Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips. “Well, I am sure I care nothing for his opinion. But if you mean to say that we should not take notice of his rudeness, then perhaps you are right. Yes, yes, we shall be so very civil that he shall have nothing to complain of.”
Elizabeth smiled slightly. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. If she could not alter the past entirely, she could at least temper its course. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might succeed in ensuring that her family’s conduct would not be the reason for Fitzwilliam Darcy’s departure from Hertfordshire—or for his mistaken belief in Jane’s indifference.
When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him.
“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!”
“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “which a young man ought likewise to be if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete.”
Jane blushed but smiled. “I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”
“Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you were about five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that.”
Jane shook her head, laughing. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is simple. He admired you and wished to dance with you again. But, Jane, tell me—when he does something that particularly pleases you, will you not let him see it? A man, no matter how amiable, cannot be expected to understand a woman’s every thought unless she gives him some hint.”
Jane’s blush deepened. “Lizzy! I would not presume—”
“Oh, do not mistake me; I would never urge you to be forward. Only… if you are pleased with him, it is no great crime to let him know. A smile, a word of gratitude—such things are hardly scandalous.”
Jane hesitated but then nodded. “I shall consider it.”
Elizabeth was satisfied. If she could do anything to prevent the misunderstandings that had once threatened to separate her sister from happiness, she would.
Her thoughts turned then to Mr. Bingley’s sisters. She had never liked them, and tonight had only confirmed that sentiment. They were proud, artificial creatures, forever watching the room to determine whom it was proper to favour. Even after Jane’s marriage to Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth would only tolerate them. She found some amusement in the word ‘tolerate’ now, after this evening’s dance.
Indeed, time would reveal that even Jane and Bingley distanced themselves. Miss Bingley spent more time with the Hursts than with her brother, except when they were all in town, and only then to continue her pursuit of a husband. Since her marriage, they had hardly seen her at all. Elizabeth smiled to herself.
Her smile softened as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. As she closed her eyes, she found herself picturing her husband. Poor Fitzwilliam. How he would have suffered at such an assembly, forced to endure an evening of lively, unfamiliar company after traveling all day. He would never admit it, of course, but she knew him too well. He had likely spent the evening in a foul mood, made worse by a lingering headache and his heart ache from leaving his sister too soon.
She sighed, suddenly missing the comforting weight of his arms around her. Soon enough, she would wake, and he would be there. He must be. Until then, she must do her best to guide her family towards a different path, one that might ensure a better future for them all.
Chapter 5
The morning after the assembly, Longbourn was abuzz with conversation, for there was much to discuss. The Netherfield party had provided enough material for gossip to last weeks, and the ladies of Meryton wasted no time in setting to the task. Elizabeth had no doubt that before midday, every home in the neighborhood would be ringing with the name of Mr. Darcy, and not in admiration.
Mrs. Bennet, naturally, had the loudest opinions. She paced the room, flapping her handkerchief as she lamented the insult paid to her daughter. "To think, Lizzy, that he would have the audacity to say such a thing within your hearing! And to Mr. Bingley, of all people! What must he think of his friend? He will be quite ashamed of him, you mark my words. I shall remind him of it when next we meet."
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and exchanged a glance with Jane, who, ever gentle, had spent much of the morning attempting to soothe their mother’s indignation. "Mama, if you recall," Elizabeth said carefully, "you resolved to be civil to Mr. Darcy, if only for Mr. Bingley’s sake. It would not do to offend him by speaking ill of his friend."
Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, yes, yes, I did say so. But truly, Lizzy, how am I to be civil to such a man? To slight you in such a way! I can bear it when they ignore Mary, for she does not care for such things, but you, my dear, have always had such a charm about you!""
At this, Mary looked up from her book, her expression unreadable. She said nothing, but her lips pressed together, and her fingers tightened slightly over the pages. Elizabeth caught the movement and frowned. She knew such words must sting—for though Mary cared little for dancing or frivolous conversation, it did not follow that she lacked sensibility. It was easy to overlook her when she did not speak, just as it had once been easy to overlook her Fitzwilliam when he stood apart in a crowded room. Elizabeth wished she could offer her sister some reassurance, some kindness, but she knew that drawing attention to Mary’s emotions would only embarrass her. Instead, she changed the subject, hoping to spare her from further discomfort.
"There is little harm done," Elizabeth said lightly, though her heart ached with the knowledge of what Mr. Darcy would one day feel about his own words. She turned her attention to Charlotte, who had come by to hear the latest from the assembly. "You are quiet, Charlotte. Do you not have any thoughts on the matter?"
Charlotte hesitated, studying her closely. "I find it odd that you did not mention it last night. We have always been open with each other."
Elizabeth stiffened, though she forced herself to smile. "I suppose I thought it unimportant. I knew it would reach you soon enough, as all things do in Meryton. Mrs. Long has seen to that."
"Indeed," Charlotte said, though her voice carried a note of suspicion. She did not press further, but her shrewd eyes lingered on Elizabeth a moment too long. Elizabeth resisted the urge to fidget. She had forgotten how perceptive Charlotte could be. Though she had seen her only twice since the accident, before that, it had been years. She had forgotten what it was like to be under such close scrutiny. To Charlotte, they were still the closest of friends who shared everything, but to Elizabeth, their friendship felt distant, changed by time and circumstance in ways Charlotte could not yet know.
"Mr. Bingley was most attentive to Jane," Charlotte said, shifting the conversation, though Elizabeth could tell it was not out of distraction but calculation. "That is promising."
Mrs. Bennet immediately seized upon the topic, exclaiming with delight over Bingley’s clear admiration and lamenting Jane’s natural reserve. Elizabeth let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, though Charlotte’s thoughtful expression did not escape her notice. Had she been too quick in her deflection? Had she raised more questions than she answered?
As the conversation moved forward, Elizabeth’s mind wandered. She had spent the night thinking of Fitzwilliam, reliving his first slight and the way his gaze had faltered when she looked back at him. He had been startled, confused. Would he dwell upon it? Would it trouble him, that moment of inexplicable recognition? She could not know, but she did know that she missed him with an ache so deep it was nearly unbearable.
