Page 11 of The Engagement at Longbourn

Richard looked at him.

Mr. Bennet sighed. “I feared as much.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Fever, Letters, and Other Disasters

Jane received Caroline Bingley’s letter the same morning Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived.

It had been sent from London the previous day and bore all the signs of having been composed with care: elegant hand, expensive paper, and sentences so smooth they seemed varnished. Jane read it in the breakfast parlour while Elizabeth was upstairs with Mr. Darcy.

My dearest Jane,

I hope you will not think us unkind for departing Hertfordshire with so little ceremony. Circumstances called us to London sooner than expected, and I confess I am delighted by the prospect of having my brother once more among friends who know him best. We are all most happily reunited here, including Mr. Darcy, whose return has been much welcomed by his sister...

Jane stopped. She read the line again.

Including Mr. Darcy. Upstairs, at that very moment, Mr. Darcy was muttering incoherently about rain, horses, and Elizabeth’s eyes while Dr. Garrison tried to persuade him to drink willow-bark tea.

Jane continued. Caroline wrote warmly of Georgiana Darcy. She wrote of Charles’s likely long residence in London. She delicately suggested that certain attachments formed in the country were often the result of proximity rather than true compatibility. She hoped Jane would remember their friendship fondly.

Jane folded the letter. For several minutes she did nothing. Then she unfolded it and read the lie again. Jane Bennet had been accused all her life of seeing too much good in people. The accusation was not entirely fair. Jane saw faults. She merely disliked assigning the worst motive when a kinder one remained possible. Here, however, kindness strained beyond reason. Caroline had claimed a man was in London who was visibly and dangerously ill in Jane’s own house. There was no misunderstanding in that.

No charitable interpretation. A lie was a lie, however elegant the handwriting. When Elizabeth came down an hour later, exhausted and with a faint ink mark on one finger from writing a note for Mr. Jones, Jane handed her the letter. Elizabeth read it standing beside the window.

Her eyebrows climbed. “Well.”

Jane waited.

Elizabeth read the relevant sentence again. “This is almost impressive.”

“Lizzy.”

“I do not mean admirable. I mean she has lied so unnecessarily that one must respect the confidence required.”

Jane looked down.

Elizabeth’s teasing vanished. “Oh, Jane.”

“I had thought her my friend.”

“I know.”

“I knew she wished Charles to marry Miss Darcy. I knew she did not particularly value our relations. But I did not think—” Jane stopped. “I did not think she would deliberately deceive me.”

Elizabeth took her hand.

Jane’s voice remained soft, but there was something new beneath it. “If she lies to me about Mr. Darcy being in London, what else is she willing to lie about?”

“That is the correct question.”

“Do you think Charles knows?”

“No.”

Jane nodded slowly. “Neither do I.”

Elizabeth looked surprised.