“Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Eliza, it has been a long time,” Caroline said, her tone making plain that she had not missed them at all.

Louisa looked at her sister and marvelled at her having found a way of being polite without lying. She welcomed her brother’s guests and asked Caroline to ring for tea.

“Indeed, Miss Bingley, you have been ill for long. I’m happy to see you better,” replied Mrs. Bennet. Caroline had missed every gathering this last week, and Jane’s mother had only caught a quick glimpse at her the day before, at church. She had feared for the lady’s life; were his sister to die, Mr. Bingley would have to wait for a year before marrying… surely this could not happen now, not after so much angst, not when bliss was so close! No indeed, it shall not happen. She seems fine to me, but I’ll take extra care of her – no matter how rude she has been to me! benevolently thought the eldest lady.

As soon as he thought it would not appear too rushed, Mr. Bingley said, “I received a letter from Derbyshire, this morning.”

“And how is Mr. Darcy? Will he be coming back soon?” asked Louisa.

Mrs. Bennet did not care about Mr. Darcy’s health; she did not care about his return; she did not care about his business; but she did care about Miss Bingley, and therefore she decided to concentrate her efforts around that lady.

“My dear Miss Bingley,” started the eldest lady to Caroline’s horror, “Are you not too cold? ‘Tis cold as ice outside, no wonder you caught a chill.”

Having tea with the Bennets had been strongly recommended to Caroline; behaving civilly if not cordially had been demanded of her; but not even her virtuous brother and her sister, the traitor, could expect her to remain poised when facing her! Keep your mouth closed, Caroline! Don’t waste your voice…

“I suggest you put on another shawl. One never knows,” went on her companion, affably, “I always take a special care at having my daughters warm enough…”

Indeed, you do, Madam! Caroline thought ironically, I remember a rainy and cold day last autumn when your precious Jane came here on horseback! This is taking a very special care, isn’t it?

“But in case one catches a chill nonetheless, I know the best remedies to heal them. Let me enlighten you!”

The more Mrs. Bennet talked, the more Caroline suffered. Why should she have to put up with her, when the others seemed to be having such a lively conversation? On the other hand, the talk was of Mr. Darcy and the less she heard about the gentleman, the better… Why did she have to choose between being the subject of Mrs. Bennet’s solicitude and hearing how Mr. Darcy missed Miss Eliza’s fine eyes? Life was so unfair! She should be in London! At least, she had friends there… True friends… Ones with whom ‘twas always possible to go shopping and to gossip… Hertfordshire was so boring!

At last, Mrs. Bennet noticed that Caroline was indeed, in dire need of her motherly advice; the young lady was flushed! She started fussing around her, making her actually ill, until Miss Caroline got up and went to fetch a book.

Meanwhile, Louisa’s enquiries had been answered. Mr. Darcy was well but confirmed that he would not be coming back before the wedding. “And he says he regrets it. Let me fetch the letter, you shall hear for yourself,” said Mr. Bingley.

In an instant he was back, holding in his hand a sheet of paper with a neat and dense writing on it. “Let me see, where is it? Ah, here it comes.”

“How I wish I were with you, Bingley! Hertfordshire holds many beauties and the company there is so lively. Although I’m quite partial to the wilds of Derbyshire, there are times when I long to be elsewhere. The country is asleep beneath the snow; Pemberley is empty… There’s no one but me and my diligent staff, hardly the soft company I would wish to keep. I confess I feel quite alone; the probable consequence of having so enjoyed the time I spent in London and at Netherfield. I’m sure I told you how happy I am to have renewed Miss Bennet’s and Miss Elizabeth’s acquaintances there; but did I tell you also how I enjoyed Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s company? I’ve resolved on inviting them both next time you come to Pemberley. Since Miss Bennet will then be Mrs. Bingley, I shall apply to her to help me convince them. Perhaps she could also try and persuade Miss Elizabeth to come as well?

Your’s very sincerely, Fitzwilliam Darcy”

He looked up from the letter to see Elizabeth’s reaction to his words. Her eyes were wide open, searching in her sister’s the confidence that her ears were not deceiving her. Jane raised her eyebrows, and commented on the interest of his letter.

“Poor Mr. Darcy,” exclaimed Louisa. “You should answer him immediately, to alleviate his loneliness.”

“You’re right, Louisa; his enjoyment seems to depend on our company, even though ‘tis a remote one,” replied her brother. He moved to the small writing desk and suggested to the ladies to come around him.

Elizabeth could not but recall one of the evenings she had spent at Netherfield when Jane was ill. Mr. Darcy had been sitting at the table, trying to write a letter in spite of Miss Bingley; then they had had one of their ‘real conversations’ – as he had named then to his sister. How wrong she had been then! How ashamed she was for her behaviour towards him! She felt an acute ache around her heart, and although she was quite used to this sort of feeling – having lived with it for a while – she realised it was not exactly the same. How could it be, when she had been the recipient of such an expression of forgiveness? When Mr. Bingley had read about the pleasure he had had in London and at Netherfield – in her company, that is – she had felt her heart pound louder in her chest. Then he had distinctly pointed at her, openly distinguished her in his invitation to Pemberley, and she had forgotten to breathe. She could misunderstand him no longer; it would be silly of her to do so. What had appeared as a potential but farfetched answer to his unusual behaviour in London was the truth; what Jane had guessed some weeks ago was the reality; Mr. Darcy was interested in her. Everything that had happened since the Umberight ball, and most of all his confidence about Mr. Wickham, started to make sense. Under this new light, she could even understand some of his past behaviour. Relief and unbelieving happiness had washed over her when she heard that he had forgiven her; and a powerful urge to relieve his doubts about her feelings for him had seized her with his last words. Before she realised it, she was standing by Mr. Bingley’s side, checking that he had everything he needed. She refrained from speaking first, though, afraid that her mother would be aware of any unexpected eagerness.

While she was proposing several topics for the letter with Louisa’s help, Jane observed her sister. Elizabeth was looking at Charles’ putting down every suggestion; she had regained her senses; her countenance had obviously brightened since he had read the letter; she seemed deeply relieved by what she had heard. Jane suspected that she was also preparing her answer. Complying with Charles’ wish in helping Mr. Darcy had been easy indeed! An honest confession of how she had understood his behaviour in London had seemed enough to make Lizzy overcome her shame and fears and act on her tender feelings for him. She delighted that she seemed to be on the verge of seizing the opportunity, relishing in advance her sister’s wit. Charles had been right in his expectation that his friend would be as willing to play this game of hidden message, and being a witness of their game was very enjoyable, even if slightly indiscreet. She wondered if Mr. Darcy would dare enclose a letter for Lizzy in his next mail, and eventually declared it impossible: he would never behave in such an ungentleman-like manner!

“Miss Elizabeth, don’t you have anything to say? Mr. Darcy has always seemed to enjoy your company, you should not disappoint him!” asked Louisa.

Whether on purpose or not, this was the perfect opening. If, by chance, her mother was listening to their conversation, she would not believe she had been eager to partake in the writing of the letter. She smiled at Louisa, “What a challenge! I dearly hope I shall not disappoint him, though.” Turning to Charles, she mentioned that they had not enquired about Georgiana. “Tell him that we all look forward to her coming. She and I had lovely conversations in London; we have so many common points of interest. Indeed, I had a most fascinating time there; making new acquaintances, or deepening old ones is always enjoyable and sometimes quite surprising. And there was this happy business of Jane’s, too,” she ended with a caring smile.

“True! A lot of good has come from the time we spent in Town,” replied happily Jane.

“Well, this makes a nice letter…” Charles said, perusing his – quite neat – writing. “Shall I put that you, Ladies, enjoyed writing it?”

“Oh, we did!” answered Jane.

“But you should also add that we hope he will be here soon, so that we don’t have to help you doing it too often! You write so slowly now that you’ve resolved on being a readable and faithful correspondent,” Elizabeth teased Mr. Bingley.

“Well, I am readable and faithful only when the matter is of import; and I somehow figured that this is the case!” he replied in kind.

Elizabeth smilingly acknowledged his point. He had understood Mr. Darcy’s and her little game and was a very willing participant; she was also beginning to suspect that Mr. Bingley had known about Mr. Darcy’s feelings for her for a while. Dare I give him a short note to enclose in the letter? Would he think less of me? Would Mr. Darcy think less of me? She went back to her chair, absentmindedly looking at her sister and her suitor who were having a private exchange. No, I dare not. I cannot risk it. And what would I say? She realised Mrs. Hurst was expecting an answer and, blushing, asked her to repeat her question.

“Ladies,” interrupted Mr. Bingley, “would you not wish to take advantage of the first rays of sun we’ve seen for weeks?”

“But the grounds are so wet! I wouldn’t of dream going out before the mud has dried!” exclaimed a disgusted Caroline. She had had more than enough of Mrs. Bennet; her only solace was hiding in her room. “And I feel this headache coming back. Would you please excuse me?”

“Oh! Poor Miss Bingley!” said Mrs. Bennet, while the lady was already climbing the stairs. “Thank you Mr. Bingley; but I quite agree with your sister.”

“And I shall stay with Mamma,” a much wiser Elizabeth replied. She smiled at the barely contained smirk of satisfaction that flourished on her mother’s face.

“Do you wish to check on your potato seedlings again, Charles?” asked his sister suspiciously. “If this be the case, you shall go without me… I have no interest in those potatoes of yours, Dear Brother!”

“Well, if Miss Bennet is still interested, I shall be very happy,” he replied very steadily, looking expectantly at his betrothed.

Jane distinctly blushed, “I am still interested.”

“Well, off you go, then!” loudly urged Mrs. Bennet. At least, outside, no one would disturb them!

Neither checked on the potatoes when they entered the cellar. They knew they had the same reason to come here, and this knowledge only enflamed them further. As soon as he put the lamp on the mossy table, his freed hand discarded her bonnet and drew her head to him while he placed her hand in his on the small of her back. She was entrapped in his embrace, and he could tell by her hand nestling on his curls and her body leaning against his, she was a willing captive. They were eager to quench the thirst they had for each other; and their mouths played until they had to draw breath. His hand had released hers and was now discovering all the subtleties of her back over her coat and dress. Those tinny buttons he could feel running along her spine were burning his fingers; but he resolutely ignored them, dwelling, instead, on her lowest curves.

Jane’s hand had left his hair and gone onto Charles’ other shoulder. His grip on her hair was rather loose and her lips started a path along his jawline. He shifted his head to allow her better access and she went on, tasting a small part of his neck with the tip of her tongue. If she could tell by the powerful strokes on her backside, Charles enjoyed the attention; yet she couldn’t go much farther down, refrained by his neckcloth. By their own volition, her hands moved to the knot and started undoing it. She absentmindedly noted that, fortunately, his valet had not outdone himself as she easily untied the long white piece of linen. Its path at last clear, her mouth followed the line of his neck, her tongue licking his Adam’s apple on the way, while she revelled in his scent, soap and sandalwood blended on his skin.

Jane’s initiatives induced first in Charles a selfish wish to enjoy, and thus, he stilled his hands, his eyes closed, his head tilted backwards, his mouth breathing moans of pleasure. The feeling of her hands roaming over his naked throat and clothed – too clothed – torso eventually put him into action. He was willing to take as much advantage of her boldness as he could, yet he still had concerns at going too far for her. Helping her in her attentions seemed safe, though; he therefore acted accordingly. He discarded his coat and greatcoat, both of them crumpling on the floor, and, managing to slide his hands between their bodies, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Then he placed his hands on her hips, left them free to wander in whatever direction they may choose, and went on relishing every liberty Jane would take.

As pleasurable as discovering his upper body was, Jane missed the feeling of his mouth on her. Her lips went back up and she found his mouth ready to indulge her. Her hands had remained on her new field of discovery and they continued their amorous dance. Soon enough, she had gotten rid of his waistcoat and she had yanked his shirt out of his breeches.

When her hand touched his bare stomach, Charles lost his breath. He was utterly still, his whole body stiffened, while his desire reached an unknown force. His lips, which had been exceedingly busy seconds before, had stopped their game too and soon realised that Jane’s lips had left them. Haze obvious in his eyes, he looked at her to find an expectant and slightly unsure gaze upon him.

“Charles?” she asked breathlessly.

He tried to utter a word but being bloodless in the upper part of her body didn’t make this easy. He swallowed twice but his voice wouldn’t come out.

Jane fathomed her betrothed’s lack of speech. Lowering her eyes, she asked shyly, “Dearest, am I doing anything wrong?”

His hand tilted her head upward. Still unable to speak, he shook his head and, to prove his point, he took the hem of his shirt and tossed it over his head. He shivered, feeling the cold air of the cellar on his heated skin. Then he looked at her face and he shivered once again; her eyes were devouring his bare chest and there was a raging fire in them. He looked at the goose bumps now visible on his torso and he caught sight of her hand still on his stomach. His blood thickened, his breaths came laboured, his breeches became too tight. He felt and saw his muscles tighten under his pale skin; he felt and saw her hand put in motion by this contraction, hesitantly, slowly, yet resolutely.

Jane felt both brazen and blessed, and feeling blessed made her totally unashamed of her brazenness. She loved a very suitable gentleman who loved her back, she would be soon married to him, he was able to create and satisfy needs in her body – some of them still to be discovered, for sure – and her eyes still had to see something or someone that would move her more than him. How could anything she would do with him be wrong? Her hand became more daring over his torso and was soon joined by her mate. The tip of her fingers discovered the texture of his hair and traced up the sides of the triangle they drew, gathering on its summit, a few inches above his navel. Her palms flattened on his ribcage and parted to learn the relief of his chest up to his broad shoulders, almost avoiding the tight darker buds, only brushing them with her thumbs. She relished in the feeling of the softly rounded shape against her hands, and, drawing him delicately closer, she reverently put her mouth in the middle of his chest and placed there the gentlest kiss. She closed her eyes, heard him groan and while her tongue tasted the slightly salty savour of him, her nostrils inhaled his fragrance. Her senses were immersed in him; it made her feel a little light-headed. Her fingertips became the adventurers anew; they drew a straight line down to the nipples she had left aside previously and started experiencing their reactions to her ministrations.

Charles’ sense had vanished when she had put her lips on his torso. His hands, which had, so far, stayed quite calm on her sides, started a random dance on her back, from bottom to hair, stroking, pinching, gripping the fabric when her hands and mouth created overpowering urges in him. The feeling of her tongue moving across his chest towards his nipple became his undoing; he couldn’t refrain any longer, he had to retaliate in kind, he had to touch, to kiss, to tease as she did. He tried to ease her coat off of her shoulders, and, at first, she didn’t seem willing to cease, even briefly, her caresses on his body. He tugged stronger, she complied and she was coatless and looking up expectantly at him. She was dishevelled, her lips swollen and slightly parted, her eyes cloudy with desire, her chest heaving with every shaky breath; she was beautiful. He groaned. His lips collided with hers, stealing her breath, while his hands had come back to her sides, his thumbs now purposefully stroking her breasts through the velvet. She was still teasing his nipples and he ached for want of doing the same; but that would go against his resolve of following her lead. It was the only thread of sanity he still held onto, and he struggled to keep it. He groaned her name, starting to kiss his way down to her bosom, revelling in her every moan.

Jane had tilted her head back, just as he had done before. To keep her balance, which was more endangered with every inch farther down his mouth went, one of her hands reached for his shoulder and clung to it. She shuddered when he reached the hollow at the base of her neck; she gasped when he reached the neckline of her dress; she groaned when he stopped.

“Oh, Charles, please…”

He stroked her small breast through the fabric, feeling it tighten, feeling her hips leaning even closer into his, feeling her grip on his shoulder becoming almost painful. His lips had come back to her mouth, and he caught his name on her lips once again.

“What do you want me to do, Love?” he panted.

She moaned, “Touch me,” unable to utter more, yet lowering one shoulder to remind him how he had proceeded the last time.

In no time, Charles had most of her breast naked; in no time, his tongue and teeth were teasing it. He heard her cry; her body staggered; he pushed her softly against a bare wall so that she wouldn’t fall. His hand was stroking the other over the thick fabric, his fingers unable to slide under it, a part of his lust deeply frustrated by it. When she tried to ease her dress over her other shoulder, a powerful groan of exhilaration came from his throat. He reached for the buttons at her back and as quickly as he could, he eased some of them out of their buttonholes. The fabric loosened around her bosom and he tucked it down, her chemise followed the same path. He held her still for a while, marvelling in this first sight of her, not daring to touch the heavenly creature he had in front of him. Then, at last, her arms were free; he felt her hands move again along his chest up to his neck, his face went down to hers.

The kiss Jane and Charles shared then was another first kiss. Their lips almost shyly sought each other, there was no devouring or nipping, there was no moan, no groan. Her bare chest was leaning against his bare torso, a sensation so thrilling yet unexpected that the urgency both had felt vanished. His desire was still there, how could have it disappeared when Jane was half-naked in front of his eyes? Her wish to reach anew the Heaven he had made her discover was intact; she had been so close seconds before. Yet both felt and revered the uniqueness of the moment; and both shared a peaceful embrace, relishing in the feeling of the heartbeat of the other, completely oblivious of the coolness of the air around them.

Then Jane turned back into the real, enticing and willing Jane Charles had been slowly leading to ecstasy; Charles’ torso became again the temptation Jane had yielded to and discovered. Her path to oblivion was short and sweet; his path to utter satisfaction at fulfilling her was as short but painfully frustrating. After some soothing moments, she was snuggling against him, held closely his embrace, his back now against the wall.

Charles kissed her brow, “Indeed, your mother is very bad at chaperoning.”

She giggled, “I shall not complain, though.”

“Neither shall I, Love. It seems I cannot get enough of you!”

“Can you not?” she replied coquettishly.

He pulled her hips against his, his point clear without a word.

Jane blushed but didn’t pull back. “Is there anything I could do?” she whispered bashfully above his shoulder.

He released her lightly and bent to kiss her tenderly. “There is, Love. But today is not the day,” he replied, resting his forehead on hers.

They shivered, suddenly aware of the winter chill permeating through the old stones. “We shall be missed,” Charles said, turning her around to fasten her dress.

“I love you, Dearest,” she said, helping him, in a wifely manner, to remove the wrinkles from the front of his clothes.

“I love you too, Jane.”

“You studied in Cambridge, did you not?” Mr. Bennet asked his future son in law while they were having their post-dinner port in the dining-room at Longbourn.

“Indeed, I have, Sir,” replied Mr. Bingley, slightly surprised by the turn in their so-far very familiar conversation.

“Was it where you met Mr. Darcy?” continued the elder gentleman.

“Indeed, Sir. Though he was several years ahead of me,” the fair young man answered, now curious of where this discussion was leading.

“Were you acquainted with Mr. Wickham too?”

“No Sir,” he replied curtly.

“And how so? Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham were childhood friends attending the same school. Why is it you befriended one and not the other?”

“Darcy no longer frequented Wickham in Cambridge. I happened to be rescued by Darcy and, out of goodness, he took me under his wing. But I never met Wickham before last autumn, here, in Meryton.”

“And how do you explain this?”

“I have no explanation, nor do I feel the need to make one,” Mr. Bingley said, resolutely putting back his glass on the table.

Mr. Bennet’s eyebrows rose. He now had daily confirmations that what he had fathomed almost a month ago was true: there was more in Bingley than the nice and easygoing facade. He was growing fonder by the day of the man who would wed his eldest daughter five days hence.

“I was told recently that, in the neighbourhood, Mr. Wickham’s character was highly overrated and Mr. Darcy’s highly undervalued. Would you agree with this?” he asked, revealing some of his intent.

“I would, Sir. Although I know not Mr. Wickham, I’ve heard from the very best source that he is a very deceitful character, while Darcy is the very best of men, and he is not seen as such.”

“He showed not his goodness, last autumn. He even openly slighted my Lizzy, at the first Assembly you all attended,” Mr. Bennet chuckled.

Mr. Bingley couldn’t but smile widely at the memory, “Indeed, he did! Had he known…” he stopped short, aware of his deplorable slip of tongue. Chastising himself, he waited for Mr. Bennet’s sharp mind to draw this thought to its consistent conclusion.

Mr. Bennet looked expectantly at his young companion. He waited for a moment then he suggested, “He wouldn’t have snubbed the wittiest tongue of the area?”

Mr. Bingley released a relieved, “Exactly!” disclosing thus that there was more.

A quizzical glance stared back to him. “He wouldn’t have snubbed the only lady that afterwards drew his attentions?” shot again Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Bingley flushed but didn’t utter a sound. He stood, startling Mr. Hurst who had been sleepily nursing his almost empty glass for the whole conversation – without filling it once, to Mr. Bennet’s amazement. “Should we not go back to the ladies?” he asked conversationally.

Jane looked up at the entrance of the drawing-room when the male voices sounded in the hall. She smiled her love to Charles as he entered the room, still speaking with her father, yet already searching her out. Her smile stiffened slightly when she heard their topic.

“If his estate is as grand as I have been told, and if he’s as dedicated to it as you paint him, it’s no wonder he feels it is his duty to remain as long as he can. I doubt I would feel such devotion; but I understand and admire it.” Once they were close to the sofa where she was sitting with Lizzy, her father turned to her, “Jane,” he said, “I give you back your betrothed. He was telling me that some of his guests would be arriving tomorrow, including Miss Darcy and her companion. She will no doubt regret her brother’s late arrival.”

Although surprised at her father’s interest in such a matter, Jane acquiesced nonetheless. She glanced at her sister and saw her looking questioningly at their father. Her gaze slid to the eldest gentleman; she saw him wink at Lizzy, then he excused himself and went by his wife’s side, no doubt to tease her, once again about the numerous things that still needed to be done before the marriage.

Elizabeth’s blush at her father’s hint not yet receding, she inquired after any news from Mr. Darcy.

“I did receive a new letter today. ‘Tis probably the last he will write before he comes back. If I write to him tomorrow, though, it should reach him before he leaves.”

Jane shot a scolding smile to her fiancé. “And what does he say?” she asked.

Charles beamed. “Aside from lamenting that he won’t be at Netherfield before the wedding day, he flatters me, actually! He says he’s very happy I became such a reliable correspondent. He also says that my writing has vastly improved – was I not telling you this weeks ago?” His beam became even wider, with Jane’s indulgent and tender grin. “But he doesn’t trust me completely yet; he expresses a fear he misread me. I shall have to repeat my assurance that he has not, I think.”

“Indeed, tell him he has not misread you at all,” burst out Elizabeth. “I’m convinced you do make perfect sense. I’ve seen the improvement in your writing for myself, I can vouch for this!”

Jane’s giggling and Charles’ chuckling made her realise how impulsive her reaction had been. A dark hue once again spread over her face, she smiled sheepishly. “Will you tell him?” she asked nonetheless, glancing discreetly around to make sure her outburst had remained private. Charles nodded his agreement while Jane patted her hand.

The first chords of a new Beethoven piece invaded the room. Louisa’s playing was far superior and far more agreeable than Mary’s, thus everybody became quieter and the evening went on peacefully.

Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 28 - R rated

Sow Potatoes, See What you Shall Reap, Chapter 28 - PG13