Page 71 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“Charles is so—” Miss Bingley paused, evidently searching among many excellent words and finding none equal to the delicacy of her position. “He is much affected.”

“I am sorry to hear it,” said Jane.

The tea was brought in then, and for a few minutes the necessities of milk, sugar, and cups sufficed where their conversation did not.

“So noble,” Miss Bingley added, and looked quickly at Mrs. Hurst, who contributed a heavy sigh and a shake of her head. “So very noble in his silence.”

“You must not think he complains of you,” Miss Bingley began. “Quite the reverse. He is discretion itself. He told us only that the connexion was at an end, and that the decision”—a small pause, exquisitely placed—“was yours. Charles quite insisted on this point.”

“He did,” said Mrs. Hurst, with feeling. “He was most particular.”

“He is a model of chivalry,” said Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth would have liked very much to pour Miss Bingley’s tea over her head.

“He is very good,” Jane agreed. “But it is true. I ended the acquaintance, Miss Bingley. There was no understanding between us, but the break, such as it was, was mine.”

Mrs. Hurst’s bracelets went still.

Miss Bingley hesitated. It was only once, but it was clear her little play had been based on different lines. “Yours?” she said.

“Mine,” said Jane.

“I cannot believe it. You ended—” Miss Bingley looked at Mrs. Hurst, whose eyes widened, then dropped to her seed cake. No assistance being available from that quarter, Miss Bingley said in a pinched voice, “Forgive me. We had—that is, we had naturally supposed⁠—”

“That your brother was being gallant,” Elizabeth supplied. “He was. He was also being truthful. It is rare for a gentleman to be both and, I must say, very much to his credit.”

Miss Bingley’s eyes moved to her, all pretence of tender concern wiped clean. “Of course,” she said, rearranging her features into something resembling kindness. “Of course. I would not presume to dispute dear Jane’s account.”

“How wise of you,” said Elizabeth.

Jane gave her a look so gentle that it nearly amounted to a reprimand, and Elizabeth sat back, chastened but oddly comforted. The look had said Jane knew perfectly well what she was about, thank you very much, and required no exertion on Elizabeth’s part.

Miss Bingley lifted her cup and took a sip. The tea seemed to strengthen her.

“Well,” she said, after a moment, “I can only admire your fortitude. Such firmness is very rare in a young lady of your situation.”

“Thank you.”

“And so unexpected.”

Jane smiled. “Firmness often is, I believe.”

Mrs. Hurst’s spoon struck her saucer.

Miss Bingley looked from Jane to Elizabeth and back again, taking the measure of them anew. Her conclusions clearly did not please her. Elizabeth could see that she had come prepared to pity Jane, perhaps console her, certainly to reinforce their greater status in town. To discover Jane calm and kind and unable to be provoked was apparently not a circumstance for which she had prepared.

“Charles will rally, of course,” Miss Bingley said at last. “Men do. They have so many occupations. Riding, business, friends. A great many friends. He is universally beloved.”

“He deserves to be,” said Jane.

Miss Bingley received this generous reply by taking a very careful, very frustrated breath through her nose.

Elizabeth was delighted by it.

“But dearest Jane, have you considered my brother’s situation?” Miss Bingley asked. “His amiable temper? His prospects? One trusts the decision was not taken lightly.”

“Not lightly,” said Jane. “No.”