Page 84 of When Elizabeth's Cat Chose Darcy
“You deserve her more than you know.”
“That is uncommonly kind of you.” Bingley studied me with the perceptive attention he occasionally displayed beneath the affability. “What happened with Miss Elizabeth last night? She left rather abruptly with Mrs. Bennet. Is she well?”
“I believe so.”
“Have you a note from her? Will she be returning today, or does Mrs. Bennet require her? Although Jane is only too eager to tend to her mother. I shall not keep her from attending to Mrs. Bennet by calling on her, as much as I would desire to. I wonder if Caroline could invite the Bennet ladies over for tea.”
Bingley prattled on, but I had no appetite.Elizabeth’s absence was troubling, but not unexpected. She had not been pleased. Indeed, she was furious, dressed in a green muslin that brought out her eyes, a woodland fairy with cheeks rosy from anger.
I had not handled her insinuation well. Elizabeth’s suspicions about Caroline’s intentions toward Georgiana seemed exaggerated, perhaps even unjust, no doubt borne of her concern for Jane. Miss Bingley’s ultimate objective was transparent, and I was aware of her machinations ever since I befriended Bingley during our Cambridge years. She wished to be mistress of Pemberley, and any attention she bestowed on Georgiana’s improvement was meant to convince me of her care. No, Caroline’s efforts were solely directed at ingratiating herself with me, a fact which, while occasionally tiresome, was hardly nefarious.
The jig from the music room crescendoed—a bright, stomping phrase that Elizabeth had hummed while demonstrating the steps, her petticoat swinging. I remembered standing in the doorway watching them, two girls making a racket in a room that had never known racket, and it had been the happiest quarter-hour of my time in Hertfordshire, though I had not identified it as happiness at the time, because I had been too occupied classifying it as improper.
The breakfast room door opened. I looked up, half-expecting the bad luck of Caroline entering after having listened in at the door, but it was only Mrs. Nicholls.
“Mr. Darcy, sir. Mr. Philips of Meryton has arrived, with Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet. They request a word.”
“Mr. Philips?” Bingley frowned. “That is the solicitor, is he not? Mrs. Bennet’s brother? What could he possibly want?”
“Show them into the drawing room, Mrs. Nicholls. We will attend them there.”
Mr. Philips stood by the window with the bearing of a solicitor on an errand of necessity, of which he took no pleasure. Georgiana stopped playing the country jig and entered the drawing room, no doubt eager for company. My sister smiled at the Bennet sisters—the open, trusting smile that was Elizabeth’s finest accomplishment.
Jane and Mary both carried large cloth bags, dipping into curtsies as Bingley and I entered. Jane’s face bore the kindness of a quiet composure that Elizabeth had once described to me as notabsence of feeling but refusal to impose it.I remembered the description because Elizabeth had said it with the tenderness she reserved for her beloved sister. And it told me everything anyone needed to know about Elizabeth Bennet, if one was paying attention.
“Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley.” Mr. Philips produced a sealed letter. “I apologize for the intrusion at this hour. I come at the request of Mrs. Bennet, on behalf of her daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Please, sit, and I shall call for tea.” I endeavored to fill the space with civility.
He remained standing, as did Elizabeth’s sisters, looking uneasily at each other while Georgiana paled visibly, her hand fluttering to her throat.
“I shall be brief,” Mr. Philips said, not waiting for me to break the seal. “Mrs. Bennet wishes to formally terminate the companionship arrangement between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and your ward, Miss Georgiana Darcy. The relevant terms are outlined here, though in substance, the matter is simple: the duration of the engagement fell short of a fortnight, and as such, no compensation is due. Mrs. Bennet declines any payment and requests that the termination be considered effective immediately.”
“But…” Georgiana began and stopped when I held up my hand.
I broke the seal and glanced at the contents. They were, as Mr. Philips stated.
No compensation is due.
Four words. A financial assessment of what Elizabeth had done—the walks, the battledore, the kitchen, the confidence she had poured into Georgiana drop by drop with the patience of a woman who understood that trust could not be constructed on a schedule. The library at midnight. The Commerce game. The stile. The apple cores. The biscuits. All of it—everything—valued at zero.
“I see.” My voice sounded like someone else’s.
“Miss Bennet has come to collect Elizabeth’s belongings,” Mr. Philips continued. “And Miss Mary wished to see Miss Darcy, if that is permitted.”
“Of course. Mrs. Nicholls will show Miss Mary to the music room.”
I nodded toward my sister, and she approached Mary with a hesitant smile. “A pleasure, Miss Mary. I’ve been waiting to show you the fingering on that last sonata.”
Jane’s eyes darted to Bingley, but she made no move, as was proper. This wasn’t a social call, and I had nothing more to say. Elizabeth would never return.
“Mr. Darcy?” Jane’s chin dipped. “I shall need perhaps half an hour to pack my sister’s things. May I be permitted to enter her chamber?”
“Yes.”
She turned toward the door, and I heard my voice before I had authorized it.
“Miss Bennet.”
