Page 5

The morning after the assembly, Longbourn was abuzz with conversation, for there was much to discuss.

The Netherfield party had provided enough material for gossip to last weeks, and the ladies of Meryton wasted no time in setting to the task.

Elizabeth had no doubt that before midday, every home in the neighborhood would be ringing with the name of Mr. Darcy, and not in admiration.

Mrs. Bennet, naturally, had the loudest opinions.

She paced the room, flapping her handkerchief as she lamented the insult paid to her daughter.

"To think, Lizzy, that he would have the audacity to say such a thing within your hearing!

And to Mr. Bingley, of all people! What must he think of his friend?

He will be quite ashamed of him, you mark my words.

I shall remind him of it when next we meet. "

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh and exchanged a glance with Jane, who, ever gentle, had spent much of the morning attempting to soothe their mother’s indignation.

"Mama, if you recall," Elizabeth said carefully, "you resolved to be civil to Mr. Darcy, if only for Mr. Bingley’s sake.

It would not do to offend him by speaking ill of his friend. "

Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, yes, yes, I did say so. But truly, Lizzy, how am I to be civil to such a man? To slight you in such a way! I can bear it when they ignore Mary, for she does not care for such things, but you, my dear, have always had such a charm about you!""

At this, Mary looked up from her book, her expression unreadable.

She said nothing, but her lips pressed together, and her fingers tightened slightly over the pages.

Elizabeth caught the movement and frowned.

She knew such words must sting—for though Mary cared little for dancing or frivolous conversation, it did not follow that she lacked sensibility.

It was easy to overlook her when she did not speak, just as it had once been easy to overlook her Fitzwilliam when he stood apart in a crowded room.

Elizabeth wished she could offer her sister some reassurance, some kindness, but she knew that drawing attention to Mary’s emotions would only embarrass her.

Instead, she changed the subject, hoping to spare her from further discomfort.

"There is little harm done," Elizabeth said lightly, though her heart ached with the knowledge of what Mr. Darcy would one day feel about his own words.

She turned her attention to Charlotte, who had come by to hear the latest from the assembly.

"You are quiet, Charlotte. Do you not have any thoughts on the matter? "

Charlotte hesitated, studying her closely. "I find it odd that you did not mention it last night. We have always been open with each other."

Elizabeth stiffened, though she forced herself to smile. "I suppose I thought it unimportant. I knew it would reach you soon enough, as all things do in Meryton. Mrs. Long has seen to that. "

"Indeed," Charlotte said, though her voice carried a note of suspicion.

She did not press further, but her shrewd eyes lingered on Elizabeth a moment too long.

Elizabeth resisted the urge to fidget. She had forgotten how perceptive Charlotte could be.

Though she had seen her only twice since the accident, before that, it had been years.

She had forgotten what it was like to be under such close scrutiny.

To Charlotte, they were still the closest of friends who shared everything, but to Elizabeth, their friendship felt distant, changed by time and circumstance in ways Charlotte could not yet know.

"Mr. Bingley was most attentive to Jane," Charlotte said, shifting the conversation, though Elizabeth could tell it was not out of distraction but calculation. "That is promising."

Mrs. Bennet immediately seized upon the topic, exclaiming with delight over Bingley’s clear admiration and lamenting Jane’s natural reserve.

Elizabeth let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, though Charlotte’s thoughtful expression did not escape her notice.

Had she been too quick in her deflection?

Had she raised more questions than she answered?

As the conversation moved forward, Elizabeth’s mind wandered.

She had spent the night thinking of Fitzwilliam, reliving his first slight and the way his gaze had faltered when she looked back at him.

He had been startled, confused. Would he dwell upon it?

Would it trouble him, that moment of inexplicable recognition?

She could not know, but she did know that she missed him with an ache so deep it was nearly unbearable.

And then there was James. Her sweet boy, who she had held only in dreams since waking in this past life. Was he still waiting for her in a future she might never reach? Would he be lost to her forever if she strayed too far from the path she once walked?

"Lizzy, dear, you are quite distracted," Charlotte observed.

Elizabeth blinked, drawing herself back to the present. "Merely tired, I suppose. It was a long evening."

Charlotte nodded, but there was something in her gaze that said she did not believe her. Elizabeth turned away before her friend could pry further.

Mary, who had been silent through most of the conversation, suddenly shut her book with a quiet but firm snap.

Elizabeth looked over and found her younger sister’s gaze fixed on her in an unreadable expression.

It was not curiosity, nor was it reproach.

It was something else entirely. And then, just as quickly as it came, Mary looked away and resumed her usual quiet demeanor .

Elizabeth felt a prick of unease. She had been so concerned about Charlotte's perceptiveness that she had overlooked another observer—one who rarely spoke, but always saw.

She would have to be careful indeed.