Page 61 of Companions of Their Youth
Even London had been a point of contention. Jane was permitted to visit the Gardiners often—too proper, too angelicto be denied. But Mark? Rarely. And Elizabeth hated being separated from him. They were two halves of the same whole.
Still, once in a while, the need to see something new would overcome her, and she would stay with her aunt and uncle in Cheapside for a few weeks. There she had learned more than just decorum and manners. She had seen calm households, watched the gentle flow of adult life lived without sharp tempers or loud voices. She had learned to blend in, to observe, to moderate her own fire.
But even there, she had been a child in their eyes. If Mr. Gardiner had a dark day, he offered a sincere, timely apology—but never a reason. It was simply expected that she understand.
So when Mr. Darcy, of all people, had stopped her on the lawn that morning—had taken the time to clarify, to speak plainly, even awkwardly—it had struck her more deeply than she liked to admit.
She cut her meat with care, her gaze downcast, though her thoughts were fixed on the man sitting across the table.
He did not smile much. He was very reserved. His personality was every bit the opposite of what she thought she would prefer.
But he had spoken.
And in doing so, he had seen her. Not as a mere guest, not as some Bennet daughter, but as someone worth explaining himself to.
And for Elizabeth Bennet, who had long lived in the shadows of brighter sisters, stricter fathers, and stifled freedoms… that meant more than she could say.
Chapter 13
“Miss Bennet,” Miss Bingley said, her tone sharp and falsely sweet, “are you not joining us for tea?”
Elizabeth blinked, startled to find her plate empty and the table nearly cleared. In her reverie, she had scarcely noticed the footmen removing the last of the dessert dishes. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were already standing, trailing silks and satin as they swept toward the parlor.
“Of course,” she said, rising hastily. “Forgive me—I was woolgathering.”
Miss Bingley arched a delicate brow. “So it would seem.”
Elizabeth offered a polite smile, ignoring the undercurrent of mockery, and excused herself. “Jane said she was feeling well enough to come down this evening. I shall go fetch her.”
This elicited an eager exclamation from Bingley, who was just standing to follow his sisters. “Is she truly? What excellent news!”
She grinned at his enthusiasm and curtsied before making her way upstairs. Jane had dressed and was standing in front of a mirror, her cheeks still pale but eyes alert.
“Do you still feel equal to it?” she asked gently.
Jane nodded. “If I remain up here much longer, I shall start thinking myself a prisoner—although no prison could be so fine. Only for a half hour or so, I think.”
Elizabeth wrapped a shawl around Jane’s shoulders before leading her sister carefully down the stairs. Bingley met them with a boyish grin, stopping short at the sight of Jane.
“Miss Bennet! It is such a delight to see that you are out of bed!” he declared with enthusiasm.
Jane’s smile was soft. “Only briefly. I am told the company below stairs is too good to be missed.”
He offered his arm at once, and she took it with a quiet laugh. “Steady now,” he said. “You are not to exert yourself.”
Elizabeth followed close behind as they entered the drawing room.
Bingley helped Jane into a chair by the fire with such tenderness that Elizabeth had to look away for fear of intruding. Miss Bingley, seated at the card table with her sister and Mr. Hurst, barely glanced up. Darcy stood at their entrance, offering a slight bow. Mr. Hurst, halfway into what was clearly his second glass of port, gave only a perfunctory grunt of acknowledgment before returning his attention to his hand.
Elizabeth seated herself on a nearby chair and cast a brief glance toward Darcy, who had returned to his armchair with a book in hand. Her eyes lingered a moment too long on the volume’s gilded spine, and when she met his gaze, she flushed slightly.
“Do you enjoy reading, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his voice low and pleasant.
“Very much so,” she replied with a smile. “It is the best way to pass the time when one has little else to do, such as sitting quietly while one’s sister sleeps.”
“Indeed,” he said. “I find it far more tolerable than most social amusements.”
Miss Bingley gave a brittle laugh. “Oh, yes—Miss Eliza is a great reader. She despises cards and other pursuits altogether.”
