Page 83 of A Quiet Affection

A thought made her smile. It seemed that her husband had finally decided that honesty was notalwaysthe best policy.

A little less than an hour after Fitzwilliam and Bingley had returned, Jane was brought into the drawing room. Elizabeth started to walk towards her sister, feeling around with her cane to ensure that no one had moved a chair away from where it should be.

Jane hurried to her and threw her arms around her. She whispered to Elizabeth, “Is it wrong? Is it wrong that I am happy?”

“No. I am.”

“I had only sworn to love him while he was alive—I did my best, but it was not so much as it ought to have been.”

“Jane, my dear Jane.”

Her sister cried on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She heard at some point Fitzwilliam insist to everyone that they be left alone. “I must tell you something. Let us go to have some privacy.”

Jane did not say anything, but Elizabeth pulled her along. They went out of the drawing room to Elizabeth’s own sitting room.

Upon their entry, Sarah, who was tidying up, exclaimed, “Mrs. Wickham! My—I was sorry to hear.”

Jane did not reply, and Elizabeth said for her sister, “Thank you. Can you make sure no one comes in for the next while.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Jane helped Elizabeth to her chair, though that was unnecessary, as it was always kept in the same place.

“I need to tell you,” Elizabeth said when Jane sat next to her, “I do not know if this is something that you wish to hear, or if it shall matter in any way, but I have been charged to tell you something; but you must first understand that it is information that cannot be told to anyone else.”

“Yes.”

“It was not Mr. Bingley who shot your husband, but Mr. Clarke.”

“Mr. Clarke!” Jane exclaimed. Then she said in a hushed voice, “I know. I must not say anything aloud. Servants can hear. But how?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Fitzwilliam did not say.”

Jane took a deep breath. “No, no. I understand. I think I understand it all. That brave, brave man. He was a fool to fight, but he is brave.”

“Do you mean Mr. Bingley?”

“Yes. Yes. I think I know how it went. So, Wickham is dead. I will not forget what you said. But it really makes no difference. I am glad for Mr. Bingley. I am glad for him. Let us go down and—but Lizzy, can I remain here?”

“Yes, of course. You need not return to the drawing room unless you are ready to face others.”

“I mean at Pemberley. I cannot bear to return to that house. I have been unhappy there. Besides, I think it no longer is mine to live in.”

“You can always stay here with me, until you find a place that you would choose to go.”

“I can hardly think about it without guilt—if I had never spoken to Mr. Bingley. If I had known…”

“Never spoken to Mr. Bingley? Do not be absurd, it was an acquaintance that existed more than a year prior to your marriage. And until yesterday Mr. Wickham was on friendlier terms with Mr. Bingley than anyone else who has resided in Pemberley these five years.”

“It was because we always…I knew that he thought of me in such a way. And I confess that I liked it. Not that—I never, ever imagined him in the place of my husband. And had anything been spoken by him, I would have discouraged Bingley from seeing me in such a way—I tried to hint upon the matter once. But…I liked to talk with him.”

“I would be the last person in the world,” Elizabeth replied, “who could despise another for enjoying too much the conversation with another person when in a situation filled with some difficulties.”

“But I should not have. I see that now. I did not honor him. I should not have allowed myself to enjoy the conversation of any man more than my husband—the blame is mine.” Jane paused. “Mr. Bingley could have been killed. I was in terror the whole morning, until Mr. Darcy’s messenger arrived to inform me what had happened.”

“You would have felt far more unhappiness if your husband returned after having killed his man.”

“Immeasurably more so. I learned that of myself last night. I tried—Lizzy, you must believe that I tried to love him. I thought love could be an active thing, a verb rather than a feeling. I so wished to make it so that I had not lied when I made the wedding vows. I think… I had some belief deep inside that if I did not struggle to make it trueyouand everyone else I loved would suffer for it.”