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“My dear, he only desires a wife to be an unpaid nanny to his brood of children.”
“I know.”
Elizabeth gaped. “If you know this, how can you contemplate—?”
“I have seen his children at church. They are in desperate need of a mother. I can care for them.”
“But what about your happiness?”
“Caring for motherless children will give my life purpose. I am sure I will be…quite content.”
Elizabeth slipped off the bench and knelt in front of her sister. “I pray you, do not sacrifice your chance for love!”
Jane hunched her shoulders forward. “Perhaps I am not destined for love.”
Elizabeth could not imagine anyone who was more deserving of love than her older sister. “My dear, I beg you to take more time to consider.”
For the first time Jane betrayed a hint of impatience. “Lizzy, the poor man has been awaiting my answer for nearly two days. He will believe I have decided against him! That is hardly an auspicious beginning to married life!”
Mr. Bingley is coming. The words were on the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue, but she dared not voice them. What if he never arrived? What if he changed his mind? What if he came but never made her an offer? She dared not raise Jane’s hopes.
“At least wait until tomorrow morning.”
Jane sighed. “It will not make a difference. Mr. Collins will be extremely displeased if I refuse Mr. Shaw. This is the best thing for the family—the only sensible choice.”
“Jane—” Elizabeth stopped, unable to muster another argument.
In the silence the beat of hooves sounded from the road—a horse running full out.
Jane peeked over her shoulder, but there was nobody within sight yet. “Do you think it could be a messenger?”
The idea had occurred to Elizabeth as well. Only express messengers rode so quickly—and they usually brought bad news. Elizabeth instantly worried about Lydia; had the baby been born too early? As one, the sisters stood and hurried toward a little hillock that overlooked the road into Longbourn.
There was indeed a horse and rider racing toward Longbourn. “That is not an express messenger,” Elizabeth stated.
The man’s face was obscured by overhanging branches, but his clothing was much too fine for a messenger. The rider was a gentleman. Elizabeth held her breath.
Jane squinted into the sunshine. “It almost seems…but no…”
Perhaps something about his clothing or stance reminded Jane of Mr. Bingley. She gasped and covered her mouth.
“Jane?”
Her sister had grown so pale Elizabeth worried she was in danger of swooning. “No,” Jane said, turning away from the sight. “No, no, no.” She hastily retreated to the garden bench.
“Jane?” Elizabeth hurried to follow. “What is amiss?”
Seated on the bench, Jane stared fixedly at a boxwood on the other side of the path. “No,” she said firmly. “I will not indulge in fantasies.”
The rider was near enough that his identity was unmistakable. She could not prevent a silly grin from spreading over her face. She reached down to touch her sister’s shoulder. “Jane, it is Mr. Bingley!”
Hearing his name, the man in question reined in his horse. He met Elizabeth’s eyes with a hopeful expression; in response, she tilted her head to suggest he join them in the garden.
While he dismounted, Elizabeth returned her attention to her sister, who was engaged in some of the most frantic embroidering imaginable. Before Elizabeth spoke, Jane muttered, “He can have no business here with me, Lizzy. Perhaps he must meet Mr. Collins, or he is simply paying his respects to Mama.”
“I do not believe anyone has ever been in such great haste to pay their respects to Mama,” Elizabeth said.
Jane’s needle moved at an alarming rate. After a moment she whispered, “I cannot afford hope, Lizzy.”
