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Jane’s lips curved, though her eyes kept their seriousness. “You exaggerate.”
“Only slightly.” Elizabeth paused, then continued more thoughtfully. “It is not merely that she wishes to secure his regard. That is natural enough, for whatever criticisms one might have of Mr Darcy as a companion, no one could deny his eligibility on the marriage mart. But Miss Bingley’s actions go beyond what I should have expected — nearly past what could be considered ladylike. There is something almost manipulative in her studied interruptions, her peacocking at the pianoforte and laughter that anticipates his wit before it is uttered.”
Jane shook her head gently. “You must be mistaken. Miss Bingley may be eager, but surely she cannot be scheming.”
Elizabeth turned toward her and crossed her arms over her chest. “Would you know it if she were?”
Jane met her gaze steadily. “Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But I prefer to believe well of others until I have clear proof to the contrary.”
Elizabeth smiled fondly, yet with a trace of exasperation. “A most benevolent belief. But I believe actions speak more plainly than protestations.”
Jane reached for her hand. “Lizzy, consider how easily behaviour may be misinterpreted. A young woman in society must show interest where she hopes for connection. If she is reserved, she is deemed cold. If she is animated, she is deemed calculating. Is that fair?”
Elizabeth’s expression softened. She squeezed her sister’s hand. It was hard to be vexed by someone whose view of the world was so pure. “No. But fairness does not always guide society’s judgement.”
Elizabeth grimaced. “Miss Bingley may yet face society’s judgement, if her flirtations grow much more obvious. I am certain Mr Darcy does not care for them. That much is evident from the shortness and disinterest of his replies.”
Jane considered this. “And yet he does not discourage her.”
“Because to discourage her openly would be ungentlemanly. Miss Bingley is his host’s sister, after all.”
Jane smiled. “Then surely he feels no great distress. Such attentions must be flattering, after all.”
Elizabeth gave her a searching look. “Flattering, or merely tiresome? I certainly would not welcome a continuation of attentions when I had shown no interest. Nor would you. Indeed, it rather makes me think of old Mr Greenbaum, back when you were sixteen and he six-and-forty.”
At this, Jane could only laugh and shake her head. “You are quite right, Lizzy, of course. That was tiresome indeed. I am only glad Father did not wish me to accept, for I suppose it would have been a good match, viewed in a purely prudential light. But surely Miss Bingley does not mean to be tiresome. She only means to keep hope alive as long as she can.”
Elizabeth was silent for a moment, carefully considering this. “And if hope disregards another’s comfort?”
“Then it is misguided,” Jane replied gently. “But still not malicious.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Jane, you are determined to rescue everyone from my censure.”
Jane’s smile deepened. “And you are determined to rescue everyone from my indulgence.”
They laughed together softly, yet the question remained.
“Even if Miss Bingley does admire Mr Darcy a little too strongly, or with too much intent to be entirely pleasing, what harm is done? He is free to accept or decline her favour,” said Jane.
Elizabeth looked toward the window, where the night pressed softly against the glass. “Harm lies not only in the outcome,” she said. “It lies in pressure. In shaping one’s conduct to create an appearance.”
Jane tilted her head. “I do not think I quite follow you.”
“It is likely nothing,” Elizabeth hastened to say. “Only I cannot help thinking that is dangerous when someone, anyone, tries to create the appearance of a thing. Society may then believe it to be true, whether or not there is anything behind it.”
Jane regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you really think society is so easily led?”
“I believe it can be. Consider this week. You are here because Mama wished it. Your illness was real, yet it was also… useful.”
Jane flushed. “You cannot mean —”
“I mean only that circumstance may serve intention. That is all.” Seeing her sister’s distress, she hurried on. “Oh, do not let me worry you, Jane! Likely, I am speculating over nothing. Society can take care of itself — and likewise so can Caroline Bingley and Mr Darcy.”
Jane’s expression softened with affection. “I am sure that is so. And if it is, we need not worry over it.” Outside, the wind stirred faintly against the eaves. Within, the fire crackled steadily, casting shifting light upon their faces and bringing out strange shadows.
Elizabeth said good night to Jane and went to her own room, and thought, as she unpinned her hair, that she ought to follow her sister’s advice. She would do well to spend more of her efforts in viewing others with charity, and less in judging them.
As she slipped into bed, she felt again the faint unease that had lingered beneath her observations all week, despite Jane’s gentle correction of her harsh opinions. Something was wrong, though she could not have said what.
