Page 113 of The Engagement at Longbourn

Lydia’s eyes filled. “Oh, Mary.”

“Do not make a scene.”

“You said something sweet.”

“I am capable of affection.”

Lydia threw herself at her. Mary protested while hugging her back. Elizabeth watched her sisters and thought of Darcy’s early judgments.

Silly. Ignorant. Uncontrolled. He had not been entirely wrong. That was the humbling part. People could be ridiculous and generous, foolish and brave, vain and loving, all in the same hour. She had learned that too. Mrs. Bennet found them at midnight. “What are you all doing awake?”

No one answered. Mrs. Bennet looked at the gowns, then at Jane and Elizabeth.

Her face folded. “Oh.”

“Mama,” Jane said.

Mrs. Bennet sat between her eldest daughters and cried harder than any of them.

“I know I speak of your marrying,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I know I have always spoken of it. But I did not mean for you to go so soon.”

Elizabeth put her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Mama, I am nearly twenty-one.”

“That is very soon.”

No one contradicted her.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

The Gentlemen at Netherfield

At Netherfield, the gentlemen were not asleep either.

Bingley had opened a bottle of excellent brandy. Mr. Hurst had opened a second. Richard had confiscated the second on the argument that neither groom ought to arrive at church unable to stand. Darcy sat in the library with one leg stretched before him, his cane beside the chair.

Bingley paced.

“Stop,” Darcy said.

“I am not nervous.”

“You have crossed the carpet eighteen times.”

“I am thinking.”

“You think in circles?”

Bingley stopped. “Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Richard laughed.

Darcy glared at him.

“Darcy,” Richard said, “you were nervous at dinner last week. You were nervous mounting Apollo. You were nervous when Miss Elizabeth took five seconds to answer your second proposal. You are certainly nervous tonight.”

Darcy looked at the fire. “Yes.”