Page 24 of The Happiness of a Most Beloved Sister (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“ I shall be at Rosings again for most of the morning, condoling with her ladyship.” Charlotte made a slight noise of agreement when her husband paused in his speech but did not otherwise pay him any heed and remained devoted to consuming her breakfast. Despite this apparent lack of interest, Mr Collins was encouraged to continue, “Although it has been the better part of a week since he abruptly departed, she remains desolate that Mr Darcy has left for town without fixing any specifics for his wedding with Miss de Bourgh, and she requires all my powers of succour.”

Upon hearing Darcy’s name, Elizabeth experienced a sharp pang.

Not on Miss de Bourgh’s behalf but her own; during the fortnight he had been in the neighbourhood she had come to depend upon his company, both in Lady Catherine’s drawing room and on her daily walks.

Without his presence, there was something lacking in each, and she quite missed her friend.

So much, in fact, that she had taken to carrying about the stone he had bequeathed to her; it was, even now, securely tucked away in her gown pocket where she could reach for it at a moment’s notice.

Friend! It was not so long ago that I disliked him very much. How utterly my opinion of him has changed since coming to know him better.

And come to know him she had. Elizabeth was hard pressed to think of anyone, save perhaps Charlotte, that she understood better than Darcy. She might have once included Jane on that exclusive list, but recently…

What had taken years to grow in the former case, the latter seemed to have blossomed in mere weeks.

Elizabeth attributed this to the breadth and depth of their conversations, the intimate quality of their discourse, which had done the work that time alone could not.

They had shared woes and laughter, spoken of the concerns closest to their hearts, and generally behaved in an unreserved manner that unmarried men and women rarely enjoyed.

Were it not for her resolve to never marry a man who confounded her good sense with dubious sensibility, she might be in some danger.

While Mr Collins waxed long on duty to one’s family and Darcy’s inexcusable reluctance to come to the point with Miss de Bourgh—which, she had on good authority, Lady Catherine was destined to be disappointed by—Elizabeth exchanged a look over the teapot with Charlotte.

If she were not mistaken, her friend had subtly rolled her eyes before demurely lowering them and saying, “Too true, my dear.” It was all Elizabeth could do to keep her countenance, and she was forced to hide her smirk behind her cup.

The housekeeper bustled in, interrupting the master’s increasingly indignant tirade, and began parcelling out the daily post. A few went to Mr Collins, a greater number to Charlotte, and one to Maria before Mrs Hobbs delivered the last to Elizabeth.

She then swept from the room at the same harried pace with which she had entered, leaving them to finish their meal.

Seeing her aunt’s direction on the front, Elizabeth set the missive beside her plate, not wishing to disrupt her digestion with any ill tidings of Jane.

A quick glance at the clock saw Mr Collins jump from his seat, declaring, “Why, it is nearly ten! Lady Catherine expects me within a quarter of an hour, and she will be most displeased if I am tardy.” He then raced out of the room, demanding his hat and walking stick.

The slam of the front door was heard soon thereafter, and Elizabeth presumed he was off to Rosings at an unnecessarily hasty clip.

The ladies, by contrast, finished their breakfast at a leisurely pace before abandoning the table for Charlotte’s cosy parlour.

Once they were all settled in their favourite chairs, it was mutually agreed that they would spend some time perusing their letters before attending to other tasks.

Elizabeth withdrew Mrs Gardiner’s from her gown pocket—fondly stroking the edge of the flower stone with her fingertips as they skimmed past it—released the seal, and began to read with little expectation of pleasure.

On that score, she was pleasantly surprised.

My dear Lizzy,

You will hardly believe it, but Mr Bingley has called upon Jane!

Even as I write, I cannot quite believe it myself, for I had thought your sister’s hopes in that direction entirely lost. And yet, as I live and breathe, Mr Bingley arrived on our doorstep just yesterday to present himself to our notice, full of apologies and explanations for his absence.

Apparently, those sisters of his never informed him of Jane’s being in town—as we have long suspected—accounting for his not coming before now.

When asked how he had come to learn of it, he said it had all been his friend Mr Darcy’s doing.

Elizabeth’s eyes, which had been hungrily devouring the words on the page, halted to a stop on Darcy’s name. She stared at the letters that formed it for so long that they began to blur together and became unreadable, yet somehow she still could not quite comprehend their import.

Darcy… he has brought about this incredible event? But why? Last we spoke, he did not approve of Mr Bingley’s attachment to Jane.

Although she doubted, told herself that it was impossible, her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. And what does that mean?

Blinking to dispel the sudden sting in her eyes, Elizabeth returned to her aunt’s letter.

I suppose it is too soon to place much faith in Mr Bingley’s continued attentions, but I shall say that his behaviour is promising.

He absolutely doted on Jane during the half hour he spent with us; so much so that I was inspired to invite him to dine tomorrow.

I still hold reservations, but for the first time I am hopeful that your sister might achieve her heart’s desire after all.

Jane, of course, is absolutely glowing with joy upon seeing Mr Bingley again.

I have cautioned her to guard her heart lest it be bruised by a second defection, but I do not believe she hears me.

Regardless, it is good to see her in better spirits, for I am heartily sick of her irascible mood of late .

It is my further hope that this revolution in circumstances will induce her to let bygones be bygones and absolve you.

I have spoken to her about it, but she would not hear me on that subject either.

Given her recent melancholy, I did not like to press, but I shall continue in my endeavours on your behalf.

The missive went on to provide more description of Mr Bingley’s visit as well as news of the children, who had scribbled charming little drawings in the margins, before closing with love.

Elizabeth lowered it to her lap, rather benumbed by what she had read.

There were too many things to think and feel; how was she ever to sort them out?

Mr Bingley returning to Jane…Darcy arranging the reunion…

possible amnesty on the horizon. It was everything she had wanted since November, yet she also did not trust it; was it all too good to be true?

A tentative touch to her arm recalled her attention to the present. “Lizzy? Have you received bad news?”

Elizabeth looked up to find both Charlotte and Maria, the latter of whom was just then withdrawing her arm, observing her with quizzical concern. “No, the news is good. I-I have received word from my aunt that Mr Bingley has called upon Jane in London.”

Maria straightened and gave a little cheer, clapping her hands together. Charlotte looked stunned, yet pleased, and congratulated her on Jane’s good fortune. “If he has come back, surely he intends to propose. He would have stayed away otherwise.”

“It is too soon to be assured of anything,” Elizabeth replied, though she wished Charlotte to be right, “but there is now some hope, which is more than we had before.”

Charlotte nodded and agreed that Elizabeth was wise to temper her expectations. “But how does your sister feel about this development?”

“Jane, naturally, is overjoyed.”

“Of course she is!” cried Maria, twirling about in place. “It is so romantic!”

Elizabeth and Charlotte looked to one another, each with a sceptical twist to their lips, but did not contradict her.

In Elizabeth’s opinion, there was hardly anything ‘romantic’ about being abandoned for nearly six months then approached again as if nothing had ever happened.

A bit of steadiness was to be preferred in one’s lover.

Howbeit, she left this much unsaid so as not to spoil the moment.

“And now Jane must forgive you,” Maria continued, resuming her seat. “Mr Bingley has come back, and all has ended happily. She cannot remain angry with you when she is so content.”

Elizabeth stroked the smooth centre of the stone in her pocket as she absently perused her aunt’s missive. “I hope you are correct.”