Page 31 of The Longbourn Bloodline

“I stayed downstairs reordering the sheet music,” Elizabeth said. “Mamma is still rearranging the kissing boughs. She believes the one in the breakfast room doorway is insufficiently positioned and intends to move it a full foot when the gentlemen arrive for breakfast, as if it will make a difference.”

Jane smiled. “They have devised ways of skirting those boughs by crossing when we are already seated.”

Elizabeth proceeded to the washstand and splashed cold water on her face, which did nothing for the heat in her cheeks but gave her hands something sensible to do.

“You played beautifully tonight,” Jane said, drawing the coverlet over her knees. “I had not heard you play those pieces before.”

“I have been practicing in the mornings, before anyone comes down.”

“Ah.” Jane tilted her head, considering this. “That explains the pianoforte lid being warm when I come to breakfast. I had been blaming the cat.”

Elizabeth smiled despite herself. Cleo had indeed been discovered asleep on the keys more than once, producing what Lydia called a concert of alarming originality. “Cleo is many things, but she has yet to master a country reel.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Jane’s fingers twisted the edge of the coverlet. “Lizzy, you did not wish to dance tonight. You are usually the first to jump onto the dance floor.”

“Mary deserved the opportunity to demonstrate her abilities.” Elizabeth tugged the last pin from her hair and let it tumble, feeling the familiar weight of it settle against her shoulders. “Besides, the piano bench offers an excellent vantage for observing the follies of others.”

“And were you satisfied with what you saw?” Jane’s tone was probing, as if she suspected that observation was not Elizabeth’s only motivation.

“Yes. Mary had learned her steps and acquitted herself well. And Kitty—did you see her face, Jane? She looked as though someone had told her she mattered.”

“She did.” Jane’s voice carried warmth. “They all did. Even Lydia, though she would sooner die than admit she was impressed by a much older third cousin.”

“How about you?’ Elizabeth felt her throat constrict. “You seemed happy.”

“I was happy. And I attribute it to two considerate gentlemen who were sufficiently reserved enough to stand in front of us for the dances without raising expectations.”

“Meaning they were not overly effusive? I had thought the colonel was all charm and attention.”

“He was, but not in an overt or meaningful way. He was careful to inform us that he was but a second son, destined for the battlefield, and taking enjoyment and diversion where he could. He did not flatter or flirt, not even with Lydia who would be much too young for him. For that, I respect him.”

“Yes, and Darcy? I believe Mamma holds high hopes.” Elizabeth forced the name from her lips, her voice not quite steady. “I was watching you two. Both tall, handsome, and so well matched.”

Jane paused, her fingers stilled upon her braid. A small, knowing smile touched her lips as she reached out and lightly tapped the back of Elizabeth’s hand—the exact hand Darcy had kissed only an hour before. “Is that why you missed a note in the middle of a slow country air?”

“I am happy for you, of course, if you feel a regard for him. He is not as bad as we imagined.”

“As you supposed, Lizzy. I never disliked Mr. Darcy,” Jane said, the guttering candlelight reflected in her pretty eyes. “He is proud, yes, but he has reason for his standards. He comes from a completely different social world than us, and…” She held up her hand. “Yes, he insulted you at Meryton, and I am aware he made many disagreeable comments, but Lizzy, so have you and Mamma and even Papa.”

“Mamma has been loud, hasn’t she? But she is convinced that you and Mr. Darcy will make a match.”

“And I am equally convinced that I am not his primary interest in coming to Longbourn.” Jane finished braiding her flaxen hair and lay on her pillow, looking for all the world like an angel, while Elizabeth tried not to flush or twist her hair or betray any hint of agitation.

The house settled around them—Lydia’s distant laugh from the room she shared with Kitty, the creak of their father’s study door, the faint clatter of Hill banking the fires for the night. These were the sounds of Longbourn, the rhythms Elizabeth had known since birth, and they ought to have been comforting. But Darcy being around felt precarious, and Elizabeth could barely catch her breath.

“I wonder, Jane, why Darcy came to Longbourn. Mr. Collins stated his goals quite earnestly. He wished to acquire a bride to heal the breach between our branches of the family. But Mr. Darcy does not need Longbourn. He has Pemberley and opportunities to make a better match. Colonel Fitzwilliam believes he wished to do a good deed out of obligation to a distant connection. And when he has satisfied his conscience, he will return to London and Pemberley, and we shall have been a pleasant diversion.”

“Does it matter, Lizzy? Papa has not been so happy in years. Whatever Mr. Darcy’s reasons, he has given us something valuable. The masters, yes, but more than that—he has given Papa someone to talk to about the estate, about the future. I have not seen Papa engage so willingly since—” She paused. “Well. Since before we understood how precarious our situation truly is.”

“And Darcy’s improvements will make our situation less precarious?” Elizabeth did not like to voice her doubts to her unflappable sister. “I worry, Jane, that Mamma’s hopes will be completely dashed.”

“Our improvements might make us more marriageable—not because of dowries or fortune—but better connections, deportment and knowing how to speak and move within the higher circles, even the French lessons and Mrs. Beaumont’s lessons on pouring tea and being discreet behind fans.”

“But why would Darcy do all this if he doesn’t want to marry one of us?” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Forgive me, Jane. I do not wish to raise any hope, as he may as well depart abruptly like⁠—”

“You do not have to demur, Lizzy. I am not made of glass.” Jane’s lips pressed together. “He may very well depart as Mr. Bingley and his sisters did. And that would be that. It troubled me when Bingley left because he had acted so in love with me. He praised me to everyone he met, followed me around, called at Longbourn, and listened to my every word. Mr. Bingley is a man of warm impulse, and warm impulses cool. It does not follow that anything was wanting in me. It may simply have been that I was not enough to hold his interest.”

“Do you suppose Darcy knows why Bingley left? They are the best of friends, and he has not mentioned that name so far.”