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Will stoodin the cramped room, remaining perfectly still so he wouldn’t bump into Elizabeth, and watched as she worked methodically. It seemed a long, complicated process, and although he was curious, he refrained from asking questions, afraid of distracting her. Instead, in the dim glow of an amber light, he surveyed the photographs that covered every wall.
Finally, she took four black and white images of him and Georgiana and hung them on the line that went from one side of the room to the other, explaining that they needed to dry.
"Did you teach yourself how to do all of this?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.
"Yes."
"It seems rather complicated."
"Not to me."
He gestured toward the walls. "Did you take all of these pictures?"
"Yes."
"Are they all friends of yours? And family?"
"Mostly."
It was obvious she didn’t want to make polite conversation, but his curiosity was piqued.
"So it's just a hobby?"
“Just a hobby. I do weddings for friends occasionally.” She paused. “Like yesterday."
She opened the door, and they walked back into the living room. He noticed several framed photographs of the ocean on the walls and spent several minutes walking around, studying each, not knowing what else to do with himself.
"Were all of these pictures taken in Falmouth?" he asked.
"No, but most were taken on the Cape."
He turned to face her. "How long have you lived here?"
"In this house or in Falmouth?"
“Both."
"In the house for about three years, in Falmouth all my life. Except for when I was away at school.”
"Oh, that's right. You're an oceanographer or a marine biologist or something like that, right?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Something like that. Why don't I see if the pictures are dry?"
She went into the darkroom and reappeared a moment later with the pictures and negatives of him and his sister. He stared at the pictures, and though they were a bit grainy, he was surprised that they were actually quite good. Georgiana rested her head on his shoulder in one picture, and something about it tugged at his heart.
“That’s everything. I guess we're finished," Elizabeth said.
"I guess we are." He looked at her then—really looked at her—and was struck by the vibrant green color of her eyes. "Um, thanks.”
She walked to the door and held it open. "You're welcome. Watch your step on the stairs."
He nodded and walked out.
A knot tightened in his stomach as he drove home, and he knew its source: regret. He’d been too quick to judge and, on top of that, had judged too harshly. But he had justifiable reasons for the way he’d behaved, and didn’t owe her an explanation. He had his pictures. That was all he needed, and wanted, from Elizabeth Bennet.
