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“Tell them, Mama. Tell my sisters the truth now, if you please. The truth about me.”
“What does it matter?” she complained bitterly. “When has the truth ever mattered?”
“It matters to us. To me, to Jane, to Lydia, and to Kitty. If they are going to make a decision about whether or not to acknowledge me, they ought to know. If they turn their backs upon you and me now, they should know whether they do so unfairly or if they possess some sort of moral imperative to justify a more comfortable position.” She gave her mother a soft smile. “Your brother has always believed in you, always defended you. And so will I. You have my word, regardless of what you say here and now. Always.”
Mrs Bennet shut her eyes tightly at that. Two tears leaked out, even so. But finally, she took a deep breath, gave a great shudder, and stood, opening her eyes to look tiredly at her daughters.
“I don’t care what that old gudgeon tells the Bingleys, and I don’t care whether any of you believe me or not. But Lizzy is every bit as much a Bennet as you are. Do what you will.” With that, she marched out the door.
For several moments, they all remained where they were, staring at each other.
“Well,” Lydia said drily, “either Lizzy is legitimate, or none of us are.”
And Lizzy began to laugh—the absurdity, the silliness of it was too comical to contain—and laugh and laugh and laugh. Lydia’s giggles, always close to the surface, joined in—then, of course, Kitty’s followed. Finally, Jane let out the most impolite, unfeminine of snorts, which only set the others off into peals, laughing until they wept.
Gradually, the snickers faded into smiles, and Lizzy looked around at her sisters, sprawled gracelessly across Jane’s fine drawing room as they had so many times in Longbourn’s parlours, and she wondered if she would ever see them thus again.
Jane was the first to straighten, and she sighed. “Lizzy,” she began, and Lizzy’s smile faded. “I shall go to my husband now and tell him what my father threatens. I-I hope he shall support you, as I do. Perhaps, if we are very fortunate, he will not find us all as ridiculous as it appears we are.”
Lizzy’s smile returned. “If he does, remind him of your delicate condition and the need for a husband’s excessive patience while his wife is increas—” Too late, she realised she had spoken aloud—in front of her younger sisters no less—that which Jane had not yet even shared with her.
But Jane only looked puzzled. “Delicate…what?”
Lydia was not so slow to understand. “Janey! Are you with child?”
Kitty whooped. “Oh! Jane! How wonderful! Am I to be an auntie?”
But Jane only slid bonelessly down onto the cushions of the settee, in a dead faint.
“She swoons so prettily,” Kitty grumbled, looking askance at her fallen sister. “I am sure I could not do half so nice a job of it, did I practise for a year.”
Lizzy rolled her eyes. “Call for Mrs Nicholls, Kitty. Lydia, fetch Mr Bingley from his study. And then you may both make yourselves scarce. Upon my word, neither of you had better say anything of Jane’s condition to anyone, else you will suffer your monthlies henceforth without any help from me or my stillroom.”
At that moment, Georgiana hurried into the drawing room, her face alight with happiness. “Lizzy! You will never guess! I have just received an express. It is the best news in the world. My brother is coming to the ball! Oh! What has happened to Mrs Bingley?”
