Page 57

For an instant, Kitty wavered. Then, with a breath—small, but deliberate—she crossed the room and sat beside Mary.

Jane gave a quiet smile, warm and full of understanding, and returned to her seat without a word.

Mary gave a slight start, then adjusted her posture with that steady, understated grace she possessed. Her hand moved to straighten the tea tray between them, a quiet welcome in place of speech .

Elizabeth watched them in silence, something soft and wistful stirring in her chest. Mary’s calm, once a thing Kitty had scoffed at, now seemed to offer her shelter. And Kitty, hesitant still, had chosen it. It was not a triumph—not yet—but it was a beginning.

The moment held—quiet, almost sacred—until it was pierced by Mrs. Bennet’s voice fluttering in from the hallway, sharp with agitation.

“Well! Well, what is all this?” she cried, bustling into the room, her cap askew, her eyes darting between her daughters.

“Lydia behaving poorly again? But never mind her now. We must think only of Mr. Bingley and his five thousand a year! Only think, Jane! Such a man! So handsome, so rich. There is no time to waste on sulks and silliness.”

She gave no pause for reply, but bustled out again just as swiftly, evidently satisfied that Jane’s prospects outweighed all lesser concerns.

In her wake, a silence lingered. The four sisters—Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, and Kitty—exchanged a glance: part amusement, part weariness, and part something deeper still. A bond not easily shaken, though tested often enough.

Elizabeth reached for Jane’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Whatever today may bring,” she said quietly, “I am glad to be here to see it.”

Jane smiled, her eyes shining. “And I am glad you are here, Lizzy. More than you can know.”

They settled again, together. With Mary’s quiet presence and Kitty’s tentative steadiness beside them, they waited.

The clock ticked softly in the corner, the room warm with morning light. Outside, a carriage might be turning down the lane—but for now, within, the air held only the hush of expectation and hope.

The sound of a carriage approaching sent a flutter through the room.

Mrs. Bennet was instantly in a flurry, smoothing her cap and adjusting her ribbons with trembling fingers.

Jane rose quietly, her hands clasped before her, and Elizabeth felt Mary straighten beside her with a composure that belied the quiet observance in her eyes.

The door opened, and Mr. Bingley entered with all the cheerful eagerness that marked his character. His countenance brightened immediately at the sight of Jane, and Elizabeth could not help but smile at the happiness that seemed to suffuse the very air around them.

There was no shortage of delight in the room, and Mrs. Bennet declared it the finest day Longbourn had seen in an age. Mr. Bingley laughed and bowed, offering smiles to all, but his eyes, though modest, dwelt on Jane with such quiet earnestness that it required no further explanation.

After the first bustle of greetings had subsided, Jane, ever gentle and attentive, inquired, "Are you quite alone, sir?"

Mr. Bingley smiled sheepishly. "I am, for the present. Darcy had intended to accompany me, but business detained him in London. He hopes to join me here in a day or two."

Elizabeth's heart gave a small, involuntary leap, swiftly followed by a pang of disappointment. She arranged her expression into pleasant composure, but within her mind raced.

It was foolish, she told herself sternly.

In their first life, after their parting at Rosings, he had returned to London and occupied himself with business and family obligations.

He had not spent every hour mourning her rejection, nor would he now spend every hour pursuing her reassurance.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had always been a man of duty first. A sudden trip to Meryton, even prompted by Bingley's happy news, could not erase all other claims upon his time.

Still, she could not quite banish the ache. She had hoped—foolishly hoped—to see him today. To catch again that look in his eyes that spoke of confusion and yearning, to reassure herself that her future was still within reach.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jane glance at her with a touch of sympathy, her sweet face full of understanding. Mary, too, observed her keenly, though she said nothing; only a faint crease between her brows betrayed her awareness.

Mr. Bingley, his easy smile unwavering, continued, "But I could not delay my journey a moment longer. I hope you will forgive my impatience."

Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together in delight. "Forgive you? Why, you are the most welcome sight we could wish for! You must dine with us today, and every day, until the wedding!"

Elizabeth caught the faintest hint of embarrassment on Bingley's face, but he rallied quickly, bowing again.

Mr. Bennet, who had been observing the scene with a twinkle of amusement in his eye, folded his arms and said with deliberate gravity, " I am not aware of any permission having been sought, madam—nor, I confess, granted. "

Poor Bingley coloured deeply and stammered something about immediately addressing that oversight, upon which Mr. Bennet laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, steering him away with the promise of a private audience.

As they left the room, Mary, seated close beside Elizabeth, reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Elizabeth turned to find her sister’s eyes steady upon her, full of unspoken encouragement.

Jane would have offered the same, no doubt, but Mrs. Bennet, still fluttering in circles of delight, had made escape impossible.

Elizabeth glanced once more toward the door through which Mr. Bingley had disappeared. Mr. Darcy would come when he could. Until then, she would wait—and she would hope.