Elizabeth tried again. “Jane, you are ill. Pray, let us summon him.”
“No! There is nothing the matter with me, Lizzy.” Her assertion was greatly discredited by her pallid complexion and trembling hands. Elizabeth reached for one, only for Jane to snatch it away, insisting, “You surprised me, nothing more.”
Elizabeth acquiesced with a sigh and stood up. Jane did likewise, brushing non-existent creases from her skirts before excusing herself and disappearing up the stairs.
“What was that about?” Elizabeth whispered.
“I am the last person likely to know.” Darcy turned back to the front door, placing his hand upon her back and gently directing her thither. “Mayhap, she is also with child.”
Elizabeth whipped her gaze to his. “That might be it! She was very pale. And faint.” For a moment, she was wounded that Jane would not confide such a thing to her, but feeling the hypocrisy of her grievance, she soon set it aside. “I should like it to be true,” she said once they were in the garden. “It might bring us closer again to have children so near in age.”
Darcy said nothing but gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her arm. Nothing more was said until they came upon the avenue dissecting Netherfield’s gardens, and Elizabeth’s spirits rose once more. “We walked here last autumn. Do you recall?”
“Vividly,” he replied. “You ran away.”
“Such appalling manners.”
“Better you than either of Bingley’s sisters.”
She looked askance at him, and he added, “Neither of them is half so pleasing from behind.”
Thus, they found themselves turned to matters more agreeable to both, Jane’s queer turn put from their minds. Nourished by naught but the stoutest love and two buttered muffins, they wandered the gardens until time would dawdle for them no longer and they were forced to return to the house and attend to their respective pursuits.
The ladies had withdrawn after dinner, leaving Mr Bennet, his two sons and a quantity of liquor of dubious origin to commune in masculine seclusion. The occasion had proved to be one of negligible delight. He took a swig of the pungent concoction in his glass and made a final attempt to goad his young companions into conversation, enquiring how many birds each had brought down that afternoon.
“Two-and-twenty,” Darcy said at the same time as Bingley mumbled, “Six or seven.”
“True to form, gentlemen! One has his bird in the bag afore the other has decided which to aim for.”
Neither rose to the bait, which drained all Mr Bennet’s remaining hope of finding further sport in their company. His suggestion that they join the ladies was met with universal assent.
All seemed as one might expect when they entered the drawing room. Elizabeth and Mary were deep in conversation on one sofa. Kitty and Lydia were draped over opposing arms of another. Jane and Mrs Bennet were huddled together in a pair of chairs before the window, whispering about something that was having a very different effect on each of them. Miss Bingley stalked the edge of the room, thus far unsuccessful in what appeared to be a search for another way out.
The gentlemen had not taken more than a few steps into the room when this scene of humdrum domesticity was shattered by Mrs Bennet’s voice.
“I knew it! You arewith child!”
Judging by the looks on the faces of the two people best placed to know about such a development, Mr Bennet thought it very unlikely, but since his opinion rarely had any influence on what his wife wished to believe, he saved his breath to cool his porridge. Instead, he sauntered over to claim a seat with the most advantageous view of every countenance in the room, spoilt for choice between the varying expressions of horror, vexation, surprise and complacency.
“Mama, please!” cried Jane, possessor of the horrified countenance.
“There is no need to be coy about it, Jane! We are all family here. You may as well tell everybody while we are together.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her tone echoing her vexed expression. “How could you? ’Tis not your place to announce such a thing!”
“Oh, fie, Lizzy. No one else was going to!”
“Exactly!”
“Jane?” This rather feeble plea was from Bingley, presently boasting an exceedingly surprised countenance.
Before Jane could respond, Lydia, looking vastly pleased with herself, interrupted. “I know not why you are pretending to be upset, Jane. You said yourself how pleased you were to have outdone Lizzy.”
At this, Darcy’s countenance, which had heretofore displayed only vague distaste, darkened into an ominous glower. He moved farther into the room, which, rather disconcertingly, seemed to shrink as he did so. Mr Bennet lifted up the glass he had carried in with him from the dining room and squinted suspiciously at the sallow beverage therein.
“Lydia!” Jane exclaimed. “I said no such thing!”
“Yes, you did. You said you were glad to have done something better than ‘the flawless Mrs Darcy.’”
