Page 28

After breakfast, once the teapot had been cleared and the younger girls had vanished in search of amusement, a quiet unease settled over the drawing room.

Elizabeth and Jane remained seated, their thoughts elsewhere.

Jane’s needle paused mid-stitch, and Elizabeth had yet to lift hers.

It was not the sort of morning for quiet occupation.

They listened, almost unconsciously, for the signs that should have followed by now—a door opening, footsteps in the hall, the soft clatter of a hat being lifted from its peg. But the house remained still.

“Papa ought to have gone for London by now,” Elizabeth murmured, her eyes flicking toward the clock.

The suggestion hung in the air until Jane said gently, “Perhaps he is only delayed. Should I go and ask if he means to leave for London today?”

Elizabeth gave a small nod. “Would you? He will not take it ill from you.”

Jane tilted her head slightly. “Would you not rather go yourself, Lizzy? He tends to listen more keenly when you speak plainly.”

“I have spoken too plainly already,” Elizabeth replied, shaking her head. “If I go again, he may take it as reproach—or worse, defiance.”

“You were only seeking the truth. He ought to respect that.” Jane’s voice remained gentle, but she waited for an answer.

“Perhaps. But respect is not the same as comfort. His pride is already bruised, and I would rather not tread upon it again—especially not now, when he has accepted help he did not ask for and cannot easily repay.”

“Then you believe he is still ashamed?” Jane asked.

“I believe he is still himself,” Elizabeth said with a faint, rueful smile. “And I would not have him feel pressed. He may speak more freely to you.”

“Aha! Because I do not argue,” Jane said, her smile fond.

“No—because you do not need to. Your gentleness draws more than my questions ever could. Please, Jane. Just ask whether he intends to go. That is all I wish to know.”

Jane rose. “Very well. But you are braver than you think, Lizzy. Sparing him now is no weakness.”

“Nor is asking for your help. Go, dear heart—and thank you.”

A moment later, the elder sister slipped quietly from the room, her tread as light as the worry that lingered behind.

Elizabeth sat motionless, unwilling to distract herself, bracing for an answer she could already guess.

When Jane returned, her expression held no surprise—only that tempered patience she wore so naturally.

“He is still in his study,” Jane said as she resumed her seat.

“And has no intention of leaving today. He called London ‘a smoky place of noise and nonsense’—a phrase I suspect he’s been waiting all morning to use.

He says he will write a short note to Mr. Blunt, requesting an appointment for tomorrow. ”

Elizabeth exhaled slowly, deliberately. “Of course he will.”

True to her gentle nature, Jane offered a more charitable view. “He reasoned it would be of little use to arrive, only to find Mr. Blunt unavailable—or occupied with proceedings at Court.”

“True,” Elizabeth allowed, though her tone was not quite generous. “And yet I imagine he would have borne the risk more cheerfully had the meeting promised wine and easy company.”

No protest came—only a faint smile, shared between sisters who understood too well the nature of their father’s aversion.

It was not merely London he disliked, but all that it represented: obligation, exposure, decisions made aloud.

Even now, with the weight of his household pressing close, he clung to the comfort of delay disguised as prudence or politeness.

“I wish he would go today,” Elizabeth said quietly, almost to herself.

The words prompted a pause, then Jane gently offered. “Would you prefer I speak to him again, Lizzy? If I go again, it will feel like pressing—and he will retreat behind wit and weariness.”

Elizabeth’s voice softened. “He has already swallowed his pride to accept aid—from a man he once would have dismissed with barely a word. I would rather not strip away what little dignity he believes he has left.”

A long look passed between them—one of shared knowledge and unspoken sympathy.

Jane stepped to the window and peered out. A figure was approaching along the lane—brisk, composed, unmistakable. “It is Charlotte,” she said softly.

“I think I shall leave you. The two of you may have matters better spoken without an audience.”

Moments later, Charlotte entered the drawing room with a step too swift for composure and a face set with more control than ease.

She barely waited for the door to close behind her before words seemed to press against her lips.

The two exchanged quiet good mornings, and Elizabeth, surprised by her friend’s abrupt manner, gestured for her to sit and offered tea.

Charlotte declined with a slight shake of her head.

There was a flush in her cheeks, a stiffness in her bearing—something unlike her usual self.

“I had to come,” she said at last, her voice low and just above breathless. “Before tonight. Before anyone else could say it in my place.”

Elizabeth seemed startled more by the urgency in her friend’s tone than by the words themselves. She leaned forward slightly, concern overtaking surprise. “Charlotte, what is it?”

Her friend hesitated, drawing a breath as though gathering strength. “It was never meant to be this way. Do you remember—some days ago—we had tea with Mr. Whitmore? I intended it for your sake, to help ease matters, to speak well of you. That was all I meant. Only that.”

“You needn’t explain,” Elizabeth said softly. “I received your note, Charlotte—I knew your intention. After all, I asked you and Lady Lucas to help find a way for me to reconcile with Mr. Whitmore. It did not succeed, but I never once doubted your care.”

“Oh, buy it went poorly,” Charlotte continued. “He was not... amenable to subtlety. I tried to speak of you, of your kindness, but he turned the conversation in another direction entirely. He asked me questions I hadn’t expected. And then—before I could redirect him—he proposed.”

Charlotte let the word fall between them and seemed unable to lift her gaze afterward.

Elizabeth’s breath caught. “He proposed—to you?”

Charlotte nodded once. “Yes. And father accepted almost at once. I was stunned. I thought it might be undone—but by the time I found my voice, it was already set in motion.”

There was pain in her eyes now, and more than pain—regret, guilt, even sorrow.

“I couldn’t delay telling you, Lizzy. This evening, my parents, my brother Walter, and I are expected at Mr. Whitmore’s estate for dinner.

The matter of the engagement will likely be touched upon—if not formally acknowledged.

Neither side appears inclined to delay, and—well—he is a widower; there is no call for prolonged formality.

My father, who has thus far exercised a surprising degree of restraint, said only: ‘My daughter has received a most flattering attention of late—more on that when it is proper to speak.’ But from tomorrow on, he will not hold his tongue.

He will boast of it endlessly. You would hear of it from him—or worse, from others—and that, Lizzy, I could not bear. ”

Elizabeth looked at her friend in astonishment, but not resentment. “Then you came to spare me the surprise.”

“I came to beg forgiveness,” Charlotte said simply. “I know how closely this matter touched you—even if you never cared for him. It was a solution, at least. And now it’s gone.”

“No,” Elizabeth replied, voice steady, “it was never a solution I truly wanted. You have taken nothing from me. In truth, I am... relieved.”

“Relieved?” Charlotte stared at her, blinking.

“I would have married him only out of duty. But now the burden has lifted. I no longer need to choose a life I do not wish for.”

Elizabeth paused, then asked gently, “But—do you feel happy, Charlotte? Does your future seem more reliable and steadier?”

Charlotte did not hesitate. “Yes, Elizabeth. I do.” Her shoulders lowered slightly, yet the trouble in her expression remained. “Even so… Lizzy, there is more.”

Elizabeth smiled, her voice quiet but warm. “What is it?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you sacrificing yourself like that—marrying without love, out of fear for your family’s future. Once the possibility with Mr. Whitmore was gone, I felt I had to honor your trust, to find another way to help.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, urging her friend to go on.

“So when we came to dinner at Netherfield—when I saw an opportunity—I committed an indiscretion.”

Elizabeth stilled.

“I spoke to Mr. Darcy,” Charlotte said. “I told him about the debt. I betrayed your confidence, and I exposed your family’s secret. I thought—hoped—he might intervene. I was desperate. I was foolish. And I am deeply ashamed.”

The words came out in a rush, and she closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing for the judgment she surely expected.

But Elizabeth reached for her hand. “Charlotte,” she said quietly, “your indiscretion saved my family.”

Tears welled in Charlotte’s eyes, though she blinked them back.

“Silly me,” Elizabeth continued with a small, incredulous smile. “I guessed Mr. Darcy had learned of our situation, but I could not imagine who might have told him. And now I know.”

“I had no right—”

“You had the right of a friend,” Elizabeth interrupted gently. “A true one. Here is what happened...”

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak, but Elizabeth gently raised a hand.