Jane said nothing, but her fingers tightened gently around Elizabeth’s.
“I thought at first he might write only once—or not at all. But he replied to mine, not with gallantry or poetry, but with thoughts. His family, his home, even his regrets. I cannot quite explain what it means to receive such a letter. Only that I have read it twice already—and shall likely read it again.”
“Did you write back again?” Jane smiled, nodding with quiet understanding.
“Yes. But not too much, nor too boldly. We are still at the beginning, I think. It is a quiet thing… but it matters.”
“I am so glad,” Jane whispered. “And I hope—truly I do—that whatever it becomes, it will make you happy.”
Elizabeth looked at her elder sister then, her eyes bright with feeling. “Whatever it becomes,” she echoed, “I am glad for it already.”
And there, between them, the hush of shared hope settled like a soft shawl—light, comforting, and not yet spoken of beyond the room.
***
Monday morning dawned fair and dry, with a slight breeze stirring the curtains at Longbourn. After breakfast, Mrs. Bennet, already in lively spirits, announced her intention of taking Lydia and Kitty into Meryton to inquire about a new ribbon shop recently opened on the High Street—and perhaps, she added with casual indulgence, “see whether there is any news of Colonel Forster’s wife, poor dear, now settled in those rather modest lodgings near the apothecary.”
Elizabeth raised a brow. “I was under the impression that officers’ wives do not accompany the regiment to their quarters.”
“Well, of course not among the men,” her mother huffed, waving her reticule. “But she is a long-married woman and must be kept near, poor soul. Besides, it is all quite romantic to be close to one’s husband—even if it is in borrowed rooms behind the pastry cook’s.”
Mr. Bennet, who had listened in silence until this point, set down his teacup with deliberate care. “Romantic or not, I think Lizzy ought to accompany you today,” he said mildly. “Not all generals wear red coats, and you will need one among you who knows when to retreat.”
Mrs. Bennet was prepared to protest, but Mr. Bennet continued, addressing his daughter: “I daresay a brisk walk will do you good, Lizzy. You may serve as true chaperone in their stead, since the usual one is—how shall I put it?—rather inclined to distraction.”
Elizabeth glanced at him with a small smile. “You suspect they may lose their way between the milliner’s and the lodgings, Papa?”
“I suspect no such thing,” Mr. Bennet replied gravely. “I am certain of it. Alas, I know too well how well your mother chaperones a party where red coats are concerned.”
Thus enlisted, Elizabeth joined her mother and younger sisters as they set out with purpose. Mrs. Bennet strode ahead, chattering of purchases and prospects, while Lydia and Kitty darted this way and that in bursts of giggles, their bonnets tied hastily and gloves only half-fastened.
At the tailor’s shop, there was much ado over trimmings and cuffs, with Mrs. Bennet holding forth on the superior cut of coats in London compared to those “patched together here in the country.” Kitty considered a bit of lace, Lydia argued for crimson silk, and Elizabeth, standing politely to one side, began to regret her compliance.
But it was on their return, as they took a circuitous route past the edge of town where several officers were billeted in a row of rented rooms, that the morning took a more eventful turn. A figure emerged from the corner, tall and trim in uniform—Mr. Denny, with a ready smile and impeccable civility.
“Good day, ladies! What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, doffing his hat with warmth. “Are you come to admire the magnificence of our temporary barracks?”
Lydia laughed. “We came for ribbons, but Mama said we might stop by if we passed close enough.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Bennet declared, “one cannot have daughters so fond of the regiment and not give them some chance to wave at it. We were just saying how quiet Meryton seems when you gentlemen are in your drills.”
Mr. Denny bowed. “I shall take that as high praise, madam.”
Kitty, who had coloured slightly at his arrival, now accepted his compliment on the colour of her pelisse with wide eyes and a demure smile.
Elizabeth, observing from a small remove, noted his easy manner and courteous address. There was something earnest in his tone, unmarred by affectation.
“I hope Miss Catherine’s sprained wrist has quite recovered?” he inquired with real solicitude.
“Oh! It is quite well,” Kitty murmured, and then—gaining boldness—“I suppose you must drill a great deal, Mr. Denny, with the Colonel in command?”
“A fair amount,” he acknowledged, “though I confess it is dull work without our audience of ladies along the hedgerow.”
At that moment, a second officer appeared behind him—Mr. Wickham.
He greeted them all with his usual flourish, though his gaze lingered too long on Elizabeth. “What fortune to meet such a charming party this morning! Miss Bennet,” he added, stepping forward with a half-bow, “I hope you have not found the town too dusty for comfort?”
Elizabeth curtsied with composure. “Not at all, sir. The weather has been most pleasant.”
