Elizabeth rested her hands in her lap, her gaze settling once more upon the room.
The party had moved her direction. Mr. Bingley was speaking again—laughing now, the sound easy, unforced.
Miss Bingley stood beside him, her posture elegant, her attention selective.
Mr. Darcy remained at the back of his party, expression unchanged.
Elizabeth studied him—not directly, but through the impression he made upon the space around him.
There was something in it she could not yet name.
Something she did not yet understand.
The music began. And the evening moved forward.
Elizabeth remained seated for several moments, allowing the room to settle into something she could manage.
At first, it was only sound.
The tuning of instruments gave way to the opening strains of the first set, the notes rising clearly above the murmur of conversation. Chairs shifted. Slippers brushed against the floor. Voices softened as attention turned toward the forming lines.
Elizabeth turned her head slightly—just enough to bring the center of the room more fully into the range of her left eye.
There.
The figures resolved themselves in fragments. Movement was easier to follow than stillness; she had learned that quickly. A gentleman stepping forward, a lady curtsying, the sweep of a skirt—these she could trace, even when details blurred.
Jane stood near the center.
Elizabeth felt it at once—a small, immediate lift in her chest.
Jane’s gown, pale and elegant, caught the light in a way that made her seem almost luminous. Even at this distance, even through the soft haze that lay beyond her clearest sight, Elizabeth knew her sister’s posture, her composure, the gentle inclination of her head as she listened.
And beside her—
Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth did not need to see him clearly to know it. His voice reached her first—warm, animated, unmistakably pleased.
“I cannot express how happy I am—this is quite the most agreeable introduction—”
His words tumbled over themselves with such sincerity that Elizabeth smiled despite herself.
Jane answered, her tone softer, measured, but touched with a warmth Elizabeth recognized at once.
“I am very glad you find it so.”
Elizabeth leaned back slightly in her chair, her fingers resting lightly against the arm as she watched.
Jane was pleased. Not merely polite—not merely attentive.
Pleased.
The distinction mattered. It mattered more than Elizabeth had expected. For a moment, her thoughts slipped—not backward, exactly, but inward. To the months after Jane’s marriage. To the way she had stepped into her new role, balancing duty with grace, never allowing her own uncertainty to disturb the peace of those around her.
And then—
Widowhood. Too soon. Too sudden.
