“I am practical,” Charlotte replied. “Until the banns are called and the register is signed, I dare not raise my hopes too far.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That, too.” Charlotte had been disappointed in love more than once in her life.
There was a brief pause. Charlotte’s expression shifted—subtly, but enough that Elizabeth noticed.
“And Mr. Darcy?” she asked. There was an intentional nonchalance in her tone that Elizabeth neither trusted nor believed.
Elizabeth shrugged. “You mean my conversation with him?” she said.
Charlotte inclined her head. “Yes. I am curious.”
Elizabeth considered for a moment, her fingers resting lightly against the arm of her chair. “I found him intelligent,” she said. “And engaging.” It had been the best part of her evening.
Charlotte’s brows rose. “Engaging?”
“In a reserved manner,” Elizabeth clarified, a hint of amusement in her tone.
Charlotte studied her. “And how long,” she asked, “do you suppose it will be before the banns are called?”
Elizabeth laughed outright. “Your imagination is very rapid,” she said. Still, something akin to exhilaration pulsed through her.
“I only follow the evidence before me. You are theonlyperson with whom he spent any time in extensive conversation.”
“There is no evidence,” Elizabeth returned. “We are little more than acquaintances.”
Charlotte did not appear convinced.
Elizabeth added, more lightly, “And besides—gentlemen do not wish for ladies such as myself for a bride.” To think a man could fall in love in one evening was ridiculous. Being smitten was one thing, but ardent love? And with her? Nonsense.
Charlotte’s expression softened, though her tone remained steady. “You underestimate yourself.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do not think so.” She might be resigned to her condition and content with her lot, but she was sure of this.
“There are many things,” Charlotte said, “that may compensate for trifling failings.”
A lack of sight was hardly trifling. Elizabeth offered a smile, yet she remained unconvinced by the reasoning. “I shall endeavor to discover them,” she said.
Charlotte held her gaze for a moment longer, as though she might say more. But she did not. Instead, she reached again for her tea.
The conversation around them continued—Mrs. Bennet recounting every detail of the evening, Lady Lucas offering her observations, Mr. Collins contributing his own reflections with evident satisfaction.
Elizabeth listened only in part. Her thoughts had shifted. Not dramatically. Not in a way that would be apparent to anyone watching her. She sat as she always did—composed, attentive, her expression calm. But within, something had altered.
It was not the conversation itself. Not Charlotte’s teasing, nor her mother’s enthusiasm, nor even Mr. Collins’s practical considerations.
It was something smaller. A memory of standing upon the terrace, the cool air easing the strain of the room, a voice beside her—measured, thoughtful, attentive in a way she had not expected.
One conversation. It ought not to signify. Elizabeth drew a slow breath and let it out again.
For so long, she had been certain of the shape her life would take. It had seemed settled, almost inevitable. She would remain at Longbourn. She would assist Jane. She would help guide Thomas as he grew, and any others who might follow.
It was not an unhappy prospect. There was affection in it. Purpose. And yet, for the first time in many months—perhaps longer—she found that certainty unsettled. It had not been replaced, but merely questioned. The thought of something more, something she had long since set aside, returned with a steady persistence.
Not unreasonable. Not impossible.
Elizabeth did not dwell upon it. She knew better than to build expectation upon so little.
She did not, however, rule it out completely. She turned her face slightly toward the light, allowing it to fall where it would best serve her.
