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When she retired that night, pausing a moment at the window of her chamber, Elizabeth looked out over the darkened lawns of Netherfield Park, thinking. The week had altered something in her perceptions. She carried with her a new awareness of Caroline Bingley’s ambition, of Mr Darcy’s restraint, and of her own unwilling curiosity.

As she extinguished her candle, she told herself it signified nothing. Her life would resume its normal patterns as soon as they returned to Longbourn. She need not fill her idle hours with concern for the machinations of Caroline Bingley, nor yet their effect on Mr Darcy.

Chapter Two

Though Elizabeth had hoped to leave the next day, she soon found it could not be so. The note dispatched home to request that the carriage should be sent for them soon received a reply, but not a favourable one. Mrs Bennet, who could see nothing good in any arrangement that brought her daughter away from an eligible suitor one moment sooner than she had planned, said it was not to be had for the next few days.

But where Mrs Bennet was happy to impose on Mr Bingley’s hospitality, her daughters were not. Over supper, Jane requested Mr Bingley’s aid and received his agreement with as much eagerness as she could have wished. Mr Bingley, who would have gladly hosted both sisters as long as they wished to stay, was still more glad to have the opportunity of doing Jane a service. The Netherfield carriage would therefore convey Jane and Elizabeth to Longbourn the following morning. Jane, who had spent the better part of a week apologising for the inconvenience of being ill, accepted this with an equal measure of gratitude and relief.

By nine o’clock, the house had grown quiet. Before retiring, Mr Bingley had said good night with every evidence of genuine regret. By contrast, his sisters had said good night with every evidence of relief that the obligation was nearly discharged, and Mr Darcy had inclined his head with the composed courtesy he brought to all things, conveying perfect civility and a perfect absence of warmth. Elizabeth had thanked them all in turn, climbed the stairs, and knocked at her sister’s door.

She found Jane seated at the dressing-table and already in her dressing gown, her hair loose about her shoulders. Elizabeth saw with relief that her colour had nearly returned to normal. The room had been made comfortable for the night. A good fire blazed heartily in the grate, the curtains were drawn against the November dark, and a candle flickered at the bedside. All the same, Elizabeth thought, it was the sort of room that had nothing the matter with it and yet would never feel quite like home, in the same way that a borrowed coat may be excellent and still not fit exactly right.

Jane looked up from the glass when Elizabeth came in and smiled at her sister. Elizabeth smiled back, grateful both for Jane’s customary appreciation of her company and for this evidence of her returning health. The Jane of two days before would have been too weak to be sitting up at the dressing-table, and could only have attempted a smile.

“You look very much better,” Elizabeth said, sitting on the end of the bed and looking at her sister with satisfaction. “Another day, and you shall look quite well.”

“I nearly feel it,” Jane said. She turned from the glass and settled into the chair by the fire, tucking her feet beneath her. “I am sorry it has been so long. I hope the week has not been too tedious for you.”

“Not in the least. I have had excellent company.” Elizabeth paused. “Your own, chiefly.”

Jane tilted her head questioningly. “And the others? I hope you have not found it disagreeable.”

Elizabeth smiled a little ruefully. “Mr Bingley is everything you said he was, and possibly more. I have rarely met a man whose goodwill is so effortless and so gladly given. I like him very much.” She pulled her knee up and studied the fire. “He asked after you four times yesterday. I counted.”

The colour that had returned to Jane’s cheeks deepened a shade. She said nothing aloud, but the quality of her silence spoke volumes.

“As for the rest,” Elizabeth continued, “Mrs Hurst is as elegant as we thought on a first meeting, but I confess I should like her rather better with somewhat more softness in her manner. Mr Hurst is perfectly inoffensive when he is asleep, which is frequent. And Mr Darcy reads a great deal and says very little.” She paused, considering for a moment. “He is not quite what I thought of him at the Meryton assembly. He is proud, I believe, but it sits differently on closer acquaintance. Less like contempt and more like a sort of armour, perhaps. He is not easy to know.”

“Mr Darcy has been civil, then,” Jane offered.

“He has been composed,” Elizabeth said judiciously. It was not quite the same thing, and Jane knew it as well as she did. “But I admit I think better of him than I expected to.” She smiled in private amusement as she said the words and silently congratulated herself for being so amiable towards the man who had snubbed her so thoroughly. Over the course of the week, she had gathered other observations about Mr Darcy, all with the half-conscious industry of a mind that collects details whether it means to or not, but Elizabeth did not intend to share them with her sister.

“And Miss Bingley?” Jane asked after a moment.

Elizabeth turned from the fire and searched her sister’s face. She was silent for a long moment before speaking. “I hardly know what to say,” she said at last, “other than that I have had a most instructive week.”

Elizabeth said it lightly, in the tone that presaged the discussion of greater or lesser follies in someone or other of their acquaintance. Jane recognised it at once, her expression taking on a curious mixture of amusement, concern, and resignation.

“What can you mean by that? Do be serious, Lizzy.”

“I believe I have discerned something curious about Miss Bingley, though I do not know how serious it is.”

Jane blinked in mild surprise. “You have discovered something curious about Miss Bingley? But she is so very elegant.”

“Indeed she is, but not free from peculiarities.”

“My dear Lizzy, what can she have done? She is not a lady of open and easy temperament, perhaps, but you must not judge her for that. She has never been less than civil.”

Elizabeth shook her head and laughed a little ruefully. “Civil, certainly. But calculation may wear civility as its finest cloak.”

Jane’s brow furrowed slightly. “You think her calculating?”

“I do,” Elizabeth confirmed. “You spoke in favour of Miss Bingley’s civility. Though I have little confidence in the sincerity of her friendship, it is not that which I find curious, but another matter entirely. Have you noticed her attentions toward Mr Darcy?”

Jane smiled faintly. “It is no secret that she admires him.”

“Admires?” Elizabeth echoed. “My dear Jane, admiration is quiet, and does not pursue its object from room to room. It does not contrive to be seated at his elbow at every meal. Admiration does not solicit his opinion on books it has never read.”