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Caroline leaned back against the squabs with a weary sigh. “If I must smile at one more simpering neighbour or admire one more uninspired fireplace arrangement, I shall expire.”

Louisa smirked, tugging off her gloves. “You have said as much after every call since Meryton.”

“Well, they grow no more clever with repetition,” Caroline muttered. “And the Lucases were particularly dull. All that fawning over Miss Bennet’s complexion-honestly, one would think she had risen from her deathbed.”

“Better her than her sister,” Louisa said with a shrug. “Though I must admit, I think the neighbourhood is more intrigued by Miss Elizabeth.”

Caroline straightened slightly. “Elizabeth?”

“The overturned chaise, the dramatic rescue, the storm-it has all the flavour of a novel. And she has the advantage of being the less perfect sister. People always talk more about the surprising one.”

Caroline said nothing, but her lips thinned.

They alighted from the carriage and swept up the stairs. Wilson was waiting in Caroline’s room, the fire freshly laid and tea already set out. She curtseyed with professional grace.

“Thank you, Wilson,” Caroline said, pulling the pins from her hat. “We have been trapped in an endless parade of dull conversation and muddy walks. Do sit me down and tell me something worth hearing.”

Wilson paused only a moment before offering, “I did hear something of interest from one of the housemaids this morning. Meg, ma’am. She used to help upstairs while the Miss Bennets were with us.”

Caroline’s brows lifted. “Go on.”

“She said she was fetching hot bricks late one night, when she passed Mr Darcy’s room-his proper one, not the blue room-and found the door slightly open. Miss Elizabeth was within, alone until just moments before, and Mr Darcy had only just stepped out.”

There was a beat of silence.

Louisa’s eyes widened slightly. “His room?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wilson said. “Miss Elizabeth had taken a turn in the night-frightened, the maid thought-and he’d gone in to see to her. Meg said she overheard one of the footmen say it was Mr Darcy who found her in the chaise and carried her back in his arms.”

Caroline’s breath came in quiet, clipped cadence. “And this maid is quite sure of what she saw?”

“Quite certain. She did not speak of it openly. But I gather the servants below stairs are talking amongst themselves. ”

Louisa gave a low whistle. “Well, that’s something, is not it?”

Caroline turned slowly toward the fire, one hand tightening around her glove. “Indeed it is.”

* * *

Longbourn - Drawing Room - Elizabeth

The door had scarcely closed behind the gentlemen when Elizabeth exhaled.

The silence that followed was oddly charged, as though the very air had yet to recover from Mr Collins’s voice.

Her teacup, now lukewarm, rested forgotten in her hands.

Across the room, Mary began speaking solemnly about the moral temperance required in anticipation of a ball, but Elizabeth paid her no mind.

Her eyes lingered instead on the chair Mr Darcy had just vacated.

He had said very little. Less than usual, even for him. And yet she felt the echo of his presence more keenly than she ought-like the warmth left in a seat long after it is empty.

What must he have thought, listening to Mr Collins rhapsodise about Lady Catherine?

The man had gone on at such length, and with such mortifying sincerity, that Elizabeth had barely been able to meet Darcy’s eye.

Not because she feared what she might see, but because she feared he might see her -fighting not to laugh.

Or possibly scream.

And then there had been the cake incident.

A soft crunch beneath the settee reminded her.

Pudding was still there, licking the last of the stolen slice from her whiskers with the air of one who had bested an enemy in battle. Elizabeth glanced down at her and felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

“At least someone got what she wanted,” she murmured.

“Did you say something, Lizzy?” Jane asked gently, folding away napkins at the side table.

Elizabeth shook her head, barely hiding her smile. “Only that Pudding has accomplished what no one else has managed all week: she has made Mr Collins entirely speechless. And possibly nervous.”

“Oh dear,” said Jane, covering a soft laugh with her hand. “He did flinch when she jumped.”

“He leapt like a man expecting to be mauled,” Elizabeth replied. “As though she were a tiger let loose upon the parlour.”

“She only wanted cake,” Jane said serenely.

“And dignity,” Elizabeth added. “Which she maintained, I might add, far better than Mr Collins.”

As if on cue, a scuffling noise came from the corridor beyond, followed by the unmistakable voice of Mr Collins politely declining to re-enter the drawing room “until the feline is safely secured.” Elizabeth gave an incredulous look to Jane, who only bit her lip to suppress another laugh.

“I do not think he was raised with animals,” Jane said mildly.

“I begin to suspect he was not raised with humour, either.”

Jane joined her on the settee and smoothed her skirts. “It was kind of Mr Bingley to delay the ball until your ankle is healed.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said slowly. “Even if he will be in Town again before it.”

Jane smiled faintly. “He said it will be a brief trip. I trust he will be back in good time.”

Elizabeth glanced at her sister. The calm in her tone was genuine-but so too was the effort beneath it. Ever gracious, ever composed, Jane’s quiet fortitude sometimes made Elizabeth ache.

“We shall have to be dazzling in his absence,” Elizabeth said, gently nudging her shoulder.

“I shall leave the dazzling to you,” Jane murmured .

Elizabeth gave a snort. “If Mr Collins remains near, I shall be dazzling purely from exertion.”

There was a brief lull. Then Jane said softly, “Are you thinking about Mr Darcy?”

“I am trying not to,” Elizabeth replied. “But he makes it difficult.”

“Because of Mr Collins?”

“No,” she said. “Well-yes. That, and the way he looked at me when Collins asked for the dance. As though he saw something I had not admitted even to myself.”

“And what is that?”

Elizabeth looked down. “That I did not want to say yes. But I would have, anyway. Out of duty. Out of kindness.”

Jane was quiet.

“I do not think Mr Darcy much likes Mr Collins,” Elizabeth added. “I cannot imagine many men do.”

“He did seem rather… still,” Jane said. “But not cold.”

“No,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Not cold.”

There was another pause, longer this time. Then Jane said, “You are also thinking of Mr Wickham.”

Elizabeth did not answer straight away. She watched Pudding wash one paw with fastidious attention, utterly untroubled by clergymen or colonels or confusing conversations.

“I keep turning it over,” Elizabeth admitted. “What Mr Wickham told Lydia - if it’s true. And yet Mr Darcy today-yes, he was reserved, but he seemed… aware . Not haughty. Not angry. Just… watchful.”

Jane nodded slowly. “You said once you thought him proud. Do you still?”

Elizabeth thought for a long moment. “No,” she said at last. “Not like I did.”

She leaned back against the settee and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the ache in her ankle and the weight of uncertainty pressing against her ribs.

“I wish,” she said, “that I did not care so much what he thought of me.”

Jane gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “But you do?”

Elizabeth opened her eyes. “I think I always have. Even when I thought I didn’t.”

Pudding purred softly between them, curling once more into a contented loaf.

And Elizabeth, watching the flames dance low in the hearth, found herself wondering not whether Mr Darcy would attend the ball-but what she might say to him when he did.

* * *

Netherfield – Returning from Longbourn - Mr Darcy

The sun was sinking low by the time they turned off the lane toward Netherfield. The last light burnished the bare hedgerows with a soft, wintry glow, and Bingley’s boots crunched cheerfully along the gravel beside him.

“Well,” Bingley said, hands clasped behind his back, “that was pleasant, was it not?”

Darcy made a non-committal sound.

“Truly,” Bingley continued, “I always enjoy a call at Longbourn. The Bennets are very warm, and it does one good to be so kindly received. And I was relieved to see Miss Bennet so well-she looked more herself today.”

“She did,” Darcy said, meaning it.

“And Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley added, glancing sideways. “She seemed a little tired, perhaps, but she was in fine spirits. Did you notice how quickly she put her cousin in his place when he leapt away from that cat?”

Darcy gave a faint smile. “It would be difficult not to notice.”

Bingley laughed. “Poor fellow. I do believe he thought the animal might attack him.”

Darcy did not answer. His mind was still caught on the way Elizabeth’s shoulders had stiffened when Collins made his presumptuous request-and the way she had accepted it anyway, because politeness required it.

“She handled it well,” Bingley said. “With a great deal of grace. I confess I would have been hard pressed not to laugh.”

“She is… very capable,” Darcy said quietly.

Bingley glanced at him again. “You’re rather quiet.”

“I am often quiet.”

“Quieter than usual, then.”

They walked in silence for several strides. A crow lifted from a tree ahead and vanished into the reddening sky.

“Do you know,” Bingley said presently, “I think Miss Bennet was not at all displeased that the ball is delayed.”

Darcy turned to him, brow raised.

“It will give her time,” Bingley said. “To prepare. To recover from all the worry she’s had lately. Not just about her sister, but-everything.” He flushed slightly. “I suppose I gave her cause.”

Darcy said nothing, but his gaze softened.

“I shall only be in Town for a few days,” Bingley continued. “But it will give her time to breathe. And when I return, I hope-well, I hope we may both enjoy the ball without reservation.”

Darcy gave a small nod. “I hope so too.”

Bingley smiled, content, and turned his gaze forward. “And what of you, Darcy? You did not seem displeased with the visit. Even Miss Lydia was not quite as shrill as usual. ”

Darcy hesitated. “It was a pleasant visit.”

“But?”

He did not answer immediately. The sound of their steps filled the pause, mingling with the rustle of wind in the dry hedges.

“Do you ever find,” Darcy said at last, “that there are things you would say, if the moment were only slightly different? But it passes, and the words are lost-and you wonder whether silence was a kindness, or a mistake.”

Bingley looked at him curiously. “I cannot say I often feel that way.”

“No,” Darcy said quietly. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

They reached the gates of Netherfield just as the last of the daylight faded behind the trees.

Darcy looked up at the house-warm, bright, and still. The walk had done nothing to quiet his thoughts.

He had said nothing to Elizabeth.

Nothing of his aunt.

Nothing of what he felt, or feared she felt.

Nothing of the way he had watched her hand tremble as she set her cup down after Collins’s offer.

Something troubled her. He could not name it. But he had felt it, like a note gone slightly sharp in the middle of a familiar tune.

Too soon, he told himself. Too uncertain.

But it would not always be so.

He followed Bingley up the steps, and into the house.