Elizabeth tapped the letter against her knee, the paper crisp and cool in her fingers. Around her, the breakfast table blurred into a familiar hum of complaints, boasts, and yawns. She barely heard them. Her mind was already fixed on the promise of London, the safety of her aunt and uncle’s house, the clean severance from everything threatening to close around her here.
Her letter to Gracechurch Street was sealed, addressed, and ready. No one had yet noticed it.
“I have written to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the drowsy clutter of conversation. “I have asked if I might come to stay with them in London.”
Every head at the table lifted. Even Lydia managed a groggy blink of surprise.
Mr. Bennet tilted his head, his eyes sharpening with curiosity. “Indeed? And have they responded with enthusiastic consent to this sudden proposal?”
“I have no doubt they will, once I post it.”
Jane blinked. “You have not yet sent it? Why, Lizzy, how could you assume plans so early?”
She ground her teeth. She had counted on weary bodies and aching heads to help her carry out her plan. Trust Jane to point out the single flaw. “Aunt Gardiner has always said we might come visit any time that pleased us. I plan to depart tomorrow.”
The spoon clattered from Mrs. Bennet’s hand, landing with a wet plop on the tablecloth. “Tomorrow?” she cried. “But Lizzy! All the best gentlemen are here! You must not desert the field just as victory is at hand!”
Elizabeth folded her hands. “Peace, perhaps, is worth more to me than conquest.”
“Peace!” Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with the nearest napkin. “What foolishness! Gentlemen everywhere, and you speak of peace!”
Mr. Bennet chuckled into his cup. “It is precisely the right time to flee, my dear. Before the militia begins proposing to anything in petticoats.”
Across the table, Mary sniffed. “There are worse fates than being married.”
“Yes,” muttered Kitty darkly, rubbing her temples. “Like drinking Sir William’s brandy punch.”
Elizabeth hid a smile behind her napkin and continued, undeterred. “I mean to go, Mama. My mind is quite made up.”
Mrs. Bennet clutched at her shawl as if Elizabeth had suggested departing for the Americas. “Go? To London? When every eligible gentleman in Hertfordshire has only just begun to admire you? It is madness!”
Elizabeth tilted her head with mock gravity. “I was not aware I was under such lively admiration. Perhaps I ought to leave before I disappoint them.”
Mr. Bennet gave a dry snort behind his teacup.
“But you cannot leave now,” Mrs. Bennet wailed. “Think of poor Mr. Bingley! He is sure to call next week, and Jane must be here to receive him.”
Elizabeth’s gaze drifted to Jane, who was gazing earnestly at her plate.
“I have no wish to rob Jane of her opportunities,” Elizabeth said gently. “I shall go alone. A brief visit, only. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner will be delighted to have me.”
Her mother looked unconvinced. Her eyes darted from Elizabeth to Jane and back again, calculating losses and gains.
Elizabeth pressed her advantage. “Besides, a little time in London will improve my spirits wonderfully. You are always telling me I am too sharp for polite company.”
Mrs. Bennet hesitated, visibly warring between vanity and suspicion. Finally, she gave a grudging nod. “Very well. But see you do not dawdle. And bring back some new ribbons at least.”
“I shall endeavor to do so,” Elizabeth said with a bright smile.
She rose, tucking the letter under her arm, and swept from the room with an air of calm purpose—leaving behind her the beginnings of another family argument about whether good sense or good fortune was the better thing to carry to London.
Upstairs, Elizabeth folded agown into the corner of her trunk and paused. Her fingers smoothed the fabric twice more than necessary before reaching for the next. The motion was automatic. Her thoughts were not.
She reached for her reticule and opened it with care, checking, twice, that no journal lay securely at the bottom. The memory of its absence still made her stomach twist. She tightened the drawstring. Then exhaled.
A knock broke the silence.
Elizabeth straightened as the door creaked open. Jane stepped inside, her eyes pink and shining, a slip of folded paper clenched in one hand.
