3 • Wings

James felt the mattress move beneath him and the rustle of the covers as Jane slipped beside him. He had not been asleep long but he rubbed sand from his eyes as he turned over to face her.

“You left early,” she whispered, shuffling close to his warmth. Her cold fingers interlaced with his and he felt her breath on his knuckles. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Too much wine,” he breathed, his eyes closed. “But I’ll be fine by morning.”

Her silence opened his eyes. “Did you want to talk?”

“It can wait for the morning,” she hummed.

“I’m listening,” he coaxed, unconsciously playing with her fingers.

After a long moment she said, “What do you think of him? Of Mr. Bingley. You spent some time with him, I saw.”

“You first,” he prompted.

“Well he is just what a young man ought to be, I suppose,” she said. “Sensible, good humoured, lively; I never saw such happy manners. So much ease with such good breeding.”

Jamie smiled with his eyes closed. “Breeding is a happenstance. His manners are learned and chosen.”

“Then you like him?” she pressed.

“He is handsome,” James agreed. “His constant smile would be difficult to look at otherwise.”

“Jamie,” she giggled. “Be serious.”

He opened his eyes and absorbed her messy, pale blond hair. It was straight and floppy like his own but her skin was fair while his was warmed by the sun. “I like him,” he confirmed. “Between your criteria and mama’s, his character is complete.”

“I do not care about his wealth, you know that.”

“Well that’s good,” he declared. “Because there isn’t enough to induce one to extend such feelings toward his family.”

Her eyes crinkled with her mirth. “Were they truly so unbearable? The Hursts seemed like a fine pair.”

“Diluted waters,” James responded.

Jane pinched his nose. “You’re cruel, Lizzy. They were strangers in a strange place, forced to meet everybody at once. You wouldn’t enjoy the situation if you were in their place.”

“You’re right,” he granted. “But you enjoyed tonight?”

“I was very flattered by his asking me to dance a second time,” she confirmed. “I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Only a second?” He held her gaze. “Jane. He could not help seeing that you were about five times prettier than every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that.”

“Lizzy…” she avoided.

“Compliments always take you by surprise, but never me,” he countered. “He certainly is agreeable, and I give you leave to like him.”

She laughed, “Well thank you, I needed it.”

“I know,” he smirked. She pinched his chin as he added, “Besides, you have liked many stupider people.”

“Lizzy!”

The bed crunched softly against their laughter. After a time, James’ mirth faded against the inquiry, “What did you two discuss outside?”

His lashes were heavy as he blinked, examining her features before he replied. “He kissed me.”

He could see the visible pause in her thoughts. Then, “Oh. Do you think…?”

“No,” he said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “At least, not entirely. If your heart is open to him, let it remain so. I do not think he was aware he did it. These city folk are weak to our wine.”

A smile flashed on her lips but quickly faded. Her fingertips tickled along the edge of his jaw. “Were you all right?”

“Fine,” he chimed softly. “He smells like jasmine and if the kiss was any indicator, he will be a considerate lover. You’ll enjoy him.”

The hand left his face to press against her own embarrassment. He chuckled, “I thought you ought to know. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world is good and agreeable in your eyes. I’ve never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life despite many who deserved it. Even myself.”

“I’ll never think or speak ill of you, Jamie,” she hushed, her cheeks rosy. “I owe you too much.”

“You owe me nothing,” he finished darkly, but just as quickly lightened, “I just wanted you to know he volunteered his lips for a taste. You have my approval.”

“The wine is still in you,” she accused with a smile.

He wiggled gently, adjust his place on the bed. “If that is your strongest effort toward an insult, you’ll have to do better.”

“Tomorrow perhaps,” she laughed breathily. “Once we hear the full assault of mama’s retelling of the ball.”

He exhaled heavily. “Good night.”

“Night,” she concurred.

Their eyes closed together, and opened in what felt like minutes despite it being the following morning. Mrs. Bennet’s voice could be heard singing through the walls. James only sighed as he held Jane’s gaze. Lifting onto his elbow, he kissed her forehead and warned, “I’ll bring you tea, but I can’t withhold mama’s summons for long.”

He tucked the covers so none of the heat escaped and carefully went down the narrow servants’ staircase to the kitchen. A kettle was already on the stove, which he poured into a small pot and loaded a tray with a cup, sugar, and lemon so Jane could have her earl grey in peace. After dropping off the tray, he descended the main stairs to where his mother was arranging a fresh bouquet in the dining room.

“Good morning, dearie,” she sang when he kissed her cheek. The hand on his nape smelled of the lavender branches she was handling.

“Morning, mama.”

“Where is your sister?” she beckoned while fixing his hair. “The two of you normally rise together.”

“She’ll be down soon,” he promised, leaning away from her ministrations. He sniffled against the aromas of bacon and rosemary-spiced eggs.

“Lizzy, are you feeling ill?” she worried. “You shouldn’t have walked home last night.”

“I’ll be fine,” he disregarded, lifting a piece of bacon to his teeth.

His mother slapped it back onto the platter. “Not before we’re gathered! We’ll break our fast like a proper family. Where is your father? Fetch him, would you? Wear your coat, the morning still has its chill.”

“The wooly thing?” he complained but she was pushing him in the direction of the back door coat stand.

“Not a word,” she hushed. “It does its occupation well enough. I do not care how it itches.”

He stepped into the worn boots that stood nearly to his knees as he shrugged on the faded black garment. The collar stood against his nape but it was welcome as the cold fog encompassed him. The moisture glowed yellow with the morning light as he found Mr. Bennet on his way back to the house with a brown wrapped parcel he immediately handed to James. “Look what I have. It’s ready for autumn. These will make lovely additions, yes?”

James pulled the twine and found cinnamon bark and various dried herbs. He lifted them to his face and inhaled. “Mmm,” he hummed. “Mama will want these for her pies,” he said, holding up one of the cinnamon pieces.

“There’s more where these came from,” he assured. A large weathered hand pushed the hair off of his son's face and slid down his neck to the coat collar. “This old thing? Are you feeling unwell?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he disregarded. “Mama’s just worrying.”

“Ah, well. You know she loves you. This comes through in many forms, some of them overbearing. I suppose breakfast is ready if she’s sent you to fetch me. Save one of those rosemary bits for your tea.”

James did so, holding the sprig between his teeth while he retied the parcel and set it on the stairway upstairs before he rejoined his family at the table. He dropped the rosemary in the cup Jane was pouring for him and they proceeded to listen to the predicted dialogue:

“We have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. Jane, you were so admired, nothing could be like it. Everybody said how well you looked and Mr. Bingley thought you quite beautiful. He danced with you twice!”

“She was present for them, mama,” James reminded.

She disregarded him. “But twice! Only think of that! She was the only creature in the room he asked a second time. I was so vexed to see him stand up with Miss Lucas, however he did not admire her at all; indeed, nobody can, you know, and he seemed quite struck with Jane. Then he danced with Miss King, and the fourth with Maria Lucas, and of course myself, and then that Boulanger—”

Mr. Bennet put a stop to this. “For god’s sake, say no more of his partners; should that he had sprained his ankle in the first dance.”

James and Kitty snickered into their toast while Jane patiently weathered her mother’s recollections. She proclaimed, “I am quite delighted with him. He is so excessively handsome and his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses. The lace upon Mrs. Hurst’s gown—”

Here again Mr. Bennet refused any description of finery. Barred from her preferred topics, she then fell to Mr. Darcy. “So much bitterness of spirit and shocking rudeness,” she exaggerated. “I can assure you all, we do not lose much by not suiting his fancy. He is a most disagreeable, horrid man; not at all worth pleasing.”

“You make it sound as if it were our duty to do so,” James challenged.

“Well certainly not anymore!” she declared. “So high and so conceited was he that there was no enduring him! He walked here, and then he walked there, fancying himself so very great!”

“Could this not be the same as boredom?” Mary suggested quietly. James refilled her teacup easily with one hand, a finger holding the lid in place.

“Bored at a ball!” she bristled. “Such assemblies are not exclusive to us country folk; he hasn’t any excuse! Bless Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst for tolerating him; he is not handsome enough to dance with. I wish you had given him one of your set-downs, dear,” she addressed to her husband. “I quite detest the man.”

“Far be it for me to intrude upon Jane’s courtship,” Mr. Bennet refused. “Mr. Darcy and Bingley have established their friendship and you must navigate around it.”

“Well,” she continued while buttering a scone. “None of the lot’s manners are equal to dear Charles’, but the majority are very pleasing when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house. I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbor in her.”

Jane and James exchanged looks but listened in silence.

However it was one of the occasions their mother saw. “Lizzy, what think you of the Bingley sisters?”

“Mama, would you pass the strawberry—” Jane tried to distract but she waved Jane’s voice aside.

“Lizzy?”

He held his mother’s gaze while he finished chewing his bacon and spared a glance to Mr. Bennet before proceeding, “They were fine ladies, sure. Neither was lacking in good humour when they were pleased and both held the power of being agreeable where they chose it. But they are proud and conceited. No amount of handsome qualities or rightly places freckles can forgive their unbearable characteristics.”

“But Jamie, they are highly educated women, and Caroline has at least a fortune of twenty thousand—”

“Indeed,” he curtailed. “They are handsome, have been educated in one of the best private seminaries, are in the habit of spending freeing without concern, and of associating with people of rank. Therefore in every respect they are entitled to think well of themselves, and meanly of everyone else. I am not disillusioned by their fine fabrics. They are a northern family otherwise as bumpkin as us; the only difference is they earned a fortune in trade.”

His mother parted her lips but Mr. Bennet finished, “My love, this is the last we will hear of it.” His tone brokered no argument.

She sighed but ate her scone and continued without an ounce of missing energy. Apparently she had done her duty in reconnaissance the night previous for she unfolded a series of details about the Bingleys: their father had passed away before establishing a family estate but left behind one hundred thousand pounds which Charles intended to use for such a purpose. He was renting Netherfield with this prospect in mind, much with the encouragement of his sisters.

She seemed to have also deduced, or at least convinced herself she had, the reasoning behind his and Darcy’s friendship. “Charles’ easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper,” she insisted. “Despite the greater contrast between them, on the strength of Darcy’s regard, Bingley has the firmest reliance. He considers Darcy’s judgment of the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy is superior, of course…”

“Careful, mama,” James teased. “It might almost sound as if you approve of the man.”

“We must hope for some of his education to come through,” she said over a long sip of tea. James saw she had finished the milk for her tea and passed the second small pitcher over for her to replenish her cup. “Bingley is by no means deficient, but Darcy is clever. This hardly excuses him of his haughty, reserved and fastidiousness, his manners…I find myself agreeing with you, sweet, if not about the Bingley sisters. Though well-bred, he is not inviting. Yes, Charles far has the greater advantage. Bingley was so sure of being liked wherever he appeared last night. Darcy was continually giving offense.”

“Mama, how often did you witness him speak?” Jane challenged.

She patted her eldest’s hand. “It matters not how many times one’s lips part, but what passes when they do—Lydia.”

Her youngest had belched, much to the disgust of Mary beside her. James guffawed with a hand over his mouth while Kitty joined his mirth despite their mother’s chagrin. “Oh, Lizzy, you delight in anything ridiculous. Don’t influence your sisters so.”

Mr. Bennet hardly stifled his own chuckles. “How odd, to cast the blame on someone other than she who belched. It seems Lydia can do no wrong.”

Lydia was the picture of innocence and the table was officially in an uproar.

Once breakfast was finished, Mrs. Bennet announced her intention to visit the Lucases, and insisted upon James’ company. “You know how their younger children adore you. I need you to keep them company so Lady Lucas and I can speak properly. Charlotte will rejoice in your company too.”

“Only so someone else can play governess to her siblings,” he teased, but nonetheless went to wash his face and dress himself appropriately.

“She is twenty-seven,” his mother said beside him, using the mirror to add a bit of red pigment to her lips. “She may well be a governess to somebody soon.”

“She is educated and level-headed enough,” James commended.

His mother’s head tilted as if she had either been distracted or not expecting this from him. “Yes, yes, of course. Now don’t forget your coat. The last thing I’ll be able to bear is you falling ill—oh, Jane! Are you joining us?”

James reentered their shared room where she was tying a sunhat atop her loose blond braid. He reached over her shoulder for his own but…”Where is mine?”

“I think Lydia borrowed it,” Jane supplied while their mother helped her tie it.

“Lydia doesn’t borrow anything,” he complained and went in search of her. It proved easier to simply take it from her and Kitty’s room without direct interaction, and before long, the three of them were walking through Longbourn. That the Miss Lucases and the Miss Bennets should meet to talk over a ball was more than friendly custom: it was absolutely necessary. Since the latter had worn out the topic amongst her family, Mrs. Lucas and Charlotte were her last resources.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” she commended when they finally sat themselves to tea. Charlotte of course said something pleasantly self-demeaning in favour of Bingley’s liking of Jane, to the delight of Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh—you mean—because he danced with her twice…”

James took his leave, then, to carry as many smaller Lucases outside since they had already climbed atop him.

“Jamie! Catch me!” one of the boys sang, and James turned to catch him at the bottom of the stairs between the porch and the ground.

One of Charlotte’s sisters tugged on his arm. “Jamie, our radishes have sprouted! Come see!”

“Am I to be neglected?” Jane laughed, making her escape from the discussion within. The children sang their jubilation and drew the Bennets into the garden where Sir William Lucas welcomed them and waved aside their apologies of intrusion. Together they picked the radishes and the Bennet siblings ushered the children to wash their hands while Charlotte joined them.

“They have moved on to the topic of Lord Darcy, now,” she informed.

“Predictably,” James shared a smile with Jane while petting the Lucas’s hound.

Charlotte sat beside Jane on the stairs, “Lizzy, you didn’t say he had been rude to you. Mama said she overheard Charles suggest to Mr. Darcy that he should converse with you and he outright refused?”

Jane quickly said, “Miss Bingley told me that he never speaks much unless among his intimate acquaintance. With them he is remarkably agreeable.”

“I understand shyness or hesitancy,” Charlotte remarked, “But I wish he had not snubbed Jamie so. A bristled tongue he may have but Jamie is endearing to all those deserving of his kindness.”

Jane cast a worried glance to her brother, who merely gave her a smile while the hound’s tail wagged with frenzy. “Another time, perhaps.”

Charlotte sighed. “His pride does not offend me so much as vanity often does, because there is typically an excuse for it. For him, one cannot wonder how so very fine a young man with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may express it, he does have a right to be proud.”

Jane scolded, “I beg you would not put it into Lizzy’s head to be vexed by his ill treatment. We shan’t handle his company more than necessary, so Mr. Darcy need not make excuses for himself at all.”

James tugged on her earlobe to calm her. “I’m afraid I agree with you this time. Why should I think ill or highly of somebody who has yet to speak to me directly? You know I’ve never cared much how others view me; more so how their opinions affect my family’s happiness.”

“Pride,” Mary Bennet surprised them by appearing in the house’s doorway, “is a very common failing, I believe. By all that I have read, I am convinced that human nature is prone to it. There are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency for some quality or other. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, while vanity is what we would have others think of us.”

In the wake of their silence she came to sit between her siblings. James set his sunhat atop her head to protect her pallor; her complexion was quite red from the walk to catch up with them.

Suddenly one of the young Lucases declared, “If I were as rich as Lord Darcy, I would not care how proud I was! I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine everyday!”

The elders laughed heartily. Charlotte drew her brother into her lap and warned, “Then you would drink a great deal more than you ought, and if I were to see you at it I should take away your bottle directly.”

The younger seemed determined to deny this and press his point until Mrs. Bennet declared herself satisfied from her discussion. The following day Mrs. Bennet made a different pronouncement: they were to call on Netherfield.

“James! You are being unreasonable,” she lamented as the chaise was prepared. The summer’s heat had made a reappearance so the roof was folded down.

“I disagree,” he said patiently albeit tersely.

“It will be considered an offense if you do not join us in welcoming them to Netherfield.”

“What was the Meryton ball?” he questioned.

“The ball would have happened with or without them,” she reasoned. “Now that they have recovered from the festivities, we must play hosts of Longbourn and Meryton.”

He walked her outside where his sisters were already waiting. “I respect the responsibility you have volunteered for but I have my reasons for choosing exclusion.”

“Name them,” she challenged.

“Autumn is upon us and I have errands to attend to. Mr. Robinson asked me to cast more candles for the winter assemblies, as have Mrs. Long and Lucas but I must collect the bees wax from Sir William first. And lastly, papa’s not going, so the need for every Bennet’s attendance is clearly not dire.”

“We were at the Lucas’s yesterday,” she chided. “Why did you not speak with Sir William while we were there?”

“I need to visit the market for more supplies and I thought to visit Sir William on my way back. It is too much of a burden to carry that much wax all over Meryton and Longbourn. I didn't think to get the wax yesterday.”

“Well your chores do come in handy, don’t they?” she finished with a tug on his wool cravat for a kiss on his cheek. He offered his hand to assist her into the carriage while she gave a parting warning: “I best see twenty tapers as tall as the kitchen table when I return. Mr. Bennet’s age may be his excuse but not yours.”

“Then what a joy it will be to grow old,” he called as the chaise started moving. “I may never see the world again.”

“Then I shall be forced to live forever and grip you by the ear!” she answered. He laughed and waved until the carriage was gone within the thicket of trees which extended into the forest they shared with Netherfield Park. Of course Mrs. Bennet’s demands were impossible as he only just managed to finish his errands by midafternoon when he heard the chaise return. He was sitting in the garden beside an old stump, using a nail in the wood to braid thread for wicks when his mother placed a kiss atop his head and was aflutter with old news.

“Positively lovely gentleman! Where’s your father?”

“His study,” he murmured.

“Of course he is,” she huffed as she rushed into the house. Jane, Kitty, and Lydia took her place, the first draping her scarf on his nape where the sun had warmed it red.

“You missed a perfect luncheon,” Lydia said as she landed beside him. She plucked her finger across the wick to garner his attention.

“I think my opinion of perfect varies widely from yours,” he chuckled, “but do tell.”

Kitty supplied while she lounged over the long grass, “At first we feared the worst—”

Lydia finished, “That Darcy bloke was present so clearly we had made every offense just by breathing.”

“Kitty, you’ll stain your dress,” Jane chided mildly. “You’re being over dramatic, Lydia. Mr. Darcy was there to make initial greetings but he left soon after.”

“Yes!” Lydia stormed. “He left! What elevation of disinterest must you have to leave in the middle of luncheon?”

James reminded sternly, “That bloke is a lord, bumpkin. He likely has a slew of priorities even your fluffy head cannot encompass.”

“Well,” she uttered, in a tone which made him know a jape was coming. “Caroline made a comment on your hair when mama made apologies toward your absence. ‘His hair…it is quite asymmetrical, is it not?’ Didn’t she say that, Jane?”

“Many things were said,” Jane disregarded.

“It was, I remember it perfectly, because this was right before Darcy left.”

Kitty complained, “He did not say why he left.”

Lydia concurred, “I keep telling you he is the rudest man! But anyhow, Caroline finds great amusement in your hair—”

“Lizzy likes to part his hair on the side. Her own brother does the same, as does Mr. Darcy,” Jane hushed. "Just because Lizzy's hangs lower on one side does not make it wrong."

“He makes so much fun of my hair, can I not do the same?” she pestered.

“I’m not sure how you can,” Kitty retorted. “Jamie and Jane have the best hair of us all. It’s like all of mama and papa’s good attributes were stored up for them.”

“This isn’t true,” Jane exclaimed. “Mary has beautiful ebony hair.”

Lydia snorted, “And where in the family did she get it? We all have brown or light hair—erh—ERH!”

She flailed against James suddenly clenching her nose between his knuckles. “What are you implying?” he uttered darkly.

“N-Nothing! Ow, Lizzy!”

“Do you not remember mama’s sister? Her hair is like Mary’s. She gets her hair from our grandparents. The only thing setting her apart from us is how a contemplative mind such as hers could have been crafted from the same womb that made your feather-light head.”

“Jamie…” Jane whispered the same moment Lydia dislodged his hand and rose up enough to slap him across the cheek.

“Are you trying to suffocate me?” she erupted.

“This is what I mean,” he growled. “You don’t think. You spend too much time using your mouth to talk, it never occurs to you to breathe through it. Watch your bloody tongue or it will bring us all to ruin, and it will be from something as ludicrously simple as disrespecting your sister. The rest of Longbourn knows us well enough but if you’re not careful, these newcomers will believe something you say, not understanding that you're joking.”

“You’re one to speak of disrespect!” she exclaimed, standing and brushing off her skirts. “You and Mary are of a kind; she abhors anything entertaining and you speak as if you are above us! You ought to join us next time and take Darcy off our hands. The two of you may get along, yet. You’re so very proud for being so very poor.”

She left them, her loose curls bobbing behind her. James tied off the wick by crimping a metal wire around it, and started a new one as if his cheekbone was not blooming scarlet. Kitty shuffled close to him, one of her knuckles lightly brushing the wound—

“KITTY!” Lydia yelled from the house.

She floundered slightly, glancing over her shoulder and back at James, but his lack of response spurred her to rush to the house. Jane was silent for a long time. Then, “You didn’t have to say it quite like that.”

“Was I wrong?” he countered quietly.

She sighed, “No, but to force the issue will only make Lydia believe she is more correct.”

“Then we are all to watch her fall into her own ruin, is that it?”

“Do not attack me,” she almost whispered.

His hands stilled and his head finally lifted. His eyes closed heavily. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her weight fall against him, her head finding the familiar bend of his shoulder and neck as her arm came around his waist. “I know you mean well, I do. I don’t know how to watch over Lydia any better than the rest of us already do.”

“There may be nothing we can do,” he uttered, turning the threads once more, “except let Lydia dive over the cliff’s edge.”

“You don’t mean that,” she said against his hair.

“Well I haven’t any better ideas,” he huffed. He set the braid down and rubbed his eyes. Turning his head, he kissed her hair and tried to say on a lighter note, “So, Bingley? Has he fallen in love with you again?”

This drew a laugh from her. “Hardly. Quite the other way around…his patience with mother and our sisters is incredibly admirable.”

“We already knew this,” he said, leaning his weight against hers.

“It’s different now, without the wine or the comfort of strangers. Nothing has changed in him. He’s invited us to dine with him again this week.”

“Then you have a dress to iron,” he proffered a smile.

“You won’t be coming?”

“I’ll only be in the way.”

“I don’t think so,” she urged.

He rubbed the arm that was on his waist. “You’ll be marvelous without me. You needn’t even try. Charles Bingley is already smitten.”

And so with his comforting words, Jane and Mrs. Bennet dined with the Bingleys two nights afterward, and then collected three more evenings so a fortnight had passed with it seeming like they were at Netherfield every other day.

The air had officially turned with the changing of the season despite the summer’s enduring heat during midday. Charlotte Lucas had come to the Bennet’s home with a delivery of extra bees wax as well as to aid in his craft. The cook and kitchen aid had taken the day off to allow him the room’s use. Charlotte plucked the stems off of sage leaves while remarking on the current events of Mr. Bingley.

“I must admit, our opinion of his sisters has gone up. Their kindness toward Jane cannot be ignored. He does admire her, after all, but I daresay Jane is at a disadvantage of being so guarded.”

“What do you mean?” he said from the stove, stirring the pale wax with a wooden spoon’s handle. He waved his hand in the air, bringing the aroma to his nose before dispensing two more drops of oil and a stick of cinnamon into the pot.

“Well there are very few of us who have the heart to be really in love without encouragement. For all his smiles, Charles is reaching into thin air. Jane must show more affection than she feels—”

“More than she feels?” James grimaced with perplexity. “She feels enough for the man. Just because she does not throw herself at him like Lydia might does not mean she is without love for him.”

“I only mean,” Charlotte reiterated, “that he might never do more than like her if she does not help him on. Bingley does like her, undoubtedly; I was there for the past two dinners, but he does not know her as well as we do.”

“She displays her affection as well as her nature allows,” James said, joining her at the central counter to pull rosemary leaves off the branches. “He must be a simpleton to not see it.”

“Please hear me,” she pestered. “He is not the same as you, Lizzy. Despite having five sisters he only brought two with him here; one of whom is married and likely does not spend the full year with him, while the other spends more time dictating her brother’s thoughts instead of knowing them. You have spent your entire life with Jane, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia, with no barriers to stop each other from knowing your true characters or how you display affection. Perhaps Charles will learn Jane’s affections if he spends enough time with her…but it is never alone. They always see each other in large, mixed parties, so it is impossible for them to truly learn about one another; to have the leisure of falling in love.”

“Given his status, I doubt this will happen,” James uttered. “Especially with Caroline and mama in attendance. Perhaps the latter will allow it but Caroline won’t let her brother out of her sight. Even when he managed to escape her at the Meryton ball, it was only for a few minutes.”

“You enabled this, didn’t you?” she remembered, handing him the sage while he returned to the stove. “Could you not spare an evening to help her?”

“I best not.”

“Why not?” she demanded tiredly.

“I won’t be another Caroline in her life,” he could not help but laugh. “When all is said and done, Jane will be married to Charles, not Caroline, no more than Charles will be married to me.” He paused, if nothing else than to stir the second pot of wax. “Jane is everything she needs to be for Charles to love her, and if he does not, if Caroline affects him to the point of changing his heart, then he was never worthy of her in the first place. I cannot meddle now or else I will be forced to meddle forever.

“And why shouldn’t she be hesitant if she is concealing her feelings?” he added suddenly, turning back to her. “This is a lot of fuss over a fortnight whereas the consequence lasts for a lifetime. She is more than logical to be hesitant. Some dances and a handful of dinners are not enough to make a person want to marry the other.”

“They’re hardly just eating food together,” Charlotte argued, whipping the tail of a tea towel against his hip. “An evening can do a great deal in learning one’s mind, and they have had four. Four evenings can do a great deal.”

“It has been enough for him to keep inviting her,” James returned.

Charlotte sighed, “I wish Jane success with all my heart, then. And if she were married to him tomorrow I would think she had as good a chance of real happiness as if she decided upon it after a year of study.”

James set the spoon down and met her gaze. “You feel strongly in this? They could really be happy?”

“Well,” Charlotte replied guardedly. “Happiness in marriage is often a matter of chance, but when the individuals match so well together as Bingley and Jane do, there is a positive outlook. However now is the time to act, not wait. The better to grow together so you suit one another down the road instead of discovering faults which cannot be overcome. In fact it may be better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

James stared at her, waiting to see a break in her expression. When none came he guffawed anxiously. “You make me laugh, Charlotte, but I would never wish such a fate on any of my sisters. I prefer to know someone thoroughly to avoid wasting my time on them. I thought you and I shared this.”

“Yes, and it has made me a spinster,” Charlotte grumbled. James smiled consolingly as he moved one of the pots to the central counter. Charlotte aligned the glass jars otherwise reserved for jams and marmalades for him. With the wicks tied along another wooden spoon, she dipped the braided threads into the wax and set it above a sheet of paper to catch the drips. He had already prepared several large taper molds, though, which rested on the floor.

“Ready?” Charlotte prompted, holding the wick up, and he carefully poured wax into the tin cylinder.

“Let it solidify some and then you can let go of the wick,” he instructed.

She held the next wick for him while he poured. “How do you do this on your own? There are six more molds.”

He pulled the waiting wicks out and revealed the ends had been tied to wooden skewers, which he then laid across the top of the cylinders. “Like so.”

“All right, sir, don’t be keen,” she retorted, making him laugh. “Tie these as well so I won’t have to hold them, then.”

He set the large pot down and did so. Charlotte huffed a breath and shoved her fringe out of the way. “So if a wooden stick can take my place in even this, what am I to do?”

His expression was apologetic as he set a mortar and pestle on the counter. “You can grind the herbs, if you like.”

She took up the task with gusto. “Would that my mother had shown as much relish in pairing me off as yours does for your sisters.”

“You must not think this way,” he consoled. “Marriage may grant wings to some but it just as easily binds them to the earth. You could avoid the gamble and fly on your own.”

“It’s not about liberty or money, Lizzy,” she sighed. The corners of his mouth lowered as her tone became heavy with fatigue…sadness. “Sky or earth, I don’t care which. But I can’t bear to be there alone. Eventually my siblings will stop being little ones and will succeed where I have failed.”

He stood against the counter for a long while, and in the end did not say much more throughout the afternoon. Not until he lay alone with Jane in their room and retold the conversation to her.

“Seven and twenty is a frightening age for a woman,” Jane agreed with a laugh. “You have the liberty to be a bachelor your entire life, but society does not think it seemly for a woman to follow the same path.”

“All for the sake of having children,” he scoffed. “What if Charlotte does not want children?”

Jane giggled. “The way she adores her siblings, do you really think she doesn’t? A woman’s body is a clock winding backwards.”

“Mama had Kitty and Lydia well within her thirties, though,” he said. “She did not have you until she was twenty-seven, herself.”

“But she was married to papa for a number of years first,” Jane reminded. “The only reason we did not each arrive sooner was because of his travels. And they had already courted one another. You can’t expect Charlotte to meet and consummate a husband all before her next birthday.”

He had to relinquish this point. The pad of her finger tapped his jaw. “You are good to worry for her.”

“She is another sister to us. You know that.”

“I do,” she smiled softly. She changed topic. “The last I saw Mr. Bingley, he asked for you. He wondered why so many Bennets had been to see him, all except you.”

James was silent a moment. “He shouldn’t want to see me again.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” she wondered. “Jamie, you haven’t any friends besides Charlotte.”

“He shouldn’t desire my company over yours,” he said more adamantly.

“And what makes you think he does?” she interrogated mischievously. “He could have simply been polite in desiring your attendance. He’s asked for you but once. According to mama, the numbers matter greatly.”

He smirked gently as his eyelids grew heavy. “Greatly.”

“Lydia and Kitty are planning to go into town tomorrow to see our aunt and uncle. She will be reminded of Aunt’s dark hair soon enough.”

He chuckled, “You’re still worrying over that? I am not expecting acknowledgement from her. Lydia will be too consumed with Aunt’s hat shop to notice whatever color her hair is.”

Jane giggled the same moment the family’s cat made its appearance on their bed. It jumped up with a slight hush of sound, her blue eyes aglow as she silently found her place on Jamie’s chest. He stroked the white fur and pale grey ears while slumber consumed him.

The rest was much needed, for the next morning Lydia and Kitty set off early only to return with fervent news: the regiments were in Meryton. James’ head sagged on his shoulders, already exhausted by Lydia’s chirping but he had to admit, “At least her energies are focused on something.”

Lydia was harping on a certain Colonel Forster or a Captain Carter—James preferred his cauliflower stew to either—when she was interrupted by a letter arriving for Jane. Mrs. Bennet had not so much a glimpse of the sender address before she ushered, eyes glittering, “Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Jane! Make haste and tell us. Make haste, my love.”

“It’s from Miss Bingley,” Jane calmed, and read aloud:

“My dear friend,

“If you are not so compassionate as to dine with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.

“Yours ever,

“Caroline Bingley.”

“How is an extra woman going to stop the other two from arguing?” James puzzled.

“With the officers!” Lydia exclaimed instead.

Mrs. Bennet, however, frowned. “Dining out…that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” Jane requested. James peered outside, where the sky had been heavily overcast all morning.

“No, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet answered. “You had better go on horseback. That way you will have to stay the night.”

James’ head whipped back in her direction. “Horseback?”

“Yes, Lizzy. I cannot speak for everyone but I believe it is when one rides on a horse’s back.”

He disregarded that and replied, “Will they not offer to send her home afterward?”

“But they cannot,” Mrs. Bennet chimed sweetly, “if the men are in their own carriage at Meryton.”

“With the officers,” Lydia grumbled jealously.

Jane’s eyes were on the sky outside as she interrupted, “I would much rather go by coach, mama.”

“Even so, the horses cannot be spared from the farm, can they, Mr. Bennet?”

Their father was in the midst of rising from the table to return to the very work about which she inquired. “We must finish before the rain falls so we cannot do without the horses. I’m sorry, Jane. We can spare one for you, but not enough to pull the chaise.”

Jane exhaled quietly, folding the letter back to its original state whereas James declared, “Here’s a savage concept: don’t go.”

“James!” Mrs. Bennet had never appeared more appalled.

“If the Bingleys are so esteemed to need Jane’s company on a day like today, they can ride their own purebreds over here.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “And they can all listen to your silly sisters twitter about the regiments. It is almost better to let Jane go.”

This was all Mrs. Bennet needed. No sooner had Jane left then the sky unleashed upon them. Jane did indeed stay the night, and it was approximately the same time the next morning when another letter was delivered, this time for James. The messenger waited patiently for a reply, nearly soaked through by the rain that had yet to end.

James tore through the letter furiously, his eyes absorbing every word as Mrs. Bennet gave the messenger a hot cuppa to warm himself.

“I find myself very unwell this morning,” he read, “which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet-through yesterday. My kind friends will not hear of my returning home till I am better. They insist also on my seeing Mr. Jones—”

He looked up at Mr. Bennet. “Isn’t that Meryton’s apothecary?”

“Oh love,” Mrs. Bennet hushed, reading over his shoulder. "She says just here, that she is only including this information since we are likely to hear of it somehow, and she wishes us not to worry. Nothing but a sore throat and a headache.”

The spoon of Mr. Bennet’s tea chimed loudly as he lifted the cup to his lips. “Well, if our daughter should have a dangerous fit of illness and die, it will be a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders.”

Her lips pursed. “People do not die of trifling colds. I am not at all afraid of her dying—oh, Jamie.”

He had thrust the paper into her hands and rushed into the kitchen for essential items. He reappeared in the dining room just as swiftly. “You can’t mean—how can you be so silly in all this mud! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there!”

“I will be fit enough to see Jane,” he snapped, shoving his arms through the woolen sleeves of his coat. He pushed past the stunned messenger, the door clattering against the house in his haste.

“So would I, if I could have the carriage,” she complained to no one.