An Unlikely Acquaintance

Part 31

A/N - So sorry for disappearing! I had a hectic couple of days. Now back to regularly-scheduled sharing! ;)

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Even though Elizabeth was fond of writing and was the most eager correspondent of her whole family, she found no delight in writing to Mary that afternoon.

I have neglected the task too long, she thought, dipping her pen in ink and hovering it uselessly over the blank sheet of paper. It is hardly Mary's fault there is nothing worth writing to her about!

Yes, it was the quietness of life at Longbourn that had delayed her response, not Mary herself, for Lizzy found her sister rather more bearable by letter than in person, however cruel an acknowledgement that might privately be. In-person, Mary could be sharp and uncompromising, but in a letter, her insight rendered her almost witty. Lizzy's lips quirked as she recalled a story in Mary's most recent letter that detailed an adventure to a museum and the catalogue of unusual characters that had caught her sister's eye amongst the patrons that far outstripped any interest she found in the exhibition. Equally pleasing had been Mary's reflections on her new friend, Georgiana Darcy.

Lizzy sighed and put her pen down, reaching for this latest letter and skimming back over it, though she had read it so many times she ought to be quite word-perfect by now. The first read-through had been for her eyes only, then again once she had shared it with Jane. Mrs Bennet had queried their secrecy, demanding the whole be read aloud and then wailing that Mary might consider writing to her own mother on occasion, and not leave her to get news third hand in this unfeeling manner. Lizzy had had to bite down hard on her tongue to keep from reminding Mrs Bennet that she, herself, had ceded the task of scribe to Lizzy after Mary's third letter had arrived without receiving an answer.

Lizzy had taken to the task with gusto at first, for she prided herself on her skills as an authoress and tailored her letters to Mary's interests, broadening happily when Mary herself wrote back sounding so unlike herself. Concerts and lectures, yes, she could well envisage Mary making a bee-line for those. But assemblies? Walks in London's many parks? Meeting new friends? Associating - willingly and happily - with Mr Darcy and his sister? This had opened up a whole new side to Mary and Elizabeth nursed a private interest in seeing her upon her return, for surely this Mary must be as different from the quiet, mousy one who had left Longbourn as night was from day.

Who knows, Lizzy mused, a smile dancing at her lips as she read Mary's funny account of Uncle Gardiner's attempt to mend one of young William's toys, only to have the finished product overlooked in honour of a rag. Perhaps we will even get along!

This idea was so remarkable and so cheering that Lizzy was still smiling when the door to her room flew open without a knock and Jane burst in, looking quite out of sorts.

"Are you busy?" she asked, closing the door behind her and leaning against it as if in an attempt to keep a pursuer at bay. "I need to talk to you."

"Of course." Lizzy put her letters aside, quite content to leave Mary to wait another hour while she devoted her energy to Jane, who seemed so unsettled that Lizzy's curiosity burned to know what had caused her ordinarily calm, sanguine sister to be breathless and agitated.

"Sit down." Lizzy guided Jane to one corner of the bed and perched opposite her on the other, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you quite well?"

"Yes." Jane frowned. "No. That is, no, I am not unwell." She chewed on the inside of her mouth as if struggling to find words to explain just how she felt at all.

"Has Colonel Fitzwilliam gone back to Meryton?" Lizzy asked, seizing desperately on the one thing that might have caused Jane to become so suddenly and abruptly unsettled. "Did something happen?" She could not entertain that Colonel Fitzwilliam would be anything other than honourable, but perhaps he had been called away by a runner. Yes! That must be it. Some disaster or other had befallen the barracks and he was summoned back to a tragedy. Lizzy's heart jumped, wondering momentarily if George Wickham might, at that moment, be suffering under some dreadful calamity. She blinked, steeling herself as Jane, at last, found her voice, a shaking, nervy version of her usual calm melody.

"He - I think he has confessed to caring for me." Jane's eyes widened. "A great deal. I think - I think he loves me, Lizzy."

"Well, of course he does!" Lizzy laughed, stopping abruptly when she caught sight of her sister. "Didn't you know?" She reached for Jane, encompassing one hand in both of hers. "It has been apparent to me since the very first time you danced at the assembly."

"Then why did you not say so?" Jane cried. "Oh, Lizzy! I have been in a tumult of indecision, not knowing whether he cared for me or even noticed me at all -"

"He has been out walking with you almost every day this week," Lizzy reminded her. "He carried you back here in his own arms!"

"That was different." Jane waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss Lizzy's comments one by one. "He is gallant and kind and Papa's friend."

"And he cares very much for you," Lizzy said, gently. "And now that he has told you as much, the only thing you must decide is whether you feel the same." A tiny flicker of concern fluttered in her chest. "You do like him, don't you?"

"I do...yes, I - I do like him," Jane began, her eyes darting from Lizzy to the door, to the patchwork quilt beneath them. Slipping her hand free of Elizabeth's grasp, she began to trace the outline of the quilted squares, pausing to tug on a loose thread. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a whisper and Lizzy had to duck her head closer to be able to hear.

"But what if he changes his mind?"

Lizzy straightened, leaning back a little on the bed.

"Mr Bingley claimed to care for me, too. At least, I thought he did." Jane sighed. "He never said as much."

"Well, there you are!" Lizzy exploded, as eager to forsake Mr Bingley now that a viable and preferable alternative had emerged as she had been to defend him in his early absence. "Colonel Fitzwilliam has outstripped him there, as he has done in almost every other facet."

She cursed the almost that was forced to remain, for there was no denying that however fondly they might admire Colonel Fitzwilliam, he had not the financial comforts that might have been afforded Mr Bingley's wife. His family is far older, she thought, spitefully recalling that Mr Bingley and his sister, however well they thought of themselves, were yet children of tradesmen.

This thought was enough to shock her into silence. Was it not the very assertion Mr Darcy might have made, had he been here? Lizzy shook her head, trying to clear the image and wondering quite why it was that Mr Darcy sought forever to emerge into her thoughts at the most inopportune and unexpected of moments. He and I are nothing alike, she told herself, firmly. And neither are he and his cousin.

"What did you say?" Elizabeth asked, dragging her mind back to Jane's predicament, and feeling a twinge of excitement at the romance that had been playing out right under her nose.

"Nothing!" Jane wailed, flopping face down on the bed. "Papa arrived and then Colonel Fitzwilliam had to leave and oh! Oh, Lizzy! Whatever shall I do?"

Elizabeth stifled a smile, for her sister truly did look so comically forlorn. She reached out a hand and began, abstractedly, to smooth Jane's shining golden hair.

"You shall wait until Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks to you a second time," she said, soothingly. "And then you will marry him and live happily ever after."