Elizabeth issued another sigh. In the mirror, Kitty raised her gaze heavenward in silent supplication and opened her mouth to speak.
The door banged open, Lydia barging in. “Are you done with Lizzy’s hair yet? Did you hear about the letter? Mama said to tell you to hurry. Papa and Jane are ready, and so am I, and Mama.”
“What letter?” Kitty asked. She pushed another pin into Elizabeth’s hair. “I am nearly done. Does she not look pretty?”
Elizabeth took in her stark white face and dull eyes. She looked about as pretty as someone recovering from brain fever.
“Her hair looks pretty,” Lydia allowed. “The letter from Mary. It arrived after you came up to do Lizzy’s hair. Mary and Mr. Collins are married and will soon reach Kent. She mailed it from London.”
“From London?” Kitty’s brow furrowed. “Would they not have passed through Hertfordshire on their way south? They could have visited.” Her gaze flicked to Elizabeth.
Lydia scrunched her nose. “Who would want them to?”
Elizabeth could only be grateful they had not. She did not believe she could become more miserable than she already was, but if anything could make her so, it would be Mary and Mr. Collins. Them, or Miss Bingley, who Elizabeth must soon face, for she would attend her brother’s wedding. Elizabeth would see her, possibly come face to face with her…the woman who had capriciously taken Fitzwilliam from her after signing away her right to pursue Mr. Darcy. How Miss Bingley could be so cavalier with so many hearts, Elizabeth couldn’t fathom, but the thought of seeing her thawed some of the numbness around Elizabeth’s heart, in a blaze of anger.
And what if Fitzwilliam attended? Elizabeth hadn’t had the heart to ask Jane if he would, but he very well might. If he’d traveled with urgency to Scotland and back, depending on his destination there, he could attend Jane’s wedding. Not only could, but ought to. He was Mr. Bingley’s friend, after all. Nearly his family, though Fitzwilliam and Miss Bingley were not yet wed. They set a longer than usual engagement. Rumor said they waited for everyone to be in Town. That their wedding early next year would be the event of the season. Elizabeth expected no less from Miss Bingley.
She had expected so very much more from Fitzwilliam.
The Honorable Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, she corrected. She had no right to think of him by what amounted to an endearment.
If he attended, how could she face him? Could she even be in the same church with the man? Even for Jane?
“…can’t hear you,” Lydia was saying. “She’s off in her head somewhere.” She shook Elizabeth’s shoulder. “Lizzy, we have to go. Get up.”
“I cannot believe she is still upset about Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Kitty groused. “Even if he is the son of an earl. I was in love with him too, and I am perfectly well.”
“You did tear up your sketches of him.” Lydia smirked. “At least, you said they were of him. I do not know how anyone would be able to tell.”
“You know they were him, and they were from memory. That is much more difficult than when someone will sit for you.”
“We are leaving,” Mrs. Bennet’s voice called from below. “I will not have my Jane late to her own wedding. If you do not join us, you can walk, and miss the ceremony.”
If only Elizabeth cared an ounce less for her sister, she would happily miss Jane’s wedding.
“Lizzy, you have to get up.” Lydia grabbed her arm, tugging, and Elizabeth rose. Then Lydia pulled her into a quick hug, surprising her, and whispering, “If he is awful to you at the wedding, I will punch him in the nose. Will that help?”
A start of laughter burst from Elizabeth at the image, along with fresh tears. “You will do no such thing,” she said softly and hugged Lydia back. “But thank you.”
“Now your eyes are all red again,” Kitty said, taking Elizabeth’s arm. “Keep them closed in the carriage. Maybe they will be better by the time we get there.”
Elizabeth allowed her little sisters to march her downstairs and out to the carriage. The three of them climbed in to sit opposite their parents and Jane, the radiant smile the latter turned on them dimming when she met Elizabeth’s gaze. For Jane, Elizabeth managed a smile.
“I truly thought I would marry first,” Lydia proclaimed as they started moving. “Do you know, one of the officers hinted that we could elope together, like Mary and Mr. Collins, but I put him off. As if I would ever do anything Mary did.”
“Which officer?” Jane asked with alarm.
“Do not mention Mary’s name,” Mrs. Bennet ordered before Lydia could reply, apparently unconcerned with her youngest’s declaration that she’d been asked to elope. “I will not hear her mentioned. Not on Jane’s wedding day. Speak of something else.”
Kitty turned the conversation to excitement over the wedding breakfast, to be held at Netherfield Park. A break in tradition Mrs. Bennet minded not at all, taken as she was with the grandeur of the idea. Elizabeth let their chatter wash over her as they trundled to Meryton, focusing on maintaining her calm and her smile.
She kept to that goal when they reached the church, and throughout the ceremony, fixing her focus on Jane. Jane, whoglowed with joy and who made the loveliest bride imaginable. This day belonged to her, and to Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth simply wished to be a good sister, then escape back to Longbourn and her room. To that end, she determinedly refused to look about the church. Only at Jane and Mr. Bingley.
The carriage was less crowded on the ride from the church to Netherfield Park, Jane having gone with Mr. Bingley, though it was Elizabeth’s parents who enjoyed the extra room, for she still sat facing them with Kitty and Lydia. Even though the ride was short, Mr. Bennet produced a book. Mrs. Bennet, predictably, embarked on a detailed description of the wedding, as if they had not all attended together.
While Mr. Bennet read and Mrs. Bennet prattled on, Elizabeth studied her parents in growing horror. This was to be her life. Next, Kitty would wed, then Lydia, and Elizabeth would remain, her heart aching for a man too fickle to deserve the tribute. Here Elizabeth would be in five years, and ten, and more, seated across from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, who wouldn’t change. Yes, they would age, but this same scene would play out over and over, day after day. She turned her gaze out the window, taking in the brown and gray November landscape, and fought back tears.
Maybe she was being silly. She had never been enamored before. Perhaps these feelings for Fitzwilliam would fade. Vanish like spring dew and leave her in peace. True, they felt unwavering now, but it was not as if she’d spent much time with him, or learned his ways. His dreams and aspirations.
