Which made her dangerous.
Darcy inhaled slowly, counting to three. He was going to lose his mind.
And Elizabeth-whatever-her-name-was was having the time of her life watching it happen.
Chapter Eleven
Longbourn, Monday, May 18, 1812
Elizabethawoketotheunfamiliar sound of laughter drifting through the open window. Birds chirped somewhere beyond the hedgerows, but it was the riotous giggling that drew her attention first. It was a high, unchecked sort of laughter, the kind that belonged to girls who had never once been scolded for being too loud.
She sat up, rubbing her temples. Her head still ached faintly from all that blasted sunshine the day before—and, no doubt, from the sheer effort of playing the part of “Miss Elizabeth Bennet”—but at least she had not slept through half the day. At home—no, not home. Not for now, at least. At herfather’s house, she would have laid abed for at least another hour, then taken breakfast on a tray, her maid attending, the day’s itinerary arranged in a quiet, orderly fashion.
Here, life had no such structure. The household had been awake for hours already, the servants in and out, the younger Bennets dashing through the hallways without a care in the world.
It was chaos. And Elizabeth had no choice but to step into it.
She dressed quickly and made her way downstairs, smoothing her skirts as she stepped outside into the morning sun. The laughter had not ceased.
At the far end of the garden, Kitty and Lydia were sprawled on the grass, arms linked as they gasped through fresh peals of mirth. Their bonnets lay discarded beside them, their skirts haphazardly arranged, their ankles completely visible to the world—and worse, they did not seem to care.
Elizabeth smiled thinly. “You are indecent, dear Lydia and Kitty.”
Lydia propped herself up on an elbow, utterly unbothered. “We are at home, Cousin.”
“That does not make you decent,” Elizabeth returned.
Kitty giggled. “She sounds like Mary!”
Elizabeth sighed, pushing a hand through her hair. It was far too early for this.
“Cousin Elizabeth, good morning.”
Elizabeth turned. Ah, at least there was still Jane.
Unlike her younger sisters, Jane sat with perfect composure on a garden bench, an embroidery hoop in her lap, her gown untouched by the grass and dust. Sunlight caught the gold in her hair, making her look almost otherworldly.
But Elizabeth had learned something in the last few days—Jane was no angel.
Not in the way people meant, at least.
She was kind, yes, and graceful, and quick to smile. But she was also achingly quiet. Unassuming to the point of being overlooked, and not as indifferent about being ignored as people believed. And, most interestingly, she seemed to spend a good deal of time watching a man who did not notice her at all.
“Miss Bennet,” Elizabeth greeted, taking a seat beside her.
Jane reached for the embroidery in her lap, her fingers working with quiet skill. “I hope you slept well.”
Elizabeth hesitated. She had slept terribly, actually.
Longbourn’s walls were too thin. The air smelled different. The pillows were too soft, and the silence of the countryside was nothing like the quiet of London—it was louder, in a way, full of rustling leaves and the occasional fox’s cry.
She gave a polite nod instead. “Well enough.”
Jane’s needle moved through the fabric. “And you are settling in?”
Elizabeth exhaled, watching as Lydia rolled onto her back in the grass, arms stretched above her head as if she had not a care in the world.
“I am…” She searched for the right word. Not ‘comfortable.’ Not ‘content.’
