Elizabeth hesitated, then spoke. “Did you notice Mr Darcy’s reaction when he met Tommy?”
Please, let Jane have noted it too. Let me not be mad.Immediately she rebuked her thoughts. It would be better if Jane did not notice the gentleman’s odd behavior.
But Jane only frowned. “I confess I was fully absorbed in conversation with Mr Bingley. Did he disapprove of a child at play?”
Elizabeth could not even attempt a laugh.
“Did he truly seem upset by our brother’s presence?” Jane’s brow furrowed, her tone shifting from curiosity to concern.
“No, Jane. It was not that,” Elizabeth replied. She opened her mouth to say more, to unburden herself of the fear that had gripped her chest since that very moment. But she could not confide in Jane.
How could she confess the truth? That Thomas was not just their brother, but a child born of secrecy and scandal? That her family’s future hung by a thread spun from half-truths and forged papers?
“I am certain I imagined everything,” she murmured instead.
Jane studied her a moment longer, but did not press. She kissed her sister’s forehead and left, soft as a whisper.
Later, Hill brought up a tray. Elizabeth managed a few bites of bread and stew, but her appetite fled her entirely. When the maid returned to collect the tray, Elizabeth offered a weak smile and nothing more. As the house fell silent and the candles burned low, she tossed restlessly in her bed.
Sleep would not come.
Finally, unable to bear the weight of uncertainty alone, Elizabeth rose. She wrapped her dressing gown about her and stepped into the dark corridor. A sliver of light glowed beneath the master suite door. Summoning her courage, she crossed the hall and knocked lightly.
“Come in,” came her father’s voice.
Inside, Mr Bennet sat by the fire, spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a book in his lap. He looked up and blinked in surprise.
“Why, Lizzy! I thought you were abed and sound asleep. Come, join me.”
She took the seat beside him, the warmth of the hearth doing little to ease the chill that had settled into her bones.
“You look as though you have the weight of the world upon your shoulders,” he observed, his tone gentler than usual. “Tell me, what has occurred to put you in such a state?”
She told him everything—every look, every flicker of recognition in Mr Darcy’s face.
“Papa, it was as if he knew Tommy—like he recognised him! Is it possible—”
“Do not invite trouble,” Mr Bennet said sharply.
She fell silent.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I can see why you might think there is cause for concern. But we have enough evidence to settle any questions. Do nothing to create suspicion. It is vital that you treat Mr Darcy the same as before he met your brother. You must give him nothing of which to be suspicious.”
“I know, Papa,” she said softly, standing. But her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “How can you be so sanguine about the situation? Does the burden of this secret not gnaw at you constantly? How can you pretendas though nothing is amiss?” A sob escaped her. “If only I was as strong as you.”
Mr Bennet did not reply.
Elizabeth turned and slipped from the room, back into the darkened corridor. She returned to her chamber and lay awake for hours, watching shadows shift across the ceiling, haunted by the thought of what might come.
When she finally slept, it was uneasy. And when she awoke, her soul felt heavier than before.
The scent of fresh bread and warm tea drifted through the breakfast room, mingling with the gentle clink of cutlery and china. Morning sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, gilding the edges of the tablecloth and bathing the room in a deceptive calm.
Elizabeth sat in her usual seat, a slice of buttered toast cooling on her plate, untouched. Her fingers curled around her teacup, but she made no move to raise it. Around her, the Bennet household carried on with the usual morning bustle—Kitty and Lydia whispering and giggling over something, Mary nose-deep in a volume of poetry even as she sipped her tea, Jane murmuring a gentle rebuke to Lydia about her posture. Miss Lane resumed Jane's reminder as she returned from upstairs, sewing basket in hand.
Across from her sat Tommy, his legs swinging beneath his chair, his little hands clutching a jam-smeared crust with great enthusiasm. Strawberrypreserves painted his mouth in a messy grin, and he hummed to himself between bites, utterly content in his small, boyish world.
Elizabeth watched him, her heart aching with a tenderness so fierce it stole her breath.
