Page 52

E lizabeth surveyed the half-packed trunk that lay open upon the bed. The books, gowns, and small trinkets that had accompanied her to London seemed to mock her, most especially the pink slippers now tossed carelessly atop the whole.

She had not slept. The conversation with Mr. Darcy and his unexpected release of her from their engagement had replayed in her mind throughout the night. She had claimed to want it from the very beginning, and yet something in his voice had sounded so final, so quiet, so disappointed .

She turned back to her packing, her movements mechanical. Each item was stored away with precision. Focusing on minutiae was safer than confronting the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

A soft knock at the door heralded Arabella's arrival. Her friend entered, her expression a mixture of concern and resignation.

"So you really are leaving, then?" Arabella asked, surveying the trunk.

Elizabeth sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Her fingers found the bedspread's embroidered roses, twisting the cool silk threads until they bit into her skin.

"I cannot see any alternative. Mr. Darcy has released me from our engagement.

The scandal has subsided, but I cannot remain in London under the circumstances. "

"Circumstances you can change," Arabella replied, her hand finding Elizabeth's and stilling the restless plucking.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

A flash of pain crossed Elizabeth's face, sharp as winter air.

"You do not know what it is to live under the same roof with two people who have no care for one another's feelings.

What happened yesterday . . . That is what happens when you mistake duty for affection, when you dismiss the need for mutual admiration and respect. "

"Is that what you think this is?" Arabella's voice carried a note of incredulity. "Do you truly believe that what is between you and Mr. Darcy is mere duty?"

Elizabeth hesitated, her breath catching.

"I do not know what it is. But I know what it could become.

And if I marry without certainty, if I allow myself to fall into something that cannot be sustained, then I am no better than my mother.

I will speak, and he will stop listening.

He will retreat into silence, and I will grow sharp, and we will both suffer. "

"Or," Arabella said, her voice soft as silk against skin, "you might create something else together. You might learn each other's language. You might become different than your parents because you choose to be. Because you already are."

“I am so tired, Belle.” It had been a terrible night, and Elizabeth's eyes fairly burned with fatigue. "I am not brave enough to try."

"You are , Lizzy," Arabella whispered, her breath warm against Elizabeth's temple.

"If there is anything I know about you, it is that you are so very brave.

You have faced far more frightening things than love.

And the courageous Lizzy Bennet who has been my friend my whole life knows that she must make a decision and convey it to the man who is waiting for her.

She is aware that she cannot simply slip away. "

Three sharp raps at the door broke the moment like glass. A maid entered, her starched apron rustling. "Pardon me, Miss Bennet, but your father asked me to inform you that the carriage is waiting."

"Papa says if I am not engaged, I cannot remain." Elizabeth rose on unsteady legs. Arabella frowned, but helped her with her pelisse, the wool rough against her skin, her friend's fingers gentle as they fastened each button.

"My mother wishes you to know that you are always welcome here. Whether for a day or a season, our home is yours."

Elizabeth turned, her heart full. "Your parents have been extraordinarily kind. I can never repay . . . "

"We love you, Lizzy," Arabella replied, embracing her. "There will never be a ledger between us."

"It is time," she said, closing the trunk with a decisive snap.

Arabella accompanied her downstairs, where the Abernathys waited to bid her farewell. Mrs. Abernathy embraced her warmly, whispering, "Follow your heart, my dear."

“If only my heart would tell me what to do,” Elizabeth whispered back.

“It will,” Mrs. Abernathy’s replied. “Make certain that you listen when it does.”

Mr. Abernathy was more reserved but no less sincere in his good wishes. "You have brightened our home, Lizzy. We shall miss you."

Outside, the horses stamped and snorted, their breath visible in small puffs of mist. Papa waited beside the carriage, his coat collar turned up against the chill, glancing at the gathering clouds as if they had personally inconvenienced him.

"Come, Lizzy," he called. "Your mother is already settled, and the horses are restless."

Elizabeth embraced Arabella one final time. "Write to me?"

"Every day," Arabella promised, her eyes suspiciously bright.

With a heart heavier than her trunks, Elizabeth walked towards the waiting carriage.

Her mother's voice pierced the morning air as she approached.

"Oh, this wretched conveyance! Mr. Bennet, I am convinced these springs were designed by someone who has never suffered from nerves.

My poor backside will be black and blue before we reach the first posting inn! "

Her father's expression remained impassive, though Elizabeth detected the faintest disdain causing the corner of his mouth to twitch. "Indeed, Mrs. Bennet. I shall be sure to mention your discomfort to the coachmaker the next time our paths cross."

"You laugh, Mr. Bennet, but it is no trifling matter! Had Lizzy only secured Mr. Darcy properly, we might be traveling in his fine carriage instead of this bone-rattling contraption."

“I am sure you shall berate her properly all the way to Hertfordshire, my dear.”

Elizabeth halted at the sardonic quip, her father’s outstretched hand hanging in the cold air between them. Such a simple gesture. Five fingers and a palm. Beneath the glove, she knew it was lined with the map of years spent turning pages and avoiding unpleasant conversations.

And in that moment, Elizabeth saw everything clearly.

Her father’s hand, extended to help her back to the life she had always known, a life of wit sharpened to a fine edge and resignation worn smooth as river stones.

Of complaints that buzzed in one’s ears and cutting remarks that wounded.

Of time drifting past like smoke while her heart curled in upon itself like a piece of paper held too close to the flames.

She saw her mother as well. Shrill, grasping, endlessly dissatisfied.

A woman who mistook noise for influence and anxiety for affection.

Who had bartered every scrap of her daughters’ peace for self-importance and called it motherly love.

A woman who no longer attempted to understand her husband, only to manage him.

Elizabeth saw all of it, stark and unvarnished, and knew with a terrible, liberating certainty: this was the future that awaited her.

Her heart began to race. It was not the thought of marrying Mr. Darcy that frightened her the most. It was the thought of never hearing his voice in the morning, never watching that rare, fleeting upward curve of his mouth, never seeing the fierce tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her.

That was the loss she could not bear. She would rather risk everything than walk away from the one man who had, without her permission and against her wishes, become essential to her happiness.

"Lizzy?" Her father's voice broke through her reverie, his hand still extended. His tone turned impatient. "Are you coming?"

"Oh, heavens," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "I am a fool. A hopeless, stubborn fool." She stepped back, shaking her head. "No, Papa,” she said breathlessly. “I am not."

Her father's eyebrows rose. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am not coming.” Her voice grew stronger, warmer, fed by the confidence blooming in her chest. “No. I am staying.”

"What nonsense is this?" her mother called from within the carriage. "Lizzy, stop your foolishness at once and get in!"

Elizabeth felt a strange calm descend upon her, the conviction in her decision sweeping away the doubts that had plagued her for weeks. "It is not foolishness, Mamma. It is the most sensible thing I have done in quite some time."

Her father studied her face, something akin to understanding dawning in his eyes. Elizabeth detected a little half smile appear fleetingly upon his countenance. "Shall I carry on home, or wait here until you storm off dramatically?"

A laugh bubbled up from Elizabeth's chest, surprising in its lightness. "You may proceed to Longbourn. I shall write to you when there is news to share."

"Mr. Bennet!" her mother cried. "She cannot remain here unchaperoned!"

"Mrs. Abernathy has already assured me that I am welcome for as long as I wish to remain," Elizabeth replied, her composure growing with each passing moment. "It shall all be perfectly proper, I assure you. And I need to speak with Mr. Darcy."

Her father met her gaze. "You are determined, Lizzy? Once we depart, you will be on your own in your decisions."

She had the Abernathys. Belle. Mr. Darcy. She would only be on her own if she returned to Longbourn. "I have never been more certain of anything.”

Some emotion flitted across his countenance, a glimmer of respect perhaps. "Very well. I wish you joy, my dear. Truly."

“Thank you, Papa." She took a deep breath. "I am only sorry it took me so long to decide.”

"Decide?" her mother screeched, entirely missing the context of Elizabeth’s confession. "There is nothing to decide! Mr. Darcy has ten thousand a year! If Lizzy can win him back, she must!"

Elizabeth smiled and felt all her melancholy fall away. "For once, Mamma, I agree."