Page 81 of Colour My World
Darcy gave another slight bow, said nothing further, and departed.
Chapter 27
Longbourn, the following day…
Jane sat by the window and turned the note over in her hands. “Mama, Miss Bingley has invited me to tea.”
“Tea? Just tea?”
Jane unfolded the note.
We so long for your company, dear Miss Bennet. Do not disappoint us, for we shall be inconsolable. The gentlemen dine with the officers, so we shall have the pleasure of a quiet tête-à-tête amongst ourselves. Come as soon as you can on receipt of this.
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “Officers.”
Kitty smirked. “No doubt they shall recount their victories over cakes and syllabub.”
Mrs Ecclestone, seated beside the hearth, inclined her head. “It is good to see you appreciate a proper uniform. But remember: admiration is not license.”
Kitty and Lydia exchanged smiles and returned to their reading.
Mrs Bennet pressed her hands together. “A most fortunate invitation. An excellent opportunity. You must go, Jane.”
“I should like to—”
“But the weather,” Elizabeth interrupted. Through the window, grey clouds threatened the horizon. “It may rain.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs Bennet said. “Even if it should drizzle, a mere three miles will not see you drowned.”
Mr Bennet setTristram Shandyaside. “Should you accept, Jane, I advise you to go on horseback. If the rain holds, you will arrive in comfort. If it begins, you’ll reach the house more assuredly than our carriage could manage.”
Kitty glanced at the window. “Do you think she can outride the rain?”
Lydia giggled over a worn copy ofMetamorphoses. “Only if she borrows Pegasus.”
“Have you reached the part where Pegasus was caught?”
“We need not catch him,” Lydia said loftily. “Jane need only borrow him.”
“I do not mind the rain,” Jane said. “And should I need to stay the night, I will not be a burden.”
Mrs Bennet beamed. “There, you see? Quite perfect.”
Elizabeth looked to Jane. “You are the best rider among us.”
“As long as she does not rideEirene,” said Mr Bennet, casting a pointed look at Elizabeth.
Five voices—four octaves—rang out in harmony: “Papa!”
Mr Bennet returned to his book with a faint smile. “I merely speak from experience.”
Jane rose. “I shall send word to Miss Bingley.”
Less than an hour later, Jane departed, as planned, bundled in her cloak, a carpetbag beside her. The wind had picked up, and a distant rumble of thunder chased her down the lane.
By afternoon, a note arrived. Her oilskin had proved no match for the downpour. Rain had seeped through the folds; by the time she arrived at Netherfield, she was soaked to the bone and shivering. By nightfall, she had fallen ill.
Mrs Bennet pursed her lips. “I should think her well-tended. Mr Bingley would not let her suffer for a moment.”
