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“Indeed, and a most charming young lady-an heiress of extensive fortune and remarkable breeding. Lady Catherine herself has said that Miss de Bourgh’s features mark her as a daughter of distinguished birth. It is, alas, only her indifferent health that has kept her from being presented at court.”

“You are very fortunate, sir,” said Mr Bennet gravely. “To have such neighbours, and such shelves.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. Jane lowered her eyes demurely.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of condescension and gratitude. And when, at last, the ladies rose from the table, Elizabeth leaned heavily on Jane’s arm. Mr Collins was still extolling Lady Catherine’s virtues, and Elizabeth’s ankle ached more than it had all day.

“Do not let me tumble,” she murmured.

“Never,” Jane whispered back, guiding her toward the sitting room.

Once the ladies had returned to the drawing room, Elizabeth sank gratefully into her accustomed corner of the settee, shifting her injured ankle into a more comfortable position.

Jane settled beside her with quiet efficiency, placing a fresh cushion behind her back and drawing a shawl over both their laps.

Across the room, Lydia and Kitty had already claimed the best positions near the fire, giggling softly over some shared jest.

Mary was seated upright at the pianoforte stool, a book in her lap and an expression of solemn anticipation already forming.

“I daresay,” Elizabeth murmured to Jane, “that if Mr Collins does not propose to read aloud this evening, Mary may beat him to it.”

“I should like to see that,” Jane replied, her tone mild, though her eyes sparkled.

Their peace was short-lived. The door opened and Mr Collins entered with the air of a man fully prepared to bestow a great treat upon his listeners. Mr Bennet followed a few steps behind, wearing an expression of resigned anticipation.

“Ladies,” said Mr Collins, bowing, “if it would be agreeable to the company, I should be most pleased to offer a brief reading from a favourite volume of moral instruction. It is a small recompense for your hospitality.”

Mrs Bennet, caught between pride and a desire to appear appropriately refined, gave her approval at once.

“Of course, Mr Collins! How very thoughtful. Girls, do attend.”

Mary brightened at once. “I have found Fordyce particularly edifying,” she said. “In fact, I had marked a sermon just this morning for reflection.”

Mr Collins beamed. “Indeed, Miss Mary! Then we are quite of one mind.”

He reached for a book from the side table, then frowned.

“I must beg your pardon,” he said, examining the binding. “This volume appears to hail from a circulating library. I cannot in good conscience read from a novel.”

Kitty stared. “Why ever not?”

Lydia sighed loudly. “I suppose it’s Fordyce’s Sermons, then.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together to hide a smile, while Mary adjusted her posture with visible satisfaction.

“May I?” Mr Collins asked, gesturing toward the piano bench.

Mary rose at once to relinquish her place, and Mr Collins settled himself with ceremony, opening the thick tome reverently.

“This,” he declared, “is a volume of such moral weight and usefulness that I make it a practice to read from it regularly. Lady Catherine herself has expressed the strongest approval of its contents.”

He cleared his throat and began.

The effect was immediate. His voice, solemn and unmodulated, filled the room with soporific gravity.

Elizabeth let her gaze drift toward the window, where the November sky had faded to ink and the first drops of rain pattered softly on the panes.

The warmth of the fire and Jane’s presence at her side made it almost bearable-until Lydia broke in.

“Do you know, Mama,” she said loudly, “that my uncle Phillips may be turning Richard away? And if he does, Colonel Forster means to hire him. My aunt told me on Saturday. I shall walk to Meryton tomorrow to hear more about it-and to see if Mr Denny is returned.”

“Lydia,” Jane said softly.

“Hold your tongue,” snapped Kitty, who hated being interrupted when someone else was the one misbehaving.

Mary looked aghast. “Lydia, it is very ill-mannered to interrupt a reading of moral instruction.”

“Especially when it’s so lively,” murmured Elizabeth.

Mr Collins, deeply affronted, closed the book with a snap.

“I have often observed how little young ladies are interested in works of serious import, even when written solely for their benefit. It amazes me, I confess, for there can be nothing more advantageous to the female mind than sound instruction.”

“I quite agree,” Mary said earnestly, though she looked rather disappointed that the reading had ended before she could contribute her own reflections.

Mr Collins turned to Mr Bennet. “Perhaps, sir, a round of backgammon would prove a more profitable occupation.”

Mr Bennet rose at once. “An excellent idea. Come, Mr Collins, let us retreat to the safety of dice and doctrine.”

The ladies, thus liberated, exchanged glances. Elizabeth leaned her head briefly against Jane’s shoulder and whispered, “We are not to be importuned further this evening, it seems.”

“No,” Jane replied. “But I suspect the backgammon board may suffer.”

Elizabeth laughed softly, then winced as her ankle reminded her that the day had been long. Mary, meanwhile, was already reaching for her book again, and Lydia had begun whispering plans for the next morning’s walk to Kitty.

Jane helped Elizabeth undress with quiet efficiency, unpinning her hair and folding her gown with care while Elizabeth settled into bed with a sigh of relief.

“Well,” Elizabeth murmured, “if nothing else, Mr Collins is excellent for circulation. I have not rolled my eyes so much in days.”

Jane gave a soft laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed. “He does mean well, I think. Even if he rather says too much.”

“He says everything,” Elizabeth replied. “Twice.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the distant murmur of the house settling around them. Then Elizabeth said, more softly, “It is strange to be home. After Netherfield, everything feels… noisier somehow. Smaller.”

Jane nodded. “I know what you mean. But I am glad to be back. And I do think Mr Bingley and Miss Bingley meant to be kind, in their way.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “Mr Bingley, certainly. As for his sister…” She trailed off, then smiled faintly. “Perhaps even she, in her way.”

“And Mr Darcy?” Jane asked gently.

Elizabeth looked up at the ceiling. “I do not know what to make of him. I feel as though I know him better than I did a week ago-and yet not at all.”

“You trusted him,” Jane said. “That night.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth whispered. “I did.”

After a pause, Jane said, “And he arranged the open carriage for you, did he not? With warmed bricks and blankets?”

Elizabeth’s expression softened. “Yes. Morris said he was most particular. I should have thanked him more properly.”

“You did, Lizzy. I am sure he understood. ”

They sat quietly together for another moment.

Then Jane smiled and stood. “Tomorrow we must be prepared. I daresay Mr Collins will be just as talkative over breakfast.”

Elizabeth groaned. “If he starts with Lady Catherine before I have had tea, I shall hobble back to Netherfield on this ankle.”

Jane helped her arrange the blankets, then extinguished the candle. In the dark, Elizabeth felt a strange mingling of comfort and tension.

She was home. But the world had shifted.

And Mr Collins was downstairs.