Her father glanced up from his book as she re-entered. “You look troubled, Lizzy. I trust you have not let your mother’s ramblings disturb your peace.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “Not entirely, Papa.” She lowered herself into a chair near the hearth and stared into the flames. “It is simply difficult, sometimes, to have her so thoroughly misunderstand matters.”
Mr. Bennet turned a page. “Your mother means well, in her way. It is best not to dwell too deeply upon it.”
Elizabeth reached for her sewing. “Do you never tire of her pronouncements, Papa?”
He glanced at her briefly over the top of his book. “I find it far more restful to let her speak than to engage her in endless debate. But you are young, Lizzy. Perhaps you will find more success in trying to change her mind.”
She exhaled slowly and focused on her work, the needle gliding in and out of the cloth in a soothing rhythm. But she still felt lonely. How was that possible in a house full of family?
Before she could lose herself entirely in melancholy, Jane appeared in the doorway. “Lizzy, would you come upstairs? I should like to speak with you.”
Elizabeth set her sewing back in the work basket and rose, grateful for the reprieve, and together, they climbed the stairs. Once inside her chamber, Jane closed the door softly and turned to her sister, her expression contrite.
“Lizzy,” she began earnestly, “I fear I have been a poor sister to you of late. When I heard of Mr. Wickham’s trials, I realized that I have been so consumed with Mr. Bingley that I have neglected you.”
Her heart softened, and she shook her head. “Jane, there is no need to apologise. You have done nothing wrong.”
“Even so,” Jane pressed, reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. “Tell me, how are you?”
She sank onto the edge of the bed beside her sister. “Confused. Changed. My opinions have altered in ways I scarcely understand. I think Mr. Wickham deserves every bit of his punishment and more.” She paused, then added, “And I think far better of Mr. Darcy than I ever imagined I would.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
Elizabeth nodded. “He has apologised to me for his faults, and I have apologised to him for mine.” She took Jane’s hand. “I have been such a fool.”
A smile played at the corners of her sister’s lips. “And what of your feelings, Lizzy? Have they altered as well?”
“I only know that he is not the man I once thought him to be.”
“That is a fine thing to realise, is it not?” Jane squeezed her hand gently.
“Perhaps. But it is also a frightening thing, Jane, to understand how blind I have been. If I had not been so prejudiced against him . . .”
“What do you hope for, Lizzy? In your heart?”
Elizabeth hesitated before answering, her voice quiet but steady. “I hope for honesty, for kindness, for someone who sees me as I truly am and values me for it. I hope for someone I can trust with the whole of myself, as imperfect as I am.”
“Then I believe you are on the right path, my dear sister.” Jane pulled her into a light embrace. “And I will always be here, should you need me.”
Elizabeth lingered in Jane's embrace, drawing comfort from it. They parted and Jane sat in her chair by the dressing table. Elizabeth moved to help.
“Jane,” she began, her fingers taking down and weaving her sister’s golden hair, “what if my hopes are misplaced? What if I lose my heart to a man who has no intention of giving me his own?”
Jane’s brow furrowed, her gaze soft with concern. “We are speaking of Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes in the glass and nodded once.
“Do you believe Mr. Darcy incapable of such feelings?”
“It is not that.” Elizabeth continued weaving the braid. “There are moments when I feel sure he cares, but others where I do not. And what he will do about those feelings, if indeed he has them, is a mystery to me. He is so guarded, Jane. I cannot tell if his reserve is born of pride, or if he fears something.”
Jane met Elizabeth’s gaze in the glass. “You are brave, Lizzy, braver than anyone I know. You must trust that time will reveal his heart.”
Elizabeth looked up at her sister, her expression tinged with both hope and uncertainty. “And if it does not? If I am wrong about him?”
“Then you will be no less brave for having dared to feel,” Jane said gently. “But I do not believe you are wrong. I have seen how he watches you.”
