“That was wisely done, Charlotte.” To think Miss Darcy had almost been resigned to that fate. But Charlotte had not finished her account.
“He has also spoken with several local shopkeepers, urging them not to extend Wickham any further credit. Maria has been forbidden to be alone with any soldier and may not go to town without one of us to attend her.”
Jane gasped. “How dreadful. But Lizzy, what of Longbourn? What shall we do?”
Charlotte looked to Elizabeth with concern. “Yes. Whatwillyou do?”
Elizabeth exhaled, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “You know my father. He will laugh at me, say I imagine things, or accuse me of meddling. He has never taken his daughters seriously.”
Jane’s lips pressed together in thought.
“We shall have to find another way,” Elizabeth considered. “I must protect our younger sisters, even if Papa will not act.”
Her thoughts strayed to Mr. Darcy—his steady manner, his sense of responsibility.He would not dismiss my concerns. If anyone can help, it is he. But shall I ask him? Could I? And why has he done nothing until now? Why has this dreadful man been allowed to go on ruining lives?
Charlotte stood. “I am sorry to be the bearer of such tidings. It is better to know.”
“Yes, I agree.” Elizabeth and Jane both rose with their friend. “Thank you for coming.”
“I will call again soon,” Charlotte said, adjusting her bonnet. “Let us hope something can be done.”
Elizabeth walked her to the door and watched as Charlotte made her way down the path. The day had grown colder, clouds thickening overhead. Turning back into the house, Elizabeth felt the weight of responsibility settle heavy upon her shoulders—and, somewhere in her heart, a firm resolve to speak to Mr. Darcy after all.
The rest of the morning passed without incident—though in a household such as Longbourn’s, “without incident” rarely meant quiet. The only true excitement came from a pitched quarrel between Kitty and Lydia over a bonnet. Kitty had purchased a new one with her pin money and spent two evenings remaking it with ribbons and clever pleats. In her eyes, it was a triumph of fashion. Lydia, of course, snatched it off the hat stand at first sight and declared it hers by right of being the younger and, in her opinion, the more charming sister.
Kitty shrieked like a wounded cat and chased Lydia through the upstairs passage. Their cries echoed down the stairwell until their mother’s voice rang out.
“Oh, do stop making such a racket!” Mrs. Bennet called from the parlor. “You will wake the dead, and no man ever admired a shrieking woman. Lydia, if you want the bonnet, wear it. Kitty, you ought to be proud your handiwork is admired.”
“Proud?” Kitty retorted, stomping into the room with her cheeks aflame. “You never let me keep anything for myself!”
In retaliation, she seized Lydia’s favorite pelisse and shawl and boldly paraded them about the house as if they were her own. Lydia, unused to being crossed, wept with fury and threatened to tear Kitty’s bonnet to pieces. Yet, as always, the pair reached a peaceable truce: each surrendered the stolen goods in exchange for a hasty pact to share their hair pomade and a new number ofLa Belle Assemblée.
At the first sound of raised voices, Mr. Bennet had retreated to his study and locked the door, not to emerge until harmony had returned—or tea was served. A man who delighted in irony but abhorred noise, he remained resolutely hidden. Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, reveled in the commotion. With her shawl drawn snug about her shoulders, she presided in the parlor, surrounded by her daughters, sipping tea and peering out the window between pronouncements.
“I have tea and cakes ready to be served,” she announced, her voice swelling with importance. “Does Mr. Bingley like cake, Jane?”
“He does,” Jane replied, shy yet happy. Her needle moved with practiced skill, though she paused to smile. “Charles has a sweet tooth—he told me so only last evening.”
“How very amusing!” Mrs. Bennet tittered. “One could never guess it. His figure is fine, tall, and slim. A man with money and no stomach—what a rare find!”
Elizabeth glanced up from her stitching and rolled her eyes. Trust Mama to utter such a thing aloud. Jane’s cheeks flushed with color, but she looked genuinely pleased, nonetheless. Their mother was incorrigible, yet her words did not sting. Not when Jane’s happiness was assured.
“Does he have a favorite?” Elizabeth asked with a sly grin, eager to draw her sister out.
Jane looked up, her face brightening. “He says he likes lemon. Lemon creams, lemon cakes, lemon syllabub—anything with that sharp-sweet taste.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together. “Then I shall have cook make her best lemon loaf this very afternoon! I must always please my future son!”
Elizabeth laughed under her breath. Only several weeks earlier, none of them had dared hope Mr. Bingley would return to Netherfield—let alone propose. His absence had been a sourceof heartbreak, especially for Jane, whose suffering had drawn Elizabeth’s deepest sympathy. Now all was altered. The proposal had been made and accepted, the marriage articles signed and sealed under Mr. Gardiner’s careful eye. The settlement was generous, and, more importantly, Jane would be happy.
Still, Elizabeth could not help wondering whether Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had been informed. She doubted it. Mr. Bingley’s sisters had never approved of Jane, for all her beauty and sweetness, and their politeness toward her dear sister had been mere pretense. They had plainly wished to guide their brother toward a bride of greater fortune or consequence. Should they learn what had transpired, they would descend upon Netherfield like carrion crows.Better they remain away. Everyone is happier without their schemes and interference.
Jane, too kind to utter such sentiments aloud, simply bent over her needlework, her contentment reflected in every tranquil movement.
Elizabeth glanced about the cozy parlor. Beyond the windows, the winter sun glimmered upon the frosted lawn. Within, the fire burned bright, filling the room with cheer. For all the squabbles, for all her mother’s absurdities, the house felt warmer than it had in many weeks.
She looked at Jane and mused,At least one of us has found happiness without complication.
