Elizabeth’s fingers stilled upon the fabric.
“I begin,” she admitted, “to see that I may not have seen everything either. But it is of no consequence.”
Jane did not press further. She rarely did.
Outside, the faint sound of carriage wheels passed along the lane. The world continued in its ordinary rhythm.
Jane tied off the ribbon neatly and rose. “Mama will be insufferable if we are not ready.”
“There is still tomorrow before the ball… She will be insufferable in any case,” Elizabeth replied, though affection warmed her tone.
Jane laughed.
Elizabeth stood again before the glass. The lace caught the light differently now. Softer. “How strange,” she said, almost to herself, “that a few conversations may alter one’s opinion so entirely.”
Jane adjusted the final pin in her own sleeve. “Not entirely,” she corrected gently. “Only honestly.”
Elizabeth met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. “Yes,” she said. “Perhaps honestly.”
“Come,” Jane said at last. “Let us see whether the others need anything – or whether we must rescue them. I can hear Mama.”
***
Caroline’s dressing table was in mild disorder – which, in her case, meant that three gowns lay across the chaise instead of one. Louisa stood before the tall mirror, raising a gown in front of her.
“I do not like that shade,” Louisa said at last. “It washes you out in the candlelight.”
Caroline did not look up. “It did not do so in town.”
“We are not in town.”
Caroline’s hand stilled over a cluster of jet beads. “No,” she said coolly. “We are not.”
A silence followed. The faint rustle of silk. The murmur of servants somewhere below.
Louisa set aside the sleeve and crossed to the window. “You were long engaged in conversation Saturday evening,” she observed. “But not, I think, as you had intended.”
Caroline’s reflection sharpened. “If you mean that Mr. Darcy did not seek my company,” she replied evenly, “you may speak plainly.”
Louisa did not soften. “He scarcely looked at you.”
Caroline’s chin lifted a fraction. “He was distracted.”
“Yes.”
That single word lingered.
Caroline turned then, abandoning the pretence of indifference.
“I cannot conceive what possesses him,” she said. “He has always valued refinement. Discrimination. A certain… elevation.”
“And now?” Louisa prompted.
“And now he rides lanes, dines without invitation, and listens with visible patience to Mrs. Bennet’s recollections of provincial triumphs.”
Louisa’s mouth curved faintly. “You object less to the dinners than to the listening.”
Caroline did not answer immediately. “He has always enjoyed clever conversation,” she said instead. “It is not my fault if he chooses to find novelty elsewhere.”
