Page 12 of The Crown’s Gift

For the first time in years, Darcy wished he had remained silent not because speech had exposed him, but because it had injured someone who did not deserve it.

At Netherfield after midnight, Elizabeth sat before her dressing-room fire while Jane removed the pearl pins from her hair.

"Mr Bingley asked whether he might call tomorrow," Jane said, attempting lightness and failing.

"Then I hope Papa gave him directions. He has only lived at Longbourn four days; he may lose his way down the hill."

Jane smiled at her reflection. "He is very agreeable."

"He is."

"And his friend?"

Elizabeth met Jane's eyes in the mirror. "Mr Darcy has ten thousand a year, a handsome face, and no temptation to dance with me. We understand one another perfectly."

Jane set the last pin upon the table. "You are laughing, but you were hurt."

Elizabeth looked down.

With anyone else, she might have denied it. Jane's gentleness did not make falsehood easier; it made falsehood feel mean.

"For a moment," she admitted. "Not because he disliked my face. Because he thought his dislike important enough to announce."

Jane rested both hands upon her shoulders. "Perhaps he regretted it. He watched you afterward."

"To see whether tolerable features improve with exercise?"

"Lizzy."

Elizabeth covered one of Jane's hands with her own. "Do not worry. I shall survive Mr Darcy's indifference."

She meant it.

What she did not know was how soon his indifference would become far more troublesome than his contempt.

* * *

Mr Bingley did not lose his way down the hill.

He called at Netherfield before noon, stayed an hour and twenty minutes, and spent at least fifty of those minutes attempting not to look exclusively at Jane. By the time he departed, Lady Bennet had invited his whole party to dine the following week, Kitty and Lydia had learned that Longbourn's north attic still creaked in cold weather, and Sir Thomas had obtained a promise that the eastern copse would not be used for shooting until the tenant cottages beyond it were warned.

Two days later, an invitation arrived from Miss Bingley.

"For Jane alone," Lady Bennet said, examining the note. "That is marked attention."

"From Miss Bingley?" Elizabeth asked.

"From the sisters, which is nearly the same as from the brother when one lives in the same house."

Sir Thomas folded his newspaper. "The logic escapes me."

"Everything escapes a man who wishes not to understand it. Jane, you must go. The weather is clearing."

Beyond the breakfast-room windows, rain had diminished to a fine silver haze. The distance between Netherfield and Longbourn was less than three miles by road and considerably less across the fields. Jane could have taken the carriage. Lady Bennet, who had not lost her ability to hope for romantic inconvenience, suggested a horse.

"If it rains again, they cannot send you home."

Jane colored. "Mama."