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Caroline rose from the sofa, her face now flushed with genuine anger. “You go too far, Charles.”

“On the contrary,” he replied steadily, “I have not gone far enough. For years I have allowed your ambitions and pretensions to dictate the course of this household. No more. If Miss Bennet chooses Colonel Fitzwilliam, I shall bear it with dignity because I respect her right to follow her heart. What I will not tolerate is your continued interference in matters that do not concern you.”

The controlled force of his statement hung in the air between them, unexpected and undeniable. Caroline stared at her brother as though seeing him for the first time, her customary poise momentarily abandoned.

“You cannot mean this,” Caroline said at last, recovering something of her composure. “You have always valued my guidance.”

“I have always valued peace in my household,” Bingley corrected her. “There is a distinction you would do well to recognise.”

He moved then to the window, turning his back on Caroline in a gesture of dismissal so definite that Elizabeth knew the conversation had concluded.

The dignity with which he carried himself, the quiet authority he had displayed, revealed dimensions to Charles Bingley’s character that she had never before appreciated.

Caroline remained standing for a moment longer, her expression cycling through indignation, disbelief, and finally a calculating assessment. Without another word, she gathered her skirts and moved toward the door, forcing Elizabeth to take several hasty steps backward to avoid discovery.

Heart racing at her narrow escape, Elizabeth turned quickly and retreated down the corridor, her mind awhirl with what she had witnessed. The book of poetry forgotten entirely, she sought the privacy of a small alcove beneath the stairs to collect her thoughts before returning to her chambers.

Bingley’s revelation of steel beneath his customary amiability had startled her.

That he could maintain such control when provoked so deliberately spoke to a maturity of character she had not previously credited him with.

Perhaps most telling was his stated resolution to accept Jane’s choice with dignity, should she indeed prefer Colonel Fitzwilliam.

It occurred to Elizabeth, with a curious mixture of admiration and regret, that Charles Bingley might prove himself worthy of Jane’s affection just as she bestowed it elsewhere. Life’s timing often possessed a cruel irony that way.

The sound of footsteps approaching roused her from these reflections. Composing her features into an expression of calm unconcern, Elizabeth emerged from her hiding place, prepared to face the dinner hour with outward serenity despite the tumult of revelations within.

Elizabeth drew her cloak more closely about her shoulders as the Netherfield groom helped her descend from the carriage before Longbourn’s familiar entrance.

The morning carried the crisp, clean scent of impending winter, and the gardens of her childhood home had taken on the subdued palette of late autumn.

She had decided to visit Jane alone today, driven by both sisterly affection and a particular curiosity about her sister’s heart following the revelations of recent days.

The front door opened before she had even reached it, revealing Hill, a welcoming smile creasing her weathered features.

“Mrs. Darcy! What a pleasant surprise. The family is just finishing breakfast.”

“Thank you, Hill,” Elizabeth replied warmly, handing the servant her cloak. Her entrance to the breakfast room provoked the expected flurry of exclamations from her mother, whose delight at Elizabeth’s arrival was matched only by her disappointment at Darcy’s absence.

“Lizzy! What a surprise! But where is Mr. Darcy? Surely he has not let you travel alone? Though I suppose with your fine carriage and servants, there can be no impropriety. Still, a gentleman of Mr. Darcy’s position should accompany his wife.

Not that I criticise! Ten thousand a year, after all, allows a man his eccentricities. ”

“Mr. Darcy is attending to some business correspondence this morning, Mama,” Elizabeth explained, accepting her father’s silent greeting with a warm smile. “He sends his regards to everyone.”

“Well, I should hope so! And Mr. Bingley? And Colonel Fitzwilliam? Are they well? The colonel called most particularly to see Jane only yesterday on his return from Oxfordshire, you know. Such a distinguished gentleman! A second son, to be sure, but with such connections one can hardly consider that a true disadvantage.”

Jane, seated quietly at the far end of the table, met Elizabeth’s gaze with a look of mingled affection and gentle exasperation at their mother’s effusions. Elizabeth noted with interest the becoming flush that coloured her sister’s cheeks at the mention of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“They are both in excellent health, Mama. The colonel mentioned his visit here yesterday, and seemed most pleased by the reception he received.”

“As well he might be! I was most attentive, and Jane looked particularly well in her blue muslin. I always say blue is Jane’s colour, bringing out the delicacy of her complexion.

The colonel stayed above an hour, though Mr. Bingley had called earlier and remained nearly two!

Such attentions must mean something, I am certain. ”

“Indeed, Mama,” Elizabeth agreed, sharing another glance with Jane. “I was hoping to speak with Jane privately this morning. Perhaps we might walk in the garden? The weather seems quite amenable.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. You must have sisterly confidences to share. Though why you cannot share them with your mother, I cannot imagine. Still, if you must have secrets, so be it. Only do not stay out too long, Jane! The cold air can be treacherous for delicate constitutions.”

Jane rose gracefully from her seat. “We shall be careful, Mama. I have my shawl, and we need not go beyond the walled garden.”

Mr. Bennet, who had observed this exchange over the top of his newspaper, offered Elizabeth a knowing look.

“Your mother has added garden design to her list of accomplishments during your absence, Lizzy. She has commissioned a new bench to be placed near the roses, though how roses are expected to flourish in the winter remains a mystery to botanical science.”

“Mr. Bennet! How you do tease me! I merely suggested the bench would look well there come spring. But go, girls, go! I shall have Hill prepare some refreshments for when you return.”

Thus dismissed, Elizabeth and Jane made their escape to the gardens, where the late autumn sunshine provided just enough warmth to make their walk comfortable.

They strolled in companionable silence until reaching the small walled enclosure at the furthest corner of the property, a sheltered spot where fruit trees grew against south-facing walls and a small stone bench offered privacy from the house.

“I have missed this,” Elizabeth said as they settled on the bench, arranging their skirts against the chill of the stone. “Our private conversations, I mean. Letters, however detailed, cannot substitute for seeing your face as we speak.”

“I have missed it too,” Jane admitted. “Though I suspect today’s conversation holds particular purpose, does it not? You have questions about Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth laughed softly. “How direct you have become, Jane! Where is my sister who would spend half an hour hinting delicately at a subject rather than addressing it plainly?”

“Perhaps she learned something from her more forthright sister,” Jane replied with a small chuckle. “Or perhaps certain experiences have taught her the value of clarity.”

“Then allow me to be equally clear,” Elizabeth said. “I observed your interactions with the colonel at the assembly. There was a particular... animation in your countenance when speaking with him that suggested more than casual acquaintance.”

Jane’s gaze dropped to her clasped hands, though a small smile played about her lips. “You always see too much, Lizzy.”

“Only where those I love are concerned,” Elizabeth replied softly. “And only when their happiness is at stake.”

Jane was silent for a moment, considering her words carefully as was her habit. When she looked up, there was a clarity in her expression that confirmed Elizabeth’s suspicions before she even spoke.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam is indeed my choice,” she said simply. “My heart is decided.”

Though Elizabeth had suspected as much, hearing the declaration stated so plainly sent a small thrill of surprise through her. This new directness in Jane was unexpected but not unwelcome.

“He is a worthy man,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “But what of Mr. Bingley? I had thought once that your affections were engaged there.”

“They were,” Jane admitted, her expression softening with remembrance. “At least, I believed them to be. Mr. Bingley is everything amiable and good, and last year I thought myself quite in love with him.”

“And now?” Elizabeth prompted gently.

Jane considered this thoughtfully. “Now I understand that what I felt for Mr. Bingley was genuine affection mixed with the pleasure of being singled out for attention by an eligible gentleman. It was... a girlish attachment, perhaps. Sweet, but without true depth.”

“And your feelings for Colonel Fitzwilliam differ?” Elizabeth asked, genuinely curious about the distinction Jane perceived.

“Entirely,” Jane replied with unexpected conviction.

“With the colonel, I find myself engaged not merely by his attentions but by his mind, his principles, his understanding of the world. We speak of meaningful things, Lizzy. He asks my opinions and considers them with genuine interest. He challenges me to think more deeply, yet respects my perspective even when it differs from his own.”