Chapter 3
Elizabeth hoped that any awkwardness in her encounter with Mr. Bingley had not been noticed, but an occasional glance in Miss Darcy’s direction made her wonder about the young girl’s uneasy expression. A flush upon Elizabeth’s cheeks ensued when she thought that perhaps Miss Darcy knew she had refused her brother’s offer of marriage. More likely, perhaps, was that Miss Darcy’s attachment to Mr. Bingley prompted some feelings of jealousy, if she noticed their mutual discomfiture.
Elizabeth was grateful, then, as the others in the party turned their attention to Emily. Emily approached each person and curtseyed, bestowing on each the hope that all things were well with them and that it was a pleasure making their acquaintance.
Fortunately, Emily’s visit was relatively short, and her parents thanked Elizabeth and excused them. Emily bid each of them a good night, after which Elizabeth ushered her charge upstairs.
As Elizabeth’s hand rested upon the little girl’s shoulder, guiding her up the stairs, she teemed with disappointment as she considered that Jane’s hopes would now be hopelessly shattered. When she recalled Rosalyn’s words the other day about an announcement forthcoming, she realized it must have been Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy of whom she spoke. Pausing slightly on the step, she found herself shaking uncontrollably as the disappointment gave rise to an overwhelming anger.
Emily looked up at Elizabeth. “Is there anything wrong, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth forced a smile and looked down, suddenly aware that she had to push away these feelings for the moment. “I am well. I only just remembered something.”
“What?”
Elizabeth grasped the young girl’s hand and patted it. “I forgot to tell you how well-mannered you were down there. You behaved superbly!”
Emily grinned and squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, holding it tightly as they went up to her room.
Elizabeth was tired and looked forward to some solitude. Fortunately, as Emily prepared for bed, she picked out one of the shorter storybooks for Elizabeth to read to her. Once she was tucked in and Elizabeth began to read, the little girl’s eyes grew heavy. The excitement of visitors this evening must have been too much for her, and she fell asleep even before Elizabeth turned to the final page. Elizabeth leaned over and kissed her good night and then quietly stepped out of the room.
Letting out a deep sigh of relief as she walked down the long hallway to her chambers, Elizabeth contemplated the time spent downstairs with Mr. Bingley and Miss Darcy. It was quite apparent that Mr. Bingley was unsettled when he saw Elizabeth. At times he appeared to be almost distracted; he looked at her as though he wished to say something to her, but then abruptly changed his mind.
He was polite and affable toward Miss Darcy, but Elizabeth clearly noticed the lack of intensity in his attentions to her. And Miss Darcy, although very polite, seemed even less outward in her regard for him than Jane ever had been. Perhaps Elizabeth was only seeing things the way she wished to see them.
She sat down on her bed and stared absently at the wall for a short time as she made an attempt to sort out her feelings. Another wave of disappointment flooded through her, swirling around with anger. She was greatly disappointed that Mr. Bingley had toyed with Jane’s heart, and had obviously taken and heeded the advice of his good friend.
She turned her head briskly to the side, stifling a sob. No! She would not allow herself to succumb to tears. How easily her tears fell when she considered how her father’s death turned her family out of their home. She was determined not to feel sorry for herself.
She consoled herself with the fact that she and Jane were in good homes and had pleasant wards. Jane had always enjoyed caring for the Gardiner children. Elizabeth could find no fault with the Willstones or Emily, but she was all too aware that it was a step down in society’s eyes for both of them. She could only imagine that after tonight’s visit, Mr. Darcy would come to know of it from his sister or Bingley. She pulled her feet up onto the bed and lay her head down on the pillow.
She often chided herself that as Mr. Darcy’s wife, she would have had it in her power to undo his one terrible injustice. As Mr. Bingley was his best friend and Jane was her sister, they would have had numerous opportunities to meet again and restore what they once had. Hence, Jane would likely be the one to marry Mr. Bingley instead of Miss Darcy. That was her one true regret in refusing him.
In the short time she was downstairs, Elizabeth had watched Miss Darcy, out of curiosity and a determination to find fault with her. Wickham had characterized her as proud, yet she saw nothing of that. Miss Darcy seemed a sweet, yet shy girl, and Elizabeth could not, in all honesty, blame Mr. Bingley for forming an attachment to her.
She pounded a fist onto her pillow. “But he loved Jane! I am certain of it!” Her fervent whisper was expelled forcefully from deep within her. She buried her head into the pillow, which acted as a handkerchief, catching the lone tear that slid down her cheek.
She lay there motionless for a while, and finally, after a few moments, Elizabeth arose and slowly changed into her nightdress. She occasionally heard laughter or an outburst from the party downstairs. It distressed her to hear such joviality, knowing the pain it would instil in Jane once she was informed of their betrothal. It troubled her that she would be the one who would have to tell Jane before she heard it from someone else through some other means.
“Oh, Jane,” she whispered to herself. “You are the last person in the world that I would want to hurt with such information.”
She climbed into her bed after snuffing out the candle. With her eyes wide open, she stared upward in the darkened room and listened as the voices grew faint. At length, with the sound of a distant door closing, Elizabeth assumed that the guests had finally departed.
She rolled over and hoped that she would be able to sleep, putting tonight’s events out of her mind, but the insistent pounding of her heart and her turbulent thoughts did little to aid in her wish.
After a few minutes, there was a soft tap at Elizabeth’s door. She opened her eyes. “Yes?”
“Elizabeth, it is Rosalyn. May I come in?”
Elizabeth sat up in her bed, moving a strand of hair that had fallen across her face and wiping any telltale sign of a tear from her cheek.
“Yes, Rosalyn, do come in,” Elizabeth answered as cheerfully as she could, but truly wishing to be left alone.
Rosalyn walked in holding a candle. A soft glow lit both ladies’ faces.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, Elizabeth. Were you already asleep?”
“No, no, Rosalyn. I only now just slipped into bed. The guests are gone, I presume?”
“Yes,” Rosalyn answered and looked down at her hands. She looked up expectantly at Elizabeth as if she wished to say something.
“What is it, Rosalyn?”
“Is it… is it really true, Elizabeth?”
Although Elizabeth had not fallen asleep yet, she found it difficult to comprehend what Rosalyn was asking.
“Is what true, Rosalyn?”
“That you are acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. Darcy? I… I am… only a little. Why do you ask?”
“After you left, Mr. Bingley told us about how both he and Mr. Darcy had made your acquaintance at Netherfield. Mr. Bingley was very gracious in his words about you and your family, and from the sound of it, you were in their company a great deal.”
“We did see them on occasion. They were present at some dances, and we attended a ball that Mr. Bingley hosted at Netherfield.”