She gathered her shawl with a whirl and a hiss of dismay. “You have refused my counsel. Very well. I shall know how to act.”
The morning light atRamsgate was gentler than she had expected.
Elizabeth sat near the window with her sewing laid across her lap, the needle resting idle between her fingers. The sea beyond the glass moved with a steady, almost deliberate calm, as though it had been instructed to behave itself. She found that reassuring in a way she could not have explained. The air carried salt and something faintly metallic, and though the windows were shut against the breeze, she felt it along her skin all the same.
Her father and Jane were speaking behind her in tones meant to be discreet. They had not mastered discretion well enough to escape her notice.
“I think,” Papa was saying, “that we may congratulate ourselves. She looks—” He paused, as though selecting the least dangerous word. “—considerably restored.”
Jane murmured assent. “She has colour again. And she slept. I was so worried that in taking her from London she might…”
Elizabeth smiled faintly to herself and kept her eyes on the stitching, which had gone crooked where she had last tried to guide it. The needle tugged once, not sharply, but with a small insistence, as though it wished to be elsewhere. She tightened her fingers around it until the sensation passed.
“It was the right decision,” her father continued, more quietly now. “Distance has done what proximity could not.”
Jane hesitated. “I only wish we could be sure it has done the same for him.”
Mr Bennet gave a soft huff. “Darcy? If he was the cause, then his absence must be the cure. And if he was not—” He stopped, then added lightly, “—well, I am content not to speculate further.”
Elizabeth kept her gaze steady on the seam. The fire in the small grate gave a low, companionable sound as it settled into coals. She had noticed earlier that it had burned higher when she first entered the room, though no one had stirred it. She had said nothing. She would continue to say nothing.
Jane moved closer at last and touched her shoulder. “You are very quiet.”
“I am conserving my strength,” Elizabeth replied. “It seems a shame to squander it so soon after its return.”
Her father laughed, brief and genuine. “A sensible resolution, if ever I heard one.”
“And a rare one,” Jane added, smiling. “You will abandon it by luncheon.”
“Almost certainly,” Elizabeth said. She glanced between them. “Still, I cannot help but regret missing Mary’s wedding.”
Papa grimaced. “I regret only the sermon.”
“Papa!” Jane scolded.
Elizabeth’s lips curved. “I am sorry to miss Mary’s happiness,” she said, after a moment. “But I confess I am not inconsolable at being spared Mr Collins’s raptures.”
Jane laughed, then pressed her lips together. “You are both dreadful.”
“And entirely unrepentant.”
Papa shook his head, amusement and something more wistful crossing his face. “Your sister will forgive you. She always does, though I doubt you deserve it.”
Elizabeth lifted a shoulder. “If I deserved it, it would not be forgiveness.”
The room fell quiet again, the kind of quiet that settles only after shared laughter has passed. Elizabeth returned her attention to her sewing. The needle slid smoothly now, obedient beneath her fingers. The thimble at her hand shifted a fraction closer, though the table had not been disturbed.
She stilled her hand at once, the faintest prickle running up her arm. The fire gave a soft, sudden pop in the grate, and for an instant she had the curious sense that the room was listening.
Papa drew out his watch and squinted at it, holding it closer to the light. “Mary ought to be walking up the aisle about now.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the window. The sea was unchanged. Calm. Proper. She drew a slow breath and told herself there was nothing required of her at this distance, nothing she could do but wish her sister well.
“Do you think,” she asked, “that she wore the new lace Mama insisted on for her? I do hope she carried the blue handkerchief I made for her… a pity I was unable to finish embroidering it.”
Jane crossed the room and touched her hand. “She will be very happy.”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. The words sounded correct.
