Elizabeth read the document through with care, and could not entirely suppress a lift of her brow at the additional sum settled upon her by the Gardiners. When the origin of the fund—and the intended arrangement for the remainder—was explained, she glanced towards her intended, a smile forming despite herself.
“You have been very clever,” she said, a teasing glint in her eye.
Fitzwilliam’s answering look matched hers. “Only as I ought to be.”
She could not but admire the ingenuity of what she suspected had been his plan to persuade her mother, where reason alone was unlikely to succeed. She had been surprised to learn of the legacy from her maternal grandmother, but was pleased that it existed. At first, she suggested that she ought not to receive a portion, but both her uncles insisted.
That done, the afternoon passed quickly, and Fitzwilliam was persuaded to depart earlier than he might have wished, at her mother’s insistence that he was in the way of the wedding preparations. Elizabeth protested only half-heartedly, for she knew there was truth in it.
“When next we meet, we shall become husband and wife,” she said, as he took his leave.
“I am greatly looking forward to it,” he returned, lowering his voice just enough that the others would not hear.
Reluctantly, she thought, he took his leave, and she hated that he must go. For a moment, she considered sending his sister with him, but one look at Georgiana made her abandon the idea. Perhaps she might persuade her uncle to call upon him later, so that he would not be entirely alone.
Still, there remained a great deal to be done, and while most brides had weeks to prepare, she had been given only days.
After his departure, the ladies, including Georgiana and Mrs Annesley, gathered in the drawing room, where work was soon set before them. Elizabeth’s gown had been delivered not long before, and she was obliged to try it on at once, so that any final adjustments might be made before morning. Her mother complained a little at the lack of lace and finery, but it was a very fine gown, superior to any that she had previously owned.
“It will do very well for the wedding,” Mrs Gardiner said calmly, smoothing the fabric. “And it suits Lizzy very well. More lace or ruffles would have detracted from her loveliness, Fanny, and I cannot imagine a better gown for our dear girl on her wedding day.”
Mrs Bennet harrumphed at that, but she was fully engaged in the business of the wedding and turned away to direct matters with renewed energy. There were arrangements still to be confirmed for the wedding breakfast, a handful of messages to be sent to the few neighbours who had requested an invitation after the announcement on Sunday, and a dozen small decisions to be made, each of which seemed, to her, of the utmost importance. Almost always, Mrs Gardiner was near, attempting to calm her, and, for the most part, being successful in doing so.
Jane was often standing beside Mrs Gardiner, assisting with the various lists, while Mary and Georgiana had been supplied with a basket of early blooms gathered that morning. Together, they set about arranging them—some for the breakfast table, and a smaller selection to be reserved for Elizabeth herself. Mrs Annesley was with them, giving guidance on how to create the various bouquets.
“I think these will do for Lizzy,” Mary said, holding up a small cluster.
“They are very pretty,” Georgiana replied, with a quiet smile. “She will like them, I am sure. These roses are lovely, and the sprigs of lavender and sweet peas go very nicely with the others.”
“Here, this ribbon will do nicely,” Mary said, handing her one that was an emerald green that Elizabeth had worn at the Netherfield ball. Elizabeth saw it and smiled. Mary could not understand thesignificance, but she did, and she would be sure to point it out to Fitzwilliam on the morrow.
Their efforts were careful and deliberate, and though neither claimed much skill in arranging flowers before that day, the result was pleasing. Elizabeth loved that her wedding bouquet was being made by her sister and her soon-to-be sister, and was once again pleased at how well the two got along.
Kitty, meanwhile, had undertaken to remake a bonnet for the following morning, her attention wandering at intervals but her determination to be useful evident. The gown for the wedding was hanging nearby, and Elizabeth observed Kitty staring at it on several occasions as she searched in the basket for ribbons that suited it.
“This one, perhaps?” Kitty said, holding up another length of the green ribbon uncertainly.
“It will do extremely well,” Elizabeth replied, smiling at her sister. Kitty looked pleased, and Elizabeth had little desire to explain her amusement just then.
Elizabeth found herself called upon repeatedly—at first commanded to stand still while her gown was examined, then to answer some question from her mother, and again to give her opinion on matters she had scarcely considered, nor that she believed carried much weight. Even the simplest things required thought, and there was little time to spare.
By the time the light began to fade, the flowers had been arranged, the principal decisions made, and there was, at last, some sense that all which could be accomplished had been done.
It was then that Elizabeth turned her attention to packing the remainder of her things. After dinner, instead of joining the family in the drawing room, she slipped upstairs to her room, determined to finish what she had begun.
She had been at her task perhaps a quarter of an hour when she heard a knock at the door. At her call to enter, she was surprised to see Jane upon the threshold.
Jane offered her assistance, which Elizabeth accepted, and for some time they worked in silence. It was Jane who broke it at last.
“Lizzy, forgive me,” she said quietly, her attention fixed upon the garments she was folding.
Elizabeth paused, her hands stilling. “For what, Jane?”
“For allowing myself to be deceived,” Jane said. “Not only by Caroline Bingley’s words, but by my own willingness to believe them. I ought to have known better. I did know better.” She faltered slightly, then continued, “I have always trusted you, and yet I allowed myself to question you—when I had no real cause to do so.”
Elizabeth did not immediately reply.
“I think,” Jane went on, more softly, “that I wished there to be some explanation that did not require me to reconsider what I thought I understood of others. It was easier to believe her than to accept that I had been so mistaken before. Not only that, but the sight of the Darcys at our door in the midst of an almost scandal, well, I did not know what to think and chose to believe the worst.”
