Aunt Madeline raised her teacup in a gentle toast. “Well then,” she said with a merry glance, “your mother need not envy us, though introductions are always welcome. One can never have too many friends.”
Later that afternoon, as their carriage rolled through the streets towards Gracechurch Street, the three ladies spoke of their pleasant encounter with Louisa Hurst.
“I should not have been surprised,” Jane said. “Her husband did apologise at the theatre, and, she tried, unsuccessfully, to rein in her sister’s excessive rudeness.”
“True, she was the Kitty to her own Lydia.”
“Yes! How did I not see that?”
“Last autumn, so much happened in the space of six short weeks. Mr. Bingley took possession of Netherfield, followed by the arrival of the militia. From then on, Meryton’s social calendar became filled with dinners, afternoon teas, and impromptu dancing, culminating with the arrival of Mr. Collins and Mr. Bingley’s ball. You and I could barely keep up with all the goings on, let alone decipher the relationship between two sisters who actively loathed us.”
“Mrs. Hurst did not loathe us,” Jane reminded Elizabeth.
“At the time, we did not know that. She most definitely parroted her sister’s rude behaviour and derided our family. You forget that I had to suffer their company for four days whilst you gracefully reclined in a comfortable bed.”
“Gracefully reclined?” Jane emitted what could only be calleda longsuffering sigh. “I suffered a fever for two days, my throat became raw from coughing, and my nose was stuffed to the point that I could not breathe easily, and you say I reclined gracefully.”
“My dear sister,” Elizabeth teased. “You could be covered in pustules from the black plague, and you would still remain beautiful. So, yes, you reclined gracefully.”
“You are a terrible sister,” Jane teased.
“And yet, you adore me,” Elizabeth answered back.
“Yes, you harridan in an elegant bonnet. I adore you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Elizabeth and Aunt Madelinestepped into the sitting room situated between their conjoined suite of rooms as the simple mantel clock struck three. Jane stood by the mullioned window, her pale hand pressed against the cool glass, and cast yet another anxious glance at the empty carriageway below.
“No sign of Mr. Morgan,” she murmured, turning from the window to take a seat near the fireplace.
It was unlike Mr. Morgan to arrive late for anything, let alone something he held so close to his heart, and Elizabeth was certain he loved her sister with every fibre of his being.
“He assured us he would arrive this afternoon.” Aunt Madeline said, her tone practical. “We must leave at first light if he wishes to speak with your father before Sunday service, and secure the immediate reading of the banns.”
“Would a week’s delay be so dreadful?” Elizabeth asked gently, taking a seat in the chair next to her sister.
Jane shook her head. “It is a deadline of my own making, and perhaps I should not be so rigid in this matter. As long as we marry, that is the ultimate goal.”
“If it brings you any comfort,” Elizabeth teased, leaning forward ever so slightly, “I dare say Mr. Morgan is every bit asimpatient as you.”
At this, Jane’s cheeks bloomed the colour of a summer rose, and Elizabeth smiled at her sister’s sweet embarrassment.
“Come,” she said to Jane. “A bit of shopping may lift your spirits. I noticed a charming haberdashery on our way to the inn, and I am convinced they are in dire need of a portion of our allowance.”
“I do not…” Jane began, hesitation furrowing her brow.
“Nonsense,” Elizabeth interrupted, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “A brisk walk and a new bonnet will work wonders.”
Jane hesitated, then smiled. “Very well.” She turned to Aunt Madeline. “Do you care to join us, Aunt?”
Aunt Madeline shook her head gently, settling back into a winged armchair upholstered in faded damask. “I believe I will stay with your uncle and the children. Should Mr. Morgan arrive before you return, I will direct him to you.”
“Thank you,” Jane said softly, offering a grateful nod. She looked back at Elizabeth. “Once again, you have enticed me to walk and shop.”
“You would think, by the look on your face, that I was part of the Inquisition, forcing you to try on pretty hats and scarves.”
“I do not, and you are correct. I need to divert my thoughts, and a new bonnet is just the thing.”
