“He is…very agreeable,” Jane said. “There is an ease to him that puts one at rest. He speaks as though he truly wishes to know others, rather than merely to impress them. He is attentive without being—without being too much.” She paused, then added softly, “And he has a kind smile.”
Elizabeth’s expression gentled. “High praise from you, who praises everyone.”
Jane laughed under her breath. “That is not fair.”
“It is entirely fair,” Elizabeth said, leaning back. “Continue.”
Jane’s gaze grew thoughtful. “He asked me about Hertfordshire in a way that felt like it mattered. He listened when I spoke. And he was so…unaffected. Most men who havebeen in company of consequence are either proud of it or anxious to prove they belong to it. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed neither.”
Elizabeth nodded, pleased despite herself. Colonel Fitzwilliam had certainly charmed half the room within a quarter hour; it was reassuring to hear Jane confirm that the charm was not hollow.
“And yet,” Elizabeth prompted when Jane fell quiet again, “you are hesitating.”
Jane’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “Yes.”
Elizabeth waited, resisting the urge to press too quickly. Jane did not speak of discomfort unless it was necessary; her hesitations were never idle.
At last Jane said, very softly, “Mr. Bingley said something to Colonel Fitzwilliam that I did not like.”
Elizabeth’s posture stilled. “What did he say?”
Jane drew in a careful breath. “We were at the refreshment table. The colonel was speaking of the Peninsula—only in the most modest way, I assure you. Mr. Bingley joined us, very cheerful at first. He teased Colonel Fitzwilliam for resigning his commission and said he could not imagine surrendering such a life.”
“That seems harmless enough,” Elizabeth said, though she was already wary.
Jane nodded. “It was, at the beginning. But then Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked—lightly, as he does—that he had endured quite enough of cannon and camps and was now prepared to endure something far more terrifying: drawing rooms.”
Elizabeth could picture it perfectly: the cousin’s easy humor, the gentle self-mockery meant to put everyone at ease. She could also picture Bingley, bright and impulsive, taking the remark in a direction it was never meant to go.
Jane continued, her voice still calm but with a faint tension beneath it. “Mr. Bingley laughed, but he said…he said that if Colonel Fitzwilliam wished for a battle, he ought to try winning a lady’s attention in Hertfordshire, where every gentleman was already stationed and every mother already armed.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
“And then,” Jane added, and her cheeks flushed—this time not with pleasure but with something closer to embarrassment, “he said that Colonel Fitzwilliam must take care, because in the country, a lady might be led to believe herself admired simply because a gentleman spoke to her twice.”
Elizabeth felt heat flare in her chest. “He said that to Colonel Fitzwilliam? In your hearing?”
Jane’s eyes lowered. “Yes.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced ahead, assembling the scene in swift, sharp strokes: Fitzwilliam’s polite smile tightening, Jane’s unease, Bingley’s eagerness turned defensive. It was not merely unkind; it was possessive in a way Bingley had not earned the right to be.
“He was displeased that the colonel was paying you attention,” Elizabeth said, the conclusion falling into place at once. “He was jealous.”
Jane’s gaze lifted, steady and sincere. “That is what I thought, too.”
“Then it is a sign in your favor,” Elizabeth said, attempting to lighten what she could not wholly soften. “Jealousy is often the first proof of attachment.”
Jane’s expression did not change. “It may be proof of feeling,” she said quietly, “but it does not make his words appropriate.”
Elizabeth held her sister’s gaze and felt her own irritation ease into respect. Jane’s goodness was not weakness; it was principle, and when she chose to stand firm, she did so with a calm that could not be shaken.
“You are right,” Elizabeth admitted. “It was not appropriate.”
Jane’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, as if she had feared Elizabeth might excuse it. “Colonel Fitzwilliam answered very kindly,” she said. “He laughed it away and said he had no wish to take what belonged to another.”
“That was generous of him,” Elizabeth said, though the phrasewhat belonged to anothermade her stomach twist. Jane did not belong to anyone.
“Yes,” Jane agreed, then hesitated. “But I did not like that either, Lizzy. Not truly. Mr. Bingley is…very sweet. He is. And I believe he does not mean harm. Yet sweetness cannot excuse everything.”
