“She has two months to choose whether to live with her relatives in Scarborough, convince Hurst to open his townhouse, or set up her own establishment in Town.”
“And if she does not choose?”
“Then I shall put her in a carriage and send her to Scarborough.”
“You are determined?” Mr. Bennet joined the conversation.
“I have never been more so,” Mr. Bingley replied.
Jane’s innate kindness rose to the fore. “My poor Charles! This must have been so very difficult for you!”
“It was, Jane, but I would do far more to secure your hand.”
“Then you may announce the engagement at supper, Mr. Bingley. But know this – should anything happen to delay Miss Bingley’s departure, I will instruct my daughter not to meet you at the altar.”
“I understand, sir.”
Jane was of age, of course, and did not require her father’s consent to marry, but it was clearly understood by everyone involved that she would never marry against her father’s wishes.
“Jane! Dance with me!” Mr. Bingley’s voice was now ebullient.
His betrothed smiled at him, beatifically, and off they went together.
***
After her dance with Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth had danced two more dances before pleading a headache and sitting behind a pillar. She had managed to hide her feelings for the past hour, but was aware that she could not maintain that façade for much longer.
Mr. Darcy’s words had hurt her deeply. She had known – of course she had known! – that he would go to London and find a wife. But to hear it spoken of so easily, for him to then ask for a second dance, which would cause all manner of talk in theneighbourhood! Was that some sort of sop, a means of placating her for his departure?
How could he not know how much pain she was in? How could he not understand how very insulting it was for him to tell her that he found her compelling and in the next breath say that he was off to find a wife! And if he found her compelling, was he not in pain as well, to be leaving her? Her thoughts whirled around, again and again, and quite soon she had a headache, just as she had claimed.
Charlotte found her there. “You look upset, Eliza.”
“I am, Charlotte, oh, I am!” To Charlotte she could confess her pain.
“Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte murmured.
Elizabeth admitted to it and then recounted the conversation they had had, concluding with, “How can he be so – so callous!”
“I do not think he intended to be so,” Charlotte said, cautiously. “It was something of a compliment for him to tell you that he found you compelling.”
“Not compelling enough to offer for, clearly!”
“Eliza, that was never going to happen.”
“I know, but –“
“But you still hoped.”
“Oh, Charlotte! I did, I did hope, and it wasstupidof me to do so.”
“And entirely natural,” Charlotte insisted. “Eliza, I believe that he cares for you a good deal, but he lives in a society that could not accept such a match.”
“I know you are right. And I will be fine, you know that I will; I just need to get through this ball.”
“Give yourself permission to think about Mr. Darcy later tonight, for as long as you like, just not now,” Charlotte advised. “Instead, think about who else you might wish to dance with and who you might sit with at dinner.”
“I promised Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said, dully.
