The note lay upon the table, and its contents were already familiar. Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere, returning without invitation to the events of the previous evening.
Lucas Lodge.
Mr. Darcy.
His attempts—persistent, deliberate—to engage her in conversation.
She had avoided him.
Not by chance.
Not by accident.
With intention.
Why?
Elizabeth set her fork down.
The question had followed her from the moment she returned home, through the quiet of the night, and into the present morning. It did not disturb her peace so much as unsettle it, introducing an uncertainty she had not expected to entertain.
He had sought her out.
More than once.
That alone was remarkable.
A gentleman who had declared her tolerable—no more—had then spent an entire evening attempting to secure her notice.
It was inconsistent.
And inconsistency invited examination.
“What has you so thoughtful, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth glanced at her. “Nothing of consequence.”
Jane’s expression suggested she did not fully believe it, though she did not press.
Mrs. Bennet spoke again. “You will go at two. There is no need to hurry, but neither must you be late.”
Jane nodded. “We shall be ready.”
The matter, for everyone else, was settled.
Elizabeth returned her attention to her plate, though she found she had little appetite for what remained there.
Across the table, Thomas and Toby had already finished their breakfast.
They rose together, their movements coordinated without effort.
“May we go?” Thomas asked.
“You may,” Mrs. Bennet said, “but you will return for your lessons before tea.”
“We shall,” Toby replied.
There was no pause between permission and action. They left the room, their footsteps audible in the passage before fading into the wider house.
