The expression on her face was one of forced enthusiasm and strain, the brightness of her smile stretched thin by effort rather than sincerity. Her arm was looped through her brother’s with proprietary insistence, and the latter looked as if he wished to be swallowed up in the earth. His shoulders were stiff, his gaze unfocused, as though he had been dragged into this encounter rather than having sought it.
“Miss Bingley.” Jane’s tone was flat, unembellished by kindness or pleasure. “What a surprise to see you today.”
“My dear Miss Bennet. And Miss de Bourgh!” Miss Bingley exclaimed, her voice pitched higher than necessary, each syllable polished to an artificial shine. “How delighted I am to see you both. How long have you been in Town?” Her tone dripped with false cheer and condescension, the sort that presumed ignorance in its listener. It was all Elizabeth could do not to laugh outright.
“My cousin joined me in January. I have been here since just after Christmas.” Elizabeth turned to Mr. Bingley, imbuing her voice with a little steel that made her meaning unmistakable. “Mr. Bingley. I do hope you are well.”
“I am.” The usually gregarious man seemed to have nothing further to say. He stared despondently at Jane, his expression open and miserable in a way that would have invited pity had Elizabeth not known how little that expression had cost him in the past. Jane, for her part, steadfastly refused to meet his gaze, her eyes fixed instead upon the path ahead.
“And how is Miss Burrows?” Elizabeth continued evenly.
The brother and sister’s reactions were telling. Mr. Bingley paled visibly, the color draining from his face, while Miss Bingley’s lips pinched together, the strain in her smile finally threatening to fracture. “I understand from Mr. Darcy that Mr. Bingley has entered a courtship.” There was no pointin disguising the source of her information. Elizabeth neither softened the statement nor allowed room for evasion.
Miss Bingley’s laugh was high and false. “Courtship? On the contrary. My brother has called on her a few times—”
“No, Caroline, I requested a courtship some time ago.” He never stopped looking at Jane as he spoke, his eyes fixed upon her as though willing her to turn, to acknowledge him. “Miss Burrows accepted.” His expression implored her for forgiveness, though he did not voice the plea aloud.
“Then I hope you are very happy.” Jane’s neutral expression cracked a little, the perfect composure she had maintained faltering just enough to betray her distress. She inclined her head, as if the matter were settled and required no further comment, and she might have let it rest there. Elizabeth felt certain she had intended to do precisely that.
But something in Mr. Bingley’s expression—so openly distressed, so poorly concealed—seemed to give Jane pause.
She turned fully toward him at last, her manner composed, her posture straightening with quiet resolve. Her voice, when she spoke, was gentle but resolute, carrying neither accusation nor bitterness, yet weighted with truth.
“Happiness, Mr. Bingley,” she said, “is best founded upon steadiness. I trust you have found that quality where you have placed your affections.”
He swallowed. “I believe I have. Miss Burrows is very frank in her feelings.”
“I am glad of it,” Jane replied. “Frankness, when properly governed, must be a comfort.” She allowed a brief silence to pass before continuing, her tone unaltered, her composure absolute. “Certainly, a lady’s feelings are not meant to be a spectacle, nor a claim to be pressed upon another. Reserve is not indifference.”
Mr. Bingley flinched, though she had not raised her voice nor sharpened her words. The rebuke lay not in cruelty, but inclarity. He looked as though he wished to speak, his lips parting once, then closing again, but no words came.
Jane seemed to have taken on some of Elizabeth’s more open behavior, for she continued without retreat. “I concealed my sentiments because it was proper to do so. A gentleman’s regard ought never to be secured by insistence, nor by display. I believed that constancy, once offered, would be met with constancy rather than alarm.”
Elizabeth felt the subtle shift beside her, the air growing very still, as though even the park itself had paused to listen.
Jane folded her hands before her, her expression serene, though Elizabeth knew how much effort it cost her to maintain that serenity. “If my conduct was mistaken for coldness, then I regret the misunderstanding. But I do not regret having behaved as I thought right. A woman must be able to respect herself, even when she is disappointed.” She inclined her head once more, precise and dignified. “I wish you no ill, sir. But I have learned that affection which may be withdrawn without explanation is not affection upon which one ought to build a life.”
Miss Bingley’s composure fractured entirely. “Jane, you must understand—”
“I understand very well,” Jane said softly, turning to her at last. Her smile was courteous, faultlessly so, but it did not yield. “And I am content with my understanding.”
She stepped closer to Elizabeth then, as if by instinct, seeking the familiar reassurance of her cousin’s presence. Her gaze drifted down the path where the morning light filtered through budding branches. Mr. Bingley remained motionless behind them, rooted in place. The truth Jane had never spoken aloud would, Elizabeth hoped, follow him far more relentlessly than any reproach could have done.
“If you will excuse us,” Jane added, with perfect civility, “we have promised ourselves a walk.”
They did not look back as she and Elizabeth resumed their stroll, Jane’s posture unbowed, her dignity intact.
When they were far enough away that the murmur of the thoroughfare softened behind them, Elizabeth squeezed her cousin’s arm. “Well done, dearest. It was the most polite rebuke I have ever witnessed.”
“I feel as though I should faint dead away.” Indeed, Jane trembled, the effort of composure finally exacting its price. “May we find a bench so I might sit and recover?”
Elizabeth, who knew the park very well, led her cousin to a secluded bench in a small grove of trees. Buds on the trees decorated the canopy above, standing out against the sky. The area was not yet properly shaded from the sun, but the spot was a pleasant place to sit, removed from prying eyes.
“I shall be able to forget him now, Lizzy. Viscount Bramley has asked for a private audience when he calls at Hertford House. I have given him leave to speak.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Does he mean to propose?”
Jane shook her head. “I do not believe that to be so. I think he means to ask for an official courtship. He danced twice with me—that is almost the same as a declaration in Town.”
