But the ale was quite good. And the girls outside were too interesting to ignore.
She had decided they must be sisters, and she had a fair guess at their ages. The quiet one, now she was the tallest, her features the most womanly—she was surely the oldest. Elizabeth fancied they were rather close to the same age. The one who liked to hear herself talk when no one else did, now that one might be about eighteen.
She could not be entirely certain about the remaining two. They might be twins, but one was decidedly taller than the other. They looked somewhere between fifteen and seventeen, both lively and silly. Ridiculous, really. And far too young to be out in public without a governess to keep them in check, since they clearly needed one.
But still… very entertaining.
The taller of the two younger ones, a round-cheeked girl with a ribbon slipping loose from her curls—clutched at the sleeve of the more serious one, shaking her head emphatically. “You didnotsay that to Mr. Hodge, Mary. Tell me you did not.”
“Mary” lifted her shoulders and sniffed primly. “I did. It was an illogical argument, and I would not let it stand.”
The dark-haired one groaned. “Mary, a man does not like to be told that his thoughts on the French war are ‘founded on a fundamental misunderstanding of economic principles.’”
“Well, they are.”
“You are ridiculous!” the younger one cried.
The quiet one—the one with the faint smile and keen eyes—laughed softly. “She is probably right, Kitty.”
Mary lifted her chin. “Iamright.”
The first girl huffed. “You will never marry, you know.”
Mary did not look remotely concerned.
The dark-haired one grinned. “And if she does, her husband will spend his days crushed beneath the weight of his own poor arguments.”
The quiet one chuckled. “You are all dreadful.”
“But you love us anyway, Jane.”
Ah, so now Elizabeth knew the name of the girl who fascinated her the most. Jane sighed, smiling more fully now. “I do.”
Elizabeth blinked.
The exchange had been nothing. A silly, meaningless conversation between sisters. But something about it… unsettled her.
No, not unsettled.
Itched.
Like something out of reach, like a word on the tip of one’s tongue, a memory that almost surfaced but slipped away before it could be grasped.
She fingered the handle of her mug, watching as they moved down the street, their voices fading into the hum of village life.
Her feet shifted beneath the table.
She hesitated.
She wassupposedto stay here. She had agreed—more or less. Darcy would have a fit if he found her wandering.
Then again, Darcy was not here. Might not be for another hour or two.
She stood.
Her cloak was still draped over the other chair, but she made no move to take it. The spring air outside would be better. Fresher.
She moved through the common room, head tilted just slightly downward, watching the odd shadows swirling around her as the floor seemed to sway and shift, until finally she reached the door.
