Page 4

The morning after the Meryton ball dawned with a clarity that seemed to mock Elizabeth’s troubled thoughts.

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window.

For a few precious moments, Elizabeth allowed herself to remain in the warm cocoon of her bed, postponing the inevitable confrontation that awaited her downstairs.

When she could no longer delay, Elizabeth dressed with particular care, selecting a morning gown of yellow muslin that lent some color to her complexion. She would need every advantage in the battle that lay ahead.

The breakfast room at Longbourn presented a tableau of ordinary family life that belied the undercurrents of tension.

Mr. Bennet sat behind his newspaper, occasionally reaching for his coffee without lowering the protective barrier of print.

Mrs. Bennet, by contrast, did not attempt to disguise her displeasure; her lips pressed into a thin line as she aggressively buttered a piece of toast.

“Good morning,” Elizabeth offered, taking her usual seat.

Her father lowered his newspaper just enough to reveal eyes twinkling with sardonic amusement. “Ah, Lizzy. I trust you slept well after your evening of social rebellion?”

Before Elizabeth could reply, Mrs. Bennet’s composure broke apart like delicate china crashing onto a stone floor.

“How can you jest about such a thing, Mr. Bennet? Our daughter has made herself the object of ridicule throughout Meryton! Mr. Whitmore will never call again; worse, his rejection may taint Jane’s prospects with Mr. Bingley! ”

“I doubt Mr. Bingley forms his opinions based on Mr. Whitmore’s disappointments,” Elizabeth said calmly, pouring herself a cup of tea. “His attention to Jane seemed most particular.”

“That was before you displayed such pride and obstinacy!” Mrs. Bennet lamented. “To refuse a dance only to sit out the set is beyond comprehension! What were you thinking, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth met her mother’s gaze steadily. “I was thinking of Jane’s happiness, Mama. Mr. Whitmore’s attentions to me would only complicate matters with Mr. Bingley.”

“Nonsense! A daughter who is well-married increases the prospects of her sisters. Everyone knows this!”

“Not when the elder sister remains unattached while a younger one secures a husband,” Elizabeth countered. “It would appear unnatural and might make Mr. Bingley question what deficiency in Jane had led to such an irregular arrangement.”

This argument, appealing as it did to Mrs. Bennet’s primary concern for Jane’s marriage prospects, caused a momentary pause in her tirade. She glanced between her two eldest daughters, calculation evident in her expression.

“There may be some truth in that,” she admitted reluctantly. “Still, to refuse in such a public manner! Could you not have developed a headache before his approach, rather than humiliating the poor man before all of Meryton?”

“The opportunity did not present itself,” Elizabeth replied, relieved that the worst of her mother’s anger appeared to have passed. “I am sorry for any distress my actions may have caused you, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet sniffed, somewhat mollified by this concession. “Well, what’s done is done. We must hope Mr. Bingley’s interest in Jane is strong enough to withstand this scandal.”

Mr. Bennet folded his newspaper and regarded his second daughter with a knowing gaze that suggested he perceived more than he revealed. “Lizzy has always had a talent for weighing consequences,” he observed. “I daresay she considered her actions carefully.”

His statement contained a question that Elizabeth chose not to answer directly. Did her father suspect she knew about his debts? The letter remained hidden in her writing desk, a secret burden she was not yet ready to share.

The arrival of the morning post provided a welcome distraction. Among the letters was an invitation from Sir William and Lady Lucas for tea that afternoon.

“Charlotte particularly requests your company, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said, scanning the note. “Though I cannot imagine why, after your behavior last night.”

“Charlotte is a true friend,” Elizabeth replied. “She judges less harshly than most.”

“We shall all go,” Mrs. Bennet decided. “It will allow us to assess the damage to our reputation. And perhaps Mr. Bingley might call at Lucas Lodge; who knows?”

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane, who had remained silent throughout the breakfast discussion.

Her sister’s gentle smile conveyed sympathy and support, reinforcing Elizabeth’s conviction that her sacrifice had been necessary.

Whatever gossip she must endure was a small price to pay for protecting Jane’s chance at happiness and, by extension, the family’s financial security.

***

Although she had announced they would all go together, Mrs. Bennet changed her mind immediately after breakfast. Despite her keen curiosity to hear every comment firsthand, she decided to remain at home with the youngest girls, sending only the diplomatic Jane and the controversial Lizzy to call on the Lucas family.

As the rain left the lanes thick with mud and puddles, Jane hesitated at the prospect of walking to Lucas Lodge.

But Elizabeth, ever practical and undaunted by the weather—or convention—volunteered to drive their small chaise herself.

“There is no need for ceremony today,” she declared with a wry smile.

“If our boots are to remain clean, I shall play the coachman, and you, dear Jane, may be my elegant passenger.”

Jane’s protest was gentle, but Elizabeth’s confidence prevailed, and so it was that the two sisters set out, their spirits as bright as the new-washed hedgerows, heedless of what their neighbors might say.

Elizabeth took up the reins herself, and the drive to Lucas Lodge led the two sisters along a winding country lane, bordered by hedgerows and fields already tinged with autumn’s gold.

Elizabeth would have preferred a more secluded route than the one leading toward Meryton, which always brought the awkward chance of meeting acquaintances who might have heard whispers of her refusal at the ball.

Yet there was no other way. Noticing the tension in her sister’s posture, Jane offered a reassuring smile and settled a comforting hand over Elizabeth’s arm, her presence a quiet reassurance as they rattled on together.

“It will not be as bad as you fear,” Jane murmured encouragingly. “People have shorter memories than Mama believes.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s arm in gratitude but remained unconvinced. Already she could see the curious glances directed their way, the whispered conversations that ceased abruptly as they approached.

But the road was not as easy as it seemed, for it passed directly in front of Mrs. Long’s house.

There she stood with her nieces, firmly planted at the end of their drive, as if waiting for a carriage—though, in truth, they were seeking nothing more than new sources of information and gossip.

To appear less conspicuous, Mrs. Long and her nieces made a great show of examining ribbons while casting sidelong glances at the advancing Bennet party.

Elizabeth brought the chaise to a halt, offering no choice but to acknowledge their presence.

“Miss Eliza,” called Mrs. Long with false cordiality. “What a surprise to see you abroad today. I thought you might be indisposed after your... early retirement from the dancing last evening.”

“I am in excellent health, thank you,” Elizabeth replied with a polite smile that did not reach her eyes. “The fresh air is most invigorating.”

“Indeed,” Mrs. Long agreed, her tone suggesting Elizabeth’s vigor was surprising. “Though one must be careful not to overexert oneself. Such... impulsive behavior can lead to all manner of difficulties.”

“I find that considered actions, even when they appear impulsive to others, rarely lead to regret,” Elizabeth countered, maintaining her composure.

Mrs. Long’s eyes narrowed at this implicit rebuke. “Well! We must all hope that proves true in your case, Miss Eliza. Though I fear some actions cannot be undone, particularly when they leave such an impression on society.”

Seeing that further parley would only invite more gossip, Elizabeth inclined her head in polite farewell. With a gentle flick of the reins, she guided the chaise forward and left Mrs. Long and her nieces behind.

As they moved away from the group that established high standards for curiosity, Elizabeth heard one of the nieces whispering “Reckless,” followed by poorly suppressed giggles.

“You see?” Jane said softly. “Nothing worse than a few whispers. That is all that they could do.”

“For now,” Elizabeth agreed, though she suspected the ripples from her actions would spread further before they dissipated. “I hope it ends with mere talk and no real consequences.”

***

Jane and Elizabeth arrived at Lucas Lodge in their modest chaise, the wheels crunching over the gravel drive as the golden sun glinted off the autumn fields.

Though less grand than Longbourn, Lucas Lodge possessed a comfortable elegance that reflected Sir William's rise from tradesman to knighthood.

Sir William Lucas, ever eager and bustling, was already outdoors, conversing animatedly with the neighbor who managed the stables—a topic that had captured his attention ahead of a planned excursion into town.

On sighting the Bennet sisters, Sir William’s face lit up in his usual genial manner.

“Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! What a pleasure, what a pleasure,” he exclaimed, hastening to greet them.

“You have chosen a splendid morning for a visit. Please leave your chaise by the side gate—Tobias will see to the horse, and you need not give it a moment’s thought. ”

With grateful smiles, Jane and Elizabeth followed his direction, allowing the groom to take the reins. As they walked toward the front steps, Sir William, with his customary courtly flourish, opened the door for them.