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Longbourn – Garden - Elizabeth

T he mist had thinned, but the garden remained hushed - damp stone, soaked hedgerows, the last rustle of breeze through stubborn leaves. Elizabeth sat motionless beneath the ash tree, her shawl clutched around her shoulders. Her hands were no longer trembling, though the quiet pressed close.

Footsteps, soft on the grass.

“Lizzy?”

Elizabeth turned her head slowly. Jane stood a few paces away, her expression calm, though her eyes held more worry than she would ever speak aloud. She carried a heavier shawl over her arm.

“I am not hurt,” Elizabeth said before Jane could ask.

“I know,” Jane said, and her voice was soft. She stepped closer and gently draped the dry shawl around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Mr Darcy told us where to find you. ”

Elizabeth nodded, eyes lowering. “Of course he did.”

Jane knelt beside her on the damp bench without a care for her gown. “He said you needed a moment. That you’d want someone who would listen.”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “He said that?”

Jane only looked at her.

For a long time, neither spoke.

Then Elizabeth said, “He told me… a great many things.”

Jane’s hand rested gently on her own. “And did they help?”

“I think so. I do not know. Everything feels too close, and not quite real.” She let out a breath. “But I believe he was honest.”

Jane tilted her head slightly. “That matters.”

“It does,” Elizabeth said. “He said he loves me.”

The words hung between them - not triumphant, not uncertain. Simply true.

Jane’s lips parted, her eyes softening with something like awe. “Oh, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth looked down. “I did not say it back.”

“You do not have to.”

“I do not know if I could,” she admitted. “Not yet. But I did not want him to go on thinking… I only wanted the truth.”

Jane’s voice was very quiet. “And did he give it to you?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Enough of it.”

They sat there a while longer, the bench damp beneath them, the garden curling back into mist. Then Jane rose, careful not to jostle Elizabeth’s ankle, and offered her arm.

“Come inside, dearest. Slowly now.”

Elizabeth hesitated, then reached for her sister’s hand. “You always know what I need.”

“Only because I have had so much practice.”

They began the slow walk back toward the house .

They had just reached the terrace steps when the unmistakable voice of Mrs Phillips rang out from the front path, bright and over-enthusiastic.

Jane winced. “I saw her coming earlier. That was why I went out to speak to Mr Bingley in the garden.”

Elizabeth laughed under her breath. “Coward.”

“Entirely. Come. We may yet reach the stairs before she is admitted.”

They had just reached the landing when Hill’s voice floated up from below: “Miss Elizabeth? Mr Bennet would like a word, if you please.”

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who squeezed her hand. “I will deal with Aunt Phillips.”

She made her way toward her father’s library with a slight limp, and was not surprised to find that tea had already been ordered.

A small tray had been brought in as well - scones, thinly sliced bread with butter, and a little dish of preserves, all arranged with Hill’s quiet care.

The scent of warm tea and lemon peel greeted her as she entered.

Mr Bennet looked up from his book as she entered and gestured her to the chair by the fire.

“So,” he said, closing his book with a small thump, “my Lizzy has been the subject of considerable interest this afternoon. But before I am permitted any of the details, you must fortify yourself - mist and mysteries are best tackled with scones. Sit down, my dear. Have some tea and a bite to eat first - you look as though you have been out in the mist too long.”

Elizabeth smiled wryly. “Has my mother already come to you in a state of suspense and supposition?”

“Not yet. But I expect her to burst through that door any moment, demanding explanations. Best we get ahead of her.”

Elizabeth poured herself a cup of tea, obediently took a scone, and smoothed her skirt, trying to collect her thoughts.

“There is not much to tell. Only-there was a misunderstanding. Mr Collins believed Mr Darcy to be engaged to his cousin, Miss de Bourgh. He mentioned it-rather awkwardly-within my hearing.”

Mr Bennet raised a brow. “And what did Mr Darcy have to say to that?”

Elizabeth hesitated. “He said it was not true. And that he had never meant to encourage such a notion.”

“Hmm. And you believed him?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said simply.

Before Mr Bennet could reply, the door flew open.

“Elizabeth!” cried Mrs Bennet, sweeping in, cheeks flushed and hair askew.

“What is going on? My sister Phillips tells me you were placed in Mr Darcy’s own chamber, that he carried you through the house, that he visited you in the night!

And now you’re walking alone with him in the garden?

Are we already to understand you are secretly engaged-or worse, that you ought to be? ”

“Come now, my dear. Let the girl sit before you arrange the banns.” Mr Bennet closed his book.

Elizabeth sighed. “No, Mama.”

Mrs Bennet huffed. “Then what has he said? What was he doing speaking with you alone in the garden? And what did Mr Collins mean, talking about engagements and noble relations and scandal-”

“I believe,” said Mr Bennet mildly, without looking up from his chair, “that you have asked Lizzy six questions in the space of a single breath. Perhaps we might allow her the luxury of answering just one.”

Mrs Bennet turned on him. “But Mr Bennet, do you not see what this means? If there is a chance - even the faintest chance - that Mr Darcy is about to propose-”

“Then he must be either brave or foolish,” Mr Bennet said, “and I should like to find out which before the rest of the neighbourhood does.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, unsure whether to laugh or cry .

Before Mrs Bennet could gather herself for another declaration, the door opened again and Jane stepped inside, composed and serene as ever.

“Mama,” she said gently, “my aunt is preparing to leave. She asked if you would walk her to the door.”

Mrs Bennet gave a startled blink, then quickly patted her hair. “Oh-of course. I shall see her out myself.”

She turned back to Elizabeth. “But this is not over, young lady.”

Then, with a swish of skirts and a final glance over her shoulder, she swept out of the room.

Jane stepped softly to Elizabeth’s side and gave her a look - one filled with sisterly sympathy and quiet insistence. Elizabeth breathed out slowly.

“You have good timing,” she said.

“I have had practice.”

Mr Bennet, still seated by the hearth, regarded his daughters over the rim of his teacup. “Well then,” he said, “since the immediate danger has passed, perhaps I might offer a word of warning.”

Elizabeth turned toward him, brows lifting.

“Your mother,” he said, with the air of one stating an immutable law of nature, “is not going to be satisfied until she knows everything. And you, my dear Lizzy”-his tone softened slightly-“will not be satisfied either. Not until you know what you think of it all.”

Elizabeth swallowed. Her throat felt tight again.

He set his cup down gently. “You are not obliged to tell her anything. But you will need to tell yourself.”

Jane glanced at her, but said nothing.

Elizabeth gave a small nod. “I suppose I will.”

Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair. “That’s the spirit. Now - if either of you hears rumours of elopement, duels, or banns being read in the wrong parish, do let me know. I should hate to be left out. ”

He paused, then added dryly, “And if you could manage not to make too much sport for the neighbours, your mother’s nerves might survive the winter.”

* * *

Netherfield - Fields Beyond the Outer Paddock - Darcy

The wind tugged at their coats as they crested the rise just beyond Netherfield’s outer paddock. The air smelled of wet grass and turned soil - the quiet chill of a November afternoon settling in.

Darcy kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead, his reins held with practised steadiness. Bingley, riding beside him, cast a glance in his direction.

“You’re quiet,” he said, not for the first time.

Darcy did not answer immediately. The rhythm of the horse beneath him gave him something to hold on to - something measured, unlike the whirl of thoughts that had taken root since the orchard.

“I had cause to reflect,” he said at last.

Bingley smiled. “That sounds suspiciously like brooding.”

Darcy did not smile back.

Bingley cast him a sideways glance, a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I must confess,” he said lightly, “when we were standing there - after Miss Elizabeth left - I was not sure whether you meant to go after her, or challenge Mr Collins to pistols at dawn.”

Darcy huffed a quiet breath - not quite a laugh, but close. “The temptation existed.”

Bingley grinned and let it rest there.

They rode on in silence for a time, the horses’ hooves muffled against the damp earth. The chill November air seemed to soak into everything - even the silence between them.

After a while, Bingley said more quietly, “You do not have to tell me anything. But if you want to talk about it… I am here.”

Darcy’s hands tightened slightly on the reins.

“Thank you,” he said after a pause. “But there’s nothing I can say. Not yet.”

Bingley nodded. “All right.”

They rode a little further before Bingley added, almost casually, “Miss Bennet was very quiet when I saw her earlier. Thoughtful.”

Darcy said nothing, though the words stirred something restless in him.

“I do not know what I expected,” Bingley continued, more to himself than to Darcy. “She’s always composed. Kind. But sometimes I wonder what she’s thinking.”

Darcy looked over then. “You mean, whether she thinks of you?”

Bingley gave a small, uncertain smile. “Yes. I suppose I do.”

Darcy was silent a moment. “She would not say anything she did not mean.”