Chapter Text
Jane Bennet had never been one for fainting or swooning in the face of life's hardships; indeed, in all her twenty-three years of life she had always faced everything with little outward display of feeling. Her gentle nature was such that she rarely felt the highs and lows in excess, so perhaps it said little of her character that her character was so even-tempered.
Perhaps, however, she was for once unequal to the task; after all, the past year had been one of the most trying of her life. She had been courted by men before since coming out at the age of sixteen— her mother had always assured her that she was the most beautiful girl in all of Hertfordshire, a difficult claim to dispute even with her own modesty given how quickly and often she attracted the attention of all sorts of men— but never had any claimed her attention as had Mr. Bingley.
Handsome though he was, it was not his features that drew her in, but his temper and amiability was a gentle and calming presence that had been sorely lacking in her life with four sisters and a mother with a nervous disposition. Being infinitely less reticent than she, having open manners, and wearing his heart on his sleeve only added to his attractions.
All in all, she had felt upon her return home from Netherfield that she was well on her way to falling in love— no, that she had fallen in love, that she was certain Mr. Bingley was the man she wished to marry.
And then he left.
Her heart had never known such pain before. As always, she bore it well, as any lady ought to in the face of distress, but if she shed a tear or two after retiring for bed, after the candles had been blown out and everyone was asleep, she could certainly not be blamed for feeling so strongly.
But it had been many months since any tears had been shed. Jane was quite over him now— if he had had any true intentions toward her beyond a simple flirtation, Mr. Bingley would have returned, but he had not, and it was something she had to accept. It would not do to wallow in misery over what-might-have-been's and what-could-be's.
She was perfectly fine, in truth, until her aunt Phillips arrived the morning after the Wickham's departure all in a fuss, her cries of "Oh, Hill! What news! I must tell my sister at once!" so loud they could be heard throughout the whole house.
Mr. Bennet sighed, put down his newspaper, and turned to Jane. "I trust you and Lizzy can hold the fort while I retire to the library?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Papa, 'tis only my aunt," Lizzy said, blithely ignoring the raucous Mrs. Phillips was creating while Mrs. Hill invited the lady inside.
"Well, I would be remiss if I did not hear of this 'news,' but I'm afraid my tolerance for silliness after Lydia's stay is at an all-time low," was his retort, and he stood to pat both girls on the shoulder.
"Mr. Bennet!" cried Mrs. Phillips as she entered the breakfast parlor, "you shall never believe it!"
Mr. Bennet greeted her and said with a smile, "Forgive me, dear sister, but I have matters of business to attend to. Not to fear, though, for there is a surfeit of ladies awaiting in rapt attention for your intelligence."
At once Mrs. Phillips agreed with him, and he ducked out to his library, before she turned to Mrs. Bennet, who had just entered the room. "My dear, dear sister, you shall never believe it!"
"So she told Papa," Lizzy whispered, to which Jane only smiled and gave her sister a chastising glance.
"What is it, Mary?" asked Mrs. Bennet with eyes wide and hands trembling.
"Mr. Bingley is to come in a week or so!"
At her aunt's exclamation, Jane's teacup rattled in her hand as she tried and failed to hide her flinch. Thankfully, the two sisters were far too absorbed in one another to notice, but Lizzy did, though she had the kindness of only looking on with sympathy without a word.
"Mr. Bingley!" cried Mrs. Bennet before looking at Jane and smiling— then shook her head, as if remembering herself. "Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming down, sister."
Jane's cheeks colored as her mother and aunt continued talking about Mr. Bingley in her presence, and she glanced down at her rapidly cooling drink, watching the liquid's surface ripple as she tried to steady her trembling hand.
"Well, Jane, what think you of this?" Mrs. Bennet asked upon her sister's removal from Longbourn. "I think it is awfully rude of him to come after so many months away, and without even a call to say goodbye before he left! Oh, and to only stay a few weeks? What is he about?"
"Truly, Mama, I am alright," Jane replied with a dissembling smile, her voice shakier than she cared for. "I hope he doesn't call at all, if only to prove that his arrival ought not mean so much as my aunt thinks it does."
"Doesn't call at all?" her mother repeated, affronted. "I would think very ill of him indeed. He has already used you so ill, dear; he would be completely devoid of manners if he didn't call at all."
Jane had to concede that she would not mind him calling, so long as he only stayed for a short while— perhaps a half hour at most— and only once or twice, as he was obligated to. Any more, she felt, would be too much altogether for a mere acquaintance.
It was all she could say on the matter, so she excused herself to go outside and entered the gardens, trying to settle her shallow breathing. She was perfectly alright— he would call, and she could remain indifferent. She was strong enough to think nothing more of him than as the most amiable man of her acquaintance.
Tears pricked at her eyes in spite of her best intentions, as if her body had a will of its own. When a sudden sob escaped her throat, she clutched at her chest, letting the tears fall freely as she made her way to a nearby bench amongst the shrubbery.
It was quite the secluded location, if one wanted to get away. She did not come here often— it was really Lizzy's spot more than her own— but she was grateful for the respite.
"Jane?" Her eyes shot up to see Lizzy peeking behind a bush. "I can leave if you want. I can pretend I did not see you, but I would very much like to comfort you if I am able."
"I am only surprised," she insisted between sniffles as she beckoned her sister to come join her on the bench, "and… you know… Mama…" Her voice trailed off, not wishing to speak ill of her mother. Mrs. Bennet meant well, of course, but that did not make her comments about Mr. Bingley any easier to bear.
"Of course." Lizzy nodded in understanding as she offered Jane a handkerchief, which Jane took gratefully and used to dab her eyes dry. Her sister's expression changed, however, and she averted her gaze, pressed her lips together, and sighed— as if skeptical. "If it ever proves to be too much, you know I am here should you need a shoulder to cry on, dearest."
"But, Lizzy, I'm perfectly alright—"
"I know." She smiled gently. "But one does not always know the strength of her ability to bear scrutiny with equanimity till it is tested— and yours has not been tested in months."
"As long as you do not think me so weak," Jane agreed reluctantly, "then I will be sure to rely on you should other people's opinions weigh on me more heavily than I expected."
With a quick squeeze of Jane's hand, Lizzy stood, smoothed the wrinkles of her dress, and offered some privacy. "Perhaps I shall say I've received two more offers of marriage this morning and refused them all. Mama will surely go distracted and forget all about him!"
Though it was meant as a joke, there was a certain caustic bite to Lizzy's humor that was not present before her trip to the north with the Gardiners. She had always been teasing and a little sarcastic, but this— this savored awfully of bitterness, of regret. Jane couldn't puzzle out why, and though she supposed Lydia's indiscretion and the man involved could possibly have something to do with it, that didn't explain the whole of it.
"Do not blame Mr. Bingley," Jane protested instead, her voice soft and not at all insistent.
Lizzy's face fell, and she nodded distractedly. "Of course not."
With Jane left alone to her thoughts, she could assert that other people's remarks were what left her most distressed. Of course her fond memories of Mr. Bingley and their time spent together would always cause a small ache in her heart, but it was the little comments that had followed her since November that hurt her more than anything.
The fear of scrutiny proved to be more powerful than she had anticipated, however. She tripped more than was typical; she felt too nauseous to eat at times; she had to restart her needlework over and over; she stumbled over her words; and she could scarcely read, let alone reply to correspondence.
By the time Mr. Bingley came to call, she felt pale and sickly, and not at all equal to his company as she once thought. So distracted was she that she could scarcely look at the window for his approaching form, let alone notice that there was another gentleman at his side.
For some time, Mrs. Bennet and Kitty argued over the man in question's identity, and Jane had to grip tightly onto her teacup to keep her spirits less visibly affected. It was not until she heard the name 'Mr. Darcy' and her mother's spiteful comment against him that she could truly focus on the conversation, and then her eyes flitted to Lizzy, who sharply inhaled, her chest rising and falling erratically as they both gave one another similar looks of sympathy and understanding.
That Lizzy was so affected by Mr. Darcy's coming was surprising indeed; perhaps it was merely the awkwardness of being forced to converse with the man she rejected, but then Lizzy hadn't been so agitated in going to visit Mr. and Mrs. Collins. Jane knew her sister felt stronger about Mr. Darcy, but that still didn't explain why she could scarcely look anyone in the eye.
Poor Mr. Darcy, though, enduring a visit all for Mr. Bingley's sake, for the sake of propriety and neighborly conduct— it was quite noble of him— to pretend that nothing passed between himself and Lizzy— no animosity, no hurt feelings, no broken hearts— yes, it was incredibly noble. Her true concern lied with her sister, but some small part of her still felt for the man.
At least the concern for another was distracting enough that she felt much more equal to the task of greeting Mr. Bingley with indifference than she had previously— perhaps she could even focus on Mr. Darcy and try to discern in there were still symptoms of his regard for Lizzy— though she very much hoped that such was not the case, for both their sakes.
If Mr. Darcy ever loved Lizzy, it was truly a wonder that he did, as he paid her very little attention. He asked after the Gardiners, to Jane's and seemingly even Lizzy's confusion, but there ended their conversation. Indeed, he was much as he ever was; his behavior was truly no different from when Jane saw him in November.
The lack of new understanding of her sister's situation allowed her mind to wander— back to Mr. Bingley— and the strategy of distraction ceased to work, especially when she looked Mr. Bingley directly in the eyes. He hadn't changed much— his strawberry blonde hair shone under the light of the autumn sun peeking through the windows, just as it had the year prior; his lips naturally fell into a smile; and he nodded awkwardly as Mrs. Bennet continued prattling on.
But his eyes never veered from Jane's person.
So intent was his gaze that Jane could scarcely breathe, and when Mrs. Bennet left to search for the newspaper announcement of Lydia's wedding, and Mr. Bingley said her name specifically and asked after her health, Jane barely managed to stammer out, "Oh, yes…"
"I'm glad to hear it," Mr. Bingley replied, before looking to Mr. Darcy, as if hoping to find some assistance there, but Mr. Darcy's attention was far too fixed on the window. "I hope I haven't just made your mother search the whole house for the announcement. I have seen it myself."
"She's happy to share it with others," she replied, as good-naturedly as she could manage, but she feared she could still hear some trembling in her voice and some uneasiness in her manners that Mr. Bingley could pick up on. "Have you been well, sir?"
"Very well, thank you."
When Mrs. Bennet returned, she paraded it about for all to see, and Mr. Bingley smiled as he played with the buttons of his waistcoat. Upon remembering Mr. Darcy's presence, she added cooly, "I suppose you have seen it already, Mr. Darcy?"
Mr. Darcy's head whipped in her direction, and he seemed almost caught off guard, before he cleared his throat and replied that he had, but made no further comment.
The feeling in the room suddenly grew quite tense, which Mr. Bingley seemed to pick up on, for he sighed and declared that it was so good to see all of them, but they really must get going. After being entreated to join them for dinner by Mrs. Bennet, he replied that he would be more than happy to at a later time and bid them all adieu, his eyes lingering on Jane.
Jane had half a mind to say something, to try to make sense of her feelings and understand his own, but he bowed before she could and quickly made his way outside, followed closely by Mr. Darcy, and she was again alone with her tumultuous thoughts.
How could she bear the next few weeks?