“Guilty. Sorry, Louisa.”
“I cannot be angry at you when you smile like that.” She turned to Mr. Darcy. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, that you were obliged to go with him.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were excellent hosts, just like yesterday. It was instructive,” Darcy replied.
“In what respect?” Caroline asked.
“In several.”
Bingley, unaware of any undercurrent, clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder. “You see? Even Darcy was not undone by country hospitality.”
Caroline’s brows lifted. “I am relieved to hear it. I had feared that prolonged exposure might produce permanent effects.”
There was a pause.
Darcy turned toward the stairs. “If so,” he said evenly, “I should consider them beneficial.”
Bingley, at last perceiving that some invisible contest had been fought and concluded without his participation, looked from one to the other.
“Well,” he said, with undiminished good humour, “I believe I shall retire to the library. I shall attempt to read that book Darcy provided me about crop rotation.”
As they mounted the staircase, Bingley leaned closer.
“I hope,” he murmured in confidence, “that my sisters will recover.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Darcy replied.
And for a moment – a very brief one – he understood the impulse to turn his horse and retrace the lane.
Chapter 9
Before the Music Begins or
Private Expectations
The afternoon light on Monday lay pale and steady across Jane’s bedchamber, catching on pins and silk and the faint shimmer of gauze spread carefully across the coverlet.
Elizabeth stood before the looking glass while Jane, seated near the window, examined the length of embroidered ribbon their mother had pressed into her hands with almost ceremonial importance.
“Is it not handsome?” Jane asked, running her fingers lightly over the silk. “I faintly remember Mama working on this some time ago. I am quite certain she had been waiting for an occasion worthy of it.”
Elizabeth smiled, bending slightly as she adjusted the fall of her sleeve. “Then we must do it justice. I believe Mama intends that no one in Hertfordshire shall doubt her daughters’ prospects tomorrow evening.”
Jane’s laughter was soft, never unkind. “She means well.”
“I know.”
Elizabeth turned then, holding up the length of delicate lace that had been newly added to her own gown. It was fine work – not ostentatious, but intricate, the sort that rewarded a closer look. On a whim, she had threaded a light green satin ribbon beneath it.
“She was very particular that this be placed along the high waist,” Elizabeth said. “As though a man might fail to propose without sufficient edging. But I confess I like it.”
Jane rose and came nearer, adjusting the lace with careful fingers. “It is beautiful. She said it came from Italy.”
“What do you think of using this ribbon beneath?”
“I like it,” Jane admitted gently. “It is uncommon. Quite like you.”
Elizabeth looked at her sister through the glass. Jane nodded to her. There was a small silence. The quiet rustle of fabric filled it.
