Page 43 of A Most Favourable Match

Jane laughed and shook her golden head on the pillow. “I do not believe Lydia and Kitty would be much improved for being kept from company, Lizzy,” she said. “They might even be worse, with ill-temper and resentmentat being kept at home.”

“Could they be worse?” Elizabeth replied, smiling back at her sister. “They are already growing into determined flirts. The coming of the regiment has done them no good at all.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Jane admitted. “Oh dear, how ridiculous they could make themselves!”

“And us,” Elizabeth added. “Well, we are in London and there is only the usual news from Longbourn, so let us not trouble ourselves over that tonight.”

“Did Mr Bingley seem well to you today?” Jane asked after a long pause. “I thought him rather anxious, and perhaps overstrained. I hope his sisters take good care of him.”

“Oh, Jane,” sighed Elizabeth, wondering if now was the moment to confront her sister with Mr Bingley’s hopeless affections and warn her that it was best to keep a cool detachment around him. “Mr Bingley was the one worrying about your health, if you remember. When we saw them again near the tropical glasshouse, he even recommended a physician to Aunt Gardiner for you.”

“Mr Bingley is very kind,” Jane said quietly, her face softening. “He worries about others where there is no need for worry. I fear he does not worry enough for himself.”

“Then he is like you, dear sister. I have noticed how pale and thin you are growing, Jane, even if you insist that you are only tired. I grow concerned that London is too much for you and we ought not to have comehere, despite Lord Grantchester being so pleased to have you with him.”

“Perhaps London is too much for Mr Bingley, too,” Jane said evasively. “He ought to retire back to Netherfield Park and take the country air.”

Elizabeth considered this thoughtfully. Perhaps Mr Bingley should indeed return to Netherfield, but ideally only at a time that Jane was not in residence at Longbourn.

“I dare say it is not our place to suggest that,” she remarked at last.

Jane had to agree, and with the silence and closed eyes that followed, Elizabeth saw that her sister was readying for sleep. Bidding her goodnight, she blew out the candle at the bedside, turned over and closed her own eyes.

It was still the dead of night, and the rest of the house was silent when Elizabeth was woken by the sound of soft sobbing in the bed beside her.

“Jane?” she whispered groggily, extending an arm to her sister’s shoulder, which was shaking with emotion despite all Jane’s efforts to control herself.

“Lizzy, I am sorry. I did not mean to wake you.”

“But what is wrong? Are you ill?” asked Elizabeth.

“No, I am not ill. I am only… Oh! What is wrong with me?!”

Elizabeth’s first instinct had been to sit up and strike a match for the candle, but then she stilled herhand. If Jane was upset rather than ill, perhaps the darkness was welcome and the light would only pain her further.

What was wrong with Jane? Elizabeth could not deny that her sister appeared to be fading in both body and spirit at the very time when she ought to be blooming.

“Why are you crying?” Elizabeth put to her gently. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I do not know if anyone can help me,” Jane wept. “I do not even know why I am like this. I should be happier, I know I should. I am angry at myself that I cannot be so.”

Elizabeth took her sister’s hands and squeezed them. “Are you very unhappy, Jane?”

“I don’t know what I am!” Jane cried out in quiet distress. “I am to marry a good man with a large fortune and an established place in society, and it will make our family safe from penury after Father’s death too. How can I not be happy? Tell me what is wrong with me that I cannot rejoice at such good fortune! I cannot deserve it, Lizzy.”

Bewildered, Elizabeth knew she must say something to comfort her sister, but the matter and Jane’s mood were both beyond her comprehension.

“Many young women are nervous in the approach to their weddings,” Elizabeth offered rather lamely, unconvincing and unconvinced by her own words. Still, she could think of no other comfort to offer, and Elizabeth continued in the same vein until Jane had quietedherself and returned to sleep, or at least some semblance of it that signalled a lack of desire for further conversation.

∞∞∞

Standing beside her aunt and Lord Keeble, a little behind Jane and Lord Grantchester, Elizabeth curtsied and murmured her appreciation for the welcome of their hosts, the Duke and Duchess of Suttonfield.

“Thank you, Your Graces.”

Elizabeth smiled as she looked to Jane, so graceful and elegant in white silk, on Lord Grantchester’s arm. This scene seemed a world away from Jane’s midnight tears on three nights this week, and perhaps others when Elizabeth had not woken. Pale but neat and pretty, her sister was well-matched with her handsome, dapper husband-to-be.

Jane did not look at all out of place at the Suttonfield ball, one of the highlights of the Season. It was an event filled with wealthy and titled guests, and one for which invitations were both sought after and scarce. Moving on from the receiving line, Lord Keeble excused himself to speak to a friend, and Elizabeth shared a knowing smile with Mrs Gardiner.