“Mrs. Long is always late,” Mrs. Philips insisted. “You mark my words, she will not arrive before the third dance. Never has, never will.”
Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with exaggerated vigor. “But she might surprise us! Last week, she was nearly punctual for morning service.”
“That was not punctual,” Elizabeth said from her seat by the window. “The sermon was already halfway through.”
“Well, it was punctual for her,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “I say she arrives before the first dance is over. Five shillings says I am right.”
“Done,” Mrs. Philips said with a delighted clap of her hands. “I shall enjoy spending your money, sister.”
Elizabeth sighed, glancing over at Jane, who sat quietly with her embroidery. “How can you sit there smiling while they wager over such nonsense?”
Jane lifted a shoulder. “It passes the time.”
“Passes the time! It encourages their folly.”
“It buysusa moment’s peace, does it not?“ Jane murmured, her voice so low that Elizabeth barely heard her over Lydia’s triumphant laugh.
“Ha! See this?” Lydia cried, shaking her purse. “I won this morning when the butcher’s pig weighed exactly as I said it would—twelve stone and not an ounce more!”
Kitty, seated on the floor near the hearth, looked up with a pout. “I said twelve stone, too.”
“But you did not put up your coin, Kitty,” Lydia retorted, dangling her purse mockingly. “And now I shall spend it on ribbons and sweets, while you sit there looking cross.”
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why do you waste your winnings so quickly?”
“What else should I do with them?” Lydia asked, blinking as though the question were incomprehensible.
“Save them,” Elizabeth replied. “Or, if that is too ambitious, spend them on something of consequence.”
“Ribbons and sweetsareof consequence. A life without adornments or treats is no life at all.”
Before Elizabeth could respond, a servant entered with a letter, handing it to Jane. Mrs. Bennet stopped fanning herself at once, her entire focus narrowing in on her eldest daughter.
“Who is it from?” she demanded eagerly, leaning forward.
Jane unfolded the letter carefully. “It is from Miss Bingley. She invites me to dine with her and her sister at Netherfield tomorrow.”
Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands together, practically glowing with satisfaction. “Oh, this is excellent news! Jane, you must go at once.”
“Of course I will go,” Jane said calmly, though Elizabeth caught the flicker of hesitation in her expression.
“And you must ride on horseback,” Mrs. Bennet continued, her tone turning decisive.
Jane’s needlework dropped into her lap. “Ride? But the weather—”
“Exactly! The weather will make you look all the more modest and unassuming,” Mrs. Bennet said with a knowing nod. “Mr. Bingley will like that, he is such an amiable young man. Arriving by carriage would be far too ostentatious. Mark my words, he has never seen the like of you, my Jane.”
Elizabeth gaped. “You mean to send her out in the rain, looking half-drowned, to impress Mr. Bingley?”
“Precisely,” Mrs. Bennet replied, as though Elizabeth had just delivered a compliment.
“It is only a little rain,” Lydia interjected. “She will not melt.”
Kitty giggled. “Perhaps Jane will be like that old nursery story and grow roots wherever she falls.”
Elizabeth turned to Jane, her voice firm. “You do not have to ride in this weather. Take the carriage. There is no sense in falling ill for the sake of appearances.”
Jane hesitated, glancing between her mother and Elizabeth. “I do not wish to offend anyone...”
