Page 57 of The Difference of a Darcy
“Oh, I see.”
Darcy had not thought it possible for Jane to appear more subdued, but the light in her eyes dimmed further still. The silence that followed stretched a beat too long before Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands. “Well! I daresay you have had enough talk—come, let us see if Cook can spare a few biscuits for our guests. And perhaps a dry gown for Mrs. Smith. I daresay you are of a size with Lizzy. Jane, could you fetch one from your room?”
That Mrs. Bennet’s cheer extended so easily to a married couple of modest name and damp boots made him feel a fool for the pride he had once placed in lineage alone. He had always believed himself generous. Civil.
But perhaps his civility had been more arrogance than kindness.
Jane hesitated, her gaze lingering on Elizabeth. But then she turned obediently and went upstairs. Mrs. Bennet frowned at Darcy, looking him up and down. “I would offer you something of my husband’s to wear, sir, but I am afraid that you are much taller than him.”
“That is… very generous of you, madam, I thank you for the offer, but I am quite alright.”
“Perhaps one of the manservants has something… I will have Hill ask.”
Before Darcy could protest, Mrs. Bennet bustled from the room. As the door shut behind them, Elizabeth sank slowly back into her chair, heart pounding.
“There is something very wrong with Jane,” she whispered to him.
∞∞∞
Every part of Elizabeth’s body thrummed with anxiety. There was something wrong—she knew it with certainty. Jane’s smile had been too thin, her voice too still. Whatever had happened, it weighed heavily on her sister’s heart, and Elizabeth’s own heart ached with the need to understand it, to fix it.
Before she could decide what to do, however, Jane reappeared in the doorway.
“If you will come with me,” she said softly, “you can change in the guest chamber.”
Elizabeth rose at once. “Thank you.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I shall remain here until your return.”
She followed Jane up the familiar staircase, her hand brushing the smooth wood of the banister she had once slid down as a girl. Everything looked the same—the gilt-framed landscapes, the threadbare runner, even the faint creak on the third stair—but the warmth of home felt distant, like something glimpsed through glass.
Jane led her to the guest room at the end of the hall. The fire had been recently stoked, the curtains drawn against the storm’s gray light. As soon as the door shut behind them, Elizabeth turned.
Her sister’s composure faltered the moment they were alone. The gown—which Elizabeth recognized as one of her own—trembled slightly in Jane’s hands. Elizabeth took it from her sister and set it on the bed. Jane began to excuse herself, but Elizabeth asked her to remain and help her with the buttons in the back.
“Now, Jane,” Elizabeth said gently as the final button was secure, “your sister has confided much in me about you.”
Jane froze. Her eyes widened in sudden panic.
Elizabeth blinked, confused by the reaction. She softened her voice still further. “I can tell you are troubled. Please, will you not tell me for yourself? It did your sister much good to confide in me, and I think you will find the same.”
Jane’s throat worked soundlessly. Then, with a small, broken sound, she set the gown on the bed and pressed her hands to her face.
“Jane!” Elizabeth exclaimed, rushing forward, but her sister was already shaking with sobs—quiet at first, then deeper, the kind that came from long restraint.
“I am so ashamed,” Jane choked. “So very ashamed. I did not mean for any of it—oh, my dear Lizzy. My poor, dear sister. I never wished it to end this way.”
Elizabeth knelt beside her, though her heart was pounding. “End what way? Dearest, you are trembling. Tell me—whatever it is, you must tell me. It will ease your heart to speak of it.”
Jane drew a ragged breath, lowering her hands at last. Her face was blotched and wet, her blue eyes shining with anguish.
“I cannot bear it any longer,” she whispered. “I feel so guilty, just so guilty for everything that has happened to her. To Elizabeth. She should never have had to marry him. It was my fault. All my fault.”
Elizabeth hesitated, her pulse roaring in her ears. “What do you mean, your fault?”
Jane swallowed hard, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Her voice was barely audible.
“I am with child.”
