Elizabeth’s breath caught. “Jane?”
Jane did not speak at first. She crossed the room slowly and held out the note. Her fingers trembled.
Elizabeth took it. The handwriting struck her at once—too shoddy, too overflowing, nothing like Miss Bingley’s usual swooping flourish.
She read aloud, voice low. “‘Miss Bingley regrets to inform you that the Netherfield party has been called away to London temporarily...’”
Her voice faltered. The words said nothing—and said everything. No explanation. No timeline. Only a polite little cut to the heart.
Jane gave a small, watery laugh. “It is not even from her, is it? I do not think she wrote it.”
Elizabeth folded the paper once more, slowly, precisely. “No. I do not think she did either.”
Jane nodded, blinking hard. “I would like to come with you. To London. If the offer still stands.”
Elizabeth moved to her side and wrapped her arms around her without hesitation. Jane leaned in, quiet and warm. “Of course it does,” Elizabeth whispered into her hair. “We shall go tomorrow.”
She drew back just enough to meet her sister’s eyes. “And when we arrive, we shall dress finely and walk briskly and remember that there are far better things in the world than Miss Bingley’s paper-thin apologies.”
Jane let out a soft laugh, blinking away fresh tears.
Elizabeth kissed her cheek and turned back to her trunk.
London would not fix everything.
But it would do. For now.
Chapter Eighteen
28 November, 1811
London
To the Right Honourable The dowager Countess of Matlock,
Matlock House, Derbyshire
My dear Grandmother,
I arrived in Town yesterday and have taken possession of my usual rooms, finding them in acceptable order for the Season.
Matters of business have required my immediate attention, and I anticipate no difficulty in settling them beforeChristmas.
You will be pleased to hear that my uncle and aunt are in Town somewhat earlier than expected, as Parliament’s demands have, it seems, pressed upon the earl’s leisure.
I shall, of course, endeavor to fulfil my social obligations as necessary, though I have little expectation of discovering anything of particular novelty among the London assemblies.
The neighbourhood of Meryton has been vacated for the present; the Miss Bennets, with whom you expressed some prior acquaintance, are now residing with relations in Gracechurch Street.
Their removal renders the area quite devoid of interest, and I judged it unnecessary to extend my stay in the country.
There is nothing further to require your attention at this time.
I trust this letter finds you in excellent health and spirits.
I remain,
Your dutiful grandson,
