It was a question of the life she wished to lead.
Mr. Wilson belonged to a world she understood instinctively. His success had been earned rather than inherited. His ambitions were practical and readily visible. Were she to become his wife, she would understand her place from the very first day.
Darcy represented something far less certain.
His world was larger, grander, and infinitely more demanding. Among his relations were titled ladies who might regard her with astonishment—or with disdain. Society would examine her parentage with a degree of interest Hertfordshire had never shown. Even if he cared for her, and some stubborn part of her believed that he did, affection alone might prove insufficient to bridge every difference between them.
Or might it?
Elizabeth pressed her fingers lightly to her temples.
The most troubling truth was that she did not fear Darcy himself.
She feared the world that surrounded him.
She feared entering rooms where she would be measured against standards she had never expected to meet.
She feared discovering that admiration and attachment, however sincere, could falter beneath the daily weight of expectation.
Whenever she imagined the years ahead, the future that drew her most strongly was one in which she and Darcy debated books, debated over the absurdities of family, and walked together as equals.
The prospect remained uncertain.
Its uncertainty only made it more compelling.
A knock sounded at the door.
Jane entered in her wrapper, her expression as warm and perceptive as ever.
“You are still awake.”
“And so are you.”
Jane smiled and joined her on the window seat. For several moments they watched moonlight spread across the lawn.
“At some point,” Jane said, “you must decide whether you prefer certainty or possibility.”
Elizabeth turned toward her. “That is a very unfair distinction.”
“I learned it by observing you.”
Elizabeth grinned.
Jane took her hand. “Whatever you decide, choose the life in which you believe you will be most fully yourself.”
The words lingered long after Jane had gone.
Elizabeth returned to bed still uncertain.
When sleep finally overtook her, the future that rose in her imagination was not in Lancashire.
It was Longbourn, and later the North. And a tall gentleman standing in the midst of its noise and disorder as though he belonged there as naturally as she did.
Declarations and Discoveries
Elizabeth had spent the better part of the previous fortnight trying to behave sensibly, which was proving a thoroughly tiresome occupation. Sensible behavior, according to every practical consideration, required that she continue to receive Mr. Wilson with civility and keep her mind open to a match that offered comfort, security, and genuine esteem. Mrs. Bennet had advised precisely that.
“You need not decide before you are ready,” her mother had said while sorting ribbon for Jane’s wedding gown. “But you must not reject a worthy man merely because your imagination has outrun your judgment.”
