“Do I? Both gentlemen possess a handsome countenance and agreeable manners, yet beneath these superficial charms lurks a want of principle that would send any discerning mother and daughter fleeing.”
“As far as we know, Mr. Bingley has not blemished any young woman’s virtue,” Jane protested.
“Has he not?” Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Consider, dear Jane, did he not single you out at every assembly and gathering where you both were in attendance, monopolising your attention while ignoring all other eligible ladies, only to depart without the slightest indication of honourable intentions?”
Jane dipped her head in silent acknowledgement.
“He abandoned Netherfield Park, and you, without a backward glance. You know I speak the truth in this matter.” Elizabeth continued, her voice softening. “Fortunately, his true nature revealed itself before your affections grew too deep. When, not if, he inevitably learns of our circumstances and attempts to charm his way back into your favour, you shall recognise him for the fortune-hunter he truly is.”
“I confess, I did not think him so bad,” Jane admitted reluctantly. “But in retrospect — do not give me that look, Elizabeth Bennet — in retrospect, I now realise our conversations lacked substance. He praised my beauty, mytemperament, my…” She hesitated, exhaling deeply. “…my nothing. While he discoursed at length on London society, his dogs, his steed, and his sporting pursuits, he showed no interest in how I spent my time, or what hopes I held for my future. Our exchanges were vacuous.”
“I am so glad you came to this realisation yourself, as I know you try very hard to see the good in all.”
“I am not completelynaïve; I am quite pragmatic when pushed, although I will admit that at first, I was disconsolate over his abrupt leaving, and heartbroken when I received the letter from his sister. At that time, I had not stopped to think over everything, as it was quite heady to have such a handsome, wealthy man pay so much attention to me.”
“And now?”
“You saw how Miss Bingley treated us on Bond Street, and at the theatre. I would not wish to have Mr. Bingley as a husband for all the reasons we have discussed, and I certainly would not want Miss Bingley as a sister by marriage. Mrs. Hurst is someone I could spend time with, but not at the risk of being in the company of her sister.”
“Brava, Jane! I concur with your observation. I have it on great authority that Mr. Darcy’s friendship is with Mr. Hurst. They have known each other since they were boys. Mr. Bingley came to Mr. Darcy’s attention when Mr. Hurst married Miss Louisa Bingley.”
“I had wondered how Mr. Darcy met Mr. Bingley. It could not have been through university, as there are five years between them.”
“I am glad Mr. Darcy came to speak with you.”
“We have entertained more than one gentleman of late.” Aunt Madeline’s eyes twinkled as she glanced towards Jane. “Mr. Morgan has graced our parlour with remarkable frequency these past weeks, and not always accompanied by his sister.”
“Aunt!” Jane’s cheeks bloomed a delicate rose hue. She adjusted the cream-coloured shawl draped across her shoulders. “Mr. Morgan has always conducted himself with perfect propriety.”
“Indeed, he has,” Aunt Madeline agreed with a knowing smile that creased the corners of her eyes. “But one would need to be quite blind not to notice his particular attention to you.”
“After what happened in Hertfordshire…” Jane’s voice faltered, her gaze dropping. “I dare not presume. I shall wait for him to declare himself.”
Elizabeth’s heart constricted at her sister’s uncertainty, the familiar ache of witnessing Jane’s undeserved suffering returning. Before she could offer any reassurance, Jane looked up suddenly.
“Do you recall that dreadful poem I received when I was fifteen?”
“How could we forget? Mamma mentions it to every gentleman she thinks you should marry, usually before the second cup of tea.”
“Well…” Jane began slowly, her slender fingers twisting the embroidered edge of her shawl. “Mr. Morgan was the author of that poem.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened,hersecond cup of tea freezing midway to her lips.
“What?”
Jane’s eyes softened as she recalled the memory, her lips curving into a wistful smile.
“It was in the year ’04. Our paths crossed quite by chance in the park opposite uncle’s house, where Margaret and I werefeeding the ducks. Margaret, being only two at the time and utterly fearless with strangers, offered Mr. Morgan a piece of bread as he walked by. The gentleman accepted with such grace, bowing at the waist, that one would think our young cousin had presented him with the Crown Jewels. We conversed easily that day, and on three subsequent occasions over the following fortnight, each time longer than the last. At our final meeting, he presented me with his poetic attempt.”
“And then?” Elizabeth pressed, leaning forward in her chair, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “Why did this undeclared courtship end so abruptly?”
Jane’s slender fingers traced the delicate gold edging of her teacup. “That remains a mystery which has haunted me for many years. After the poem changed hands, he simply vanished from my life.”
Aunt Madeline’s eyes softened. “I believe I know why he departed London so suddenly. While I was unaware that he was the gentleman who gave you the poem, Mr. Morgan was known to my husband, which explains why he was near the park. At the time, he was discussing investment opportunities with your uncle when tragedy struck. His father and brother perished in a carriage accident, and he was required to return to Nottingham to manage the family estate.”
“If Mr. Darcy had not been here when Mr. Morgan visited, I may never have known he owns an estate. He does not speak of it, at all.”
“The estate practically runs itself with his excellent steward in place. His mother prefers country life, while he attends to business in London.”