Elizabeth frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jane hesitated before saying, quietly, “I do not know how to… to act in such a way. Lydia and Kitty flirt. Even Mary, in her way, postures for attention. I do not. I do not know how to make my affections known.”
Elizabeth softened. She had been most often amused by Jane's restraint, but there was something achingly earnest in her expression now.
“I know…” Jane gulped on a particularly large gasp of air. “I know Mama wishes I would do more to attract his notice. Itry—not to please her, but because I truly do fancy him. I cannot change who I am, Elizabeth. But I do not wish for him to think that I dislike him.”
Elizabeth considered this. “Perhaps you do not need tochangewho you are,” she said. “Perhaps you simply need to allow him toseewho you are.”
Jane smiled faintly, but did not look convinced. They began walking again as Jane stared at the ground. After a moment, she turned the question back on Elizabeth. “Have you ever had such feelings?”
Elizabeth blinked, caught off guard.
She parted her lips to reply, but… nothing came.
Henry Audley.
That was the name that ought to come first. The name she had once told herself would be the answer to that question.
Henry Audley. Steady, composed, articulate. He had a way of speaking that made people listen—his words passionate, his arguments rational, never given to mundane compromises or unfeeling decision. He was principled, intelligent, admired. And unlike so many men of politics, he had never seemed condescending when he spoke, never dismissed an opposing view with mere arrogance.
She had respected that about him. Liked that about him.
And yet…
Her thoughts strayed—unbidden, unwelcome—to another man entirely.
A scowl. A pair of disapproving blue eyes. A voice laced with exasperation. And most outrageously of all, the only person she could entirely trust.
Darcy.
She nearly tripped over a loose stone in the path.
She straightened quickly, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the thought.
“Well?” Jane prompted.
Elizabeth cleared her throat, forcing herself to look composed. “Once,” she admitted. “Briefly.”
Jane’s brows lifted. “And what did you do about it?”
Elizabeth let out a breath, staring ahead at the road before them.
What had she done? Got caught witnessing a murder, that was what she had done. Been in the wrong place at the wrong time, that was the great outcome of her romantic conquest.
“Well,” she said finally, glancing sidelong at Jane with a wry smile, “it was a dreadful failure, I can tell you that much.”
Jane’s lips twitched. “Oh?”
“The gentleman in question did not fall at my feet in an insensible stupor of admiration. Can you imagine? The audacity.”
Jane laughed. “How tragic for you.”
“Quite. I am sure I shall never recover.”
They walked in silence for a moment, the wind rustling softly through the trees.
Then, more thoughtfully, Jane asked, “Would you have wished him to?”
