It had stung. In fact, all of Mamma’s little slights, intended and unintended, had bothered her more these past weeks than they ought. Elizabeth knew this was simply how her mother was, and she ought not allow the insults to discompose her, but after the events of the past year her emotions were rubbed raw, and she knew not what to think or do or say. She had thrown herself into assisting Jane with preparations for the wedding, not only because Jane deserved such attentions but to keep herself from running mad.
What would she do when Jane was gone? Although a three-mile trek across the fields was of no matter when the weather was mild, it was still a good distance away from having her sister in the room next to her own. And Jane would have her own concerns and duties as a new wife.
Elizabeth wished she might be able to do the same. But how could she when she had so abused the man she now understood she cared for, accusing him of a lack of feeling and a dearth of integrity? To her shame, she had learned that he felt more deeply and had more integrity than any other man she had ever known.
She had not been wrong about his interference between Jane and Mr. Bingley, but had he not also rectified that error by bringing Mr. Bingley back again? Mr. Darcy was not perfect, but what would she do with a perfect man? More to the point, what would a perfect man want with her? No, that was Jane’s lot, to have a husband so uniquely complementary, to create the serene marriage that best suited her.
Elizabeth preferred the storm. But it had not served her well.
She went to her writing table and drew one of the drawers forward. Behind the false back there was a keyhole, and she fit a little key into it, turning it all the way to the right until the lock popped open and she could withdraw two letters. She sat on her bed with them, reading them both through. The first was showing signs of wear, but she could not resist tracing her finger along the farewell.
I will only add, God bless you.
Fitzwilliam Darcy
The next was a letter from Aunt Gardiner, extolling Mr. Darcy’s efforts to find Lydia, to bring her back to the family without marrying such a terrible man, and then seeing that the marriage took place when it was clear Lydia would not be convinced. A tickling wetness on Elizabeth’s cheek had her refolding both letters hurriedly so as not to smear the ink with a wayward tear. She held them in her hand for a moment, fragile reminders of what she had thrown away, talismans that proved an honourable man had loved her once, even if she had not recognised it.
He had loved her, and she had never seen it. “How clever do you think yourself now, Elizabeth Bennet?” she whispered.
Chapter Three
“Elizabeth Bennet,” Mamma cried out from the hall. “Youare not the one being wed tomorrow! Come down at once and help your sister with her bouquet!”
“Coming, Mamma,” she called back in an almost steady voice.
She opened her door to see Mamma standing outside. “I knew Jane would save us all, and so she has, no thanks to you.”
“No thanks to me,” Elizabeth murmured, then took a deep breath. She could be cheerful for Jane. Nothing must mar her wedding day. “I will help Jane.”
“Good.” Her mother turned in the direction of her chambers.
Elizabeth tripped lightly down the stairs and squared her shoulders as she entered the family parlour where Jane sat alone, working on a bouquet to carry in the morning. As talented as Jane was in the stillroom, this was more Elizabeth’s skill than her own, and she smiled when Elizabeth approached with a single lifted brow.
“Where are Kitty and Mary?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, everyone has gone up to bed,” Jane replied, frowning at the dried foliage spread out before her on the table.
“What have you done to those poor flowers?” Elizabeth inquired teasingly. “Here, you had better allow me.”
“Thank you, Lizzy,” Jane said gratefully.
Elizabeth tried to ignore her sister’s assessing gaze as she deftly arranged the dried herbs and flowers into a beautiful array. She then drew a yellow ribbon from her own hair and tied the whole up with it.
“Oh, Lizzy,” Jane said quietly. “No, that is your favourite one.”
“Do you think I would give you my least favourite to carry at your wedding?” Elizabeth gazed fondly at her sister. Jane’s eyes began to mist, and Elizabeth said quickly, “I am of a mind not to give you up to Mr. Bingley after all.”
“Lizzy,” Jane said with a half-laugh. “I love him.”
“A great pity, for now I must allow the wedding to go forward.” Elizabeth arched one eyebrow. “At least you will not have to change the initials on your handkerchiefs.”
Jane dabbed at her eyes with one such cloth. “You will make me cry.”
“Oh, you had better not,” Elizabeth warned teasingly, “or in the morning your nose will be red and your eyes puffy. You want your groom to be enraptured when he sees you walk into the church, not concerned that you do not wish to marry him after all.”
Her sister’s eyes grew wide, and her tears stopped. “I had not thought of that.”
“I am in jest,” Elizabeth assured her sister with a soft laugh, taking Jane’s hand and planting a kiss on the back of it. “As if a little water could do anything but enhance your loveliness. You are marrying the man you love tomorrow, and healmostdeserves you. I am very, very happy for you both.”
