“He did not appear unworthy,” Thomas said.
“He seemed very sensible,” Toby added.
Mrs. Bennet’s expression eased slightly. “Even sensible men may err.”
She rose. “And you will return to bed.”
There was no argument.
“Yes, Mama,” they said together.
They turned, though each cast one final glance toward Elizabeth.
The door closed behind them.
The room settled once more.
Jane rose and crossed to Elizabeth, her expression gentle.
“You must not be troubled by it,” she said. “His opinion cannot alter what is evident to all who know you.”
Elizabeth met her gaze.
“You are very kind.”
“I am only just,” Jane replied. “Anyone blessed with two seeing eyes must perceive your merit.”
Elizabeth smiled, though the warmth reached her only in part.
“I thank you.”
Mrs. Bennet resumed her seat. “You shall put him thoroughly from your mind. There are others far more deserving of your attention.”
Elizabeth acknowledged her mother with a wave of her hand. “I shall endeavor to do so.”
The conversation moved on, though with less animation than before. The evening, which had begun in anticipation, concluded in a quieter spirit.
At last, the family dispersed.
Elizabeth withdrew to her chamber.
The room received her as it always did—familiar, unchanged, and removed from the impressions of the evening.
She closed the door and rested against it for a moment before crossing to the bed and sitting down.
The insult alone was not what troubled her most. It was the manner in which it had been delivered, as though she were of no consequence, as though her presence scarcely merited acknowledgment.
Her hands tightened slightly in her lap.
“I shall put him from my mind,” she said aloud.
The words offered little reassurance.
She rose, extinguished the candle, and lay down.
Sleep proved slow to arrive.
Again and again, her thoughts returned to the same point.
