She stood and brushed off her skirts. “Thank you both for listening. I know it is awkward. But I want you safe. If you ever have questions, you may come to me. You will not be punished for asking.”
Kitty gave a tiny nod. Lydia frowned, but she did not protest. Elizabeth gave their shoulders a squeeze, then left them alone.
Before exiting the room, she paused at the door to look back at them—one perched on the window seat, the other cross-legged on the floor. Both looked far too young… and yet somehow too close to womanhood at the same time.
As she descended the stairs, she was still blushing. But a small flicker of pride stirred in her chest.
It had been awkward.
But perhaps it had done some good.
∞∞∞
A day or two later, as the ladies of Longbourn sat gathered in the drawing room after a late breakfast, a footman entered with a note. He bowed and handed it to Jane, who broke the seal with the quiet grace so natural to her—a grace that Elizabeth always slightly envied.
“It is from Miss Bingley,” she said, scanning the contents. “She invites me to dine at Netherfield. Her brother and Mr. Darcy are to dine with some officers this evening, so she and Mrs. Hurst would enjoy my company.”
Mrs. Bennet uttered a delighted gasp. “Oh, how very promising! It is an obvious mark of favor. Why, it must be Mr. Bingley’s doing—he must have persuaded his sisters to extend the invitation.”
Elizabeth gave a small smile, but her gaze drifted toward the window. Grey clouds had gathered along the horizon, creeping low and thick across the sky. The wind pressed against the panes with an ominous hum. Mrs. Bennet followed her gaze and her expression faltered.
“Oh dear,” she murmured. “It looks like rain. And your father and Mark took the carriage horses this morning to check the far fence line. They will not return until late.”
“I could ride Nelly,” Jane suggested.
“But the weather…” Elizabeth protested.
“Oh, pish,” Mrs. Bennet said, waving a hand. “She can take the mare. The invitation is too good to pass up.”
“But it will rain,” Elizabeth said. “You can see the clouds already forming.”
Jane folded the note neatly and looked up with quiet resolve. “I should like to go. I hope to be better acquainted with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. I will be there before the rain begins, if it falls at all.”
“Itwillrain, Jane,” Elizabeth replied.
“No, it will not.”
“You always say it will not, and then it always does.”
Jane gave her a rare, determined look. “It will not rain until long after I arrive.”
Elizabeth blinked, surprised by the uncharacteristic stubbornness in her sister’s voice. Sweet Jane, who rarely insisted on anything, now sat poised and certain, her cheeks faintly pink.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue again, but something in Jane’s expression stilled her tongue.
Why is she behaving this way?
And then she remembered—Charlotte Lucas, her practical tone, her cool words at the Meryton Assembly: “Comfort, respect, and security are worth far more than love. Romance fades, Lizzy, but a warm home and independence endure.”
Perhaps Charlotte was right. Perhaps comfort and mutual respect were enough for some women. And if Jane were caught in the rain—forced to stay overnight—then she would be one day further along in seeing Mr. Bingley’s true character.
So Elizabeth kept her peace.
When the time came, Elizabeth helped Jane wrap herself in her spencer and pinned her bonnet ribbon snug beneath her chin. The mare was brought round, and Jane mounted with the elegance she always possessed, her hands light on the reins.
Elizabeth stood at the window, watching the grey clouds shift and churn, unease prickling the back of her neck.
“She will be fine,” said Mrs. Bennet from behind her. “Now come away from that window, Lizzy. You are aggravating my nerves with all your pacing.”
