“You are most welcome,” Elizabeth replied.
After they said their farewells, Jane smiled. “I think you enjoy this as much as the children do.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Undoubtedly. There is something gratifying in seeing such eager smiles over the simplest gifts. It makes all the work in the heat of the kitchen worth it.”
“I know Mamma does not like us to work in the kitchen, but this is different.” Jane’s voice grew firm, as it always did when she knew herself to be in the right. “It is a part of a gentlewoman’s responsibility to care for those who require it, and these are all families with some connection to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth nodded at her sister but did not reply. Some of those they had visited today were families with a very tenuous connection to the estate, but they, too, received Christmas baskets, albeit a few days after the current tenants. After awarmer than usual autumn Papa thought a very long winter was in store, and every small bit of aid would help. He had himself shot more regularly in the autumn and allowed the tenants to shoot as much as needed to provide for their families too.
It was a longer walk to the next house and they lapsed into silence.
Jane looked behind her, and Elizabeth turned as well. A familiar figure approached, his stride purposeful and his expression alight with a mixture of relief and joy.
“Miss Bennet!” Mr. Bingley called, his voice carrying easily over the nearly empty lane. “Miss Elizabeth.”
Mr. Bingley nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to Jane. He came to a halt before her, bowing so gallantly and making Jane blush so deeply that Elizabeth was required to squelch a laugh. They truly were well matched.
“Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, her voice welcoming. “You have ventured far from Netherfield this afternoon.”
“I had the pleasure of calling at Longbourn,” he explained, “and Mrs. Bennet directed me here. I am most fortunate to find you both.”
Elizabeth caught the way Mr. Bingley’s gaze lingered on Jane, his expression open and adoring. There was an intensity in his look, aheatthat she had not noted before. Jane was entirely caught up in it.
Feeling like an intruder in so intimate a moment, Elizabeth glanced away.
But it intrigued her, that look. The way Mr. Bingley had looked at Jane just now was the same way Mr. Darcy looked at her. The same way he had done since . . . well, since the night they had all met at Lucas Lodge and he had followed her about listening to her conversations. She thought back to moments she had dismissed as criticism or disdain: the quiet attentiveness he displayed when she spoke; the slight, irritating smirk he haddisplayed while they argued at Netherfield; and, most recently, the peculiar softness in his expression as he observed her delivering baskets.
Her thoughts spun into a whirlwind, disorienting her. Mr. Darcy, who had been so critical of her family—could he truly regard her with something akin to affection? The idea was absurd, yet the evidence, unbidden and unwelcome, began to create a more comprehensive portrait in her mind.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Bingley’s voice broke through her reverie. “Are you well?”
Elizabeth blinked, realizing she had been silent for too long. “Quite well, thank you, Mr. Bingley. Merely lost in thought.”
He seemed satisfied with her response and turned his attention back to Jane. “Miss Bennet, I hope you are not too fatigued from your exertions today.”
Jane’s smile was radiant as she shook her head. “Not at all, sir. Lizzy and I were just saying that it is an insignificant effort for such gratitude in return. To bring such happiness with so small a thing as a Christmas basket.”
Tomorrow would be Twelfth Night, so Epiphany basket, really, but it hardly mattered. Only Jane would consider an entire week of canning in a terribly hot kitchen was a small effort, but Elizabeth agreed that the work was nothing to the joy it brought, not only to the receiver, but the giver. These were her favourite days of the year.
Elizabeth glanced over at Jane and Mr. Bingley. Their connection was undeniable, their mutual admiration almost a living thing. She longed to have something similar with a good man, but she had begun to believe that her heart was Mr. Darcy’s. She had not been able to protect it, but despite what he felt—and she could not be sure she had read his regard correctly—would Mr. Darcy ever act upon it? He must be expected to pursue a woman who had been born to his rarified sphere.
He was a gentleman, and she a gentleman’s daughter. So far, they were equal. But she was not foolish enough to believe that others would agree. His own family would certainly protest such a connection.
Mr. Bingley and Jane continued their conversation, their voices soft and their smiles frequent. Elizabeth stepped slightly aside, though as they did not lowertheirvoices, she was still close enough to hear their conversation.
“I must commend you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Bingley was saying. “Seeing you here today . . . Well, it is no wonder everyone in town speaks so highly of you.”
Jane’s blush deepened. “You are too kind, Mr. Bingley. It is my family’s good fortune to be in a position to assist others.”
Mr. Bingley extended his arm to Jane. “May I escort you and Miss Elizabeth back to Longbourn?”
Jane hesitated briefly, her gaze flicking to Elizabeth. “We have a few more houses to visit, but afterward we should be very happy to accept.” She looked at Elizabeth, contrite. “That is, if Lizzy does not mind.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Not at all.”
Jane took Mr. Bingley’s arm, and as they began to walk away, Elizabeth watched them with a mixture of affection and bewilderment. Her sister’s happiness was clear, but the realisation that had dawned upon her about Mr. Darcy lingered, bothering and persistent.
Elizabeth’s hands tightened around her basket. The afternoon’s chill seemed sharper now, and the questions swirling in her mind refused to quiet. She wanted Mr. Darcy’s behaviour to mean something. But it never could. Could it?
