Page 106 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

There was another enclosure, folded separately in Mary’s careful hand and marked,

For Lizzy’s improvement.

Jane, who was sitting next to her and reading over her shoulder, took Mary’s page before Elizabeth could unfold it and put it in her workbag. Elizabeth looked at her in confusion, and Jane looked back, arched one eyebrow at her, and took her workbag upstairs.

Elizabeth read her mother’s letter twice, then folded it neatly. But before she could put it away, Edward came in with his sisters.

“We have a new kitten,” he announced.

“I was not aware.”

“Maggie found him in the garden this morning. Papa has said we may keep him.”

They had been wise to go to their father and not their mother. “I see.”

“We have been discussing him,” he said.

“That sounds serious,” Elizabeth replied.

“It is,” said Maggie. “Edward says he is useless.”

“I did not say useless,” Edward said. “I said a puppy would be more useful. A puppy may be taught to fetch.”

Harriet clutched a ribbon in both hands. “The kitten fetched my ribbon.”

“It stole your ribbon,” said Edward.

“It carried it under the sofa.”

“That is not fetching. It is stealing something and then hiding it.”

Elizabeth put her letter aside. “An important distinction.”

Edward nodded, pleased to have an ally. “A puppy would bring it back.”

“A puppy,” Elizabeth said, “would bring back the ribbon, the ball, your glove, the hearthrug, and possibly part of someone’s shoe, and he would have chewed them all. He must be taught obedience.”

Harriet brightened. “The kitten is obedient.”

“When?” her brother cried.

“When it wishes to be.”

“Then it is very much like a person,” Elizabeth said. This gave all the children pause, and Elizabeth, who had not expected to laugh that morning, did. It was not happiness. It did not mend anything. But the laugh began to thaw the ice that had frozen her heart—had frozen her—since Thursday.

The girls carried off their ribbon, their indignant brother, and their mewling kitten, and Elizabeth discovered that she could breathe again without measuring every breath first.

The rest of the day was not easier, really, but it felt more . . . possible.

Jane had slept in Elizabeth’s room since Friday, saying only that she liked the fire better there. Elizabeth had not contradicted her. They both knew Jane had come because she was concerned.

That night, after the candle had been blown out, Elizabeth finally knew what question she needed to ask. “Jane,” she asked softly, “what is wrong with me?”

Her sister’s response was unusually firm. “Elizabeth Augusta Bennet, whatever do you mean? There is nothing wrong with you.”

“Three men have offered to marry me,” Elizabeth said, “and not one of them thought me worth a courtship. The first asked because Mamma told him to. The second was told by his patroness to marry and you were not available. And Mr. Darcy⁠—”

She stopped.