“I know.”
“You will be pressured.”
“I expect it.”
“And you will be alone.”
Elizabeth’s smile faltered for just a moment. “Then I must be stronger.”
That evening passed in subdued tones. Preparations began immediately—lists made, trunks opened, garments reviewed with an eye toward both propriety and strategy. Elizabeth moved through it all with deliberate calm, though her thoughts raced ahead to candlelit salons, appraising eyes, and a prince who believed himself entitled to arrange her future.
When she finally retired, she stood at her window for a long while, staring out at the frost-bright lawn.
Two days.
Carlton House awaited. And whatever battle lay ahead, she resolved she would not enter it unarmed.
Elizabeth rose before dawn on the twenty-eighth, the house still wrapped in a hush broken only by the crackle of her fire. Frost traced the windowpanes in delicate patterns, and the air held that sharp, expectant chill peculiar to winter mornings when change feels imminent. She dressed deliberately, each motion precise, as though calm could be summoned by order alone. Baker moved about the room, fastening hooks and smoothing seams, her expression grave but resolute.
Downstairs, the fires burned low. The carriage appointed by the Household waited in the drive, its dark lines stark against the pale sweep of the lawn. Elizabeth paused at the threshold, taking in the familiar lines of Longbourn—the worn stone, the sheltering trees, the windows that had so often glowed with warmth against the dark. She had never thought to leave it thus, under summons rather than choice.
Jane met her first, wrapping her in a tight embrace that lingered longer than she usually would. “Write to me,” she whispered, as though repetition could make the promise safer. Elizabeth pressed her forehead briefly to Jane’s and nodded. There were no clever words that could soften this parting.
Mrs. Bennet held herself with commendable composure, offering practical instructions and reminding Elizabeth to eat regularly, to rest when she could, to remember that she wasloved. Mr. Bennet stood slightly apart, his gaze steady and searching. When Elizabeth approached him, he took her hands in his own, squeezing once. “Be observant,” he said quietly. “Be patient. And remember that wit, when properly employed, is a shield as well as a sword.”
Mrs. Gardiner embraced her next, slipping a small packet into Elizabeth’s gloved hand—letters of introduction, carefully chosen. “You are not without allies,” she murmured. “Even there.”
Mary, Kitty, and Lydia hovered nearby, solemn in their farewells. Elizabeth hugged, accepting their earnest wishes and promising to write before the spring had fully taken hold. Rising, she drew a steadying breath and turned towards the carriage.
The footman opened the door. Elizabeth climbed inside, arranging her skirts with practiced grace. As the door closed, the familiar world narrowed to a framed view of faces she loved. The carriage lurched forwards, wheels crunching over frost, and Longbourn began to recede.
She did not look away at once. She fixed her gaze upon the house until it slipped behind the curve of the drive and vanished among the trees. Only then did she lean back against the squab, exhaling slowly.
Ahead lay Town, with its glittering rooms and watchful eyes, its expectations sharpened into commands. She felt the weight of it settle upon her shoulders—and then, just as firmly, she felt her resolve rise to meet it. She would go because she must. She would listen, observe, and endure. But she would not surrender herself.
Whatever awaited her beyond the city gates, she would meet it on her own terms.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christmas at Rosings Park was not what one would call enjoyable. In truth, Darcy would rather be anywhere—or almost anywhere—else. His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was loud, demanding, and cantankerous. Every other subject of discussion revolved around Darcy proposing to and marrying her only child, Miss Anne de Bourgh.
Rosings itself was as grand as ever, its long galleries dressed in greenery and candlelight, the servants moving with the precision of long practice. Even still, the splendor only sharpened the oppression of it all. Every glance Lady Catherine cast his way carried expectation; every pause in conversation felt like a prelude to another pointed remark. Anne was heir to Rosings Park. By marrying his cousin, they kept the wealth within the family. Uniting Pemberley and Rosings would make Darcy the richest untitled landowner in England. They were tired, old arguments, and they moved Darcy not one jot.
He had heard them since youth—phrased differently at times, softened when his mother lived, sharpened since her death. They had been presented as inevitabilities rather thanpossibilities, as though his consent were a mere formality to be obtained at leisure.
It was just before the New Year when he finally lost his temper with his aunt. She began the evening by telling those at the table how preferable spring weddings were, and how nice it would be to have Anne settled by May.
The statement was delivered with a triumphant air, as though the matter had already been decided and only awaited public acknowledgement. Lady Catherine smiled at Anne in a way meant to be indulgent but carried an unmistakable edge of command.
“You must do your duty, Darcy.” She pointed a fork at him and frowned imperiously. “She is losing her bloom—you must see that now is the time to finalize matters.”
Anne kept her face down-turned, though Darcy thought he saw her cheeks turn red.
The girl’s hands trembled faintly where they rested in her lap. Darcy felt a sudden, unwelcome surge of pity—not romantic, not tender, but deeply unsettling. Anne deserved better than to be spoken of as though she were a perishable commodity.
His knife and fork clattered to his plate. Lady Anne Darcy was passive by nature; she had avoided contradicting her sister to her face.
“Aunt, let me be abundantly clear: this engagement is a fanciful creation of your own. If my mother wished for it, she did not inform me. I am not bound by contract nor obligation to offer for my cousin. If you are so set on Anne marrying within the family, why do you not bring the matter to Lord Matlock’s attention?”
