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H er mother stood at the sink, washing up the rest of the breakfast dishes as Elizabeth tried to sneak down the stairs and out the front door. It was late on Saturday morning, and she had lain awake in bed for over an hour, too exhausted to face the day.

“It’s about time you got yourself out of that bed,” her mother said in a sharp tone. “Your sisters have already had their breakfast and left to do their work for the day.Your father and I have been up since dawn.”

Elizabeth cringed with annoyance and guilt. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“I suppose you’re used to lying about all morning up at Pemberley, now that you’ve got a houseful of servants.”

“No, I still get up early. And there’s not a houseful of servants, only Mrs. Reynolds.”

“Hmph, no Mrs. Reynolds around here, that’s for sure.”

“No, ma’am.”

“If you lollygag about all day, no wonder he sent you back.”

“He didn’t send me back, Mama.” She sighed. “I said I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling too well this morning.”

Mrs. Bennet dried her hands on a dish towel and felt her daughter’s forehead. “No fever—you must not be too sick. Heartsick maybe, over what you’ve done.”

Elizabeth said nothing but picked up the damp towel and began to dry the dishes in the sink.

They each continued working in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

After she finished drying the iron skillet and hung it on the peg next to the stove, Elizabeth laid the towel on the counter to dry.

Her mother was right about one thing. If she was going to stay here, she needed to contribute somehow.

“Can I help you with something?”

Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes at her daughter and pursed her lips.She thought for a second, and then she shrugged. “You can help me break those beans, I guess. The girls picked them before they left this morning, and I was going to can them this afternoon.”

Elizabeth retrieved the bushel basket sitting by the door and got out a bowl. “Where are the girls anyway?” The unusual quiet in the house was one of the reasons she had slept so late.

“Kitty and Lydia went to the farmers’ market over in Brighton to sell eggs. Mary’s gone to work at your uncle Ed’s office, and Jane’s working at Netherfield’s. Your father is out doing something or other—cutting hay, I think.”

“The girls go all the way to Brighton?I thought they sold eggs in Meryton.”

“They get a better price over in Brighton, so they’ve been riding over with John Lucas on Saturdays.

He goes over there and sells those cedar chests and rocking chairs he makes.

” Mrs. Bennet sat down across the corner of the table from Elizabeth, moving the bowl between them, and began to work.

“Nice boy, John. I think he might be sweet on Kitty, though I can’t imagine why he would choose her over Lydia, who is prettier and has more personality. But to each his own, I suppose.”

Elizabeth felt indignant on Kitty’s behalf but had no will left to quarrel with her mother over her favoritism toward Lydia.

That was unlikely to ever change. She wondered if John Lucas knew what he was getting into.

That trail of thought led her to recall William’s opinions about the Bennets, and she searched frantically for a conversation topic to take her mind off him.

“Is it safe in Brighton? I heard there are some rough people over that way.”

Mrs. Bennet waved her hand as if to dismiss the idea. “They’ll be fine. John’s with them anyway. What could happen?”

Elizabeth could think of a couple of unpleasant things that could happen, especially given Lydia’s indiscreet speech and flirtatious ways, but she said nothing.

Another period of silence ensued with Mrs. Bennet getting more agitated as the minutes went on. Elizabeth kept working, although she was starting to feel a little queasy. Perhaps I should eat something. Finally, her mother’s thoughts burst out like the whistle on a tea kettle.

“You know, I do not understand you, Lizzy.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, resigned to the lecture that was coming. Sometimes I don’t understand myself either.

“Why can’t you ever be satisfied with what you have?

You marry this rich, handsome man, live in that beautiful house with every possible convenience—and you pick a fight with your husband and come back home.

How are we supposed to support you now? You gave Mary your job.

” She broke a bean with vengeance and threw the pieces in the bowl.

“Is it too late to ask Mr. Darcy to take you back?”

Elizabeth felt tears sting her eyes, but she managed to keep her composure. “I’ll find another job to help out more.”

“Hmph. Well, you know we won’t let you starve, but I just don’t understand why.”

“I really don’t want to discuss it. We quarreled.” William had asked her not to divulge Georgiana’s troubled history to anyone. “So, I left. I don’t know what will happen now.”

Mrs. Bennet gave her careful, shrewd once over. “Did he hit you, daughter?”

“Mama!No! He would never do that!”

Her mother shrugged. “I didn’t think so. I didn’t see any marks on you, and he seems too gentlemanly to hit a woman, but you never know.I told your father as much, but he still wasn’t sure.”

“Why didn’t Papa just ask me himself?”

“You know your father,” she said. It was all she needed to say. An irritable look crossed Mrs. Bennet’s face. “You’re just like him, you know.”

“Who? Papa?”

“Yes, always with your nose in a book and never thinking about the real world. Always looking for that something better somewhere else, and never happy with what you’ve got.

” She pursed her lips in frustration. “And yet, good things just seem to happen to you—and to him. Everything turns out all right in the end. But still, you’re so… ungrateful!”

“That’s not fair, Mama. I am practical—I worked at Uncle Ed’s place. I planted a big kitchen garden at Pemberley.” She sulked, feeling sorry for herself and ashamed at the same time. “I married the richest man in the county when he asked me.”

“I know,” her mother said in an exasperated voice.“I thought there was finally hope for you, but then”—she picked up another bean and gave a rough tug—“you go and pull a stunt like this.”

“I am grateful—for everything. Truly.” She reached over and squeezed her mother’s work-worn hand and went back to work.Several minutes of silence ensued, but then Elizabeth interrupted the rhythm of their task with a question.

“Does Papa confide in you?”

“About what?”

“Oh, about anything—his thoughts, worries, plans, what to do about the farm, or about us?”

“No, why should he?”

“Would you want him to?”

Her mother sounded perplexed. “He doesn’t, so I never thought about it.”

“Does it bother you that he doesn’t share his thoughts with you?”

“Men don’t talk like that with their wives.”

“Uncle Ed talks about the vet office with Aunt Maddie.”

“He does?I haven’t noticed.”

“I want my husband to talk to me and share his life with me. I want to be his friend and his wife.”

“Is that what you argued about with Mr. Darcy?”

“It was one of the things we argued about.”

“Silly,” Mrs. Bennet muttered under her breath.

Elizabeth smiled sadly at her mother. “Probably so.”