Exasperated, Elizabeth said, “I may as well conjecture on what I would do if I were a man, or a sudden heiress, or struck by lightning. It is so far-fetched that it is not worth thinking about.”
“Methinks—”
“Do not even finish that sentence.”
Mary recognised the unmistakable symptom of a thought storm—the infrequent occasions when her sister’s mind took on a life of its own.
She took Elizabeth’s hand and rubbed it gently. “Indulge me. Suppose hedid. What would happen?”
“My head would explode, I think.”
“And what happens when your head explodes?”
Elizabeth stared at the floor and mumbled, “I lash out.”
“Exactly. Prepare yourself. Think how you would react in the unlikely event it happens. It is no different from what you did to protect us all against the unlikely event that our father ever left his library long enough to get himself killed. You need not have theanswer, but you must be prepared to react with kindness, if nothing else. I do not say you must be Jane. Remember that she needed you to say what was needed to Mr Jameson, and remember that it fell to you to set my husband on the straight and narrow path. Give yourself the opportunity to ensure thatyour next awkward conversation does no more damage than necessary.”
Elizabeth sighed. “How much is necessary?”
Mary shrugged. “Who can say? But if you must, stop in the middle of whatever you are doing and perform some arithmetic. It does not matter what it is, but you need yourlogical mindin all its glory, should this extremely unlikely event occur.”
Elizabeth sighed. “When did you become so wise?”
Mary hugged her. “Remember this. I wasPlain Old Maryuntilyoumade me Mrs Collins. Whatever wisdom I have is as much your responsibility as mine.”
Elizabeth slapped her playfully on the shoulder. “Hardly, but I will take your advice. I will think deeply about the proper way to react if I am ever struck by lightning.”
The Lane
“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth exclaimed upon meeting him unexpectedly on her morning walk.
To be fair, she was walking on a nice Rosings path, and the gentleman stayed at the estate, so his presence was not particularly shocking. Of course, she had never noticed him walking there, but he was seen to walk at Netherfield, so he was familiar with the basic operation of his feet and legs in a park-like situation.
“Miss Bennet, good morning,” he replied with an odd expression.
Elizabeth lookedaskanceat hishaughtyexpression then abruptly remembered her promise to herself. As subtly as possible, she pinched her arm to focus. She had promised to try thinking about the man differently by substituting words in her inner thoughts—so she lookedcarefullyat hisbashfulexpression and gave him a small curtsey.
“Good morning, sir. Your presence was unexpected. I did not know you walked this way.”
Careful to reword every thought, hoping the exercise might eventually train her recalcitrant mind to follow her edicts, Elizabeth waited for the man’sawkwardreply.See there, not prideful at all.
“I am afraid I interrupt your solitary ramble?” said he, as he joined her.
“You certainly do,” she replied with a smile, “but it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome.”
“Might I join you?”
Elizabeth, on general principle, liked to be as precise in her language as possible, while keeping the necessary allowances politeness demanded. “I do not object.”
There it was. She didnot objectto his presence, a substantial improvement. Neither did she particularly desire it, but such a declaration was unnecessary. She expected him to turn and walk with her, like he had tried to do with the Netherfield Huntress. That lady had grabbed his arm like a fishmonger hooking his catch, which was amusing in its own way. However, against her expectations, he smiled and offered his arm. She surprised herself by taking it without complaint, and even sheepishly admitted some modest enjoyment in the act.
Elizabeth had walked with men in the past, but none of the calibre of her current partner. There were, of course, all the elder gentlemen of her father’s generation and their equally familiar though mostly disagreeable progeny, who graduated from hair-pulling and frogs to dancing and walking without ever attracting even a hint of admiration. She had never enjoyed a beau—unsurprising, when she spent all her time with Jane—though she had wondered idly what it would be like. Of course, Mr Darcy was no such creature, but if she did one day have a beau who looked like Mr Darcy but was not quite so haughtybashful, it might not be the worst thing in the world.
They walked for a few minutes in silence, and Elizabeth found she liked it. Mr Darcy was a man of few words in the best of situations. Most women of his acquaintance probably talked enough for 3 people, so his lack of participation was not usually a difficulty.
At last, he took his turn at conversation. “Is this a favourite walk, Miss Elizabeth… Miss Bennet?”
The slip proved endearing rather than insulting. “Be at ease. I am Miss Elizabeth most of the time and am not offended if you find it easier to use.”
