everyone said afterwards there had never been a more beautiful bride, but Darcy scarcely noticed Jane Bennet, not when the lady beside her stole the very air from his lungs. Elizabeth wore pale green, the gown cut and trimmed to highlight her figure. Her hair was styled simply, as if in the rush of ensuring Miss Bennet looked perfect, her own appearance had been an afterthought. Really, he ought to attend to the service, but it was very hard when all he wanted to do was stare at her.
He had ridden out early that morning, hoping to see Elizabeth along one of the paths she walked so often, but had found nothing but empty lanes and a biting wind. Even now, as he stood at the front of the church, she did not look at him. Of course, Darcy admonished himself, they day was not about them. Elizabeth was a better attendant to Miss Bennet than he was to Bingley—her attention was all on her sister, as was right.
