Mrs. Bennet sighed theatrically. “Ah, how fortunate she is to have such a brother. I always say a good guardian makes all the difference. Why, you could have brought her with you.”
Elizabeth lowered her gaze to her plate.
What Wickham had told her returned to her mind – not as a conviction now, but as a narrative that suddenly required adjustment. She had accepted it readily, even eagerly; and yet here was a man speaking calmly of duty, protection, restraint – and doing so without the least sense of self-justification.
She looked again at Wickham, in conversation with Kitty and Mr. Hurst. She saw him peeking at her. Then, when he realised her attention was upon him, he suddenly dropped his napkin and had to lean down to get it.
Elizabeth felt a faint, uncomfortable tightening in her chest.
She told herself that one account did not cancel another, that charm and confidence were not proofs of truth. And yet, for the first time, she wondered whether she had listened too readily and questioned too little.
The thought did not please her – yet it would not be set aside.
Chapter 5
The Cost of Civility
Mr. Bingley entered the dining-room with an ease habitual to him, yet not without a degree of private anticipation. He had already cast his eye once about the table, and though he would not for the world have appeared to calculate his happiness by such an arrangement, his spirits rose perceptibly when he discovered that his seat lay beside Miss Bennet.
He smiled at once, as if relieved of a small anxiety he had not entirely acknowledged to himself.
Jane, perceiving the direction of his glance, coloured faintly and took her place with quiet composure.
“My dear Miss Bennet,” said he, as he drew out her chair, “I cannot sufficiently thank your mother for this kindness. I had feared she might seat me at the far end of the table, where conversation becomes a matter of conjecture rather than certainty.”
Jane smiled. “Mama is very attentive to the comfort of her guests.”
“She has shown it admirably,” he replied. “I assure you, I am exceedingly obliged to her – and not only for the dinner, which already promises to be excellent.”
Jane laughed softly. “You are very good to say so.”
“I am only sincere, I assure you,” Bingley returned. “And sincerity, I believe, is safest when one has the good fortune to sit beside agreeable company.”
Jane bent her eyes to her plate, but her smile remained.
After a moment, Bingley glanced down the table and hesitated.
“I fear Mr. Darcy has not been so fortunate,” he said, lowering his voice. “And being seated so near Mr. Wickham.”
Jane followed his look. “Oh, that is not where…” She paused, looking more closely, then turned. “Lizzy, did you arrange this?”
Elizabeth, seated on Mr. Bingley’s other side, looked up with perfect innocence. “What? I? Why should you suspect me?” she asked lightly. “Must I be accused in the presence of Mr. Bingley?”
Bingley laughed at once.
“Only you would think of such a thing,” Jane said quietly. “You have done it before.”
Elizabeth placed her hand to her heart. “I? Never.”
Jane looked again toward the other end of the table. “What can Mr. Darcy possibly find to speak of with Mama? Let us hope that Charlotte will save the situation?”
Elizabeth followed her glance and shrugged. “I suppose he must exercise his talents.”
“Oh, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, not without feeling, “I do not know what to think of you. You are cruel.”
Elizabeth smiled – not unkindly, but without repentance.
“I prefer to think of it as instructive.”
