Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped, and he pressed on. “And what else? Think of Euripides: ‘The tongue is mightier than the blade.’ How would your mother’s reaction to Jane be any better or worse than Mr. Bingley’s potential treatment?”
Sudden visions of the future filled Elizabeth’s mind.
Mrs. Bennet bemoaning Jane’s death, her voice echoing into the chamber abovestairs. Elizabeth sitting at Jane’s bedside,gazing longingly out through the window towards Oakham Mount. A foul odor suddenly emanating from the bed, reminiscent of the smells at Bethlem Hospital. Jane, wasting away, weeping at her mother’s cruel words.
“I see your point,” she said hoarsely.
“Further, if Jane and your mother were to learn of this refusal, they both may never forgive you. Jane may die sooner of a broken heart. You know her capacity for reason and logic is nowhere near strong enough to overcome her deeply felt emotions.”
Sinking farther in her chair, Elizabeth bent over and placed her head in her hands. Mr. Bennet delivered thecoup de grâce:“With my heir arriving in but a few days, if your mother knew Jane were tonotaccept Mr. Bingley, she may try to pair him with Jane.”
Elizabeth’s head shot up from her hands, and she looked at her father with wide-eyed astonishment. “Surely not!”
He smiled wryly. “Your mother’s nerves have been my old companions for over twenty years. I fancy myself as intelligent enough to anticipate how she will react to all kinds of situations. She is not a complicated character to figure out.”
“So you think she should marry him, then, Papa?”
He furrowed his brow. “Not necessarily.”
“But you said—”
“My dear, you and I have debated enough over the years that you should know when I am playing the role ofadvocatus diaboli, if you, Mary, and the Regent will pardon the papist expression. You were so fixed in your view that she should come back here, and I wanted you to examine the other option thoroughly.
She gave a weary laugh. “I blame my lack of sleep for my diminished debate skills. That, and my considerable efforts to remain civil to both Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy.”
“Ah, yes, I can see how that would use significant mental strength.”
“I suppose the fact that Mr. Bingley has sent his sister away is one point in his favor. That, and that he had Mrs. Hurst even discuss the situation with me in advance.”
Mr. Bennet nodded. “It certainly is. Before we discuss any of this with Jane—or your mother, for that matter—let me speak with Mr. Phillips. I will also send a letter to Mr. Gardiner today and ask him to make inquiries into Mr. Bingley and his reputation.”
“You? Write a letter on the same day you’ve thought of it?” teased Elizabeth.
“I will even send it back with you,” he retorted. “If you will wait for about an hour or so, you can deposit it in Meryton on your way back to Netherfield.”
She nodded and left her father to his correspondence. Her feet were still aching somewhat, so she went to the drawing room where she could rest them on a small stool in front of a comfortable chair near the fireplace. She nestled into the cushions and began to read the book she had swiped from her father’s library.
It was in this state a quarter of an hour later that she was discovered by her mother and three younger sisters.
“Oh, Lizzy! What are you doing here, you ungrateful girl? If you were going to leave Jane’s side, I should have left Lydia at Netherfield to pursue Mr. Darcy!”
Mrs. Bennet’s strident tones jarred Elizabeth from the pages of Milton, and she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.
Fortunately, Lydia was able to divert her mother’s attentions. “La, Mama, I would not wish to be cooped up at Netherfield on such a fine day when I could be going to Meryton to visit with the officers! Denny is leaving for London soon, and no one I know would wish to miss bidding him farewell.”
“Certainly not me!” cried Kitty.
“But Lydia, darling—”
Whatever the Bennet matron was going to say was interrupted by Mr. Bennet’s entrance. “Ah, Lizzy, here you are. On your way back to Netherfield, please have this letter sent by express.” He handed her a wax-sealed envelope. “Deliver this note to your uncle Phillips.” He handed her a folded paper. “And deliver this to Mr. Bingley.”
The last was a piece of folded paper that was sealed closed. Elizabeth looked at it curiously, but her father shook his head.
“What on earth could all of that be for?” Mrs. Bennet reached for the stack of missives in Elizabeth’s hand.
Mr. Bennet interjected with, “Mrs. Bennet, have I yet told you about the guest we are to have visit us next week?”
She whipped her head around and stared at him. “A guest? Next week?”
