Page 18 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

B efore beginning her walk, Elizabeth darted up to her room to fetch her bonnet and spencer.

After donning them, she made to set out but paused at the small writing desk she had brought with her into Kent.

She opened the top compartment and withdrew a small packet of letters, all addressed from London, and tucked them into the pocket of her dress.

She walked along the lane for a quarter of a mile until she found the turn-off leading to her favourite grove.

She continued on that path, one established by foot rather than carriage wheels, until she reached the blooming orchard of cherry trees she had discovered during her first week in residence.

For several long seconds, Elizabeth stood in the centre of the grove, breathing in the soft scent of the blossoming trees.

She closed her eyes and allowed the pleasant redolence to consume her, listening to the birds twittering in the branches and the babble of a distant brook that she knew was hidden amidst the surrounding flora.

It truly was a magnificent place, one that had provided a haven for her and her troubled thoughts these past few weeks.

With a deep breath in and out, Elizabeth opened her eyes and proceeded towards the stump she often made her seat when visiting the grove.

She thought it might have once belonged to an oak, for it certainly was not the remains of a spindly cherry tree.

It was wide enough to offer her a resting place, and that was all that mattered for her purposes.

Settling upon the stump, Elizabeth withdrew the letters she had tucked into her pocket and began leafing through them.

There were a dozen in all, approximately one per week since Jane took up residence in Gracechurch Street, yet none of them was from her dearest sister.

Every single one was addressed in the fair flowing hand of her aunt and bore tidings of Jane but no words from her directly.

Sighing, Elizabeth unfolded the one with the earliest date and began reading.

My Dear Lizzy,

We have all arrived safely in London and begun to settle into our usual routine.

The children are well and have expressed their longing to see you, so I do hope you will reconsider visiting us sometime in the near future, especially if life at Longbourn becomes untenable.

I know you fear that your sister would object, but it is not up to Jane to dictate which nieces I welcome into my home and which I neglect—something she ought to remember for her own sake.

Do overlook the bitterness of spirit in which I penned that last sentence; I fear your sister has been trying my patience these last several days.

The doldrums I expected, but not so much rancour towards you!

Forgive me, I know to hear such must pain you, but I must be open with you about the state of Jane’s feelings.

Rest assured that she is healthy, at least, only very angry.

I shall work on her and hope to make her see that your heart was in the right place when you spoke to Mr Bingley.

On that note, Jane has already made plans to call upon his sister, though she has not yet responded to the note Jane sent her upon our arrival in town.

If we have not heard from Miss Bingley by the end of the week, we intend to visit on Tuesday in the hopes that her missives have gone astray.

I cannot see how both of them would go missing by accident, but then I do not have it in me to quash Jane’s tender hopes.

I shall confide to you, however, that I have an uneasy feeling about this excursion…

Elizabeth set aside the first letter and opened the next, her heart palpitating over what she knew it contained.

My suspicions over Miss Bingley’s perfidy appear to be well founded.

Jane will not acknowledge it and makes endless excuses on behalf of her ‘friend’, but our welcome at Grosvenor Street was cold at best. We did not stay long as Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst told us they were going out—a prevarication if ever I saw one—and it was clear to me that they hoped we would attend to their clumsy hint and be gone.

Jane could not, or would not, see this thinly veiled cut for what it was, but I assure you that I was not blind to their intentions.

Perhaps when Miss Bingley fails to return the call, Jane will be forced to recognise her for the vicious cat she is.

We saw nothing of Mr Bingley. His sisters report that he is spending much of his time with the Darcys, particularly Miss Darcy, though I know not how inclined I am to believe them.

Contrary to Mrs Gardiner’s expectations, Miss Bingley did, indeed, return the call, though Elizabeth was in agreement with her aunt that it might have been better had she forgone it entirely. A third letter, dated a fortnight after Jane’s venture to Mayfair, told the sorry—and painfully brief—tale.

Well, Lizzy, it seems that I did not fully appreciate the depth of Miss Bingley’s cruelty.

She did, indeed, finally pay Jane a call here at Gracechurch Street, but I wish she had saved us all the headache and merely cut Jane from afar.

When she arrived, it was as if the Queen of Sheba had deigned to descend upon lowly peasants—such airs I have not seen from a duchess!

She made it perfectly obvious that she took no pleasure in the necessity, said nothing of wishing to see Jane again, and in general gave every indication that their association was disgusting to her.

Jane proclaimed Miss Bingley quite altered from when she had known her in Hertfordshire, but I cannot help but believe that we are seeing the lady for who she truly is.

If she ever had any affection for Jane, she decidedly has none any longer and will assuredly not be promoting your sister to her brother.

I had thought, at first, that Jane saw things the way I did, but somehow she is more determined than ever to catch Mr Bingley.

She seems to realise that the sisters are no longer an avenue, so she has begun to consider other methods in which to put herself in his way.

I am horrified to say that I was required to dissuade her from a few ideas that reeked of desperation, but I shall indulge her in visiting that part of town in the hopes of accidentally encountering him, though I hesitate to do that much.

In my opinion, it would be better if Jane gave up all thought of Mr Bingley and instead set her sights upon more attainable gentlemen in our neighbourhood, but she insists that she will not ‘waste her efforts’, or those of your mother, by giving up so easily.

I shall keep you apprised of our endeavours, though rest assured that I shall also work on Jane in the hopes of persuading her of her folly.

It seemed that Jane was as in love with Mr Bingley as ever, else why would she remain so determined in her pursuit?

Elizabeth had never known her reserved, proper sister to behave in such a way, making the depth of her affections apparent.

Her heart ached anew at the damage she had wrought.

Had she, as accused, forever ruined the happiness of her most beloved sister? Would Jane ever forgive her for it?

On that score, Mrs Gardiner had nothing good to report.

Although I have been at her on this subject for several weeks now, I fear that Jane is no closer to absolving you for your indiscretion.

Forgive me—it pains me to write this to you.

As I have always said, your heart was in the right place, and Jane’s anger, while somewhat understandable, is out of proportion.

I have done my best to make her see this, but Jane is stubbornly clinging to her grudge and has now forbidden me from so much as mentioning your name in her presence.

I wanted to give her such a set-down for that but ultimately decided it was wiser to leave off for now and approach her again at a later date when she has had more time to reflect.

If Elizabeth had no notion of Jane’s propensity for determinedly chasing a gentleman from one county to the next, she had even less expected to be on the receiving end of her sister’s antipathy.

She had not thought Jane capable of such hostility towards anyone, much less her closest friend and confidante, yet apparently her transgression was so atrocious as to turn the most loyal heart black.

Miserably, Elizabeth swiped a hot tear from her cheek. She did not often resort to giving in to her sorrows, but here in her private grove where there were none about to condemn her, she allowed them free rein. Crumpling in on herself, sobs wracked her body until she was all but breathless.

The snapping of a twig from somewhere behind her startled Elizabeth from her fit of melancholy.

She sat up straighter on her stump and looked about, searching for the source of the sound and hoping it was merely a rabbit or deer passing through the grove.

Her breath hitched at the sight of a tall, dark gentleman standing beneath the white-blossomed bough of a tree.

“Mr Darcy!”