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Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley.

He had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was paid, she had no knowledge of it.

It was then disclosed in the following manner.

Observing his second daughter employed in trimming a hat, he suddenly addressed her with—

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth stiffened, her fingers faltering over the ribbon she had been tying.

She knew these words; she had lived this moment before.

Even as her mother spoke in her usual resentful tones, even as the conversation continued just as it had the first time, Elizabeth felt herself drifting between the past and present.

She had decided two weeks ago, when she had awakened in this strange repetition of her life, that she must relive it, but that did not make it any less unnerving.

She had looked at her family with new eyes since that day.

Where once she had laughed at her father’s dry humor, even found it endearing, now it grated on her nerves.

He sat so smugly, delighting in teasing his wife, amused by her vexation, but what good did he do?

Mrs. Bennet, for all her flaws, at least tried to act in what she believed was the best interest of her daughters, even if she went about it in the most aggravating way possible.

But he? He did nothing. He let things happen, enjoying the play of their lives as though he were but an audience member rather than a participant.

And her mother—how foolish, how absurd, how…

mercenary she must sound to others! Elizabeth could hear it so plainly now, every declaration of distress, every lament over their future, yet never did she speak of saving, of planning, of securing their futures with careful economy.

She panicked but did not act, and Mr. Bennet, rather than helping, only made things worse.

Her sisters—dear Jane, sweet Jane, whose heart she knew would break before it would heal.

She had to find a way to spare her that pain.

And Lydia… wild, heedless Lydia, whose selfishness and reckless flirtations would bring disgrace upon them all.

Could she stop that? Could she change things while still ensuring she ended up where she was meant to be—with Fitzwilliam? With her Darcy?

“Oh,” said Lydia stoutly, “I am not afraid; for though I am the youngest, I’m the tallest. ”

Elizabeth bit her lip, watching her youngest sister preen. Kitty, she knew, would do better once separated from Lydia’s influence, but how could she see that done? And Lydia—was there a way to change her course without driving her to worse rebellion?

The rest of the evening was spent in conjecturing how soon Mr. Bingley would return Mr. Bennet’s visit and determining when they should ask him to dinner.

Elizabeth sat among them, an unwilling actress in a play she had already performed.

The words, the actions, all the same as before, yet she was no longer the same Elizabeth.

She was not merely reliving her past—she had a chance to reshape it.

She watched as her mother’s mood changed rapidly, from vexation to delight.

Mrs. Bennet was always swift to turn a disappointment into triumph when circumstances allowed it, and tonight was no exception.

Her exaggerated sighs turned into giddy laughter as she clasped her hands together.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, how good it was of you! But I knew I should persuade you at last.”

Elizabeth found she could no longer tolerate sitting idle as she had before. She leaned forward slightly and studied her mother. “Did you, Mamma?” she asked, tilting her head. “You seemed quite convinced not a moment ago that he had not gone.”

Mrs. Bennet blinked at her, looking momentarily confused before waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, pish, child! You know I have always had faith in your father’s duty to his family.”

Mr. Bennet, leaning back in his chair, smirked. “Ah, my dear, how reassuring it is to know that your confidence in me appears at the most convenient of times.”

Lydia giggled. “Well, if Mr. Bingley is half as handsome as they say, I daresay he shall not want for partners at the ball!” She turned to Jane with a teasing grin. “And perhaps he will favor you, dearest Jane. Everyone says he is a young man of good fortune and amiable disposition.”

Jane blushed and smiled gently but said nothing. Elizabeth studied her sister’s face, already anticipating the growing attachment that would form in the coming weeks. But would it lead to heartbreak once again? Could she, should she, interfere?

She had spent the past fortnight deliberating over how much she should change.

If she was to relive her past, should she not at least attempt to rectify what she could?

And yet, at what cost? What if altering one event led to something unforeseen?

Would she still end up with Fitzwilliam if she tampered too much with the course of events?

“Jane is far too lovely to go unnoticed,” Elizabeth said, her voice gentle. “I believe Mr. Bingley shall find himself most fortunate indeed to make her acquaintance.”

Jane’s blush deepened, and she laughed softly. “Lizzy, you must not tease me so. ”

Elizabeth shook her head. “It is no tease, dearest.” She glanced toward her father, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.

He had noticed, she realized. Not just now, but over the past two weeks.

He had noticed the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the way she studied their family with a more critical eye, the way she had held herself with a quiet certainty that did not match her supposed twenty years.

Mr. Bennet was a man of intelligence, despite his indolence, and though he often found amusement in the absurdities of life, he was not so oblivious as to miss changes in his own household. Elizabeth met his gaze and held it for a moment before looking away. She would have to be more careful.

As the evening drew to a close, Elizabeth made her way to her room, her mind buzzing with possibilities.

She sat by her dressing table, staring at her reflection.

This was her chance—her second chance. She had once walked these paths blindly, made her share of youthful errors, and—almost miraculously—found her way to happiness.

But now… now she had knowledge of the future.

Could she use it to protect those she loved?

She exhaled softly and closed her eyes. Every night, she prayed she would wake in Pemberley, beside her husband and son. And every morning, she opened her eyes to find herself still here, in the past. If this was not a dream, if this was truly happening, then she could not waste this opportunity.

She just had to be very, very careful.