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She took the seat next to her sister. “And?”

“He did mean to return to Netherfield. His sisters attempted to persuade him otherwise.”

“Attempted?”

Jane’s voice was quiet. “Miss Bingley told her brother that I did not care for him and that Mamma was forcing the match. I would have thought it a misunderstanding, but she claimed that I had confided this to her.”

Elizabeth stared. She had not thought Miss Bingley so bad as this. Insinuation was generally her way, not prevarication. Even her letter to Jane had only implied that her brother had a prior agreement with Miss Darcy, though it had been clear what she intended. “She lied?”

“I am afraid so.”

“And Mr. Bingley believed her?”

“He admitted to being taken aback, but once he considered it, no. He was angry with his sisters and removed himself from the house. He meant to return to Netherfield even if he had to stay at the inn while the house was reopened.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Mr. Bingley was angry?”

Jane gave her a reproving look.

“I only wished to be certain we were speaking of the same gentleman.”

“He can be quite determined when he wishes.”

Elizabeth found herself rather pleased by the discovery. “I admit I am relieved to learn he possesses so much mettle,” she said, and then, because this news made her happy, she continued, “I rather feared his sisters had packed it away with the Netherfield china.”

Jane laughed and covered her mouth.

Elizabeth smiled too. It was good to hear her sister laugh. “I am certain Miss Bingley is pleased to be the means of reuniting the two of you.”

Her sister’s face fell.

Elizabeth knew that look. “There is more.”

Jane hesitated. “I would not say anything, as he is already making amends, but I think it best to be entirely truthful. Mr. Bingley told me that Mr. Darcy was also involved.”

The words were more painful than Elizabeth would have expected. She thought of Mr. Darcy patiently returning Edward’s bishop to the chessboard, or of his childhood Christmas at Pemberley, or the wistful turn of his countenance when he spoke of his mother. She had begun, against her better judgement, to suspect there was more to him than the proud man she had first met.

“What did he do?” she asked.

“He believed I did not care enough for Mr. Bingley and advised him not to return.”

Elizabeth frowned. “On what grounds?”

“He observed me at the Netherfield ball.”

“That was all?”

Jane nodded.

“He did not speak with you?”

“No.”

Elizabeth stared at her. “So Mr. Darcy observed you for one evening—during which Mamma was crowing over your ‘capture’ of Mr. Bingley, Mary played the pianoforte before being invited, Papa was less than delicate in removing her, Kitty and Lydia behaved like”—she paused to search for the words, but could not find them—“Kitty and Lydia, and we were attempting to survive it all with some shred of dignity? It was from this . . . abundance of evidence that he determined the state of your heart?”

“Lizzy.”

“It is a reasonable question.”