Mrs. Bennet turned their way with a frown.
Elizabeth clamped her mouth closed and dropped her gaze to her work.
A moment later, Jane’s soft voice once again reached her, saying, “Why would he leave so abruptly?”
Perhaps because he never intended to offer for you at all and he seeks to make that clear?But Elizabeth did not say those words aloud. No matter how much Jane’s readiness to join theothers in blaming Elizabeth hurt, she would not deal like pain to her sister.
Jane let out a long, sad sigh. “Maybe you are correct. Maybe he will return today.”
Her sister’s hope hurt almost as much as her anger, making Elizabeth long to help. Perhaps their father knew something and had not told them. Mr. Bennet often delighted in tormenting them thusly. Bundling her work, Elizabeth stood.
“Where do you think you are going?” Mama asked.
“To Papa’s study to collect a book.”
“No, you are not.”
“I am not?” Elizabeth stared at her mother in confusion.
“You and Mary and your books. You are both contrary and ill-behaved, and you are the two who are always reading. I blame books for undermining the good behavior I have struggled, against your natures, to instill in you.”
Even though her true plan had been to speak with Mr. Bennet about Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth did not care for being denied books. “Mary and I do not read at all the same things.”
“Precisely.” Mrs. Bennet’s voice held triumph. “That is how I know it is all books. Would I had not taught either of you to read.”
As Papa had taught her and Jane to read, and they had taught Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, that declaration only fueled Elizabeth’s ire.
“They both play pianoforte as well,” Lydia put in before Elizabeth could form her next argument. “Perhaps that is also a terrible influence.” Her eyes were wide and guileless as she spoke, but the moment their mother turned back to Elizabeth, Lydia smirked.
“No more pianoforte either, until I discuss the corrupting influence of music with the rector,” Mrs. Bennet declared.
Elizabeth remained standing, half inclined to go to her father’s study regardless. Papa would let her stay there, would he not? Shelter her from Mrs. Bennet’s unreasonableness?
“A carriage is coming,” Kitty said excitedly, turning all eyes in the direction of the front window.
Lydia swiveled full around, kneeling on the couch. “Oh, it is Mr. Bingley’s.”
Painful hope suffused Jane’s face.
Squinting, Kitty protested, “You cannot tell that it is Mr. Bingley’s carriage yet.”
“I can. My eyesight is exceptional, and I recognize the team.”
“You are guessing so you can pretend about your eyes.”
As her youngest sisters commenced to argue, Elizabeth retook her place on the couch. She shoved her sewing basket beneath. Jane, mending already stowed, pinched her cheeks, sat up very straight, and turned a smile on the parlor doorway.
Several impatient moments later, Kitty harumphed and pivoted back around to sit properly on the sofa.
“I was right,” Lydia crowed.
“Hush,” Mrs. Bennet hissed. “And do sit like a lady.”
Lydia complied as a maid announced Mr. Bingley, who entered moments later, his gaze riveted to Jane.
“Mr. Bingley, how wonderful to see you,” Mrs. Bennet said as they all rose. “We heard that you followed Mr. Darcy to London, and without a word of farewell, you naughty man. We were quite dismayed, I must assure you. Especially my Jane. Will you have tea, sir?”
Blinking, Mr. Bingley turned to Mrs. Bennet. “I must decline for now, madam, as I wish to have a private word with your husband.” He returned to staring at Jane.
