40 • Sacrifice

“Why didn’t you tell me I’ve been invited to Pemberley?” Jane asked.

“Well, see, there was a fire, and before that, William swept me up in his romanticism.”

Jane spun a parasol loaned from their aunt over her shoulder while they stood in the park. “As comforting as it is to know that someone can commandeer your thoughts so thoroughly, that does not eliminate the opportunity you had during the entire journey into London.”

She followed his gaze along the lane, left and right and back again. She dragged her nails between her brows. “How exhausting it must be.”

“Hm?” he queried, wiping his mouth and visibly trying not to pace.

“Thinking as much as you do, although I’m not sure the same subject occupies you now as whatever did then. Lizzy, talk to me.”

“Have you asked William why he didn’t invite you directly?”

“He has invited me directly, because you neglected to do so. We’re both aware that you have been incorrectly prioritizing certain occupations of thought.”

He raised a brow at her. “Is this an ambush?”

“You’re acting like it is, looking about as you are. Who are you looking for? I thought we were awaiting this Mr. Marlowe.”

“We are.”

“Speaking of which, we ought to see a play before we leave. Do you think he’s related to the playwright?”

But James slapped his cheeks while he exhaled to flap his lips together. “Lizzy, for heaven’s sake, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong this instant, I’ll give William full rights to wring it out of you.”

“You won’t tell him a damn thing!” he burst, which raised her brows. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry, Jane.” He finally succumbed to pacing in front of a tree. Fallen white blossoms carpeted the grass while gleeful children played in the distance.

“This…this hasn’t to do with me or my wedding, does it?”

James came to a stop while cradling his face. He shook his head. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, we’ve been over that. Well, I’ve been, but you’re a poor listener.”

He glared from within his sullen cave but it crumbled against her defiant smirk. “It’s me, Lizzy. What can you possibly have which you would not want to talk to me about?”

James sighed, his hands lowering to cross his arms. “I want to commission something with Mr. Marlowe. I think he knew when a lord had walked into his shop, but his discretion for customers was sound.”

“That’s good for William,” she agreed, “but are you worried he won’t extend the same courtesy to you? Or—goodness, I don’t entirely understand, yet, how one’s ties to a lord work in society.”

“I’m not concerned with that, exactly.”

They paused briefly at the sound of a particularly jubilant scream in the distance, but a child’s sibling was simply swinging them around in a circle.

James leaned toward her to relinquish, “I need someone who may notice William wearing something, but to not speak about it. I need that sort of discretion.”

Her features relaxed somewhat. “You’re wanting a gift for William? I don’t see the problem; lords receive gifts all the time, surely—”

“They don’t receive rings, Jane,” he sighed. She absorbed this, holding his gaze and hearing his nervous swallow. “I’ve been thinking about…what it’s to do with. Marriage. It’s not societal marriage I want.”

The cogs of her mind moved. “You want to give William a ring.”

James heaved, “Yes… Or I want to ask if he’ll take a ring. That requires having it in the first place—”

“You’re proposing!”

“No—No!”

“Oh, Lizzy!”

“Jane,” he whined, leaning back from her hands reaching for his face.

“But plenty of couples go without rings. They’re quite the up and coming choice. Therefore, having a ring will not necessarily raise attention, especially as people believe William to be unmarried and not courting.”

“But why should somebody with his estate wear anything less than a gold insignia or a distinct jewel on his finger? I need someone to make a ring which I can afford, that William would feel inclined to wear—if he agrees in the first place—and the maker must not be boastful about it!”

“I think you’re misplacing an equally important detail.” Jane had successfully halted the breath in her brother’s lungs. She waited for him to absorb this and answered his frown, “It’s not like you have a preexisting ring you can pinch for Mr. Marlowe to measure, right?”

James gaped for a time. “William doesn’t wear rings.”

“So you must employ another, more knowledgeable person into this scheme,” she smiled. “Perhaps Charles, or his housekeeper? She ought to know his measurements better than anyone. Or Georgiana! She would know which family jewelry might fit him. A logical starting point. Chances are slim but impressive for Mr. Marlowe to know just from looking at one’s finger—”

“William doesn’t wear rings!” he all but yelled, throwing himself back into a pacing stride and pulling at his hair. “Oh no. Stupid! Stupid, stupid—Marlowe’s coming here for nothing!”

“Why, I rather like nothing. Nothing is where all the inspiration comes from. Can’t have good work without a bit of sloth now and again.”

James turned horrified eyes to the man stepping off the path to join them on the grass. Jane met him first with her dazzling grin. “Mr. Marlowe! Good morning, I’m Jane Bennet, my stubborn brother’s other half, usually. Thank you so much for meeting us.”

He laughed and kissed her hand. “Lovely day for it. It’s good to get out of one’s corner of civilization. If I may be so bold as to carry on, what’s this about a ring?”

A moan of frustration turned their heads to James striding in the grass while undoing his cravat. Shoving it into his waistcoat pocket, he appeared once more the picture of a carefree youth in bustling London, but Jane could see how his chest had flushed all the way up his throat.

“As I’m sure you can tell, Mr. Marlowe, my brother is in love.”

“Indeed,” he gave her an understanding smirk. “My girls will be most annoyed to hear it.”

“You have daughters?” she chimed.

“Two very headstrong ones, yes. After just one meeting, they were just shy of besotted with Mr. Bennet. My youngest, in particular.”

“Everyone likes Jamie,” she grinned.

“Then may I inquire, what has convinced him that the ring’s recipient might not?”

“Oh, but they do! They are every bit established already. Jamie’s just…”

She had not the words, so Mr. Marlowe simply followed her glance at James. His formerly combed hair now swept in various directions while he rolled his shirtsleeves up to further ventilate his overheating body.

“I see.”

James practically lunged forward. “You don’t understand! They don’t wear rings! Why should they start now? And for something that’s barely more than a gold wire! Ugh—it’s dreadfully plain!”

“Gold is never plain,” Mr. Marlow assured. “A thin, gold band is what you’re seeking? I think that rings of a thoughtful practicality. Like you desire the person’s hand to still be utilitarian, am I correct?”

James breathed as if he had been running. He sent a desperate look to Jane while he rubbed his sternum. “Well, h-they—they like horse riding, so…”

“Then the only issue I see is the eventual flattening to one side of the ring, but that is easily amended whenever they wish. They might even be able to do it themselves with a mandrel and leather bound mallet. But this would depend on the finer details. Have you considered engravings, or a certain shape to the band? Less is more, I find, if you are worried about it not meeting a certain standard. A twisted band, or those of Gaelic heritage enjoy rings with a plait design.”

Jane watched as her brother’s eyes sank under the weight of options and payment. “I can’t afford…”

“Not to worry,” Mr. Marlowe reassured. “There isn’t any rush, I hope?”

Jane looked to her brother, who shook his head. Marlowe rubbed his hands together. “Good! Then how about you let me take that item off your mind and we can settle something much more manageable. I believe this is for your wedding table, Miss Bennet?”

“Oh!” Jane chirped as he extracted something from a leather satchel by his hip.

Marlowe laughed, “Can always tell who the bride is in a room. Their minds always seem to be everywhere at once, so much so that they forget they’re the ones getting married.”

Jane’s hands gestured animated while she deliberated on taking the precious parcel from him. “Between the city and our young cousins, I’ve been otherwise taken from the wedding arrangements. Oh, Lizzy, you’ll make wonderful candles from these!”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted a hole to be cut from the center for a wick,” Marlowe narrated as James took one of the dishes. “And Miss Bennet, the edge can be manipulated however you like. I can crimp it like frills, cut it into scallops, whatever you like.”

“Oh,” James intercepted, handing it back to Jane so he might procure his own goods. “There was an accident and I lost most of my supplies, but I hope these will suffice for an idea of the candles I make. My aunt was very kind in sacrificing her kitchen for them.”

“Sacrifice?” the man chortled as he took the tea light and short cylindrical candle. “Whatever could’ve happened? Perhaps I don’t know the full extent of what is required for candles—These are marvelous!”

He swirled them under his nose as if he were sampling from a wine glass. He lingered on the cedar pillar. “Ah, this is very fine. I may just burn this inside my shop so patrons may clear their senses. Never mind trying to overpower the butcher’s.”

James managed an exhalation of relief. “I’m glad you like it. I lost the majority of my wax in a fire; I don’t usually offer so little as a sample of my work.”

“A fire?” Marlowe piqued. “Heavens, I heard all the way in Richmond how a fire broke out in central London. Now you’ve had one too? This is most irregular during the summer.”

Jane agreed, “It is never too frequent to have them swept out.”

She and James shared a mute exchange. The latter kept his hand, the worst of it lightly bandaged, beside his hip.

* * * * * * *

The Bingleys’ housekeeper answered the door. James offered an apologetic smile to her otherwise tightly pulled hair and narrow eyes. “May I pass through?”

Her voice was kind despite her austere features. “Let’s check on that hand first.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he obeyed, following her into the Bingleys’ London apartments.

“Your voice has recovered,” she commented, retrieving an entire leather case of medical supplies and a basin. James did not think his hand required an entire washing, but far be it for him to argue with the woman.

“The majority of my hand, as well. I must’ve touched the pot for less time than I thought. My palm has the worst of it still.”

She took care not to soak and unsettle the hard flesh over his palm and the smaller spots on his fingers. His skin turned ruddy in an instant under her ministrations, revealing its persistent sensitivity, but her salve cooled his skin and she declared his fingers unnecessary for binding. His palm, however, got bandaged all the way down his wrist.

“His lordship was here an hour ago, but I am not sure beyond that,” she dismissed him.

“Thank you very much—”

“Mr. Bennet,” Caroline heralded from the doorway. “May I have a word?”

He and the housekeeper nodded to one another and he made to follow Caroline to the parlour with the adjoining door. James could better appreciate the room this time and even picture Charles in it. The pastel teal walls underneath laurel leaf and bouquet mouldings made Caroline’s hair shine all the brighter.

“This is irregular for me,” Caroline pitched right to it, “seeing as we may be family but we are hardly friends, Mr. Bennet. However, I owe you an apology.”

James hardly knew what to say, but he was nothing if not a true sibling. “Really? I shall commit this moment to memory, then.”

“Don’t tease me,” she bit, looking every bit as uncomfortable as her position warranted. “The matter resides that I insinuated something most foul with nothing more than the evidence that you were present for the fire. Housing in the city center is expensive, I’m sure you know, which puts both mine and Lord Darcy’s flats at a severe disadvantage should something like that happen again. What’s more, this has been our family home since we were children. Charles may be ready to move on to Netherfield, but I am not ready to renounce this place. Therein sprouted my rash assumption that you were to blame.”

Japes aside, his shoulders slowly relaxed. Taking a moment to simply breathe and gather his thoughts, he took long enough for Caroline to cross her arms around herself before he said, “I suppose both of us are reacting more negatively than we care to admit to our happy siblings.”

Her mouth opened as if out of habit; a careless rebuttal ready to fly against him, but she thoughtfully closed her lips, her eyes downcast. “It has been Charles and myself for—at least it feels like—longer than Charles, Louisa, and myself. I have noticed an aloofness in eldest siblings. Louisa married easily and remains just as happily away as when she is with us, as if there were hardly any difference.

“I suppose I liked Darcy for being contrary to this. He appears just as standoffish as any elder sibling, trained to navigate the world first, and alone. But he dotes on Georgiana, and on Charles. I must admit I have always been fond of Jane for doing the same. Who else is left to dote on me, when they’ve all gone to live their lives?”

“It can be difficult: finding someone who will let you care for them,” James relinquished.

Caroline looked up with wide eyes, as if she had not anticipated so much to escape her, nor his response. He added, “I cannot blame you for your persistence. Trust is an arduous path, and I think more people than you realize will understand your impatience to get on with it…

“Jane is the most patient person I’ve ever known. But I think the freedom which comes from being with someone who shares that trust is enabling other qualities in her. Traits she’s never allowed herself to explore before. I know how lonely it is, feeling sacrificed for your dearest friend to be happy.”

“Such is easy for you to say,” she responded, giving her elbows a squeeze. “I am not completely ignorant of how people respond to me—yourself included. Everyone is a moth to a Bennet’s flame, and yet the ginger Bingleys were a joke until we had money.”

“May I make the suggestion,” James ventured slowly, giving her time to refuse, “that perhaps you might spend more time with Charles and Jane, and less time with the Hursts. Jane has always sought your friendship and will more than readily treat you like a sister. I’ve always pestered her for being too kind for her own good, but she does have a good eye for company. Perhaps you may like the refreshment, being with people who care as much about money as they care about the weather.”

Her weight shifted and she lifted a hand to move her fingers along her neck. “Well…this would mean prolonged exposure to each other, I assume?”

It became his turn to be surprised. “Would it?”

Some of her scathing body language returned in the roll of her head. “Oh, please. Give Jane an hour, and she will spend half of it talking about you. ‘Jamie said blah blah, he has such wit. Jamie made this while I was feeling a bit blue, he reads me so well.’ For heaven’s sake. The two of you are deplorable—don’t smile like that!”

James let his grin take full control of his face. “I suppose you will be seeing me a great deal. I must supply Jane with topics of conversation. I won’t stand for Mrs. Bingley to be known as a bore.”

“Take your shameless self out of my flat,” she ordered, but it lacked her usual, privileged bite.

“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” he bowed, and she returned the obligated curtsy on her way out of the room.

“Mr. Bennet.”

He knocked a rhythm on the wall, and after a moment bouncing on the balls of his feet, he smiled with relief at William opening it instead of his housekeeper. Those handsome features warmed at the sight of him.

“Lizzy,” he smiled back. “I didn’t expect to see you toda—”

James embraced him with enough force to make William step backward. The door sagged closed behind him. “May I sleep here today? You smell of paint.”

“Yes, I chose to extend the bedroom and remove the burnt wall and fireplace entirely. The workmen finished painting today. Of course you can, but are you all right?”

He held James’s arms to encourage him to look at William’s face. “One would think,” he sighed, “that in a house full of children, midday rest would be sacred.”

William chuckled, “I suppose this assumption has been proven wrong?”

“It seems that when relatives come to town, all rules escape through whatever door they arrived in.”

James’ arm moved around William’s waist as he guided them in the direction of the study. “Are you sure you wish to sleep here? I am used to the smell, but it does attack in waves.”

“Just open a window and give me one of your worn shirts.”

“Pardon?”

“What?” James threw back.