Page 18 of Knowing Mr. Darcy
“Fifteen,” said Mr. Darcy, standing closer to Jane. “How old was he?”
“Well, Jane was grown,” said Mrs. Bennet. “And he was a respectable gentleman. I thought he’d run off with her, really.”
Jane made a face.
Mr. Darcy felt his entire body go stiff. “Fifteen is very young,” he said softly.
Jane looked up at him gratefully.
“Why, my own sister—” But then he broke off, for he had a scheme, not one that he could necessarily be proud of, he supposed, but one that would save Georgiana from ruin if necessary. The scheme was to marry her to Bingley, if Wickham ever tried to tell anyone what had happened.
Of course if Bingley married Elizabeth, that wouldn’t even come to pass.
Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t wish to saddle his sister with a man she didn’t care for, not in the end.
“Your own sister, I understand, is tall and accomplished and the epitome of girlish perfection,” said Jane, smiling at him. “All this and more have I heard from Miss Bingley. She seems to be quite enamored with your sister. She must be extraordinary.”
Mr. Darcy wondered at Jane Bennet. Was she that innocent or did she simply impose a good opinion on everyone by sheer force of will?
Certainly, she must have detected Miss Bingley’s ire, hadn’t she?
But later, he could not be sure. Perhaps it was the discussion of Georgiana that led him to sit down andcompose a missive to his sister, or perhaps it was only that he wished for something, anything at all, to do to keep himself from looking in on Elizabeth and asking her what she thought of the book he’d brought her.
Bingley, it turned out, had thought nothing untoward of it, thanking him offhandedly for lending Elizabeth something to read.She is quite engrossed, and I think it distracts her from her discomfort, so thank you, my friend.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive a letter from her brother,” said Caroline.
They were in the drawing room. Caroline was practically on top of him, where he sat at a desk composing. Jane was sitting diagonally, with a book open on her lap.
Perhaps if he ignored Caroline, she’d be quiet.
“You write uncommonly fast,” she said, leaning in over his shoulder.
Did he? Truly? “You are mistaken,” he said. “I write rather slowly.”
“Oh, you must write ever so many letters, Mr. Darcy! For so many reasons. You know ever so many people! Oh, and for business as well! I should find all of that odious.”
He sighed. “Well, thankfully, it is I who must compose these letters and not you.”
“Pray tell your sister I long to see her.”
He gritted his teeth. “I have.” He pointed. “See? Here. You told me to write that earlier, remember?”
“I think your pen needs mending.”
“It’s fine,” he said.
“I mend pens remarkably well.”
“I am capable of mending my own pens.” Now, his voice was growing sharp.
“I know you are,” said Caroline, “but I am only offering to help.”
“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “But I am all right here.”
“Tell your sister I am in raptures with her beautiful design for a table, which I think is infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
Jane spoke up, no guile in her voice. “You are quite admiring of Miss Darcy.”
