Page 50 of Companions of Their Youth
Elizabeth turned slowly. “Yes, Mama.”
She took her seat and picked up her needlework, but as she threaded her needle, she noticed her mother glancing at the window again, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve.
The rain came twenty minutes later—slow at first, then quickening to a steady drumbeat against the glass. Elizabeth and her mother exchanged a single look.
And then both returned to their stitching, neither saying a word.
A few minutes later, the front door flew open with a gust of wind and a loud clatter of boots. “Good Lord,” came Mark’s voice from the entryway. “It is coming down like cannon fire out there!”
He and Mr. Bennet stepped inside, both soaked through. Their coats were spattered with mud, and Mark’s hat was dripping onto the tiles. Elizabeth looked up from her embroidery just as he peeled it off and ran a hand through his hair—sending a spray of rainwater across Kitty and Lydia, who were sitting nearest to him.
“Mark!” Kitty squealed, ducking behind the arm of the settee as droplets landed on her sleeve.
Lydia shrieked in dismay, hands clapping over her head. “You horrid creature!”
Mark grinned, unrepentant. “Would anyone like a hug?” he asked, stepping forward with outstretched arms.
“No!” came a chorus of voices from his sisters.
Mr. Bennet merely shook his head and removed his coat with a grimace. “You would think we had just swum home from the tenants’ cottage instead of riding.”
“Dinner will be ready shortly,” Mrs. Bennet informed them. “You both have just enough time to change from those damp things.”
Mr. Bennet gave a small bow of acknowledgment. “We shall not keep the table waiting.”
As both men climbed the stairs, Elizabeth glanced toward the darkening sky. The rain had thickened to a steady, drumming fall.
She returned to her needlework, but her eyes strayed often to the window. Her mother sat nearby, working quietly, but the flicker of her glance toward the glass did not go unnoticed. It was not until the clock chimed the hour and the family gathered in the dining room that the question—unspoken until now—finally came aloud.
As the soup was being served, Mark looked around the table and paused. “Where is Jane?”
Mrs. Bennet, already seated and smoothing her napkin into her lap, answered with a hint of unease. “She rode to Netherfield earlier this afternoon. The Bingley sisters invited her to dine.”
Mark’s spoon paused just above his bowl. “In this weather?”
“We tried to stop her,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Mama cautioned her. I did as well. But Jane insisted she would be there long before the rain began.”
“Our Jane… insisting?” Mark echoed, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “She must truly like Bingley’s sisters, then. Though for the life of me, I cannot imagine why.”
Elizabeth gave a pointed look. “I think her interest lies more in their brother.”
Mark let out a short laugh. “Ah. That does explain it. Bingley always had an eye for pretty blondes—and a knack for charming them, too.”
Mr. Bennet set down his spoon with a soft clink. “You ought not to have let her go. The weather was uncertain. You should have forbidden it.”
A flash of hurt crossed Mrs. Bennet’s face. “If you will excuse me,” she said a bit stiffly, rising from her chair. “I must speak with Hill about the dessert.”
Elizabeth watched her go, then turned to her father with a look of mild reproach. “No one expected the rain to come so soon. It took us all by surprise.”
“Indeed,” Mark agreed. “We were caught in it, and we were only just returning from the eastern boundary. I thought we had another hour at least.”
Mr. Bennet sighed and pressed a hand to his brow. “Yes… yes, perhaps I spoke too hastily.”
To his credit, he made an effort for the remainder of the meal to speak more kindly to his wife, offering quiet praise for the meal and asking after the kitchen maid’s cold. Elizabeth saw the lines of tension ease slightly from her mother’s shoulders when she returned to the table, though she continued to glance at the windows between courses.
When the last dish had been cleared and Jane had still not returned, no one said the words aloud—but all at the table recognized what it meant.
Kitty chewed her lower lip and pushed peas around her plate. Lydia leaned over to ask if Jane might catch a chill.
