“Jane,” Aunt Gardiner said quietly. “I had come to say that we will be leaving in a few days instead of the thirtieth and to have you begin to pack your trunks. But now I think you will wish to remain here rather than accompany us?”
“Well, of course she will!” Aunt Phillips exclaimed before she bustled out of the room, no doubt to climb the stairs to Mamma’s chamber.
“I think . . .” Jane began haltingly, “I would like to remain, Aunt Gardiner. I hope you will not think me ungrateful.”
“I do not think I should ever believe such a thing of you, Jane,” Aunt Gardiner said with a gentle smile. She took a seat beside them and reached for their hands, her gaze kind but intent. “Now, my dears,” she said, her voice low and warm, “we must speak plainly.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, curious. “About what, precisely?”
“About honesty,” Aunt Gardiner replied. “And fairness. Jane, my love, if Mr. Bingley returns with the same affection he left with, you must not hide your heart from him.”
Jane looked down at her lap, her cheeks pinking. “I would not wish to assume his feelings.”
“And I would not wish you to play the martyr, my dear,” Aunt Gardiner said gently. “Love is a rare and precious thing, but it is also fragile. It thrives on clarity. If Mr. Bingley has returned for you, then you must give him the truth of your heart, not leave him to guess. In this way, gentlemen and ladies are the same—neither can be expected to endure endless uncertainty.”
Jane nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I shall try, Aunt.”
“Good.” Aunt Gardiner turned to Elizabeth, her sharp eyes softening. “And as for you, Lizzy, I would advise fairness.”
Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the criticism. “Fairness?”
“To Mr. Darcy.” Aunt Gardiner’s tone was calm but firm. “Whatever you think of him, and however justified you feel in your conclusions, you owe him the same fairness you would expect for yourself. Mr. Wickham charmed me as well, but upon reflection I am determined to put you on your guard. We truly do not know anything about Mr. Wickham that he has not told us himself. Remember, if you carry resentment in your heart, it will only cloud that judgment you are so justly proud of.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest but paused. Her aunt had a way of striking at truths Elizabeth was not ready to face. And she had already determined to be kind for Jane’s sake. “I shall endeavour to treat him civilly, Aunt.”
“Civility is a start,” Aunt Gardiner said firmly. “But fairness, Lizzy, that is where understanding begins.”
Elizabeth bit her lip, unable to hold her aunt’s gaze for long. Fairness. Could she truly look at Mr. Darcy anew? The very idea unsettled her. And yet, there was wisdom in her aunt’s words that she could not ignore.
Aunt Gardiner squeezed their hands once more before rising. “You are both clever and good-hearted young women, and I have every confidence in you. Now, I must go and see about your uncle’s packing, or he will leave half his things behind.”
As she left the room, Jane turned to Elizabeth, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think Aunt Gardiner is right?”
Elizabeth sighed, leaning back in her chair. “She is rarely wrong. But that does not make her advice any easier to follow.”
Jane gave her a small, wistful smile. “No, it does not.”
“Oh, Jane,” she murmured, determinedly clasping her sister’s hand. She hoped that Mr. Bingley was returning for the right reasons. If he was not . . .
If he was not, there was nothing she could do. She was not Jane’s father or brother, and though Uncle Gardiner would be only too happy to have a word with Mr. Bingley, he would be leaving soon. In any case, he could do nothing without Papa’s permission, which she doubted would ever be given. He would say that a young man who would give Jane up had never deserved her in the first place. She supposed there was truth in that, but it was still so difficult.
“It is nothing, Lizzy.” With a brave smile, Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “No, that is not true. Mr. Bingley’s returnmeans I shall at least have the chance to know his heart—and perhaps to reveal my own.”
Chapter Four
The carriage lurched as it turned off the Great North Road, and Darcy steadied himself, acutely aware of his sister Georgiana’s presence across from him. Beside him, Bingley’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, his earlier reticence melting into a thoughtful expression as he turned to Darcy.
“Tell me, my friend, what has changed your mind about the Bennets?”
Darcy blinked, momentarily confused. He had not been sleeping well. “Changed my mind?”
Bingley nodded. “I know you agreed with my sisters that Miss Bennet was not a suitable match for me.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened as he tried to remain composed. He hadthoughtit, but . . . “Bingley, I have no recollection of ever saying such a thing.”
For a moment, Bingley studied him with intense focus. “Ah,” he finally said, as though fitting a puzzle together. “Perhaps it was my sisters who told me you had agreed. But you did say Miss Bennet smiled too much, did you not?”
Darcy bit back a sigh. He had said other things too, cutting, sardonic insults in the name of displaying his superiority. Now, half suspecting, half dreading that the Bennets might indeed be his cousins, he made a sound of impatience. “I may have said so once—months ago. Such first impressions, however, mean little. I have come to think very highly of the two eldest Bennet sisters. However,”— he paused, holding Bingley’s gaze with firm caution—“before paying so much attention to Miss Bennet, you should be certain her feelings are the same as your own. Consider how embarrassed she would be if they were not.”
