Sorry to everyone about the problem with uploaded chapters. I did contact the tech support after a few days, but it seems to have been a general problem with the site, as it apparently was happening to a bunch of authors at the same time. Fortunately it now seems to have been corrected and hopefully you will all be seeing this chapter shortly after I post it :)

I'll also be posting chapter 17 as you all deserve a short extra chapter for your patience (and it is also quite short).

Also, to my American readers especially, but to everyone in general, I've been suggesting to people on facebook in the last week Approval Voting systems as a model where we might be able to avoid the sheer unpleasantness and inevitability that a huge part of the country is extremely unhappy with the outcome that has become part of the modern process of voting. In an approval system rather than picking one candidate, each voter would be able to cast a vote for all of the candidates they would be happy to see win, so at the very least it would allow anyone to vote for a third party if they wanted to, and probably someone would win who both lots of Republicans and lots of Democrats were okay with. So look of the wikipedia, or the explanation on electionscience dot org if you have the slightest interest about geeking out about ways of democratically choosing our government that would (probably) be better and less polarizing than our current one.

Early the next morning Charlotte Lucas called on Elizabeth while she was yet at breakfast. Jane was to call around noon, and Elizabeth had decided she more looked forward to seeing her sister again than feared it.

Charlotte stomped into the breakfast room, with a look on her face like there was a dark storm cloud hovering directly above her hair, constantly pouring cold rain and snapping out lightning to make her hair frizz.

She sat down at the breakfast table across from Elizabeth. And then with the lack of formality of a dear and old friend she pulled forward a plate and put several pastries on it, but she did not take a bite.

"You'll not believe it. I cannot believe it." Charlotte's lips were pursed and angry. "I cannot believe it."

"End my suspense, Charlotte. What can you not believe."

"That villain. That villain — I never attributed to him any great character. But to leave you in this way. What a… a… Zounds. I hate men. I hate them all."

"That is," Elizabeth said quietly, "too harsh."

Mr. Darcy had left her, but he had never been her suitor, and he had done so after defending her honor in a quite misguided manner. And Elizabeth had failed in her own way. She was haunted by the memory of her parting from Mr. Darcy. She could have, and ought to have, boldy and frankly claimed to him that she would have refused Bingley and his proposal, if Bingley had proffered it.

What point was there to maidenly reserve and confusion when a matter of importance was at stake?

"No!" Charlotte insisted, angrily clapping her hands together. "You shock me. Defending him, when he jilts you like that. Jilts you I say. Heavens! You should show more spirit than that — I had not known you knew yet."

Elizabeth blinked, "About whom and what are we speaking. Mr. Bingley?"

"Mr. Bingley? Of course we are… oh…" Charlotte looked closely into Elizabeth's eyes. "Oh, oh, oh. Poor Lizzy. I told you, I told you he would never marry you. Was it Mr. Darcy who told you about Bingley? Oh, my dear friend — I had thought you had feelings for Mr. Bingley. You never speak alone to Mr. Darcy, at least not in company."

Elizabeth's tears were near the surface. "No, but he calls on Mr. Bennet often. And we have spoken together a few times during these calls… it was enough. You were right."

Charlotte seized her hands. "My poor, poor, poor Eliza. But perhaps matters are not so lost completely. Shall he and Mr. Bennet correspond — you shall be able to write those letters. Perhaps you have some hope… but no, he is too much a great gentleman, and he would never connect his family with anything disreputable."

And after saying that Charlotte rang the bell, and when the maid entered the room, "Bring a good wine from the cellars. Miss Eliza is in desperate need of something stiffer than water, despite the hour. Some days are of that sort."

"I am not," Elizabeth said with a smile playing around her lips, despite herself, "on the verge of breaking into tears. I am not so overthrown by my emotions as to make it a necessity to indulge at this early of an hour."

Charlotte pursed her lips once more. "Eliza, I think I know best what medicine you need. A drink with a friend before noon never goes amiss in such cases. You have been with me in such disappointments, and I shall be with you in this one."

"It is not so lost. Mr. Darcy did make a promise to invite us to visit Pemberley to see his library."

"No! No! You cannot follow those thoughts — hopes of a different outcome, that the man will turn his face towards you at last, you trying again and again to catch his attention — this can ruin you life for years. For more even. I've heard of girls who never move past their first love, and though he has forgotten who they are, they sigh when he goes past with his wife and children for decades into their spinsterhood. Promise me at least that you shall not do that."

Elizabeth laughed at this picture of herself. "I think that I can safely promise to not do so — but Mr. Bingley what has he done to convince you that he has jilted me, and to earn your enmity."

"That scandalous, useless little perfect piece of muslin. I see her and I want to scream. And the worst is she looks like an angel. And she wants half your dowry too."

Mrs. Hill entered the room with a bottle of wine which she presented to Charlotte's inspection for approval rather than to Elizabeth's. "Will this do for our Lizzy?"

Charlotte examined the bottle and the label from the French winery that they had purchased it from. "As Lizzy insists she is not heartbroken —"

"Do not believe a word of it. Gentlemen these days. Quarrelling, and leaving. Not like in my day. In my day they paid attention to their ladies first, and arguments with their friends second."

"I don't believe her either — an excellent year. Quite excellent. This bottle will do admirably."

Mrs. Hill removed the cork and poured Elizabeth and Charlotte each a glass, with grand ceremony, as Elizabeth stifled her laughter at the seriousness with which both women treated her 'heartbreak'.

Her heart was, at the worst, bruised. Certainly not broken.

When Mrs. Hill left the room, Elizabeth sipped the fine red wine, earthy and appropriate for the cold winter months, which left a chill on the air of the dining room even though there was a banked fire burning in the tall tile stove. They also had screens around the door, keeping off the worst of the drafts from the hallway, "Why were you insulting Jane, my sister, at length before?"

"Yes! She is making a pretence of friendship to you, and then she tries to seize your suitor."

"Charlotte…" Elizabeth bit her lip and smiled unable to help herself. Charlotte was a good, fierce friend. Always focused on loyalty to Elizabeth. "My concern is whether Jane will have her heart broken by Bingley — I doubt she even knows that Bingley was generally regarded as my property. I did talk with Mr. Bingley rather too much, and it was too easy to do so."

"I still shall hate Jane forever for taking your lover."

Elizabeth coughed over a swallow of the excellent wine. "Goodness, no! She is my sister."

The sound of a carriage rolling up to the front door interrupted their newly alcoholic breakfast.

"Besides, she is here to call," Elizabeth added, "You shall meet her with an open mind, and say nothing about Bingley jilting me — if anything, she did me a favor by allowing me to avoid the awkwardness of refusing him."

Charlotte sniffed. "If you do insist, I shall say nothing against her. But goodness, I swear not to like her. She is too pretty by far."

As matters happened it took only the course of half of an hour for Jane's ingenious sweetness to melt Charlotte's determined reserve. Charlotte was herself a sweetheart, of course.

After the awkwardness of the early meeting had passed, Charlotte asked for Elizabeth a question that Elizabeth could confess a curiosity to, but which she was much too polite to directly ask. "You are the sister of my dearest friend," Charlotte began, "and Mr. Bennet has been kind to me for so many years as well."

"Oh has he! What can you tell me about of him? Not that… well I have already decided I like Papa Bennet very much. He has been astonishingly kind to me. But what do you see him as? Does he have other interests besides his books?"

"He is a most loving father to Elizabeth. And he cares a great deal for those who are kind to her. But tell me, why are you here now? I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but my concern for Eliza leads me to rudeness: She has a substantial dowry accumulated by Mr. Bennet which some might think ought to be divided equally betwixt the two of you."

"Oh, yes. Mrs. Yates said something about that —" Jane blinked and gasped. "You think I just want to know Papa Bennet to gain money! No, no, no. But I cannot even blame you for such a suspicion. Papa Yates always said one must watch out for men who are only interested in themselves. But it is not that at all."

"Not at all. So Elizabeth's dowry never crossed your mind? Is there money for you from Mr. Yates?"

"Well, I do not care. No matter what Mama says, I don't think it would be fairer at all. Papa Bennet saved all that sum of money for you. And he knew I was alive this whole time. If he had wanted me to have a portion of it, he could have established that. Not that it does not hurt a little. But it also is fair. Papa Yates raised me, and was the best father for me that he could be, and Mama has ample money to leave me, so I do not need to worry, though Lydia is the heiress."

"Oh?" Charlotte asked. "You do not mind if I ask what were the arrangements."

"Oh I hardly know, but Lydia was his child, so it is only fair that she get most of Mr. Yates's money. I certainly am not bitter about that, no matter what Miss Rawls said."

"Miss Rawls?" Elizabeth now asked with a hidden smile.

"Oh, Miss Rawls. She was my dearest friend. But she always thought I deserved more. I only was given a thousand pounds by Mr. Yates. Lydia had, after the business was sold, a full fifteen thousand, though only half that sum immediately. The rest after Mama dies. And Mama has five thousand from her fortune from Mama's father, and she will leave that to me when I die. So that is a neat amount — I think. I never was very good with numbers. Papa Yates's business had done very well in the last years." She sighed and hung her head. "I still cry from missing him. But nothing like Mama. She is very sad."

"So you think," Elizabeth said, unable to keep amusement from her voice, "That it was fair of Mr. Yates to give you much less than his natural daughter in the will, since after all Miss Lydia —"

Jane wagged her finger. "We are all sisters. You should call her Lydie. Or at least Lydia."

Elizabeth laughed. "It was fair in your view of Mr. Yates to give you barely anything, and also fair of Papa to give you nothing either."

"Yes!" Jane blinked at the way the two other girls looked at her. "What?"

"We are wondering," Charlotte said cautiously, "If this is a pretence."

"Why would I pretend about such a thing? Of course it is fair."

"So you do not think Eliza's dowry should be split with you?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Jane breathed in agreement. "I quite think it is a terrible notion. Anyone can see how close you and Papa Bennet are. The way you two speak to each other, knowing all the same fancy allusions. I am quite envious that I never knew Papa Bennet — though I have no head for all of that learning. I have my accomplishments," Jane lowered her voice and laughed ashamedly, "French, but an accent no native can understand, and Italian so that I can sing well enough for my friends. I am told I sing very prettily — even that friend of yours, Mr. Bingley — he is such a nice man, I sang for him when he called on us. A very nice gentleman, is he not?"

"He is a nice and personable gentleman." Elizabeth kicked Charlotte's leg as she was clearly about to say something mean about Bingley. Then Elizabeth added, with the dispassionate attitude of a woman who cared nothing for the man who apparently was generally being spoken about in town as though he had jilted her, "Do you think he likes you very much?"

"Oh! I could never hope so much." Jane sighed dreamily. "He is such a kind gentleman though."

"Yes," Charlotte said with what Elizabeth recognized was a sarcasm that she intentionally did not want Jane to hear. "No one could hold anything against his good nature."

"Oh you really think so?" Jane's eyes were so pleading, and so sincere when she looked at Charlotte. The older woman coughed and mumbled something inaudible in reply.

Elizabeth shrugged.

It wasn't her place to warn the sister who had just appeared in her life about Mr. Bingley's unsteady tendencies. And Elizabeth did not even know if Bingley was being unsteady. After all he hadn't ever done anything that made it absolutely clear that he had been thinking of Elizabeth in a marital mode.

If Jane made other friends in the neighborhood, Elizabeth was sure one of them would tell the story about Mr. Bingley and her, and from that Jane could draw her own conclusion.

"I always knew it was Lydia as the heiress who would get the most attention — though I am well set up. I want for nothing. But…" Jane sighed dreamily. "Mr. Bingley is such a well mannered gentleman."

"And handsome," Elizabeth said with something in the back of her mind that was rather like viciousness, "which a gentleman ought to be if he can manage it."

Charlotte coughed.

Despite Jane's appearance of goodness, a part of Elizabeth wanted her unhappy. That part also was convinced that Bingley would jilt Jane.

Thus both the kindly part of Elizabeth, which would be pleased to see the sweet girl make a match of it with Bingley, and the mean part of her were agreed in encouraging Jane towards the questionable gentleman.

Mr. Bingley must feel something genuine for Jane. After all he tossed a blooming English rose to the ground without a thought for her sake — and then quarrelled with Darcy. That part surprised Elizabeth. She had the impression that Mr. Bingley placed the highest reliance on Darcy's judgement.

"Do not tease me!" Jane cried. But then she smiled. "Or do tease me. I do want us to be like sisters, though I know…"

"We are sisters." Elizabeth replied. "But I must plumb the depths of your character: How well do you like Shakespeare?"

"Oh, yes! Very much."

"Now that," Charlotte said, "Will place you in better stead with our Eliza than near anything else you could have said."

"Papa Yates would often read to us from Shakespeare in the evenings," Jane smiled happily. "It was great fun when he would make the voices, and sometimes he would have me or Lydia or Mama read out the passages where the women spoke. I especially liked Portia: 'The quality of mercy is not strained, it gentle droppeth as the rain from heaven It blesseth him that gives and him that takes… " Jane frowned and shook her head. "I know I am mangling the speech, and forgetting a great deal. But I liked it very much."

Elizabeth shook her head with an indulgent smile. It was very like Jane to adore a passage about being nicer to people than they deserved. "Is the Merchant of Venice then your favorite play?"

"No," Jane laughed. "I hardly know which I like the most. Many of them are so very good. Hamlet is so shocking. I adore the Tempest… my favorite though is Othello. So terribly sad, how they love each other so very much, but their love ends with so much sadness and such a terrible death for her — if only people always believed the best about each other, the world would be a very much better place, I think."

Charlotte nodded seriously, and Elizabeth knew a little sarcastically. "Yes, if only everyone was always kind and nice then things would be kind and nice."

"Oh, yes." Jane agreed. "That is what I always say!"

This, Elizabeth decided, showed Mr. and Mrs. Yates's influence on Jane. Of course she would be taught to like the story about a husband who was wrong to be suspicious of his wife. "I am one, sir, that comes to tell you, your daughter and the Moor are now making the beast with two backs."

Jane blinked blankly at Elizabeth.

"From Othello," Elizabeth said. "You do not recall that line?"

"Whatever does it mean? Such a vivid image, the beast with two b-b-backs…" Jane's face flared completely red. The blush extended down her neck and under the lace collar of her dress. "Horrible! That is in Othello?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied with asperity.

Jane looked like a fish out of water, her mouth opening and closing helplessly. "Horrible. No wonder Papa Yates only read to us with Bowdler's version."

Charlotte started laughing as Elizabeth backed as far as she could into her chair to get away from Jane in her sudden revulsion.

"The Family Shakespeare! You used The Family Shakespeare?" Without conscious thought Elizabeth's hands turned into claws. "Mr. Yates made you read The Family Shakespeare."

"Well, it is quite clear he was right to do so." Jane replied primly. "That… line is quite beyond what any proper girl would read."

"That line is one of Shakespeare's greatest phrasings — it captures in one sentence how Iago thought about Othello, about women and marital congress, and how he is a snivelling parvenu. The entire play is encapsulated in that line — it expresses perfectly the beastial portion of our nature and the way that our lusts can make us less than human, and thus Shakespeare says something as profound about the human condition as any words written by the Greek. Lines like that are why Shakespeare is the glory of the English language, and the best excuse for our sodden, rain soaked isle."

"You adore Shakespeare." Jane tilted her head thoughtfully. "I like to hear you so passionate, even if I would not want to have a book with such a line in it. It is like how you yelled at Mama, though you were wrong about her too."

"I am not wrong about Shakespeare."

Jane smiled beatifically. "No, but I also am not wrong, I think. There is beauty and power in that line — you convince me of that — but not a respectable sort of beauty."

"I don't avoid Mama — Mrs. Yates — because she is not respectable."

"Oh, you do do her wrong. She always spoke about you, and longed for you. And when we saw Mrs. Phillips in London when we visited Uncle Gardiner three years before, Mama spent the entire first day asking her about you."

"I barely ever speak to Mrs. Phillips."

"She is such a sweet woman. Very good natured and friendly to everyone. You should."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"So you see, Mama does love you, and she never wanted to leave you, and —"

"I would rather have been drowned like a kitten than grown up in a house with a mutilated Shakespeare."

Jane giggled in response. "You would not!"

It was impossible to resist Jane's surprising warmth in response to Elizabeth's annoyance. Elizabeth flutteringly sighed and laughed. "I confess, that would perhaps be too much for the cause."

"You might like Mama!" Jane added, "But you must decide for yourself. I am glad you at least like me."

Elizabeth had said no such thing to Jane, but despite all, she admitted to herself that she liked her sister very much indeed.