“Mr. Bingley was all kindness to ourentirefamily,” Elizabeth said. “We remember his attentions with great fondness. Tell me, Miss Bingley, does he know you are calling on me today?”
The question was a blade, and Elizabeth did not bother to disguise it. Caroline’s smile held, but her fingers tightened on her teacup.
“I did not think it necessary to consult Charles on the matter of a social call.”
“No, I imagine not.” Elizabeth smiled over her teacup. “Does he intend to return to London for the Season?”
“I… that is, I believe he has not decided.”
“So late in the Season?” Allegra raised an elegant eyebrow. “Has he taken a house, or does he remain at his club when he is in town?”
Caroline stared at Elizabeth with the expression of a woman who had come to offer condescending friendship and found herself instead pinned like a butterfly in a display case. Louisashifted on the settee. Lady Sophia sipped her tea. And Allegra watched with fascinated attention, enjoying the handling of an upstart daughter of trade so thoroughly.
“He stays at Hargrove’s when in London,” Caroline conceded. “But I am sure Charles would be most distressed to hear his living arrangements are under such scrutiny.”
“Distress is such a tiresome emotion,” Allegra said, reaching for a lemon cake with the air of one who had just finished a very entertaining play. “Let us hope he finds his way to London soon. Elizabeth will need someone to discuss the ‘north’ with, since the rest of us find it so very… far away.”
The drawing room door opened without announcement.
“Lizzy, have you seen my… oh.”
Jane appeared in the doorway, a volume of poetry clutched to her chest. Her golden hair was pinned simply, her morning dress the plainest of the three she owned, yet she radiated a light that made Caroline’s canary yellow silk look quite tawdry. As she registered the occupants of the room, shock and quiet devastation crossed her face so quickly that only a sister’s eye could have traced the full extent of the wreckage.
“Miss Bennet,” Caroline said, and her voice had acquired a brittle brightness. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Miss Bingley.” Jane entered the room and took a seat beside Elizabeth, her smile warm and posture perfect. “Mrs. Hurst. What a pleasant surprise.”
“We were just speaking of Charles,” Caroline said. “He is in the north, as I was telling Miss Elizabeth. He is quite occupied and…”
“I hope he is well,” Jane said.
Succinct, perfectly delivered. Warm, but not too warm; polite, but not cold. Elizabeth wanted to applaud. Jane had spent a month in London in the dead of winter, waiting for Bingley to call. He never did. Jane had carried that heartbreakhome without a word of complaint, and now here was Caroline, praising her brother’s warmth in Elizabeth’s own drawing room.
“Quite well,” Caroline said. “Quite well indeed.”
The visit lasted five more minutes, during which Caroline produced no further intelligence about Charles, attempted hollow compliments about the house, and departed with Louisa in a rustle of canary silk.
The front door closed with a definitive click. Elizabeth listened to the rattle of the carriage wheels over the cobblestones until the sound was swallowed by the bustle of the square, then took a deep breath.
She turned to her sister, an unasked question in her eyes. Jane met her gaze with a calm that was almost heartbreaking. “I am perfectly well, Lizzy. Though I believe she looks thinner than I remember.”
“I believe you are right.”
“I shall go upstairs and read.” Jane rose, collected her volume of poetry from the table, and tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.
She left the drawing room with her shoulders straight and her chin level. Elizabeth watched her go and did not follow, because Jane’s dignity required space.
“Your sister,” Allegra said, after a silence, “is extraordinary.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, her voice thick with a mixture of pride and fury. “She is.”
Lady Sophia set down her teacup, the porcelain chiming softly. “Miss Bingley’s brother. He admired Jane in Hertfordshire?”
“He more than admired her. He called for her almost daily and danced with her often. But he disappeared overnight without a word, and his sisters wrote to inform Jane that the family had no plans to return.” Elizabeth’s hands closed tightly around the arms of her chair. “Jane does not speak of it.”
“That is useful to know.” Lady Sophia picked up the Bingley sisters’ card from the salver, studied it, and placed it at the bottom of the stack.
“Well,” Allegra said, rising and pulling on her gloves with the brisk energy of a woman who had just witnessed a full morning’s drama and was not remotely daunted. “Tomorrow at ten, then. We shall start with Madame Delacroix on Bruton Street. She is a genius with muslin and silks and will not make you stand for hours. Then Bond Street for the essentials, and then Gerrard’s, because no shopping expedition is complete without ices. I shall want to hear everything about Hertfordshire that Godmama has not already told me, which I suspect is a great deal.”
