Page 49 of In Want of a Suspect

Lizzie laid a hand on her sister’s, stilling it. “Leave the ribbons. It’s your night—you ought to wear what you like. You look beautiful either way, and besides, I don’t think Bingley will benoticing the color of your ribbons when he can scarcely take his eyes off your face.”

Jane looked up at her. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” Lizzie said. “Have you not realized? The man is mad about you!”

“I’m surprised you’ve taken the time to notice Mr. Bingley’s feelings,” Jane said, and the rebuke was so mild that Lizzie couldn’t have felt worse if Jane had offered her a cutting word instead.

“Janie.” Lizzie reached out and took her sister’s hands. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a rotten sister lately, haven’t I? It’s just this case... I’ve let it get to my head.”

“You’re not a rotten sister,” Jane insisted, although Lizzie noticed she didn’t refute Lizzie’s claim that the case had been going to her head. “You’ve been very busy.”

Lizzie had been consumed, but she could have asked Jane how she was feeling this morning, or made a point to come home sooner to help her get ready. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I promise this evening shall be about you, and not about my case. I won’t breathe a word of it!”

Jane hugged her. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m so nervous, I don’t know how I can expect to eat a thing!”

“I think the only thing expected of you tonight is to say yes when the question is asked,” Lizzie said. “But surely you don’t doubt Bingley’s feelings for you?”

“It’s not that,” Jane said. Lizzie struggled to recall the last time she’d seen her sister look so distressed—perhaps when Wickham had kidnapped Lizzie. “I suppose it’s silly, but I washoping for something rather more romantic.”

“It’s not silly,” Lizzie insisted. “Perhaps Mama’s manipulations don’t exactly feel romantic now, but think about how happy you’ll be.”

That seemed to encourage Jane, and she grabbed hold of both of Lizzie’s hands. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Lizzie smiled brightly. “I’m incredibly happy.”

“Yes, but you and Mr. Darcy...”

“We aren’t talking about me this evening, remember?”

Lizzie didn’t want to talk about yesterday and how embarrassing it had been to stand in her own drawing room and fend off her mother’s rather obvious attempts at pressuring Darcy to propose marriage. Maybe she ought to have enjoyed it. After all, Darcy was quickly becoming one of her favorite people, alongside Jane. And he was a gentleman. There was nothing preventing a union between them. Nothing, except the undercurrent of fear and anxiety when she thought about giving up everything she’d worked for.

“Oh dear, it’s as bad as that?” Jane asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Now, help me fasten my dress and let’s go downstairs before Mama has a fit!”

Darcy was late.

Lizzie was unsurprised when Mr. Bingley arrived first, and then Charlotte. The gathering was a pleasant one, especiallysince Caroline and Louisa weren’t present, and the conversation was lively as the minutes ticked by. But when the clock struck quarter past and Darcy had still not arrived, Lizzie had to start pretending not to see Mrs. Bennet’s sharp, questioning looks. And when it was half past and dinner was announced, Mrs. Bennet shot Lizzie an accusatory look.

“No Mr. Darcy? I do hope that he is all right.”

“He must have gotten caught up in court, Mama,” Lizzie lied. She felt compelled to salvage his reputation before her mother, despite her own questions.

Mr. Bennet gave her a curious look, for he understood that no court would convene this late, but didn’t contradict Lizzie’s explanation. “Let us eat, and hope Mr. Darcy has a riveting explanation when he arrives.”

Dinner was as carefully choreographed as a ballroom dance, with Jane and Bingley as the principal players. Lizzie was seated next to Bingley, and Jane was placed directly across from him, next to Charlotte. Her assorted sisters flanked them, while Mr. and Mrs. Bennet sat at either end of the table. Guy had slipped under the table when Mrs. Bennet wasn’t looking, and Lizzie wasn’t about to say anything as long as the dog stayed quiet. As the honored guest, Bingley was placed to the right of Mr. Bennet, and Mrs. Bennet was practically leaning into her soup in order to orchestrate the conversation from the other end, quizzing him on his latest social engagements and whether or not he had plans to visit his country estate that summer.

“I hear the countryside is lovely in June,” Mrs. Bennet said, not allowing Mr. Bingley a chance to reply. “Not that we’ve been in quite a long while, of course.”

That was accompanied by a pointed look at Mr. Bennet.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid that criminal activity only increases in the summer months,” Mr. Bennet said, oblivious to his wife’s attempts to steer the conversation. “It’s the heat, you see. Drives most people mad.”

“You avoid criminal cases,” Lizzie pointed out.

“But they don’t always avoid me.”

“The weather would drive any sane person to commit heinous acts,” Mr. Bingley agreed. “My sisters usually go, but as of late I’ve been far too busy to get away myself.”