“I had not thought of it in such a way. It speaks well of Mr. Darcy, does it not?” Jane gathered Elizabeth’s hairpins and placed them in their small wooden box. “It does sound as though you admire him, Lizzy.”
“I suppose I do,” Elizabeth admitted. “But one may admire a man without expecting anything to come of it. It matters not in any case, Jane. He has shown no interest.”
“You spent nearly an hour in Papa’s study discussing a bridge,” Jane replied, carefully removing several of Elizabeth’s hairpins and picking up a brush. “He has taken it upon himself to escort you to a tenant’s home on more than one occasion. And he allowed you to tutor him in dancing, though he would prefer not to dance at all. I would take that as interest, Lizzy.”
“He has no one else who enjoys speaking about architecture, he feels sorry for me when I must wait for permission or an escort to complete my tasks, and Papa told him he must learn to dance. He is kind and gentlemanly, Jane, but that is not the same as a romantic inclination,” she responded. “That is the material point. I would be deluding myself if I were to think otherwise.” She would not recall how Mr. Darcy’s gaze had entranced her.
Jane squeezed Elizabeth’s hand before releasing it, and Elizabeth sighed. Jane would persist in believing her heart was touched by Mr. Darcy, but Elizabeth’s feelings had never been as tender as Jane’s.
All she felt was confusion. How could she be interested in loving another man, and why a man who would soon be going away?
It felt disloyal to Harry, though she was coming to understand that her love for him had been that of a girl. Whether that love would have deepened and matured as they both grew, she would never know.
What troubled her was the transfer of those feelings to Mr. Darcy. He would go away in December, and it was unlikely they should ever be in company again. She must remember that.
“Both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam will be gone before Christmas.” Elizabeth placed the box containing her hair pins in the drawer of her vanity. “We must face the facts. I will not encourage my heart to form an attachment to a man who does not want it. I had love once, and I know that such things cannot be forced.” She stood, and the girls exchanged places. Their eyes met in the looking glass, and Elizabeth began to work on freeing Jane’s hair from its elegant coiffure.
“I believe that is the first time since we lost Harry that I have heard you say that you might love again,” Jane told her gently. “I am glad of it.”
Trust Jane to see through her pretence. “I am not a girl anymore,” Elizabeth said as she worked. “I accept that love may never come for me again.” She paused to be sure of herself before she spoke again. “But I have determined to open my heart to it if it does.”
Elizabeth admired Mr. Darcy, perhaps more than she ought, but she did not mean to make herself unhappy about him. Although the man was not for her, what she felt in his company persuaded Elizabeth that she could love again. If for no other reason, she would always be grateful to him for that.
Jane stood, turned, and wound her arms about her sister in a brief, tight embrace. “I am so happy to hear you say it.” She slid back into the chair, leaving Elizabeth a little shocked. Jane was never impulsive. As she observed Jane’s beaming smile, a sly grin stole across her own features.
“Jane,” she said, “tell me about Mr. Bingley.”
“Did you enjoy yourselves last night?” Bennet asked as he took aim and fired. There was a cracking sound and the acrid scent of gunpowder.
“Good shot,” Darcy said, and took aim himself. “I survived the dancing, thanks in no small part to your daughters.” He fired. The gun jumped a bit in his hands, but he hit his mark.
“Well done,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “We shall eat well tonight.” He was making an adjustment to his own weapon after complaining it was firing too slowly. Darcy thought it more likely his cousin was shooting wide this morning in consequence of having overindulged at the assembly. He was certainly suffering the headache, wincing with each shot.
“I invited Mr. Bingley to join us, but he is likely in worse shape than you, Fitzwilliam,” Bennet said teasingly. “He rather enjoyed playing the bon vivant. We shall see if he appears.”
“The entertainments did not run late,” Darcy noted. He and Fitzwilliam had been in their chambers just before midnight. “Perhaps he keeps town hours.”
“The man had eyes for your eldest, Bennet,” Fitzwilliam said warningly.
Bennet shrugged. “Many men have fallen at Jane’s feet. She is kind enough to help them up and brush them off before sending them on their way.”
“Do you not wish for her to marry?” Darcy asked, surprised. “I should have thought . . .”
“There are no men good enough for my girls, Darcy,” Bennet told him sternly. “Not in all of England, nor beyond.” He reloaded his weapon. “If they find a man they desire to marry, they shall inform me, but they are aware I refuse to release them to anyone unworthy. Until then, I keep close watch.”
Fitzwilliam gave Darcy a mischievous glance. “What of your second daughter? She seems more likely to send a man off with a flea in his ear than to accept a proposal.”
Darcy tensed. Bennet might have been insulted—Darcy was insulted himself on Miss Elizabeth’s behalf—but Bennet simply appeared thoughtful. “She would, if she believed him disingenuous.” His hard look at Fitzwilliam did not go unnoticed. “Then I should have the pleasure of her company all my life.” Bennet aimed and fired. “Lizzy is not as hardened to the world as she would have you believe, but gentlemen who can keep up with her are thin on the ground.” He pointed his rammer at a figure in the distance that was flanked by two dogs. “It appears as if the master of Netherfield has roused himself from his bed at a reasonable hour.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Mr. Bingley greeted them as he drew near.
“Mr. Bingley,” Bennet replied placidly.
“Oh, just Bingley, if you please. We are neighbours, after all.” The man was quite young—as Darcy had mentioned to Miss Elizabeth, he could not be much older than her eldest sister. He was shorter than Bennet and slighter but appeared hale and hearty enough. His hair was lighter than Fitzwilliam’s—blond without a streak of brown in it, and his eyes were a bright, piercing blue. Darcy smiled to himself. Combined with his enthusiasm for society, the young ladies must flock to him in the same way Miss Elizabeth claimed they flocked to Miss Bennet.
After a word with Bennet, Bingley sent his dogs to retrieve their birds. Bennet then introduced them. Darcy had fled to the card room immediately following his second dance with Miss Elizabeth, and the younger man had remained to dance the rest of the evening, so they had not yet met. The formalities were soon accomplished, and Darcy found Mr. Bingley well educated and amiable, if a bit inexperienced.
“Bingley,” the young man said, requesting that they dispense with the more formal address, and Darcy could not help but appreciate the man’s easy manners.