Page 13 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. “Jane, you barely spent time with this man. We only know him through fleeting visits and most of those when we were children. And what you do know is hardly encouraging.”
“What I know is that he can save Longbourn. Our home. Our future.” Jane’s hands twisted in her lap. “My feelings are a luxury we cannot afford.”
“Your feelings matter!” Elizabeth seized her sister’s hands. “Jane, you cannot sacrifice yourself like this. There must be another way.”
“What other way?” Jane’s composure cracked. “Uncle Morton has no money to save us. The creditors grow impatient. Next month James will return for his answer, and I shall have to give it.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced. There had to be something—some solution that did not require Jane to throw away her happiness.
“What about Mr Bingley?”
Jane’s face crumpled. “What about him?”
“You care for him. Anyone with eyes can see it. And he cares for you.”
“We danced twice, Lizzy. Hardly the foundation for a proposal.”
Elizabeth studied her sister’s face. “But you do care for him.”
Jane looked away. “That is precisely the problem. I do care for him. More than I should, given my circumstances.”
The pain in Jane’s voice cut Elizabeth to the bone. Here was her gentle, deserving sister, forced to choose between love and duty—between her heart and her family’s survival.
“The only alternative,” Jane continued, her voice hollow, “would be if Mr Bingley proposed first. But that is hardly likely, is it?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, but footsteps in the corridor interrupted them. Mrs Bennet appeared in the doorway, still wearing the harried look she had carried since that afternoon’s revelations.
“Girls, I could not help but overhear. I believe Jane is quite right. She must marry James. But Lizzy is not wrong either. Mr Bingley could propose.”
Jane’s shoulders sagged further. “Mother, no. He will not. We must not think of him as though he were a knight from a romance novel.”
“Still,” Mrs Bennet continued, “it would solve everything if he did. A wealthy gentleman like Mr Bingley? He could pay off all our debts without a thought. But no, that is too much to hope for.”
Elizabeth watched Jane’s face grow paler with each word. “Jane, you must still go to Netherfield tomorrow. You cannot let fear dictate your actions.”
“I could not possibly. It would be too painful, knowing what I must do.”
“All the more reason to go. You deserve one afternoon of happiness before…” Elizabeth could not finish the sentence.
Jane considered this, then shook her head. “No, I think it best I send my regrets.”
Elizabeth’s resolve hardened. “I shall accompany you.”
“Lizzy, I just said—”
“You didn’t refuse the invitation yet. We shall go together. I have my own reasons for wanting to see Mr Darcy.”
Mrs Bennet perked up. “Mr Darcy? Whatever for?”
“I owe him an apology. I was unkind to him this morning, and it weighs on my conscience.”
“An apology? To that proud, disagreeable man?” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose in indignation.
“He was not disagreeable when it mattered, Mama. He was kind to Lydia when she needed it most.”
Jane turned to study Elizabeth with new interest. “What happened between you and Mr Darcy?”
Elizabeth explained the morning’s events—Lydia’s distress, Mr Darcy’s compassion, and her own hasty accusations. By the time she finished, both Jane and Mrs Bennet were staring at her with varying degrees of surprise.
