Stood at the foot of the stairs, well satisfied with the good food and even better company at breakfast, Jane watched her sister disappear around the corner and smiled broadly. She knew her smile was not the one often seen at neighbourhood dinners and card parties. This smile filled her whole being, for it was born of sisterly affection. Lizzy walked in that light, energetic way that signified that she had not a care in the world, and Jane was overjoyed to see it. She herself was hale and happy again, no small thanks to Lizzy's care. Which other of her sisters would have crossed muddy fields to see to her welfare? Kitty and Lydia were not ones to walk three miles on a mission of mercy, though they would have come for the diversion of leaving the house as long as a convenient method of transport could be found. Indeed, they had treated their brief visit to her as a social call. Mary would not have exerted herself for anything short of an emergency. She was too practical to bestir herself over a trifling illness, knowing she was not adept at nursing. To be fair, Lizzy was not a natural nurse, either, but Lizzy was a natural sister. Yes! That was it: she cared, and she acted. She was never one to stand by and watch people suffer. Even when the suffering was due to a weakness in character, Lizzy tried to aid the person and correct what could be corrected. Lizzy was also clever enough to change tactics when necessary. She had taken to answering Papa's sarcasm with the same, for he rarely responded to plain speech with anything but amusement. Their mother was the opposite, for only the plainest speech could deter her from her own ideas, and sometimes even that did not succeed.
Jane recalled the reasonable objections she herself raised to Mama's plan last Tuesday and the ease with which her mother cast those objections aside. Mama had come to Netherfield see what her plotting had wrought, but only after receiving Lizzy's note. She had shown not the least remorse for having insisted that Jane ride on a day that threatened rain, or for having risked Jane's health, or for having imposed on their new neighbours. Once satisfied that her daughter would recover, Mrs. Bennet was exultant—distastefully so, it pained Jane to witness. Jane had felt so ashamed, and her only comfort was that her hosts knew she had one member of her family whose concern was both sincere and substantial.
All that was in the past, Jane assured herself, recent enough to elicit a blush but still over and done with. She was well and would soon be back at Longbourn. For the present, however, being at Netherfield felt wonderful, and she was no longer in a hurry to leave it. The cause was likely Mr. Bingley's pointed attentions at breakfast. He had begged her to stay, and, oh, the look in his eye!
With every conversation, she was more and more certain Mr. Bingley was just the sort of man she would want for a husband and the father of her own children someday. He was not easily put out by illness or inconvenience. He would be happy to see his family rather than be always shut up in his library. He had a kind word for everybody, no matter their mood.
There was something else, though, and it made her forgive her mother in full for having sent her through the rain to Netherfield. Jane was not fanciful, but she felt there was a difference in the atmosphere this day. There was a level of comfort, freedom, unreserve, generosity—any or all of them—that had been lacking before and seemed to have affected them all. She was tempted to credit it with Mr. Bingley's candidness and Lizzy's subsequent teasing, and even Mr. Darcy's slow smile at the spectacle she and Bingley made and the lack of that hunted look Mr. Darcy sometimes wore. When she thought of that look, she thought instantly of Caroline's assiduous attentions to that gentleman and the fact that her friend had not been there to pay them. Caroline had not been there to interrupt her brother's flirting, either. Nor had she been there to comment on Jane's manner of dress, or on her situation, or on the behaviour of some of her family, or on whatever Lizzy was doing at the time. That was fortunate, actually, because Caroline's comments, often echoed by Louisa, were sometimes not as kind as they could be, and not calculated to put Jane or any of the Bennets in the best light, as much as Jane was loath to admit it.
Was is wicked of her to be pleased that Caroline remained in her rooms?
Lizzy would not call her wicked. Lizzy had never thought highly of Caroline and Louisa. 'Their manners are not equal to his,' she had said after the assembly when comparing the ladies to their brother.
Lizzy was right, Jane realised. Nothing had changed this day except the absence of Mr. Bingley's sisters, and it was as if the air in the house were suddenly easier to breathe.
Jane would never wish Caroline ill, but she could not help but wish her a good, long rest. In accordance with that, she resolved not to go upstairs and risk making the slightest disturbance. Instead, she decided to seek Mr. Bingley's company.
