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“You have sighed three times.”

“I beg your pardon. I shall endeavour to do it more quietly.”

Caroline turned over. Elizabeth heard the bed creak and was absurdly comforted by the ordinary sound of somebody finding her tiresome.

There was no second dream that night. She slept until morning, when Caroline rang the bell beside her bed with an impatience that admitted of no supernatural explanation.

Mrs. Neale had packed the pie carefully. Charles carried it to the carriage himself, while Darcy gave instructions for his horse to be brought round. The landlady wished them a pleasant journey and asked Elizabeth to convey her good wishes to Mrs. Bingley.

“I shall,” Elizabeth promised.

The return was accomplished without adventure. They reached Pemberley early enough to find Jane sitting beside an open window, with Sir occupying so much of the rug that Charles was obliged to step over him before he could kiss his wife.

Jane listened to their report. She asked about the nursery first, the garden afterward, and the inn only when Charles produced the parcel.

“Did you truly bring me a pie?”

“I could not bring you a house.”

She drew his hand into her lap. “I should much rather have you home.”

Elizabeth stood beside the window and let them speak together. Jane looked rested. Her color was good, her voice easy, and the little gowns remained folded where they had left them.

There was no reason to make her afraid of the room.

There was every reason for Elizabeth to remain beside her in it.

Chapter Eight

ON FRIDAY, A note arrived from Martha Hargreaves, though none from Longbourn.

Jane opened it and passed it to Elizabeth with a smile.

September 3, 1813

Madam,

I thank you for the little gowns. The one with the flowers fits Anna very well, and she has already worn it. It is beautiful soft linen. We are much obliged to you and Miss Bennet for giving her something which has belonged to your own family. I shall take great care of both.

Your obliged servant,

Martha Hargreaves

Jane read the note again when Elizabeth returned it, then put it among the things she meant to keep. Elizabeth was glad the gown had fitted. She was less glad to discover that a mention of the child could make her look toward the door, as though Mr. Darcy might appear to explain himself.

He did not. He had gone out with Charles, leaving the ladies to their own occupations.

Jane had taken up another small garment. Caroline was arranging a selection of music she meant to try after dinner, and Elizabeth had brought her borrowed novel downstairs. For half an hour they were tolerably comfortable together. Then Caroline asked whether Jane intended to invite any of their new acquaintances to hear the music, and an ordinary evening began to acquire the difficulties of an entertainment.

“We have scarcely met anybody yet,” Jane said.

“Precisely why we ought to do something. Charles cannot settle in the neighborhood without knowing its principal families.”

“He has not yet settled upon a house,” Elizabeth observed.

“Which does not require him to live as a hermit.”

Jane drew her needle through the linen. “I should like to see people. But I must ask Mr. Darcy what he wishes before inviting them here.”