"Finally awake I see," Jane commented the moment she saw her sister careening sleepily into the kitchen, her eyes squinted against the late morning light that streamed in through the window above the sink.
"Coffee," Elizabeth muttered in response. "Need coffee."
"I made some for you," Jane replied. "That pot is fairly fresh."
"I wouldn't care if it were from yesterday." Elizabeth seized the pot and a pale blue mug, pouring from one into the other. A moment later she was making a low growl of frustration as she discovered the sugar bowl to be empty.
Jane said nothing since she did not take sugar in either tea or coffee and could not be blamed for it. She was drinking tea now, a stack of papers before her, childish scrawls of sums visible even from a few feet away.
"I will never get used to this work," Elizabeth groaned, opening cabinet doors almost at random, as though she could not quite remember where the sugar was kept or what she was looking for. She was always somewhat scattered in the mornings and the change in her schedule seemed to have enhanced the trait.
"I have some news," Jane stated calmly, her fingers wrapping around the delicate base of her tea cup.
Elizabeth stopped rummaging long enough to give her sister a sharp look. There had been something in Jane's tone that seemed to warn that the news wouldn't be particularly welcome. "You're not going to marry that Bingle guy are you?" she demanded, frowning.
Jane blushed, lowering her eyes to study her cup of tea. "No!" she protested. "Not yet anyhow."
Elizabeth gave another measured look to her sister and then nodded once, sharply, as if to signal that she would believe Jane for the moment. Then she was back to clattering around in the cupboards for the sugar. "So then – aha! here it is – what is this news?"
The older woman hesitated. Elizabeth was holding her mug of coffee in one hand and groping in a drawer for a spoon to stir in cream and sugar. At Jane's prolonged silence, Elizabeth turned just enough to arch an inquiring eyebrow.
"I had dinner with Charles Bingley last night." She emphasized his last name slightly in gentle reproof of Elizabeth's getting it wrong earlier. "And he introduced me to his particular friend."
"Was it a woman?" Elizabeth asked, finally carrying her coffee to the table and taking a seat. She lounged in her chair, stretching her legs to rest on an unused chair.
"No," Jane admitted. "It was Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth paused, coffee cup halfway to her lips, blinking. Then she took a deliberate sip, grimacing, though whether at the coffee or the thought of Mr. Darcy it was difficult to say.
"I see," was all she said.
"Is that all you have to say?" Jane demanded in surprise.
The younger woman shrugged. "I don't see how it should affect me," she pointed out, a touch of asperity in her voice. "I hardly think I'll have any reason to go anywhere with you and Mr. Bingley. And while I might question his taste in friends, I can hardly hold it against him that he does associate with Mr. Darcy. They are both men of business, are they not?"
"Well," Jane stammered. "That is all very true and I am pleased you are being so level-headed about it. I admit I had some concerns." Here, she blushed, green eyes apologetic.
Elizabeth laughed. "I appreciate the solidarity, dear Jane! But as it is unlikely in the extreme that I myself would ever have to confront that odious man, I shall merely pity you for those times you must endure it."
If anything, Jane blushed even more fiercely now, her eyes glues to her teacup. "But eventually, perhaps," she began and then trailed off. "I mean, if things continue as they have been…"
All humor left Elizabeth in an instant. She sat up very straight, planning both of her feet on the floor beneath her chair. "What is this?" she breathed, hardly daring to speak her conclusion aloud. "Do you have hopes of this Charles? Marriage, I mean?"
"Nothing has been spoken of openly between us," Jane said hastily. Her cheeks were flushed with a rich red color, and the manner in which she brought her gaze up to meet Elizabeth's could only be called embarrassedly determined. "But I do like him a very great deal and he seems to feel the same way about me."
"Well," Elizabeth didn't even try to hide her surprise. "This all seems very fast, Jane."
"It does," Jane agreed, seeming more composed now that she had confessed. "But I am being careful to guard how much I feel, especially around him. I just don't want his friendship with Mr. Darcy to be a source of stress for you; if things progress as I think they may, we shall both eventually be in company with both of them."
Elizabeth's nod was somewhat absent and Jane set her teacup down to reach her hands across the table. "Am I asking too much in asking you to accept the possibility, Dearest? You know I would not if I didn't think it very important."
On the words, Elizabeth seemed to snap back to the present. "Oh, Jane," she cried, squeezing her elder sister's hands in response. "Of course it is not too much to ask! I only hope you will be very happy. And that Mr. Bingley is worthy of you, for I could not bear to lose you to him if he is not."
Jane smiled in return. "He is, Lizzy, and I should like very much for you to meet him yourself."
"I should like that as well," Elizabeth said decisively. "So long as he is not permitted to invite any friends."
Jane was silent a moment before offering, "I do not think Mr. Darcy seemed so bad."
The younger woman rolled her eyes. It was so typical of Jane to want to see the best in everyone. Elizabeth sometimes thought she was as naive as the children she taught, not that she viewed this defect of her sister's with anything less than fondness.
"You may think so," she replied dryly, "but he did not fire you out of hand."
"True," Jane agreed and then bit her lip. "But I did talk to him about his views on hiring women and he did not answer like a man who thought they should stay in more traditional roles."
Elizabeth sat up again in alarm. "Did you mention me at all?"
"Of course not," Jane soothed. "Not in relation to that at any rate." She intercepted a look that told her she had better elaborate and hurried to do so. "The nearest I came to mentioning you directly was when I talked of living with my sister."
"And even if you mentioned your sister, Lizzy, he would have no reason to connect a Jane Marchrend with a Miss Bennet," Elizabeth concluded. The idea seemed to amuse her but she was quickly conceding, "Not that it will be any good if it comes to actually sharing each other's company."
She and Jane did not actually share a drop of blood between them. Jane's mother, a young widow, had caught the eye of Thomas Bennet, then a young widower. Jane and Elizabeth had been young enough when their parents had married that while Jane had some faint memories of her father, Elizabeth could never remember a time when the new Mrs. Bennet had not been her mother figure.
The two of them had been raised as sisters, as parts of broken families trying to become whole. It had been more successful in some ways than in others.
Elizabeth, with her richly dark hair and eyes, favored her dead mother to a remarkable degree. Mr. Bennet had never been able to deny that miniature replica anything. At the same time, the new Mrs. Bennet, Fanny Bennet, had struggled with feelings of jealousy towards the young girl, no less than to her dead mother. Elizabeth was always the one person in the world with whom neither she nor Jane could compete for Mr. Bennet's time or affection.
Fanny Marchrend Bennet had thought a new child, one that was both of theirs, might be what was needed to cement her claim on Mr. Bennet. The result was Lydia, several years younger than both of her elder sisters and quite spoiled by her doting mama.
Yet, though Mr. Bennet showed affection for both Jane and Lydia, he could never help but show a preference for Elizabeth.
Meanwhile, Fanny Bennet's jealousy grew by stages into resentment. And because little Elizabeth had her father's favor, Fanny felt it incumbent on herself to show some preference for "her girls." Not a subtle woman, though she believed herself to be so, she did this mainly by praising everything that Jane or Lydia did while loudly lamenting over Elizabeth's faults, both real and imagined.
An environment such as that could have very well pitted sister against sister, but the two eldest girls clung to each other.
"It may come to nothing," Jane offered in response to Elizabeth's dispirited conclusion.
"An extraordinary hope given your certain appeal," Elizabeth sighed, but there was a twinkle in her dark eyes. "Perhaps it might discomfit him since he will have no warning. I could stand to see him knocked off balance."
"Oh Lizzy," Jane laughed, "you could stand to see him knocked down a flight of stairs."
For a moment, Elizabeth goggled at her sister, mouth hanging open in surprise that Jane should have thought such a thing, let alone spoken it. Then Jane started to giggle and Elizabeth dissolved into merriment just after.
It had been three months now since Darcy had seen Elizabeth. He couldn't help counting out his days in such a fashion it seemed. Three months, five days and much in the way of great personal frustration.
His work was hardly ever enough to distract him entirely from thoughts of her. He rarely went even an hour without thinking of her or wondering what it might take to find her. In rueful moments he considered that perhaps he had been unwise to let her step out of his offices. Were she still his secretary, he would know exactly where she was.
Other things troubled him from time to time, and in an odd way he was almost grateful for the distractions. The primary of these was Bingley's continued infatuation with Jane Marchrend. He still could not decide how genuine she might be. On the one hand, she seemed happy enough to be in Bingley's company, though usually in a markedly reserved manner. Of course, she taught young children all day for several days out of a week. She might have just been happy to be in the company of adults. She was too cool and it was too difficult to read her with any accuracy.
Tonight would be another opportunity. Bingley had been after him for weeks now to come along with him and Jane to dinner and perhaps dancing or a stroll through a park. When Darcy had protested that he had no wish to come be a third wheel on one of their dates, the other man had exuberantly insisted and then declared that Jane should ask her sister to join them as well. It would all be very merry.
Darcy had delayed as long as possible, citing work or a visit with Georgiana. Eventually, though, he had run out of excuses and a date was fixed. He was even now eyeing his own reflection with a sour disfavor that had nothing to do with his appearance. He was ready for the evening, which would be dinner and the theatre. He had ensured that both the restaurant and their seats would be as acceptable as his money and influence could make them.
A formal night would be best for several reasons, he acknowledged to himself when he was thinking more clearly. It should be enough to keep the younger sister at a proper distance, the theatre would minimize the need for awkward small talk with strangers and he could perhaps see and judge how Jane would respond to a display of wealth and privilege. Would her eyes glitter with avarice? Or would she remain cool, as though it were only her due? It might have been small of Darcy to look so forward to catching the woman in a mistake, but since he did it for Bingley, he told himself firmly that it was right of him to look out for his friend.
Giving his formal bowtie an adjustment it did not truly need and then his hair a final brush that was likewise unnecessary, he sighed heavily and decided he ought to quit stalling. Consulting his pocket watch, he glanced at the mirror one last time before turning to leave his bedchambers. His expression, he noted, did need an adjustment. Easing the furrow from his brow and forcing the grim lines of his mouth into a neutral expression, he headed downstairs and out his front door to where his driver waited.
He directed the man to take him to Bingley's, where he would meet his friend and the ladies. This was only a 10 minute drive at the worst and, as it was raining, very little traffic was out, though they passed a few miserable looking coachmen from time to time.
Even with all his dithering at the mirror, Darcy was still something like twenty minutes early. He debated going in and then decided the wait would be better spent not in company with anyone. Telling his driver to that he would remain in the vehicle for a time, he directed the man to park down the street.
Then, laying his pocket watch where he could easily glance at it, he pulled a slim volume from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. It was an earlier work of the author who had captured his interest so many weeks ago. The fellow, a J.M. Richardson, was gifted, but Darcy rather thought the most recently published book had been significantly better than this one. There was a reserve present in these characters, where the others had been more witty and wry and sometimes outrageous. He felt he should identify more with the reserved characters, but it was the outrageous ones that transfixed him, even when he had disapproved of their actions or methods of thinking.
The story caught him, regardless, and it took a pointed clearing of his driver's throat to jolt Darcy back to the present. Frowning at himself in irritation on seeing the time, Darcy nevertheless thanked the servant in a polite way and they were pulling into Bingley's parkway only a moment later.
Pocketing both book and watch, Darcy left the warm confines of the vehicle, stepping out under the generous overhang of the portico that made an umbrella unnecessary.
He presented himself at the door to a servant who bowed and gestured for Darcy to follow him to the library. It was odd for Bingley to be in the library at all; the man claimed that he was around books all day long and could not see what possible use he might have for them upon arriving home in the evening. Still, his library was impressive in both size and scope and had a great many autographed first editions besides.
It was, Darcy supposed, a suitable choice for entertaining a young lady who claimed she wished to write novels.
Although Darcy knew the way to the library at least as well as Bingley did, he followed the servant through the hallways patiently. As they approached the door, a feminine voice called his name.
He turned to see Bingley's sister, Caroline, approaching. She gave a wave to the servant, dismissing him without words. The thought that she had been laying in wait for him flitted through Darcy's mind, but he hastily arranged his features into what he hoped was a polite smile.
"Miss Bingley," he greeted her, giving a proper bow.
"Mr. Darcy," she breathed in reply, gliding over. The scent of her perfume reached him before she herself did. It was cloying. She was cloying.
As she extended her hand for him to take, Darcy noted Caroline was dressed as if ready to go out for the evening. The deep blue color did nothing for her complexion, but he suspected it had been chosen with its dramatic cut in mind. She was pretty, but her knowledge of it caused her to flaunt it and her flaunting of it, combined with her lack of subtlety, was off-putting in Darcy's opinion. What man wanted to be hunted, even if the cat doing the hunting was wearing a handsome pelt?
"I understand you are to dine out tonight with my brother and Miss Marchrend," Caroline cooed up at him once they were near. There was an edge of sympathy in her voice, no doubt false.
"Yes," Darcy confirmed. "And the younger Miss Marchrend."
He watched closely and was rewarded with seeing her eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in calculation. Not a gambling man, Darcy would have wagered any amount that Caroline had been planning on attending if she could have seen a way to worm her way into being one of the party. That the presence of the younger Miss Marchrend – Lizzy, that was her name – was an obstacle she had not anticipated needing to deal with seemed plain from the look of furious concentration on her face.
For his part, Darcy could not summon up much sympathy for the woman's obvious disappointment. That her object was to ensnare him was something even a blind man could see and even had Darcy himself not Seen his future with Elizabeth, he could not imagine being tempted by Bingley's scheming sister.
"Well," Caroline said in a tone too studied to be mistaken for casual, "I should like to meet this sister of Jane's. Perhaps she may be just as charming."
Darcy just barely held back from rolling his eyes. It was clear that what she really wanted was only to get a look at the woman who would be his companion for the evening. Nut he offered her his arm to escort her into the library. It was a mild pretense, and something he abhorred, but it wouldn't be an altogether bad thing for this younger sister to make her own assumptions about his possibly having a romantic entanglement. Caroline acted as though she owned him so all he need do was be seen in company with her and not resisting her advances.
He felt very pleased as he led Caroline into the library. Bingley and his Jane were standing together near the case that held his autographed first editions. She was holding a book carefully, as though her handling of the cover might somehow mar the item. Her face looked almost reverent as she examined the inside cover where the author had signed his name.
The younger Miss Marchrend was directly across from the door and had her back turned as she perused the shelves, her fingers outstretched as though she had just found a book she wished to pluck from the shelf. Everyone looked up as Darcy and Caroline entered.
Darcy dimly heard Jane greet the woman on his arm with a warm, "Miss Bingley, how lovely to see you again!" But his attention was all for the woman who stood alone, opposite him. His first impression was that she must be his Elizabeth, but then it flickered through his mind that she could not be, for she was Jane's sister and Jane's last name was not Bennet. Then the woman turned fully to see who had come in and his breath caught in his throat. It was her.
Suddenly, he wished he did not have Caroline hanging on his arm in her scandalous dress. He wished he had not been frowning in puzzled confusion when she turned. For on seeing him, her eyes darkened just a shade and she frowned in return.
"Miss Bennet," he blurted, wanting to explain all.
"Wait," Bingley said, not giving him a chance to continue. He looked from Darcy to Elizabeth and back again. "You two know each other?"
Author's Note: Moving time along a bit quickly here. A few months passed in between the first section where Jane and Elizabeth were talking and the second scene with Darcy. After all, I wanted to get to the fun bits. Hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!
And my deepest thanks again to everyone who reviewed and everyone who added this as a favorite. I wanted to reply directly to reviews but my limited time went to writing since I thought that might be better appreciated.
As a side note, I am editing these myself and would not mind a beta if anyone wished to volunteer. Said beta would also be responsible for pestering the hell out of me for more chapters.