The right eye, though outwardly open, offered nothing of use. It perceived light, perhaps, but no shape, no distinction. Only a pale, clouded dimness that she had long since ceased to rely upon. She had learned, instead, to favor her left, to angle herself without appearing to do so, to listen more keenly than she once had.
It was enough. Itmustbe enough. It had been two years since she had first been forced to learn that truth, and though the sharpest edges of it had softened with time, there were moments still when it returned with unwelcome clarity.
“Lizzy!”
The voice came bright and near, and Elizabeth’s expression softened at once.
“Lydia.”
A chair scraped lightly, and Lydia Bennet dropped into the seat beside her with a familiarity that had once been careless and was now—Elizabeth thought with silent gratitude—something rather kinder.
“You are late,” Lydia declared, though she immediately reached for the teapot and began to pour with thorough attention. “Mama has been in a fidget this quarter hour.”
“I cannot imagine why,” Elizabeth said, smiling faintly. “I am but a few minutes behind.”
“A few minutes is quite sufficient to put Mama into a state,” Lydia returned, nudging the cup a little closer to Elizabeth’s left hand. “There. Mind your elbow—the jam is nearer than usual.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Kitty, seated opposite, gave a small nod that Elizabeth did not see but felt in the slight shift of the air between them. Kitty had grown quieter in the past two years, her former hesitations settling into something more thoughtful, more observant. She said little now, but what she did say was often useful—and what she did not say was sometimes more so.
Elizabeth reached for the cup Lydia had placed and found it without difficulty. The warmth of it steadied her further.
At the head of the table, Mr. Collins presided. He was of an age with Elizabeth’s father and had inherited after Mr. Bennet’s passing. Already widowed, only his son had joined him. The man cleared his throat.
It was a sound Elizabeth had come to recognize not as a prelude to importance, but as a sign that something—whether relevant or not—was soon to be spoken.
“My dear Miss Elizabeth,” he began, with a solemnity that suggested the utterance of something of consequence, “it is a singular satisfaction to observe you in such apparent health this morning.”
Elizabeth inclined her head politely. “You are very kind, sir.”
“Indeed, indeed,” he continued, folding his hands before him. “It reflects most favorably upon the accommodations of this house—and upon the general management of those who residewithin it—that recovery, or at least stability, may be so evidently maintained.”
Lydia’s hand paused briefly near the breadbasket.
Kitty’s gaze dropped to her plate.
Elizabeth, who had long since learned the safest way to navigate such speeches, merely said, “Longbourn has always been a comfortable home.”
“Just so,” said Mr. Collins, with evident satisfaction. “And it is a matter of no small consequence that such comfort should now, by providential arrangement, be secured within my own stewardship.” He nodded his silver head and the spectacles perched on his nose wobbled.
There was a moment’s pause. Elizabeth took a small sip of tea.
Mr. Collins leaned back slightly, as though pleased with the turn his thoughts had taken. “I cannot but reflect, Miss Elizabeth, that the circumstances which have brought about this arrangement—though regrettable in certain respects—have, on the whole, resulted in a most advantageous consolidation of property and familial interest.”
Lydia set the bread knife down rather more firmly than was strictly necessary.
Kitty glanced up.
Elizabeth held her cup steady.
“And you, my dear Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins continued, warming to his subject, “serve as a constant reminder of how swiftly fortune may alter—and how fortunate we must consider ourselves that such alterations have not been more severe.”
There it was. Not unkind, perhaps, nor meant to wound. But ill-placed, ill-shaped—words that brushed too near what ought not to be spoken so plainly.
Elizabeth set her cup down. “You are most philosophical, sir,” she said evenly.
Across the table, Kitty’s fingers tightened slightly around her napkin. Lydia, however, leaned a fraction closer to Elizabeth and nudged the plate before her.
