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Neither her mother nor Lydia had come downstairs today, and Kitty found herself missing their company more keenly than she missed her father-a realisation that brought a pang of guilt.

But Papa had always been distant, sequestered in his book room where only Lizzy, and sometimes Jane or Mary, would join him.

Though he appeared regularly for meals and tea, he would spend those times hidden behind his newspaper, speaking only to tease their mother or share some private joke with Lizzy.

It wasn’t that she didn’t respect him as her father-she did, of course she did.

But she had never truly known him. His wit often went over her head, and she was painfully aware that he found her attempts to understand amusing.

She had tried, truly tried, to improve her mind as he valued Lizzy.

She had struggled through Mary’s serious tomes and attempted Lizzy’s beloved novels, but found them equally impenetrable.

Drawing and painting had been her refuge-the one talent she could truly call her own.

But even there, she had found no approval from her father.

Though Mama had praised her efforts, calling her sketches “very sweet indeed,” Papa’s indifference had eventually driven her to abandon her art and seek easier companionship with Lydia.

Now the house felt unnaturally quiet. Where there should have been laughter and sisterly squabbles, there were only hushed whispers, broken occasionally by Mama’s loud sobs.

Without Lydia’s energy or Mama’s constant bustle, Kitty felt oddly adrift.

Then she remembered her old sketching materials, abandoned so long ago in the music room.

Perhaps now, when everyone was too preoccupied with grief to judge her efforts, she might find comfort in art again.

Retrieving her supplies, she found a secluded spot in the garden and began to draw.

* * *

Longbourn - Elizabeth

At length Elizabeth returned into the house, stopping outside the drawing room.

When she heard Mr Collins’ voice within, she changed her mind about entering.

Through the hall window, she glimpsed Kitty in the garden, bent over what appeared to be her old sketchbook.

The sight brought an unexpected lump to her throat-Papa had never understood Kitty’s artistic pursuits, but perhaps he would have appreciated how she sought solace in them now.

Deciding to seek refuge upstairs, Elizabeth first checked on her family.

She found her mother sleeping fitfully, but Lydia’s door remained firmly locked.

Though she called softly several times, no response came from within.

Elizabeth hesitated outside the door, torn between concern and a desire not to disturb her sister if she too had found refuge in sleep.

As she turned toward her own room, she met Hill on the landing.

“Miss Elizabeth, Mr Bingley has sent word that he will call this afternoon, with Mr Darcy and his sister.”

Elizabeth’s hand tightened on the bannister. Of all days for them to visit! Yet she could hardly blame Mr Bingley for wanting to see Jane, and Mr Darcy… she pushed that thought aside.

“Thank you, Hill. Please inform my mother when she wakes. ”

In her room, Elizabeth tried to compose herself. She splashed cool water on her face and smoothed her hair. When she finally descended to join her sisters, she found Mr Collins had already taken it upon himself to receive their guests. Drawing a steadying breath, she entered the drawing room.

The gentlemen rose at her entrance. Elizabeth found herself studying the carpet pattern rather than meet Mr Darcy’s intense gaze. Mr Bingley, ever cheerful despite the sombre occasion, attempted to ease the tension.

“I trust you are well, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked kindly.

“As well as can be expected,” she managed, grateful for his gentle manner.

Mr Darcy remained silent, but she could feel his eyes following her as she moved about the room.

His presence seemed to fill any space he occupied, making the drawing room feel smaller than usual.

When their eyes did meet, briefly over the tea service, she saw something in his expression that made her heart beat faster-concern, certainly, but also a barely contained intensity that made her grateful for the steadying presence of the tea table between them.

When Mr Collins began detailing his plans for Longbourn’s future, Elizabeth noticed Mr Darcy’s jaw tighten, though he maintained his composure.

After the expected condolences and greetings were exchanged, Elizabeth found herself searching for safe conversation.

Mr Bingley was her only comfortable option; she could neither trust her temper with Mr Collins nor her composure with Mr Darcy.

Better to focus her attention on her sisters and their guests.

Miss Darcy sat quietly in her corner, her usual shyness heightened by the sombre atmosphere.

“I am very sorry about your father, Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Darcy said softly as Elizabeth offered her a cup of tea. Her eyes met Elizabeth’s with genuine understanding. “I know how hard it is to lose a father, particularly when you were so close to him.”

Elizabeth murmured her thanks, touched by the young woman’s sincerity.

As she moved to join Jane at the tea table, she noticed her sister’s strained expression.

Under cover of pouring fresh cups for their guests, Jane whispered that Mr Collins had been holding forth on his plans for Longbourn since Elizabeth’s departure from the room.

With an air of great condescension, Mr Collins then extended an invitation to dinner to Mr Bingley and the Darcys. Mr Bingley accepted immediately, his eyes seeking Jane’s, and Mr Darcy, after a moment’s hesitation and a glance at Elizabeth, agreed as well.

Not long before dinner was to be announced, Hill’s discreet message about Mr Bingley’s presence brought Mrs Bennet downstairs.

Despite her grief, she was determined to secure her daughters’ futures.

With her husband gone and two engagements still unsettled, she could not risk either suitor losing interest. She entered the room with as much composure as she could muster, though her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her recent tears.

Just as they were preparing to go in to dinner, Kitty appeared from the garden, her sketchbook tucked under her arm.

“Go up and change quickly, Kitty,” Mrs Bennet commanded, her voice sharp with anxiety, “and do see if Lydia will join us.”

While they waited for Kitty’s return, Mrs Bennet filled the awkward silence with increasingly nervous chatter-moving from memories of Mr Bennet to plans for Jane’s wedding, then to complaints about her nerves.

Mr Collins seised every pause to address Elizabeth, who found herself somehow trapped between him and Mr Darcy.

She could feel the tension radiating from both gentlemen, though for entirely different reasons.

When Kitty finally returned, she slipped into the room with unusual quietness. Her attempt to catch Elizabeth or Jane’s eye without drawing attention failed when Mrs Bennet noticed her furtive behaviour.

“Good heavens, child!” Mrs Bennet exclaimed, her anxiety finding a familiar target. “Why have you not changed? You are keeping us all waiting.” Her voice rose shrilly. “I have half a mind to send everyone in to dinner without you.”

“I needed to speak to Lizzy and Jane,” Kitty said, her voice unusually small. Her hands twisted in her skirts as she glanced between her sisters.

“Whatever about?” Mrs Bennet demanded, her nerves making her sharp. “Surely you do not need their opinion on what to wear? Really, Kitty, you are being most tiresome.”

“No, it’s not that,” Kitty whispered, her face growing pale. She glanced anxiously at their guests, clearly wishing she could speak privately with her sisters.

“My dear cousin,” Mr Collins interjected, seising the opportunity to assert his authority.

He stepped forward, claiming Elizabeth’s arm as if it were already his right.

“There is nothing you cannot say to me that you would say to your sisters. After all, I will very soon be both your brother and the master of this house.”

Elizabeth withdrew her arm from Mr Collins’ grasp with quiet dignity and moved toward her sister.

She focused on Kitty’s distressed face, deliberately ignoring both Mr Collins’ affronted expression and Mr Darcy’s swift movement to follow her.

On her other side, Jane approached as well, Mr Bingley hovering protectively behind her.

“This is beyond ridiculous!” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose with mounting hysteria. “Kitty, you are trying my nerves exceedingly. Why are you still not changed?”

“The door is locked,” Kitty blurted out, her resistance finally crumbling under her mother’s pressure. “And Lydia isn’t answering.” She glanced helplessly at her elder sisters, knowing there was no chance now of a private conversation-the entire party had gone deadly still at her words.

“What do you mean, isn’t answering?” Mrs Bennet’s voice took on a shrill edge.

Then, seeming to remember their guests, she forced a brittle laugh.

“You cannot have called loudly enough. She must be asleep, poor dear.” She turned to Mr Bingley and Mr Collins with an attempt at her usual manner.

“Such a sensitive child-she has been quite overcome by Mr Bennet’s death. ”

“I did call loudly, Mama,” Kitty insisted, her voice trembling. “Several times. She hasn’t made a sound all afternoon.”

Elizabeth felt her heart stop. Her mind raced through the day’s events-when had anyone last heard Lydia’s voice?

Her youngest sister, who could never stay quiet for more than a few minutes, who filled every room she entered with chatter and laughter, had been silent for hours.

Jane and Kitty had tried to coax her to eat something this morning, but since then…

nothing. The silence suddenly seemed ominous.

Elizabeth didn’t pause to make excuses to their guests. She bolted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time in her rush to reach Lydia’s door. She could hear swift footsteps behind her-Mr Darcy’s longer stride keeping pace with her own, while Jane, Kitty, and Mr Bingley followed close behind.

Miss Darcy hesitated only a moment before following, her natural shyness overcome by concern.

Behind them came the sound of more footsteps-Mrs Bennet’s anxious tread, Mary’s measured pace, and Mr Collins’ ponderous step bringing up the rear.

Her mother’s voice floated up the stairs, alternating between scolding Lydia’s behaviour and apologising to their guests for the disruption.

They clustered around Lydia’s door, the initial relief at finding a simple locked door quickly fading.

The key was visible in the lock on the other side, mockingly out of reach.

Mr Darcy called for a fire poker, and they spent several tense minutes trying to work the key free, Elizabeth’s hands shaking as she held the candle to light their efforts.

Hill appeared with the master keys, her usual composure betraying a hint of anxiety.

When she finally managed to unlock the door, a collective sigh of relief escaped the gathered party-only to catch in their throats as the door refused to budge.

Hill pushed again, harder this time, but it remained firmly shut.

Mr Bingley stepped forward, pressing his shoulder against the wooden panel, but even his strength could not force it open.

“Lydia!” Elizabeth’s voice cracked with fear as she called through the door. “Lydia, please answer us!” Jane and Kitty added their voices to hers, but the silence from within remained absolute.

Mrs Bennet fluttered around the crowded landing, wringing her hands and bumping into everyone in her agitation.

“Oh, my poor dear Lydia!” she wailed. “What if she has fallen and hit her head? She could have been lying there for hours!” Her voice rose to a shriek.

“Why did none of you think to check on her? First Mr Bennet, and now my poor sweet Lydia!”

Miss Darcy shrank back against the wall, while Mary attempted to calm their mother without success.

“What can the girl mean by such behaviour?” Mr Collins demanded, his voice heavy with disapproval. “The dinner shall be quite ruined by the time we gain entry. Most inconsiderate, most irregular indeed.”

The silence from Lydia’s room seemed to mock them all.

Elizabeth felt the weight of every second’s delay, remembering too well how her father’s illness had taught her the cost of waiting too long.

Behind her, she could hear Mr Collins muttering about dinner, and for the first time, she felt nothing but cold contempt for the man she had agreed to marry.

Any attempt at maintaining privacy had long since been abandoned. A footman was summoned to join Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy in their efforts, and at last, with their combined strength, they managed to force the door open.

The door finally gave way to reveal an empty room.

Elizabeth’s heart plummeted at the sight-Lydia’s wardrobe stood open, their contents strewn about as if packed in desperate haste.

A heavy chest of drawers, now askew, had been dragged across the doorway to prevent entry.

And there, across the room, the window gaped wide, its curtains billowing in the evening breeze like ghostly hands beckoning them forward.

Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on a single sheet of paper propped against the mantle, its white surface catching the last rays of daylight streaming through the open window.

The empty room told its own story-one of hasty decisions and desperate measures. As Elizabeth stared at the note on the mantle, she couldn’t help but wonder if Lydia had found her own way to escape an unbearable situation, just as Elizabeth had been longing to do.