"Your sister is meddling where she should not."
"Yes, yes, she can be a dreadful manager." Bingley took another bite of pastry and looked at him expectantly. "But did it go well?"
Darcy attempted to arrange his features into something less revealing.
Bingley's grin widened. "It did."
"I asked whether I might call at Longbourn."
Bingley nearly dropped the pastry. "Darcy!"
"There is no need to shout." But he could not help grinning as he said it.
"There is every need. This is excellent news." Bingley seized Darcy by the shoulder and gave it an enthusiastic shake. "I knew you admired her. Well, I suspected it. Caroline knew, of course, but Caroline always knows these things before anyone else and becomes unbearable about it."
Darcy removed Bingley's hand from his coat. "Nothing is settled."
"No, but something has begun." Bingley looked delighted by the distinction. "And she said yes?"
Darcy glanced towards the doorway Elizabeth had passed through. "She did."
"I thought she might." Bingley reached for another pastry, then seemed to remember something far more important and abandoned it. "Did I tell you I spoke to Jane this morning? Only for a minute or two, from the doorway, but she is much recovered. She was sitting up and looked almost herself again."
Darcy looked at him. "Jane?"
Bingley had the grace to colour, though not enough to diminish his happiness. "Miss Bennet," he corrected. "Of course."
"I am glad to hear she is recovering."
"She asked whether I had seen her sister, and when I mentioned that Caroline had contrived some sort of breakfast, she smiled." Bingley's expression brightened further. "I believe she knows Miss Elizabeth's opinion of you has improved."
Darcy looked at him sharply. "Did she say so?"
"Not precisely. Jane would never betray her sister's confidence." Bingley lowered his voice, though his excitement made the attempt rather pointless. "But she did not seem at all troubled by the idea. I say, Darcy, we might be brothers one day."
"Bingley, please do not get ahead of yourself." Darcy meant the words as a warning, but could not put enough heat into them to make the warning convincing.
Bingley laughed. "You do not dislike the idea."
Darcy looked once more towards the open doorway, remembering the warmth of Elizabeth's hand beneath his, and found that he could not deny it.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth, October 1811, Netherfield, Hertfordshire
The contents of Jane’s trunk lay spread across her bed at Netherfield and four women stood around it trying to decide what style and colour would make it look least like she had risen from her deathbed. Jane herself sat at the dressing table watching the scene unfold with kindly exasperation. The women were in a state of happy chaos that reminded Elizabeth fondly of Longbourn, though those rose-tinted glasses were probably due at least in some part to the proximity of a certain tall, dark breakfast partner from Derbyshire.
"Jane always looks lovely in pink," Elizabeth offered.
"It will make her look sallow," Caroline said at once.
"I like the simplicity of white," Louisa suggested, earning an equally determined refusal from both Caroline and Elizabeth.
After listening to the debate for several minutes, Martha looked towards the gown laid across the foot of the bed and settled the matter. "The blue muslin," she said with a finality that even Caroline dared not refuse.
Caroline turned towards the gown laid across the foot of the bed and considered it afresh. "Yes. The colour is strong enough to put some life back into her face without making it appear that she is trying too hard."
"I am not trying at all," Jane reminded her with a light laugh. Her voice was still a bit raspy, but there was a brightness back in her eyes that made Elizabeth’s heart glad.
