Mrs Hurst’s words interrupted his thoughts. “It would not be aterriblematch. Her birth is quite good, and I hear that her husband was the local magistrate for many years. While she has her detractors, just as many claim her to be very respectable.”
He swiftly turned his head towards her.What match?Whose birth? What magistrate?He almost phrased the questions aloud, until he saw the direction of Mrs Hurst’s gaze.
“What?” he asked stupidly, staring at her blankly. She could not be referring toElizabethandBingley.
“That seems…somewhat improbable, Sister,” Miss Bingley added uneasily, although she wore a conciliatory smile; it was obvious she was trying to be very careful about anything to do with Elizabeth, and would not outright declare it to be a preposterous idea.
He almost wished she would.
“She must havesomesort of settlement, one would think,” Mrs Hurst continued, “despite the rumours. I was speaking with Mrs Palmer the other day, who claims Mrs Ashwood has been much maligned for no good reason. A vicar’s wife should know what is truth and what is not, onewould think.” She seemed oblivious to her sister’s increasing and plain irritation at her chosen topic.
He glanced back at Bingley, gesturing, gesticulating, all happy enthusiasm. Elizabeth laughed at something he said.Laughed, when she had barely glanced at him for hours.
In watching Bingley and Elizabeth so obviously enjoying each other’s company, Mrs Hurst had drawn a conclusion he despised. Yet he could not disagree with her without appearing to disparage Elizabeth! To his shame, he had already encouraged Miss Bingley’s sarcasm. He certainly would not explain his own attraction, which was beside the point, regardless.
Bingley was too young to settle—as evidenced by his fascination with Mrs Collins only a day earlier. Surely he was not drawn to Elizabeth, who—tohisway of thinking—must be the stellar opposite of her sister. But what could he say?
“Hm, well Mrs Ashwood certainly deserves a younger husband, this go-round,” he remarked with a careful casualness. “I do wonder at Bingley’s preparedness for any such commitment as marriage, at his age.”
“Oh, he is a dreadful flibbertigibbet,” Miss Bingley agreed eagerly. “Much too young, I agree.”
“Of course, someone of Mrs Ashwood’s maturity and character would be quite good for him,” he felt obligated to add, protests lodging in his gut with every syllable.
And had Bingley just moved nearer to her on the settee? Yes, he had! Why did she not move away? How could she find his inanities amusing? Were his eyes fixed upon her mouth, upon that wide, enchanting smile?
“One cannot seriously discuss our brother’s marriage to a—” Miss Bingley began, but revised her words at his sudden angry expression—obviously believing it was for her. “What Imean is, our brother is notreadyfor marriage yet, not to anyone.”
Her sister’s lips firmed. “He might, however, be ready to make a fool of himself over a married woman. Better that he should fix his interest on someone more appropriate rather than ruin us all before the neighbourhood.”
Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Mrs Hurst all stared at the couple laughing together on the settee. No one had anything else to say.
14
LADY IN RED
The next morning went almost exactly as the day previous. Jane wakened, feeling much recovered, but grew nauseated after her morning meal. It was almost as though food, in general, did not agree with her. After she once again lost her breakfast, she claimed only the need to rest, and fell promptly asleep. In the afternoon she declared herself improved, until a bout of dizziness forced her back to bed.
Alarmed, Elizabeth had nearly panicked at the dizziness, and if not for Jane’s protests, would have begged the Bingleys to call for Mr Jones at once. Jane had tearfully pled with her to say nothing, that sheknewshe was better, that her symptoms were ‘nothing at all’.
It was not until Jane again fell asleep, her arms curled in an unusually protective manner around her abdomen, that an entirely different suspicion occurred to Elizabeth. She, of course, had never been with child, but she had been fullyaccepted amongst the matrons and heard their most intimate disclosures for some years now. Could it be? Did Jane suspect? If so, why would she say nothing of it?
But then, Jane had never returned to the subject of their falling out, not since Fanny’s arrival had interrupted an almost-conversation; what was more, she gave Elizabeth no openings to begin it again, either. It was obvious that Jane did not wish to discuss anything at all with her sister.
At least Mr Collins had not yet visited today, forcing her to invent more excuses if Jane would not speak to him, either.
Ought I simply to leave?If Jane was hiding from her husband and all the more personal aspects of her life, she would doubtless continue to hide from Elizabeth as well. Maybe departure would be for the best.Besides, I am sick to death of appearing in company wearing this ugly, faded dress.
She had to laugh at herself for this vanity. While she liked to appear at her best, she had never particularly looked to others for approval.And certainly not to the likes of the Miss Bingleys of the world!An uncomfortable realisation followed on its heels: It was not Miss Bingley before whom she wished to appear…prettier, was it?
Mr Darcy’s expressed admiration had sent her feelings into a whirl. She thought of him constantly now, overly aware of his every expression—although what she was looking for in him was not entirely clear to her. Approval? Censure? It was not only that he was the most handsome man she had ever met; it was the feeling that he, and he alone, could see into her soul. Somehow, when she was alone with him, she forgot the ever-present need to appear as the mature, self-contained ‘widowed Mrs Ashwood’. With himshe had been, ever so briefly, a girl again, capable of hopes and dreams and ‘what if’s’ and ‘happily ever afters’. Although he had promised never to hurt her, those wishes he inspired were the most dangerous of all.
The night before, when joining the company after dinner, she had engaged Mr Bingley in a conversation on the topic of his snuff box collection, of all things—having learnt that it was his pride and joy. With a smile pasted upon her face and pretended interest in her eyes, she had kept him blathering on a subject about which she cared nothing. She had even been made to suffer through an actual inspection of his entire collection, all for the purpose of avoiding looking at or talking to Mr Darcy.As if I am a silly girl, ignoring an infatuation by bestowing attentions on another, she thought with self-aimed disgust.
Jane no longer needs or perhaps even wants me here.
I cannot seem to stop thinking about Mr Darcy.
Ergo, returning home is the most sensible decision.
