Page 61 of The Riches of a Life Well-Lived

Wednesday, December 4, 1811—15 Days after Tuesday

Elizabeth plucked a leaf from one of the trees along the trail to the stream. It had been eight days since she had seen Mr. Darcy, and they had been uncomfortable ones indeed. In addition to addressing all the issues with Longbourn’s tenants, she had returned to the quest to save her sisters by spending more time with them. Lydia was ignoring her though, loudly speaking over her anytime she tried to say something in her sister’s presence.

In addition to that irritant, Mr. Wickham had apparently begun a campaign to malign Mr. Darcy’s name. Elizabeth scoffed. So much for remaining silent out of love for Mr. Darcy’s father. Fortunately, her uncle knew the truth and had refuted the rumour when her aunt had brought it up at dinner the other night. It was just... how many people would think ill of Mr. Darcy when he returned? Hopefully none of the folk he had befriended on Tuesday. It would hurt him a great deal to have those he considered friendly acquaintances actively dislike him.

At least Jane had succeeded. Using Mr. Bingley’s absence as an excuse to prepare (just in case he returned with other wealthy, unmarried, young gentlemen), she had convinced Mrs. Bennet to teach the five of them about running a household. Lydia often skipped out on such lessons, but Kitty had appeared quite thoughtful when the costs of running a household were laid out side by side with the incomes of various potential husbands. Even Mrs. Bennet had admitted that, though men in red coats might make one’s heart flutter and that she herself had dreamt of marrying one when she was Lydia’s age, marrying anyone of a rank lower than a colonel was impractical.

Elizabeth sank down on a fallen log and pulled out her sketchbook. A squirrel scrabbled in the earth at the base of a tree, presumably trying to find its cache of nuts, and birds twittered their contentment with the mild day.

Though she would be late for breakfast, she remained seated on the log, watching the shifting water of the stream, ignoring the chill seeping into her bones. It was so strange: after weeks of longing to escape Tuesday and to interact with others, she still found it difficult to endure people. She did not wish to be alone, as she was heartily tired of being alone; yet, whenever she was around others, she had to consciously avoid making excuses to slip away.

Elizabeth shifted restlessly, the rustle of the dead leaves making the squirrel freeze. That was her. Still frozen, despite being able to move through time.

Jane’s soothing presence had been a great comfort over the past two weeks, but Longbourn remained a place she knew and yet no longer quite belonged. Her father continued to provoke her mother with little comments about Mr. Collins, apparently delighting in his wife’s complaints. Not to mention that news of the Bingleys’ departure had reached Mama, and she now pressed Jane every day to see if she had received further news from Miss Bingley, never mind the fact that Jane had not received any letters at all.

As her father’s study was no longer a haven, Elizabeth had spent more time out of doors or with her sisters than ever before, dragging Kitty and Mary on short walks around the garden and accompanying them into Meryton. She had continued to visit the tenants, practise drawing, play duets with Mary, and speak with Jane solely in French for an hour a day. It seemed to be spawning some interest in learning the language, at least in Kitty. Mary had even commented that some fascinating theological treatises were available only in French, and perhaps she ought to brush up on her French as well.

Elizabeth absently shaded in the bird’s wing. Drawing was something she could do outdoors. It was so different to know that the picture would remain tomorrow. It had even inspired her to try a larger sketch, knowing that she could continue it later.

“Are you all right, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth jumped, dropping the charcoal, and whipped around. Jane stood at the edge of the clearing.

“Sorry, I did not mean to startle you.”

Elizabeth stood. “It is all right. Is everything well?”

“I believe I asked that question first,” Jane said with a small smile.

“What are you doing out here? Breakfast will be served soon, will it not?” Elizabeth said, picking up her fallen charcoal.

Jane gave her a wry smile. “At least you are aware of when breakfast begins, even if you have been late every day this week.”

“It is only Wednesday.”

“Still, two days in a row is unusual. Are you well?”

Elizabeth slumped back onto the log, chin resting on her hand. “I do not know.” She gave her sister a forced smile. “Nothing a moment with my Jane cannot cure.” She patted the log next to her.

Jane gingerly picked her way over the muddy ground and sat, her bearing turning the log into the height of elegance. She faced Elizabeth. “Now, truly, what is wrong? You have been out of sorts since Wednesday two weeks ago.”

Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.

Jane chuckled. “Yes, I am aware of the significance of that date. But I do not believe your disquiet is solely due to the return of time.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I am adjusting to being free of the repetitions. And I miss Mr. Darcy. And I wish our family were not so....”

“Eccentric?” Jane suggested.

“Papa has been terrible to Mama lately.”

“He is just trying to help her see that marrying Mr. Collins is not the only solution to the entail.”

Elizabeth stared at her sister. If only Mr. Darcy were here. He would understand how truly despicable her father’s behaviour was. “Mama is genuinely terrified of the entail, Jane. I saw it during the repetitions. She complains all the time that Papa ought to do something about it and about how ashamed Mr. Collins should be for inheriting Longbourn, because her worry leaves her less than rational. And Papa does not take the trouble to correct her, leaving her to believe that he could ‘appeal to Parliament,’ but chooses not to.” She watched the squirrel dig up another acorn. Even he knew enough to prepare for winter.

“Her disappointment does make her a little shrill,” Jane said. “I am sorry that you are bearing the brunt of her distress when we are equally to blame.”

Elizabeth shifted to face Jane fully. “How are you to blame?”

“I did not secure Mr. Bingley. If I had, Mama would not be so troubled,” Jane said, refusing to meet Elizabeth’s eyes.

Elizabeth sighed. “I suppose one could argue that. However, Mr. Bingley left without proposing, despite his marked attentions. Is Mama’s distress his fault as well?”

“Do not be ridiculous.”

“I am serious. After all, he raised Mama’s hopes and then left.”

Jane’s breath hitched. “He may have merely intended kindness with his attention and, after my behaviour at the ball, wishes to spare my feelings. Or perhaps his business in London has taken longer than he anticipated and he will still return.”

“Perhaps. Regardless, I do not believe you ought to blame yourself. Mr. Bingley and the rest of his family are more than capable of making their own decisions. You did not warn them away, did you?”

Jane shook her head, her gaze now fixed on her skirt. “Not intentionally anyway.”

“Well, then I doubt Mr. Bingley’s behaviour has much to do with you.”

“I suppose. Still, Mama does not need to harangue you for turning down Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “She is afraid. I expected as much when I rejected him. I am not surprised.” Her father’s behaviour was far more disturbing.

“Then why have you been skipping breakfast?” Jane asked, holding out her hand as though simultaneously offering comfort and begging for an answer.

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand and then busied herself with repacking her sketchbook and charcoals. “I am—ill-at-ease, I suppose.”

Jane sighed. “I have never been caught in a series of repetitions, but I imagine that the adjustment would be considerable. Is that truly all? Are you worried that Mr. Darcy will not come back?”

“No,” Elizabeth said quickly. Then she gave herself a minute to think. “He is not that sort of gentleman. He will return, even if it is only to tell me that he has changed his mind—though that outcome is unlikely.”

“I see.”

“I suppose I am just restless. I miss him, and between Mama’s complaints, Papa’s amusement, and Lydia’s rudeness, breakfast is uncomfortable.”

Jane’s brow furrowed. “Why is Lydia upset with you?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “You know as much as I. She refuses to tell me more than that I ‘already know what I did.’” She sighed. “It is difficult to divine what I may or may not have done without any further information.”

“Perhaps I shall ask her. It has been a few days now, which is more than Lydia’s tempers usually last for.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, shall we go to breakfast?” Jane asked, standing up and holding out a hand.

Elizabeth cringed.

“Lizzy, how will you ever adjust to being around our family again if you do not spend more than five minutes in their presence?”

“I do! I spent more than an hour with Kitty yesterday, and Mary and I played two duets.”

Jane sighed. “Elizabeth, you know that I referred to spending time with them as a whole.” She returned to the log. “What precisely do you mean by readjusting?”

Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on the stream. “I do not know. Becoming comfortable with time moving again, with being around others than Mr. Darcy, with getting used to the idea that my sketches will last until tomorrow, mistakes and all.”

Jane squeezed her sister’s arm. “You are not expecting everything to go back to the way it was, are you?”

Elizabeth hesitated, examining her thoughts on the matter. She would not have phrased it that way, but perhaps.... Was that what she was doing?

“You will probably regain many of your previous habits—after all, you lived with normal time for the majority of your life—but, Lizzy, you cannot expect things to return to how they were before Tuesday. Just as I cannot expect you to be precisely the same person you were before the repetitions.”

Elizabeth’s eyes flew to her sister. “I had not thought—is this hard for you, Jane?”

Jane gave a slight shrug. “It is different. I cannot always predict your behaviour anymore. You are still you, and yet you have changed.”

“I am sorry. I did not even consider that the repetitions might have caused you pain.”

“I am not telling you to gain your sympathy,” Jane said. “I am merely suggesting that you reconsider what ‘readjusting’ means to you. If it means going back to being the person you were before or returning to the relationships you had, I am not sure that is possible. Sometimes―” Jane took a deep breath. “Sometimes people change the way you look at the world and you cannot ever go back.”

Elizabeth studied her sister with concern. “Mr. Bingley?”

Jane gave her a small smile and nodded. “He is everything one could wish for in a potential husband. I believe I shall hereafter measure every man against him. Even if he does not return, knowing that such a worthy man exists changes my view of the world.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “And your contention that I ought to be more open with my feelings has―” She gave Elizabeth a bright smile that looked far too forced. “It has given me much to think about.”

Elizabeth pulled her sister into a hug, wishing she could take away Jane’s pain. As a result of Jane’s more open demeanour at the ball, half the neighbourhood was proclaiming that she had been practically jilted and busybodies everywhere, not just their mother, had asked after her heart. Poor Jane. If Mr. Bingley did not return to claim her, Elizabeth would be tempted to have Mr. Darcy give him a piece of her mind.

But then again, if Mr. Bingley did not return, he would not be a man worthy of Jane.

“I am sorry. I wish there were something I could do to help,” she said into Jane’s shoulder.

Jane smiled. “You are doing something just by being here, by reminding me that my hopes may have been disappointed, but it is merely another lesson. I may have misunderstood his feelings.”

“Jane! He was clearly besotted―”

Jane chuckled. “I believe, Sister dear, that you may be slightly biased in my favour. He may have been only kind.”

Elizabeth scoffed. “He is a fool if he does not return.”

“Perhaps.” Jane took a deep breath. “I shall not repine in the meantime. Now, shall we go to breakfast? I asked Cook to serve it fifteen minutes later than usual, and if we hurry, we shall be on time.”

Elizabeth made a face just thinking of another meal, surrounded by her parents and Lydia, but she allowed Jane to drag her along.

Once they returned to Longbourn, Elizabeth and Jane slipped into the breakfast room, Mr. Bennet following after them.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet cried from where she was already seated.

Elizabeth settled herself at the table, resigned to another morning of silence. Though Jane did her best to keep the peace and even Kitty and Mary appeared uncomfortable with Lydia’s latest behaviour, Lydia had remained unaffected. Mr. Bennet had only commented that between his wife’s complaints and Lydia’s incessant shouting, it was a wonder he did not have a permanent headache.

“Yes, my dear?” Mr. Bennet said, beginning to serve himself.

Mrs. Bennet leaned forward as though she could reach him from the opposite end of the table. “Mr. Bingley is to return! Tomorrow!”

“What do you mean? How do you know, Mama?” Lydia asked.

Mrs. Bennet smiled widely. “Well, Mrs. Hill just informed me that when she sent Betsey to market, Betsey heard that Mrs. Nicholls told Mrs. Morris that Netherfield was to be opened again for Mr. Bingley’s return tomorrow.”

“Oh, la! You shall not be jilted any longer, Jane!” Lydia said.

Kitty nodded vigorously.

Jane paled, and Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand under the table.

“What of Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.

For once, Lydia was too interested in the question to talk over her.

Mrs. Bennet frowned. “I do not know. But it may be that she will return too, either now or perhaps later. We shall just have to see. It would be too bad if she remained in London, especially since she has been such a dear friend to Jane.”

Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand again. That letter had not been the act of a dear friend. She only hoped that Mr. Bingley would be honest with Jane when he arrived.

Thursday, December 5, 1811—16 Days after Tuesday

“It is Mr. Bingley!” Kitty yelled from the window.

“Mr. Bingley? What?” Mrs. Bennet said, throwing down the needlepoint she regularly held as evidence of her industry and bustling over to the window. “It is Mr. Bingley! Jane, love, hurry up and straighten your gown.”

Around the room, the five daughters hurried to stow their various projects and to create an atmosphere of cheerful domesticity. Their cheeks flushed and their skirts barely smoothed, they stood as Mrs. Hill announced Mr. Bingley.

He smiled at all of them, and Elizabeth fancied his smile was a tad brighter towards Jane. “Good morning. I hope it is not too early to call.”

“No, not at all. We were just saying how very glad we would be to have someone call to break up the monotony of the day,” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Good. That is—good.”

“We are very glad to see you, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, giving him a welcoming smile.

Mrs. Bennet gestured for him to sit in the chair next to Jane, and the rest of them sat down as well. “And how did you find London, Mr. Bingley?”

“London? It was thoroughly enjoyable, though I did miss my friends here,” he said, looking at Jane.

Mrs. Bennet’s smile took on a proprietary edge. “I am glad you enjoyed your time there and even gladder that you have returned. The neighbourhood has not been the same without you. People did say you might not come back at all. Depend upon it, I told them, I am certain that his business is just taking a bit longer than expected.”

Mr. Bingley nodded. “Yes.”

“That is always the way of business, is it not?” Mrs. Bennet continued. “It takes far more time than one had allotted.”

He nodded again and returned his attention to Jane. “Tell me, Miss Bennet, what is the news of the neighbourhood? Has much changed?”

Jane opened her mouth, but then Mrs. Bennet cut in with, “Oh, Mr. Bingley, a calamity has occurred: Miss Lucas is engaged to Mr. Collins!”

Mr. Bingley politely shifted his attention to look at Mrs. Bennet. “Engaged to Mr. Collins? How is that a calamity?”

Mrs. Bennet glared at Elizabeth. “You are familiar with the entail.”

It was not a question, but Mr. Bingley nodded.

“It is the most wretched thing imaginable! If I were a man, I would surely do something about it―”

Elizabeth nearly buried her face in her hands as her mother unfolded her tale of woe and expounded on how ungrateful her second daughter was. Fortunately, Mrs. Bennet’s desire to promote conversation between Mr. Bingley and Jane quickly overwhelmed her desire to complain about Elizabeth, and Jane was able to mention a few little things that had happened in his absence. Mrs. Bennet then prodded him about his plans, and Mr. Bingley admitted that he was unsure precisely how long he would be in Hertfordshire but considered himself quite fixed here for the moment.

He looked over at Elizabeth. “My friend, Mr. Darcy, is still in London fulfilling a commission, but he intends to return as soon as possible. He has missed, er, Hertfordshire greatly since Tuesday.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened—Mr. Darcy had told Mr. Bingley about Tuesday? She smiled at the message’s content. Mr. Darcy must have asked his friend to reassure her that his intentions had not changed. “Hertfordshire will be glad of his return,” Elizabeth said.

“Mr. Bingley, you are quite in my debt for a family dinner.” Mrs. Bennet interjected. “Would tomorrow night be convenient? I would hate for you to have to dine at Netherfield all alone.”

He coloured slightly. “I would be glad to dine with you tomorrow night. It is a bit lonely by myself,” he told Jane.

“I imagine so. Without congenial company, food loses much of its flavour, does it not?” Jane said, jumping in before her mother could reply.

“Indeed.” He returned his attention to Mrs. Bennet. “And I am certain that with such congenial company as your lovely family, your family dinners must sate the appetite more fully than dinner with a king.”

Mrs. Bennet simpered. “I am known for my dinners throughout the countryside. Do not worry that a family dinner with us will be less than satisfying!”

He nodded, despite the hint of confusion on his face.

Elizabeth winced as her mother entirely missed the compliment.

“Are your sisters returning soon?” Mrs. Bennet asked. “Jane was so distraught to lose their excellent company.”

Mr. Bingley hesitated, then gave what looked like a forced smile. “They are currently inundated with invitations in London. I do not know when they may return.”

“Ah, well, then you must consider Longbourn your second home,” Mrs. Bennet said with a wide smile. “You are welcome to attend family dinners as often as you choose.”

Mr. Bingley glanced over at Jane.

“We would be more than happy to have you, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said warmly.

Mr. Bingley’s smile grew. “Then I shall be pleased to join you.”