Chapter 12

Drawing Room

Longbourn

Friday, 14th August, 1812

The underside of the oak leaves was a soft silvery-green as they shivered in the wind, flashing dark and pale. Jane watched them, her chin leaned on her hand as she stared out the window at the old oak tree halfway across the lawn. On the other side of the room, her mother and Kitty murmured together over some bonnet they were beribboning. The strains of Beethoven trickled through the wall; Mary had been spending even more time than usual at the pianoforte, clinging to what crumbs of calm she could find in the midst of the oppressive atmosphere that had settled over Longbourn.

Jane envied her sister even that soothing amusement. Her own heart was in turmoil and had been ever since Mr. Bingley's return and apology. Part of her thrilled at the return of the man she had loved, but an unaccustomed anger had risen like a dragon in her heart. She had long been vaunted by her sisters, and especially Lizzy, as the most forgiving Bennet and the best of creatures. But recent events had left her unsettled, with less goodwill towards her fellow-man than usual. Mr. Bingley's sisters had struck her heart a painful blow with their cruel words and their snubs, when she had thought them the dearest of friends. She had not even recovered from the pain of their rejection when Wickham had proven himself a scoundrel of the highest order, while Lydia had shown that her headstrong flirtations were rooted in a deeper foolishness than Jane had previously imagined. She still could hardly believe that her youngest sister was willing to destroy her family in return for intimate relations with a flattering rogue.

In the face of this incontrovertible proof of willful villainy and yes, stupidity, Jane found herself uncharacteristically out of charity with the blunders of her erstwhile suitor. Mrs. Bennet had made it plain that she expected Jane to accept Mr. Bingley's offer, but Jane balked at accepting his hand before quenching her smoldering fury at his betrayal.

The drawing room door opened, and the butler entered with the master of Netherfield at his heels.

"Mr. Bingley," the butler announced.

Mrs. Bennet leaped to her feet, her face wreathed with smiles. "Mr. Bingley, oh, how delightful to see you today! I hope you are well?"

"Very well, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Kitty," he replied, forcing himself to smile at the matron and her fourth daughter before turning his attention on the eldest Miss Bennet.

She was, he thought hopefully, looking a trifle less pale than when last he had seen her.

"I will call for tea," Mrs. Bennet announced. "Pray do sit down, perhaps next to Jane?"

Jane, not unnaturally, blushed at this overt desire to force their caller to speak with her, but Bingley's handsome face lit up, and he immediately stepped forward and sat down on the chair across from her. She could not help but be grateful that he was not sitting alongside her, as she felt too agitated to welcome such close proximity.

"I received an express from Darcy," he said softly.

Jane's eyebrows rose, and she glanced quickly at her mother, who was at the doorway ordering tea from a servant, and then looked back. "May I inquire what he said?"

"Of course. He informed me that the entire party is journeying north even now. They are traveling in slow stages so that the three gentlemen in question are able to spend time with Miss Lydia."

Jane's mouth twisted, and she said, "I hope one of them is willing to wed my sister."

"If not, Darcy will determine another way to safeguard your reputations," Bingley said with confidence.

This provoked a curious look from the lady, and he said, "I daresay I understand your concerns, but Darcy is a very competent man and rarely fails at anything."

"You admire him very much."

"I do," Bingley agreed and then, noting the irritation on Miss Bennet's face, continued nervously, "I realize that you have every reason to think ill of him, Miss Bennet. He was definitely in error when he interfered with our courtship, but I have come to understand that I have been depending on his judgement too much. For many years, I have gone to him for advice and assistance when making large decisions, and he has gotten into the habit of treating me, perhaps, as a younger brother who needs guidance. I need to stand on my own two feet, and I intend to learn to make my own judgements."

Jane regarded him for a moment and then managed a slight smile. "I suppose it is a testament to Mr. Darcy's abilities that he did manage to separate us."

Bingley produced his own rueful grin. "Indeed, though that was more due to my own lack of confidence. I believed that you cared for me, but I did not trust my own judgement. I cannot tell you how much I regret that."

Jane turned her exquisite countenance toward the window, and Bingley saw a quiver in her smooth cheek. When she looked back at him, her blue eyes were hard. "I am still not certain what tomorrow holds, but I will say this now. I have no wish to share a home with Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst, not after their unkind behavior toward me. If that is a step too far for you, we can end any thoughts of a future together."

Bingley opened his mouth to answer just as servants entered in with the tea tray. Mrs. Bennet eagerly served tea to her guest and daughters and then herself, rambling all the time about Lydia's terrible situation and Jane's beauty and charm.

When the master of Netherfield rose to bid his farewells, he had not had the opportunity to privately respond to Jane's last statement. She did not regret that in the least. Based on her suitor's behavior the previous autumn while at Netherfield, Charles Bingley was in the habit of giving way to his sisters in order to keep peace at all costs.

Until recently, she had been the same way; ready and eager to sacrifice her rights and desires in order to make people happy. But she was realizing, dimly, that such conduct was not always ideal for her or for those around her. Lydia had been well nigh ruined by her father's indifference and her mother's overindulgence.

She needed to determine how best to act toward others before accepting an offer from any man, and especially a man who had previously allowed his sisters' ambition to get in the way of his own love.

/

The Woodman Inn

Islington

The carriage came to a halt, and a minute later, the door to the carriage was pulled open by a servant. Darcy exited and handed out Elizabeth, followed by Captain Scofield, who handed out Lydia and Mrs. Greenfield.

They found themselves in a courtyard filled with horses and carriages and servants and travelers hurrying to and fro. Elizabeth took a moment to stare toward London, which lay below them after their long climb up the hill.

The roofs rose up like so many dollhouses, smoke curling skyward from the chimneys. Patches of green dotted the view, front gardens and back gardens and parks and the tree-lined streets of graceful manor houses. From this far, all the activity on the streets – horses and carts and hacks and ladies with their maids and gentlemen in a cluster and scrawny dirty urchins and tradesmen – melded together into a bustling flow like the scurry of a bed of busy ants.

"Would you care for some refreshment, Miss Bennet, while the horses rest?" Darcy's voice said from beside her, and she shivered at the gentleman's proximity even as she turned her smiling face at him.

"That would be delightful, sir. It is a marvelous view, is it not?"

"It is," Darcy agreed, also looking toward Town, and then added, "I am hopeful that you will find pleasure in many of the views as we travel north."

"I am certain I will," Elizabeth replied and felt her cheeks warm as her suitor, for that is definitely what he was, extended his arm for her to take.

The inn was deliciously cool, and the exposed wooden rafters of the large parlor set aside for their use were dark with age and smoke. The rag rug on the floor was clean, but a little worn; rather like the cloth over the table, repeated darnings cleverly hidden along the length of it. A varied selection of dishes sat upon the table, cold ham and cold chicken and cold pheasant, pickles, and several wheels of cheese. A bowl of fruits sat proudly in the center of the table.

Elizabeth found herself seated between Mr. Darcy and her father, while Lydia was settled near the end of the table with Mrs. Greenfield on one side, ready to restrain her charge if needed, and Lydia's suitors as close as was permitted by the position of the chairs. Elizabeth could not but rejoice in the arrangement, as it allowed her some time to speak with Mr. Bennet, who wore a solemn expression.

"Are you well, Father?" she asked once the sound of conversation and the clanking of silver and plates meant that she could speak out of earshot of the party at the other end of the table.

"I am well enough," Bennet replied shortly and then, at the concern on his favorite daughter's face, continued, though quietly, "I dislike traveling, as you know, and confess to dreading the next days, especially as it may end in disaster and scandal. It still surprises me that any reasonable man would marry Lydia under these circumstances, even with ten thousand pounds."

"She is handsome," Darcy returned, equally softly, and when Bennet raised his eyebrow, he added, "Not as handsome as her elder sisters, but very pretty. She is also a lively person. The truth is that if she learned to restrain her liveliness appropriately, she could be a most charming companion. Moreover, for most men, ten thousand pounds is a great inducement."

"You are a generous man, Mr. Darcy," Bennet said bleakly, glancing down the table to where Lydia was now loudly boasting about her time at Brighton with the many militia officers. Elizabeth felt herself cringe in embarrassment, only to relax a moment later when Mrs. Greenfield tactfully changed the topic to the Royal Pavilion. This provoked a discussion of the various architectural styles that made up the Regent's sprawling abode in Brighton. Lydia, the only person at the table who had actually laid eyes on the Pavilion, was coaxed into providing details of its various wings, and the ensuing conversation was, to Elizabeth's relief, both interesting and even moderately edifying.

When she dragged her attention away from her silly and often mortifying sister, her gaze met Darcy's, and that gentleman's expression was so gentle, so kind, so sympathetic, that she felt her eyes start with tears. Oh, how she hoped that, when this was all over, Fitzwilliam Darcy would ask her again for her hand...

Bennet, who had watched the interplay of his daughters with their suitors, sensed his spirits lift a trifle. He had long delighted in the absurd, and he showed a regrettable temptation to make fun of his own family without hesitation. In the picture before him, of Lydia and her three suitors, who were vying not for her person but for her wealth, he could not help but feel a surge of his accustomed humor.

"I know that your library is an impressive one, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth remarked, drawing his attention. "As you likely know, my father is also very fond of books."

Darcy, who had been gazing adoringly at her, knew a conversational transition when he heard one, and he obediently shifted his focus to Mr. Bennet.

"I am aware that you have a most remarkable library yourself, sir," he said courteously. "What are your favorite areas of interest?"

This provoked an enthusiastic discussion between the two men, over a range of topics, and while Elizabeth only contributed the occasional remark, she was conscious that Mr. Darcy took every possible moment to look upon her fondly, which caused her heart to sing.