Jane hesitated. “Afraid of her? She is… well, I think she is a very fine lady.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Come now. You think she would eat you if given the chance.”
“Do not be ridiculous.”
Elizabeth arched a brow.
A pause.
Then Jane muttered, “…Perhaps only a little.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Then it is a fortunate thing that Miss Bingley is not the one you are trying to impress.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You need not be obvious, Jane. You need not drop your lace handkerchief or sigh his name at inopportune moments.”
Jane gave her an exasperated look.
“But,” Elizabeth continued, “you might consider alittleflutter of the lashes when he next takes your hand for a dance.”
Jane’s blush deepened. “But he almost never asks—”
“A brief brush of your glove against his sleeve—”
“Elizabeth, stop.”
Elizabeth grinned. “A slight, breathless sigh whenever he enters a room—”
Jane was laughing again, shaking her head. “You are impossible!”
“Yes, well. Someone must guide you in these things, Jane.”
Jane shook her head, still smiling.
And then— the sound of carriage wheels. Both girls turned as a dark, unfamiliar carriage rolled into the drive, its well-kept horses coming to a slow halt before the house.
Elizabeth’s mirth faded instantly. Her stomach clenched, her heart tightening into something uneasy.Was it…?
She was being foolish. It was likely nothing. But her eyes darted to Jane, searching for confirmation that this was unexpected.
Jane frowned. “I do not know who that could be.”
Elizabeth released a breath. Not Darcy, probably. Not yet. Surely, he was still in London, and up to his rather nice shoulders in paperwork.
Mr. Bennet stepped outside now, hands in his pockets, his expression one of mild resignation. He barely spared the carriage a glance before shifting his attention toward his daughters.
“Well, my dears,” he said dryly. “It seems we are to have a guest.”
The carriage door opened. A tall, rather solemn-looking man stepped down, his movements stiff and deliberate. He took in Longbourn’s façade, then turned to Mr. Bennet with a deep bow.
Elizabeth blinked.
Jane did, too. Then she glanced toward her.
“Oh dear,” Jane murmured. “I believe that must be Mr. Collins.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
Jane’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Papa’s cousin, Elizabeth. The one who is to inherit Longbourn.”
Elizabeth glanced back at the stranger, watching as he straightened and adjusted his cuffs with an air of importance. “You have never met him?”
