As Elizabeth passed him on her way out, her eyes met his for a fleeting instant.
There was humor there. And intelligence. And something quietly resolute.
Darcy remained seated for a moment longer, acutely aware of two truths that were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
First: Caroline Bingley was not done.
And second: he found himself very much hoping that Elizabeth Bennet would not be either.
Chapter 18
The following morning, Elizabeth had just fastened the final button on Jane’s dress when her sister rose from the chair by the fire and tested her balance, pacing the length of the room with a thoughtful air.
“I feel quite myself again,” Jane said at last, smiling as though the admission surprised her. “I believe I ought to go down to breakfast.”
Elizabeth studied her closely. The flush of fever was gone; her eyes were clear, her posture steady. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes. And if you are well enough to face the breakfast table, then we ought also to face propriety.”
Jane turned, already knowing what was coming. “You mean we should return home.”
“I do,” Elizabeth replied, a little ruefully. “Lingering any longer would invite speculation, and Mary would never forgive us if the neighborhood decided we had made ourselves too comfortable.”
Jane sighed, not petulantly, but with genuine regret. “I suppose not.”
Elizabeth caught the tone and smiled at her. “Come now. That sounded very much like disappointment. Should I be alarmed?”
Jane colored at once. “Elizabeth.”
“Oh, I am only asking,” Elizabeth said lightly, seating herself on the edge of the bed. “How do you feel about Mr. Bingley this morning, now that you are restored to health and can reflect upon matters more calmly?”
Jane bent to straighten the already tidy folds of her shawl, but the pink creeping into her cheeks betrayed her. “I feel… grateful,” she said after a moment. “And happy. He was exceedingly attentive. Kind. Concerned in a way that was never intrusive.”
Elizabeth’s smile softened, then sharpened with thought. “He is kind,” she allowed. “Very kind. But do you not wish him to be a little firmer? A little more willing to assert himself, particularly where his sister is concerned? Dinner last night was quite uncomfortable.”
Jane looked up at once, her expression unusually animated. “No,” she said, with gentle firmness. “I wish him to be exactly as he is.”
Elizabeth blinked.
“I like himbecausehe is kind,” Jane continued, her voice steady though her color remained high. “Because he does not seek to wound in order to amuse himself. Because he would rather yield than humiliate. His sister may be unkind, but he is not. And I will not condemn a man for refusing to become hard merely to manage another’s temper.”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, then closed it.
Jane went on, more quietly now. “You compare him to what we have known. Papa finds comfort in mockery, and Mama in agitation. I love them both, but I have lived my life trying not to become either. Mr. Bingley errs on the side of kindness, and if that is a fault, it is one I can live with.”
The words settled heavily in the room.
Elizabeth sank back against the bedpost, stunned by the clarity of it. She had always known Jane was gentle, but she had never quite understood how deliberate that gentleness was. It was not ignorance of the world, but a conscious refusal to mirror its worst habits.
“You are right,” Elizabeth said at last, quietly. “Entirely right.”
Jane smiled at her then, soft and knowing. “There is something else you must consider. Mr. Bingley has only just gained his majority. Until very recently, his affairs were managed for him—by an uncle, or trustees, or some similar arrangement. He was away at school for years, quite apart from his sisters. This is the first time they have truly lived together since their parents died.”
Elizabeth’s expression shifted, her teasing gone.
“He is learning,” Jane continued, gently but with conviction. “Learning how to be the head of a family, how to manage a household, how to balance affection with authority. That is no small thing, Lizzy. I think he is doing admirably well, considering how suddenly he has been thrust into the role.”
Elizabeth was silent for a long moment. At last, she exhaled slowly. “When you put it that way… I fear I have been unjust.”
Jane smiled, her eyes warm. Elizabeth laughed softly, though there was no mirth in it. “And here I thought myself the great observer of character.”
