Then Jane turned from the window, her expression brightening. “Good morning, Lizzy. I was hoping you would hurry. We did not want to begin without you.”
Elizabeth crossed to her, squeezing Jane’s fingers lightly. “Well, here I am. Have you seen the post rider yet?”
Jane blushed faintly. “Not yet. Not at this hour of the day, anyway. There are plenty of reasons a post arrival might be delayed.”
Elizabeth felt something in her chest tighten at that. She smoothed her expression quickly, but not before Mr. Bennet noticed.
He cleared his throat deliberately. “Shall I guess the contents of your thoughts, Lizzy?” he asked with mock solemnity.
Elizabeth did not answer immediately, but Sophocles—who had followed her downstairs and now curled at her feet—meowed as though on cue.
She glanced down at him, shaking her head. “Traitor,” she murmured.
Mr. Bennet snorted.
Jane tried to soothe the moment with gentle optimism. “The letter will come when it can, Lizzy. It is only a few days’ difference, surely.”
Elizabeth managed a crooked smile. “I know. I am only…impatient to know what Mr. Darcy thought.”
Mr. Bennet lowered the paper a fraction, tapping it thoughtfully. “Of your letter, you mean?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed. “Yes.”
He considered her with dry affection. “Well, I expect he is reading it twice as carefully as he wrote his own. Gentlemen like him always do.”
“That is not very comforting.” Elizabeth let out a small breath of laughter, shaking her head.
“Good. Comfort rarely leads to truth.” Mr. Bennet shrugged and pretended to be absorbed in his paper from yesterday.
Jane laid a gentle hand on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “It will be well, Lizzy. He would not have written at all if he did not mean to continue.”
Elizabeth held her sister’s gaze for a moment.‘I hope so,’she thought, but did not say aloud.
Sophocles circled her ankles, purring in steady punctuation.
Elizabeth reached down to scratch behind his ears. “You, at least, will stay loyal.”
The cat purred louder, blinking with regal satisfaction.
Outside, the wind wandered throughout the hedges, and the lane remained stubbornly empty.
Elizabeth turned back to the table, drew in a breath, and forced herself to pour tea with steady hands.
“He will write.” She repeated it silently, like a prayer, as the others resumed the quiet rituals of breakfast, waiting for the sound of hooves on the empty road.
Seven
A week later, Longbourn was set for company. The dining room fire burned brighter than usual, and the table gleamed with its best linens. Mrs. Bennet oversaw the arrangements with anxious fluttering.
“For heaven’s sake, Hill—place the good decanter nearer Mr. Bingley’s end,” she hissed at the maid, barely lowering her voice enough to avoid scandalising the family. “And mind the gravy boat does not drip! I want no reason for complaint.”
Trying not to sigh too audibly, Elizabeth moved closer to Jane so as to avoid sitting directly across from the officer guests who had yet to arrive.
Jane leaned in and murmured a gentle plea. “Do try to look pleasant, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “I shall try to look civil, at least. That is all I can promise.”
Mr. Bennet stood in the doorway, watching this bustle with sardonic composure.
