by Jessie Lewis
You will know how deeply this behaviour distressed me, given my fear that her careless charms might once again draw B in. Yet, though at first he seemed excessively attentive to her, by the end, I was far less anxious. What you predicted, you see, is coming to bear. Her allure is fading. Your cousin reveals little of his feelings, but even he failed on a few occasions to conceal his displeasure, and if his favour is so rapidly diminishing, it cannot be long before B’s dwindles entirely.
Forgive me if it pains you to discover this. I know you were hoping for better news, but such assurances I cannot provide. On the contrary, D is regularly embarrassed as a result of E’s wilful disregard for propriety. If I tell you that, amongst her other transgressions during the course of our visit, she served refreshments to one of his tenants’ children in the same room as her houseguests, then traipsed halfway across the estate, alone and in the rain, to escort the child home, necessitating that D ride out in the storm to search for her, you will have some idea of the indignities he faces.
Even B expressed concern for his friend’s displeasure with E and the frequency and bitterness of their disputes. He has invited them to stay with us on their way to your cousin’s wedding in Kent, which I sincerely hope is attributable to his sympathy for his friend and nothing more. I do not relish another visit with all its attendant obligations of civility, yet I recall your counsel to avoid a rift with the Ds and recognise the prudence of ensuring it goes well. Indeed, it was precisely that advice that prompted me to demonstrate a measure of affection for E I did not feel on our final evening at P to compensate for the few instances of contention during my stay. Whether or not my efforts were successful I could not say. I wonder whether she even noticed.
All that remains to be said is what consolation your friendship has been and continues to be during these trying times, for which I thank you most sincerely.
Affectionately yours,
Jane Bingley
***
Monday, 28 September 1812: Hertfordshire
Autumn had well and truly settled in Hertfordshire by the time the Bingleys returned from their travels. The trees were every shade of orange, brown, and red, dusty paths had turned to mud, and the air grew chillier by the day. For Jane’s youngest sister, there was but one consequence of changing seasons worth considering: changing gowns. Thus, presently, Jane was ensconced in her bedchamber while Lydia rummaged through her closet for a different, mayhap warmer, definitely finer gown than any of her own to wear to the next assembly in Meryton. With Mrs. Bennet closely supervising the search, there was little for Jane to do but sit on her chaise longue and watch.
“La, what is this old thing doing in here?” Lydia exclaimed, backing out of the closet and sneering at the gown she held up before her. “’Tis two years old at least! Look at the sleeves!”
“There is nothing wrong with the sleeves. They are very charming,” Jane demurred.
“I do not care how charming they are,” said Mrs. Bennet angrily. “Mrs. Bingley of Netherfield cannot wear gowns from one season past, let alone two! Lay it on the bed, Lydia. That one can go to the maid.”
Lydia did as she was bid then returned to foraging. Jane sighed. Her mother had not the head for money matters. Her enduring love affair with French lace was proof of that.
“Mama, it is a perfectly serviceable gown. With very few adjustments, it could be worn for half dress.”
“Half dress? You could not wear that to bed, never mind to dinner! You would not be fit to be seen! Really, Jane, you must better attend to these matters. It is no wonder you are not yet with child if that is the sort of thing you are wearing!”
Jane had no response to such a shocking and offensive tangent and sat speechless and indignant. Mrs. Bennet glanced conspiratorially over her shoulder to where Lydia was yet buried in the closet and then shuffled closer to Jane. When she spoke again, it was in a low voice and with such vastly exaggerated enunciation as made her harder, not easier, to understand.
“We have spoken before of men’s desires and how to entice them. The same is just as true after you wed. Bingley will not come to you if you do not make yourself alluring. And you need him to come to you, Jane, for unless he is prodigiously blessed, he will not get you with child from the next room.”
“He does come to me,” Jane whispered, mortified.
“Evidently not often enough or you would be increasing by now.”
“Mama, we have not yet been married three months!”
“And you must not go any longer. You must dress to better tempt him.” A shrewd smile overtook her countenance. “In fact, when Lizzy arrives on Friday, ask to borrow some of her gowns. He will like that.”
Jane’s blood ran cold. “I have no wish to dress like Lizzy.”
“I know, dear, but it might not be such a poor scheme.”
She inhaled deeply, attempting not to sound too breathless when she enquired whether her mother believed Bingley favoured Elizabeth.
“It hardly matters which of you he prefers,” she replied. “He married you; thus, it is you who must provide him with an heir!”
Jane came to her feet with a wordless cry, appalled beyond measure. Her dismay, and perhaps the sudden movement, made her light-headed. Close to swooning, she fumbled for the arm of the chaise longue and dropped back into her seat, sick to her stomach and with tears stinging her eyes. Her anguish was rudely interrupted when her mother shoved a bottle of smelling salts under her nose, bringing her lurching forward, retching, and the awaiting tears cascading down her cheeks.
“What is the matter with Jane?” Lydia enquired.
“Hush, child!” Mrs. Bennet admonished. She bent over Jane, peering at her suspiciously. “Are you sure you are not already with child? Now that I notice it, you do seem very pale and mayhap a little thickened about the waist.”
Jane closed her eyes. “It is possible,” she mumbled, supposing it was—hypothetically—and hoping it might satisfy her mother enough to make her go away. It did not.
“Oh, Jane! I knew it! You clever, clever girl! Lydia! Lydia, did you hear? Jane is with child! Oh, heavens above, what happy news!”
“Kitty and I wondered who would be first,” Lydia replied. “She thought Lizzy, but I thought you, Jane. And I was right! You have beaten Lizzy to it!”
A heartening prospect indeed! “Well, it would be agreeable to have done something better than the flawless Mrs. Darcy. Let her take a turn at being shone down.” Jane regretted her petty outburst when Lydia gasped, looking thoroughly taken aback, but her mother only smiled and leant to pat her hand.
“It is very common to feel a little waspish at the beginning, dear, very common indeed. Ooh, wait until your father hears this news!”
“Pray, do not tell Papa!” Jane cried urgently, recognising she must end the charade before her mother falsely raised half the town’s expectations. “Indeed, do not tell anyone, for it is not true!”
Her mother looked hurt, as though Jane had done her an injustice by depriving her of such momentous intelligence, but her expression soon softened. “I understand. It is too early to be certain. Let me assure you, though, you are showing all the signs.” She cut off Jane’s attempt to object again with a sharp shake of her head. “I shall not mention it to a soul.” Lydia scoffed loudly. “And neither will you, Miss Lydia, or you will not be going to the assembly at all!” She stood abruptly. “Come, come, let us leave your sister to rest.”
“But I have not chosen a gown!”
“Oh, hang your gown, girl! Your sister is with child! What do I care for your gowns?”
“Ugh! I shall ask to borrow one of Lizzy’s then,” she retorted. “Hers are bound to be finer than Jane’s anyway.”
Mrs. Bennet forcibly hustled her from the room. Jane stared after them. Her mother’s misapprehension would resolve itself soon enough when she di
d not begin to increase. The matter of Bingley’s itinerant affections seemed destined never to resolve itself, recurring with nightmarish persistence to torment her. Feeling her heart harden a little further, she stood and rang the bell for her maid—to whom she gave the gown that supposedly made her so vastly unappealing, along with every other dress in her possession with similarly outmoded sleeves.
***
Friday, 2 October 1812: Hertfordshire
Darcy regarded the bustling streets philosophically as the carriage trundled through Meryton. His memories of Hertfordshire were many and varied, but he was able to reflect on even the unpleasant ones with a certain amount of complacency, for Elizabeth nestled sleepily in his arms with his child nestled safely in her belly and his happiness was complete.
He had grown exceedingly fond of her habit of sleeping curled up against him on long journeys. He was thankful his sister had elected to visit the Castletons rather than accompany them to Kent, leaving them free to enjoy such intimacy. As the carriage turned away from the town towards Netherfield, he began to gently rouse her, diverted by her drowsy reluctance. “Truly, I cannot comprehend how you sleep so soundly in a moving carriage.”
“I never used to be able to or even wish to.” She yawned, sitting upright and stretching. “I believe I have your child to thank.”
He smiled to hear her speak so assuredly of it, for despite all indications to the fact, she had yet to feel the quickening and was adamant they ought not to celebrate until she did.
“Am I presentable?” she enquired, beginning to fuss with her hair and clothes.
“You look divine.” She truly did.
She reached for her bonnet. “I hope Georgiana has settled well at Hornscroft.”
“I am sure she has,” he replied, frowning at her non sequitur.
“Ought we to have insisted upon Mrs. Annesley going with her?”
“Now you profess reservations on that score? After the energy with which you defended her wish to go alone?”
“Well, no—only, I do so wish her to have an agreeable visit.”
He watched her fingers fumbling with the ribbons under her chin. After a moment, he gently nudged her hands aside and tied the bow for her. “She will enjoy it more than she would have enjoyed Rosings. But, I do not believe it is her visit that troubles you.”
Elizabeth frowned and opened her mouth as though to object, but the carriage’s lurching halt distracted her enough that when she spoke again, it was with a rueful grin. “For a man who once readily mistook antipathy for love, you have become vexingly perceptive. Shall I ever be able to hide anything from you again?”
“I hope not.”
The door was opened and a servant appeared in the aperture, bending to unfold the steps.
“What strange creatures we are, traipsing about the country, chasing dissension and hostility, when we could so easily have remained at home and avoided all of it,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Another of my suggestions you opposed, I believe,” Darcy teased as he climbed down from the carriage.
“Righteousness is of no value in retrospect, you know,” she replied as he handed her down.
“Obstinacy in the moment is preferable then, is it?”
“Pray tell me you have not argued the entire way from Pemberley!”
They both turned at the sound of Bingley’s voice.
“Not the entire way, no,” Elizabeth replied archly. “I slept for some of the time.”
***
Half an hour later, Darcy sat in Bingley’s study, grimacing at the contents of his glass. “What in God’s name is this?”
“Cognac.”
Darcy raised one sceptical eyebrow. “This is from France?”
“No, it is from Sir William.”
He set his glass aside. “It is good of you to put us up so soon after your own travels.”
“Not at all. I know Lizzy must be eager to see her family again.”
Darcy regarded his friend with a carefully neutral expression. He questioned whether Bingley was even aware his wife was not presently on good terms with her sister. Did they not talk to one another of such matters? “Speaking of family, I had expected the Hursts to be here.”
“Hurst has taken Louisa back to London. He did not trust the midwives hereabouts to be of use when she enters her confinement.”
“That bodes ill for you, then. I hope you have better luck finding a decent one locally.”
“What? Why would I…what do you…what?”
“It is probable you will have need of one for Jane at some point.”
“Oh! Yes, of course!” He gulped down the remainder of his drink and twisted around to dispense with his empty glass on the desk behind him. He placed it atop a pile of papers whose ink instantly began to run where drips of the unspecified liquor had pooled around the bottom.
“Bingley, your correspondence!”
“Oh, blast!” Bingley sprang to his feet and snatched up the glass, but—too late. The top three or four sheets of paper beneath it were now attached to its base, and when he hefted it clear of the desk, a whole sheaf of documents was dragged up into the air with it, all of which promptly cascaded to the floor.
Darcy shook his head, chuckling quietly, if incredulously, at his maladroit friend. He abstained from teasing and crouched to help gather up the scattered paperwork, though when he came upon a sheet bearing naught but an exceedingly ill-drawn blue and orange face, he could not refrain from comment. Snatching up one or two last papers, he pushed himself to his feet. “Were you half cut when you created this masterpiece, Bingley?”
“What is that?” his friend replied from the floor.
Darcy showed him; Bingley’s face flushed beetroot red.
“Dare we enquire what is going on here?”
Elizabeth’s interruption came from the doorway, where she stood with her sister, her arms folded and one exquisite eyebrow arched high in amusement. Darcy bowed a formal greeting. At his side, Bingley scrambled to his feet and gave some kind of absurd wave.
“Bingley is…” He glanced at the disordered bundle of papers his friend clutched to his chest, one of which, most divertingly, chose that moment to escape from his grasp and flutter conspicuously back to the floor. “Filing.”
“Thank heavens. I thought for a moment he was asking for your hand.”
“I should have said no if he had. I could never marry a person who draws even more poorly than I do.” Ignoring Bingley’s embarrassed groan, he held up the pitiable scribble for the ladies to see.
“Oh! That is Anna’s sketch of me!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Yes,” Bingley said. “You dropped it here at my picnic in the summer. I meant to return it to you. But forgot. Obviously.”
“You are very good, sir, but I have a hundred others just like it. You need not have troubled yourself.”
She then informed them—because Jane did not—that tea was to be served in the morning room and suggested, if the gentlemen had completed their business, they all remove there. Before anyone could agree or disagree, Bingley proceeded to drop most of the papers in his arms again whilst attempting to shuffle them into a neat pile. Darcy watched Elizabeth press her lips together. Her eyes, when they met his, shone with laughter.
“Blast!” Bingley grumbled again. “Go ahead. I shall join you all directly.”
Darcy crossed the room and gave Elizabeth his arm. It was only as he held out the other for Jane that he spared any thought for the fact she had not spoken a word since coming into the study. She observed Bingley in silence with an inscrutable expression, though the spots of colour pinking her cheeks might be indicative of some pique. It was a few heartbeats before Jane removed her gaze from her husband and, without a word, accepted Darcy’s arm. It was not his business. On that
point, he was painfully clear. With a determined effort to draw no conclusion whatsoever about Jane’s demeanour towards Bingley, Darcy led the two women from the room.
***
Saturday, 3 October 1812: Hertfordshire
The gentlemen went for an early ride the next morning with the agreement that they would all convene in the dining room to breakfast together at ten. Thus, Elizabeth descended the stairs alone. Her feelings were so different from the last time she trod the same path that she could not help but smile. It had been the last morning of her stay to nurse Jane to health, almost a year ago, and she had never been so eager to leave behind a place or a certain person. Presently, she begrudged every moment apart from him.
That her relationship with Jane had soured to a similar state of acrimony as hers and Darcy’s at its worst pained her deeply. They had not explicitly argued at Pemberley, but neither had they properly recovered from their quarrel in London, and the new coldness in Jane’s manner continued to dissuade Elizabeth from sharing her happy news. She had come here without expectation of a revival of intimacy, only the desire for matters to deteriorate no further, which was the sum of what she had thus far achieved.
A footman opened the door as she approached the breakfast room, revealing her husband already seated at the table. He stood immediately upon seeing her, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She slowed to a halt and waited while he disappeared from view around the table, then appeared again in the door, striding towards her.
“Whatever is the matter?”
“Eggs,” he replied in a low voice.
“Oh! Yes, that might have proved embarrassing. Though everybody will just as soon think you are unwell now. What reason did you give for leaving so abruptly?”
