Page 58 of The Servants’ Matchmaking

"Mr. Bingley hardly danced after supper," she said. "You must have offended him somehow."

"His sister was unwell," Jane said.

"Caroline looked perfectly well in the ballroom. She has a London constitution — very deceptive, London constitutions."

"Mamma," Elizabeth said, "the carriage is waiting."

Darcy stood beside Bingley at the foot of the stairs. Bingley's face showed the particular fatigue of a man who has spent an evening being cheerful on purpose. Jane went to him before Mrs. Bennet could get there first and turn a private sentence into a public performance.

"I hope Miss Bingley is not seriously ill," Jane said.

"She is not ill." Bingley's jaw was tight in a way Elizabeth had never seen on him. "There was a family disagreement. Caroline and the Hursts leave for Scarborough tomorrow."

Jane did not press for what he could not say in a crowded hall. "I am sorry the evening turned painful."

"None of it was your doing." He looked at her as though that fact were the only thing holding the rest of him together. "May I call tomorrow?"

"Yes."

His relief was so immediate and so complete that Mrs. Bennet heard the word yes and forgot that she had meant to be offended about something.

Darcy came to Elizabeth. "May I also call?"

She looked down at the blue shawl still settled around her shoulders. "My father expects it."

"And you?"

"I expect it too."

"That was not my question."

He learned directness from me, and now he is using it without a shred of mercy.

"I wish you to call," she said, and watched him try to keep the happiness off his face. He failed. His bow could not conceal it at all.

The carriage ride home was loud for the first mile, at least. Mrs. Bennet reviewed every dance in sequence, as though preparing testimony. Lydia named each officer present, and two who had not been invited but ought to have been, in her opinion. Kitty corrected her twice. Mary offered a principle. Mr. Bennet closed his eyes and appeared, by some domestic miracle, to be asleep. Jane sat beside Elizabeth. Under the carriage rug, in the dark, their hands found each other.

"He loves you," Jane said, pitched too low for the others to catch.

Elizabeth looked out at the black hedgerows sliding past. "He said so."

"You did not tell me."

"There has been little opportunity."

"There have been dances enough."

"I spent one pair making certain everyone saw me, another wondering whether Caroline had ruined her brother's entire ball, and the rest trying very hard not to look at Mr. Darcy."

"Did you succeed?"

"No."

The truth felt safer in the dark. Easier to say when she could not see Jane's face doing something knowing about it.

At Longbourn, Jane followed her up to her room. Hill helped them both undress, extracted half the ball's events in the process, and went below with more than enough material to keep the servants' hall entertained until breakfast. Elizabeth folded the shawl herself, smoothing the repaired fringe flat under her thumb.

"Do you love him?" Jane asked.