“Please, no; I was happy for you to sit with Mr. Bingley. You will recall that I suggested it. But there is something I must tell you.”
“About Mr. Bingley?”
“No; about Mr. Darcy.”
“Very well; I am listening.”
“When I brought him his teacup, our fingers touched.” She stopped.
Jane prodded her. “And?”
“Well, the oddest thing…my fingers began to – well, sort of throb, and I found my heart racing!”
“Really?! And what was his reaction?”
“He took the cup, after we both almost dropped it, and he fled – there can be no other word for it – to another chair!”
“Tingles in the fingers and racing hearts? That can mean only one thing!” Jane was astonished.
“But – but – he is engaged, and I am all but engaged to Mr. Bingley!” Elizabeth wailed.
Jane put her arms around her sister and held her. “We do not know if Mr. Darcy is truly engaged, dearest. And we both agreed that Mr. Bingley would be permitted to take his pick of the two of us.”
“But what if – what if Mr. Bingley picks me and then we learn that Mr. Darcy is not engaged? No, no, that would not matter, for there is no reason for someone like him to offer for someone like me! I must put him from my mind, that is the only thing to do!”
“Lizzy, we must simply wait, as difficult as that is. Perhaps when Mary goes to Kent, she will learn more about the engagement.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The next morning, the maid assigned to Mr. Darcy’s room tiptoed in to make up the fire. She was surprised to see a letter, addressed and sealed, lying on the hearth, near the coal. Had Mr. Darcy meant to burn it up? Surely not, for was it not sealed and addressed? The desk was right next to the fireplace; doubtless, the letter had fallen off the desk and landed on the hearth.
She tucked the letter into her apron pocket.
After making up the fire, she took the back stairs down to the kitchen to find Mr. Howard. She showed him the letter and explained where she had found it. He agreed that she had done right and there was surely no need to question so important a guest over such an obvious situation. He placed the letter in the stack of mail to be picked up by the postboy.
***
The breakfast table was quiet. Mr. Darcy, usually an early riser, had stayed in bed well past his customary time, and entered the breakfast room just as Mr. Bingley had taken his first sip of coffee. Miss Bingley joined them less than a minute later. The Hursts were, evidently, still abed.
The three of them mumbled good mornings to one another, and then fell silent.
After her second cup of tea, Miss Bingley took up the matter at hand. “It is clear to me, Charles, that Miss Elizabeth is the best choice for you.”
Both Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy set their cups down with a clatter. Mr. Darcy opened his mouth and then shut it firmly. This comment had not been addressed to him.
“And on what do you base your unwanted opinion, Caroline?” Mr. Bingley was testy.
“Well, general temperament. Miss Bennet is a good deal too calm to be an effective mistress of an estate, while Miss Elizabeth has rather more fire about her.”
“And how would you know what qualities the mistress of an estate must have?” her affronted brother demanded. “To the best of my knowledge, you have yet to visit a single tenant! Louisa has done everything!”
Miss Bingley shot a quick, concerned glance at Mr. Darcy, who remained silent and focused on his plate, before continuing. “Besides, you have certainly raised her expectations! No one could doubt that you mean to offer for her!”
“Darcy, what say you?” Mr. Bingley demanded of his friend.
Mr. Darcy could not think of a reply that was both gentlemanly and true. He thought Miss Elizabeth would make an excellent mistress for any estate, even – Pemberley! No, no, that was impossible.
Perhaps the Bennet sisters did not much care who married Mr. Bingley, as long as one of them did so. Miss Bingley had certainly been right when she had commented on the financial difficulties quite evidently faced by the Bennets, he doubted any of the Bennet ladies had dowries.
