“I told Lady Ashby. She said it was a part of married life and advised me never to speak of it.”
“Well, she would! On dit, her husband has half a dozen children from the other side of the sheets. I doubt his taking lovers troubles her in any other way than whether her pin money is diminished.”
“You used to speak more highly of her.”
“She is a viscountess. I speak highly of her rank and influence. As a person, she is more comparable to a lemon. She adds flavour to other things but is sour and horrid on her own.”
That this should surprise Jane was exasperating. It seemed, despite her low expectations, that Caroline had still managed to underestimate her new sister’s naivety. She wished she had not, for much of this misfortune might have been averted had she more firmly pointed Jane in the direction of the real world from the start. “I am surprised you did not tell your sister.”
“I might have, had she not come to my room the evening after my mother made the announcement, to tell me she was also with child. It was too much. In eight-and-forty hours, I had learnt that Charles still admired her and had got a child on her facsimile. She might as well have told me they had lain together.” She let out a little whimper andadded, “It was childish and unjust of me to blame her. Yet Islappedher for it.”
“I daresay it did not do too much harm.”
“But it has!” She lifted her crumpled letter and read from it.
I shall never have the words to explain how deeply your jealousy and mistrust have wounded me. You are no longer the sister I once knew. You have lost all your goodness, and I have lost my Jane.
She burst into tears again and dropped her hands and the letter back to her lap. “I have blamed her for everything, but Mr Darcy is right. This is more my fault than I ever comprehended.”
“An observation worthy of a good deal of solitary reflection, I am certain,” Caroline replied, her limited supply of compassion abruptly exhausted at the thought of expending an ounce of it in defence of Elizabeth Darcy.
“You are right,” Jane gasped between sobs. “I hardly know myself anymore.”
“I am for Bath tomorrow,” Caroline grudgingly admitted. “Allow me to take you as far as Netherfield. Indulge your reflections in the peace and quiet of the country while you prepare yourself for Charles’ return.”
“You are convinced he will?”
“I am. And if you are determined to make him love you, you had better work out how to return yourself to the artless country moppet you used to be before he does.”
Wednesday 10 March 1813, Hertfordshire
“This is it, ma’am,” the footman said, opening the carriage door and indicating one of several buildings flanking a dingy-looking inn.
Jane looked up at the grimy windows set in rotten frames then down to the letter retrieved from her husband’s desk. It was a poor quarter of Hatfield indeed, yet there was no doubting this was the place. If anything, that only strengthened her resolve. Gathering her cloak about her, she stepped down over the stinking runnel of slopseparating the houses from the street and knocked on the door. A stout, officious-looking lady in a pinafore and mop cap opened it.
“Mrs Pence?”
“Aye. Can I help you?”
“Is Miss Greening at home?”
“Who might be asking?”
“Mrs Bingley.”
There came two gasps—one from Mrs Pence and the other from beyond the door.
“I am afraid she is?—”
“Oh, let her in, Sally,” the person inside said. “I can see Mrs Fordwich salivating at her curtains across the way.”
Jane was promptly ushered into a small, ill-lit room, and the door was closed behind her. The gloom inside was slow to lift its veil but eventually revealed a woman heavy with child, who looked far less like her sister than she recalled. Her chin was too pointy, her nose too large, and her eyes, unlike Elizabeth’s, had nothing extraordinary in them. The sight affected her nonetheless, though not with jealousy as she had expected, only with crushing remorse for never having seen her sister similarly in bloom.
“You can’t stop me from goin’!” Amelia declared, all defiance.
“Going? Nay, you misunderstand the purpose of my visit.”
“Do I? Why else would you ’ave come?”
