Page 36 of Moments of Truth
Jane’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Oh, Lizzy, I had no idea…”
Elizabeth nodded, her countenance a mixture of frustration and sorrow. “I rejected him, of course. I spoke with the utmost frankness of what I thought of his conduct—his interference in your happiness with Mr. Bingley, so unguardedly betrayed by the Colonel’s careless words, and his supposed cruelty, as I then believed it, towards Mr. Wickham.” I told him everything I had held against him, with a vehemence I scarcely recognised in myself. But the following morning, he crossed my path while I was walking, and placed in my hand a letter. In it were explanations—his account of both those charges, laid bare in the clearest terms. Every word compelled me to re-examine what I had so readily condemned.”
Jane’s countenance softened with tender sympathy, and she reached out to clasp her sister’s hand. “I cannot imagine how difficult that must have been for you, dearest Lizzy.”
Elizabeth returned the pressure of her hand, gratitude shining through her fatigue. “It was a shock beyond anything Ihad expected. And yet, in reading his words, I could not help but see the sincerity of his purpose. It made me doubt my own judgment—made me wonder whether I had been too rash, too quick to condemn. I have turned his letter over in my mind again and again, striving to reconcile the proud, taciturn man I thought him with the honourable spirit that spoke in those lines.”
Jane nodded thoughtfully, her voice hushed. “It seems Mr. Darcy has given you much to consider.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted, almost in a whisper. “And I find myself torn, uncertain what to feel. That is what has weighed upon me, Jane. I cannot yet give it a name, but I felt you must know the truth.”
Jane’s lips curved in a gentle smile. “Thank you for trusting me, Lizzy. Whatever the outcome, I am certain you will choose wisely—and remember, I shall always stand beside you.”
Elizabeth’s heart eased at her sister’s affection. “That means more to me than you can imagine.”
Just then, Aunt Gardiner re-entered the parlour, her expression half-playful, half-curious, as if she sensed she had missed something of consequence. Jane, with an affectionate glance at her sister, said, “Lizzy has just been confiding in me, Aunt.”
“Again. You mean to say important confidences have been shared in my absence?” Mrs. Gardiner teased, her eyes alight.
“You must forgive us, Aunt,” Jane interposed, smiling. “Lizzy has been waiting for some time to unburden herself.”
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head with mock severity, then laughed. “Very well, you are forgiven. But perhaps you shouldwait for your uncle to join us—there may be further news to share. Indeed,” she added, pausing, “I think I hear his curricle this moment.”
Elizabeth grew pensive, her brow shadowed. “I hardly know whether what awaits is good news or ill.”
“Why do you say so, my dear?” Mrs. Gardiner asked, intrigued.
Her question was cut short by Mr. Gardiner’s cheerful entrance. “Good afternoon, ladies! Lizzy, what a delight to have you under our roof again. I trust your journey was tolerably comfortable?”
Elizabeth rose to embrace him warmly. “It is always joy to see you, Uncle, and yes—the journey was as pleasant as such a distance may be.”
“Well,” said he, drawing a folded letter from his pocket with a smile, “since I arrived home at the same moment as the postman, it is only right I should deliver this without delay. I believe it may concern you, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth accepted it, her heart fluttering violently as she broke the seal. The room fell to silence as her eyes travelled down the page, her expression shifting from surprise to gravity, until she looked up at last. “It is from my father,” she said steadily. “Mr. Darcy called at Longbourn yesterday. He asked Papa for permission to court me—and my father has given his consent. He writes further that Mr. Darcy wished me to receive his explanations in full, that I might judge him fairly.”
Jane and her aunt exchanged astonished glances, delight mingling with amazement. “My dear girl,” Aunt Gardiner said warmly, “you have indeed a tale to unfold, and we shall all be eager listeners.”
Elizabeth nodded, her emotions caught between nervousness and relief. “Yes, Aunt. It seems I must.”
Mr. Gardiner, his eyes twinkling, cleared his throat. “But before you begin, there is yet another letter. This one addressed to me, though it touches one dear to us all.” He unfolded the sheet again, his smile broadening. “It contains a request for permission to call this evening. Ladies, I believe we may look forward to receiving Mr. Charles Bingley.”
***
The Gardiners’ dining room had that air of peaceful order which speaks of good sense and good taste rather than ostentation. Candlelight wove small halos upon the crystal; silver answered with a soft lustre; a bowl of hothouse flowers breathed a discreet fragrance. Elizabeth, seated opposite her aunt, felt an anticipatory flutter quite at variance with her accustomed composure. If he should look at Jane as he once did—if he should not— she checked the thought, and in the very act Mr. Bingley was shown in.
He entered with the unstudied eagerness that made him instantly amiable. His bow to Mrs. Gardiner was grateful, to Mr. Gardiner respectful; but when his eyes found Jane, all ceremony fell away. “Miss Bennet,” he said, and the two words contained a world of apology and longing.
Jane’s colour rose, yet she stood her ground with gentle grace. “Mr. Bingley. We are happy to see you in Gracechurch Street.”
“I—yes—thank you,” he managed, then laughed softly at himself. “You see how ill a fellow I am at beginning. Londonimproves daily, ma’am,” he told Mrs. Gardiner, “for it contains those whom I most wished to see.”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes twinkled. “London must count that among its proudest boasts, sir. You are very welcome.”
Mr. Gardiner, perceiving that Mr. Bingley was too little acquainted with the neighbourhood to contribute anything of weight, deftly turned the conversation towards business and travel—subjects in which both gentlemen might engage without awkwardness. Mr. Bingley replied with his usual readiness, yet it was plain that his thoughts, even as he spoke, continually returned to Jane: to the serenity of her smile, and the gentle radiance of her eyes. When at length they were seated at table, he found himself placed between Mrs. Gardiner and Jane; but the excellence of the soup was entirely lost upon him.
“I am greatly obliged for the kindness with which you have received me, having announced my call beforehand,” he said with a courteous inclination to their hostess, before lowering his voice for Jane alone. “And—if you will allow me the liberty—for your own gracious manner in welcoming me.”
Jane’s lashes fluttered. “There was no kindness to be asked, sir.”
