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was indeed relieved. He easily discerned the deeper meaning in Miss Bennet’s inquiry. Her calm exterior was but a shield, much like the reserve he kept to conceal his own vulnerabilities. Where his burden lay in his wealth and station, hers lay in her beauty.

“Mr. ,”

said Mr. Bennet, breaking his reverie.

“am I to understand that your apology to Lizzy was the second matter you wished to address?”

“Indeed, sir, it was,”

replied , though with some hesitation.

“But there remains a third matter I wish to lay before you.”

He turned towards Miss Elizabeth, his expression tinged with uncertainty.

“Miss Elizabeth,”

he began, his voice low with regret.

“as you so wisely remarked, eavesdroppers seldom hear anything of worth. It seems I owe—not only you, Miss Elizabeth, but also you, Miss Bennet—yet another apology. Upon my arrival at Longbourn earlier today, I passed through the east garden, and there chanced to overhear part of your conversation. I was on foot, not horseback, and I fear I was more silent than I intended, for you did not hear me approach.”

Both sisters exchanged startled glances. , perceiving the cause of their alarm, immediately turned to the eldest.

“I give you my word, Miss Bennet, that what I overheard shall not pass my lips,”

he said, hoping to reassure her. He had no intention of betraying Miss Bennet’s feelings to Bingley; it was for Bingley to earn the privilege of hearing them from her own lips.

Miss Bennet breathed a soft sigh, her tension easing as she offered a gentle, understanding smile. caught, from the corner of his eye, Miss Elizabeth’s wide-eyed gaze upon him.

“Miss Bennet, I am well aware that I ought to have withdrawn the moment I perceived your presence,”

he said.

“Yet I found myself unable to do so upon hearing my sister’s name.”

Turning to Mr. Bennet, continued.

“Sir, as a fellow guardian, I should like to make a request. Miss Bingley has written to Miss Bennet, and I believe my sister’s name was mentioned therein. I am fully aware of the impropriety of reading another’s correspondence, and therefore do not presume to ask for the letter itself. Still, I am deeply concerned for my sister’s reputation and must entreat that I be informed of what was said regarding her.”

Mr. Bennet turned to his eldest daughter.

“Jane, is there anything in that letter you would prefer Mr. not to see?”

Miss Bennet shook her head gently.

“No, Papa,”

she said, then addressed .

“Mr. , you are at liberty to read it. I had intended to burn it, in any case.”

She withdrew the letter from her gown and handed it to him. opened it and read in silence, his temper rising with each line.

How could Miss Bingley dare insinuate such an attachment between her brother and Georgiana? How fortunate that this letter had fallen into the hands of two such deserving ladies. Many in London would have been eager to obtain it—whether to advance their own interests or to injure Georgiana’s reputation.

closed his eyes, striving to quell his rising anger. Mr. Bennet, perhaps perceiving his inner turmoil, rose and brought him a glass of port.

“Mr. ,”

said Mr. Bennet.

“have you anything further to discuss with my daughters? If not, I would wish to speak with you in private.”

turned to Miss Bennet.

“I have no more to add, save this: my sister is but fifteen, and is not yet out in society. She shall not do so for at least another two years. Whenever Bingley visits either my London residence or Pemberley, he is invariably in Georgiana’s company. Never once have I observed him behave toward her otherwise than as a brother should. She is perfectly at ease in his presence, as she is in mine. Indeed, I trust Bingley well enough to leave Georgiana in his care, so long as her companion remains present to ensure all propriety is observed. Any romantic attachments implied in this letter exist solely in Miss Bingley’s imagination.”

had once remarked that Miss Bennet smiled too often; yet now, as she turned that smile upon him, he saw it afresh—not as mere habit, but as something rare and genuine. It held gratitude, as if the weight of some hidden fear had been gently lifted; understanding, as if she perceived not only his words but the restraint and sincerity with which they were spoken; and a quiet warmth that needed no expression in speech.

“Thank you, Mr. ,”

she said softly.

“You cannot imagine how much your words have comforted me.”

inclined his head.

“I must further request leave to present this letter to my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who shares the guardianship of my sister. He is expected to arrive today. I also intend to lay it before Bingley, that I may speak with him earnestly about his sisters’ conduct. You have my solemn assurance, Miss Bennet, that the letter shall be committed to the flames thereafter.”

Miss Bennet smiled gently.

“It is of no consequence, Mr. . I trust you will act with propriety.”

“Thank you, Miss Bennet—Miss Elizabeth,”

he added, before turning to Mr. Bennet.

“I have no further matters to discuss with your daughters.”

“Very well. Jane, Lizzy, I would speak with Mr. alone,”

said Mr. Bennet.

“Of course, Papa,”

Miss Bennet replied, casting a final smile as she moved toward the door. , however, kept his gaze on Miss Elizabeth, who looked back at him in evident confusion before following her sister from the room.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth was indeed perplexed. Who, then, was the gentleman seated in her father’s study?

She had always regarded her aunt and uncle Gardiner’s marriage as a model of domestic felicity, to which she quietly aspired. A single glance between them often conveyed what others required many words to express; so entire was the mutual understanding that united their minds.

The brief exchange she had just observed between Jane and Mr. bore a striking resemblance to those quiet, companionable interludes she had so often noted in the Gardiners. Mr. ’s manner toward Jane exceeded every expectation—marked by a tenderness and consideration she had scarcely believed him capable of. That he should offer comfort where none was owed struck her as an act of uncommon generosity.

This was not the proud, disdainful man she had once believed him to be. In that moment, Mr. revealed a depth of feeling and a sense of honour she had never before attributed to him.

Her contemplation was interrupted by a sharp voice calling from the parlour.

“Jane! Lizzy!”

cried their mother.

“What is Mr. doing in your father’s study? And why has your father called for you?”

Elizabeth exchanged a quick, uneasy glance with Jane, instantly perceiving that their mother was not alone. It appeared that Aunt Phillips had arrived while they were with their father.

It would serve no purpose to speak of Miss Bingley’s letter in their hearing. The last thing Mr. would wish was for its contents to fall upon ears so ill-suited to discretion.

“Mama,”

replied Jane with composure.

“Mr. merely came to take his leave, for he is shortly to return to town. Miss Bingley and the Hursts have already departed.”

“Departed? Why?”

exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.

“Did you not say that only Mr. Bingley was to go, and that he would return before the week is out? Why must they all follow him?”

“I know not, Mama,”

said Jane.

“Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst may merely wish to be among their friends in town.”

Mrs. Bennet sank into the chair with evident agitation, her hands trembling as they came to rest upon her lap. Elizabeth observed the anxious crease upon her mother’s brow. First, she herself had refused Mr. Collins’s proposal; and now, the whole of the Netherfield party—with the exception of Mr. —had departed for town. It would scarcely astonish Elizabeth if her mother regarded it as a grievous blow to her dearest hopes.

“Mama,”

said Jane gently.

“Mr. Bingley gave his word that he would return before the week’s end, and he is not a gentleman to break his word. Did he not also assure us of his intention to dine at Longbourn?”

“Yes, yes, Jane,”

Mrs. Bennet replied, though her voice betrayed little conviction.

“But still—something is amiss!”

Jane sighed in quiet resignation and slowly ascended the stairs. Elizabeth wisely remained silent, following her sister without a word, well aware that she would be the last to offer any comfort to their mother that day.