“Go,” Elizabeth murmured.
Jane did not hesitate. She turned and left the room, the basket held securely in her hands.
Elizabeth watched her go, then turned back.
Mr. Darcy had been standing slightly apart, his attention fixed upon her with a steadiness she had not expected. “Miss Bennet,” he said, stepping forward. “May I introduce my sister?”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I should be pleased.”
He turned and beckoned. “Miss Georgiana Darcy.” The young lady rose at once, her movements careful, her expression composed though touched with a hint of shyness.
“Miss Bennet,” she said.
Elizabeth met her gaze as best she could, angling herself once more. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Darcy.”
Georgiana smiled—small, but genuine. “I have heard much of you.”
Elizabeth felt a flicker of surprise. “I hope it has been favorable.”
Georgiana’s smile deepened slightly. “Very much so.”
They exchanged a few further pleasantries—nothing of consequence, and yet not entirely without meaning. There was a gentleness in Miss Darcy that Elizabeth found immediately agreeable, a fervent warmth that stood in contrast to the sharper tones she had already encountered within the house.
She did not linger. Her purpose was clear. When Jane returned, her things gathered, Elizabeth turned at once. “We must not delay,” she said.
Jane inclined her head. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she added, addressing the room with composed courtesy.
Miss Bingley responded with appropriate civility. Mrs. Hurst, who had entered at some point, inclined her head. Mr. Bingley spoke with evident regret, though he did not attempt to detain them further.
Elizabeth moved toward the door. Jane followed. They had nearly reached it when Jane paused.
“Oh,” she said. “My shawl.”
Elizabeth turned. “I shall retrieve it,” she said.
Jane hesitated. “It is in the small parlor.”
“I know the way.”
Jane’s expression held a brief moment of concern, but she did not argue. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth inclined her head and turned back. The house was quieter now. The morning had settled into something more subdued, the earlier movement giving way to stillness. Elizabethmoved with caution, her steps measured, her walking stick guiding her where needed.
She approached the door to the small parlor. Voices carried through it.
Elizabeth paused, listening. Her intention was not to eavesdrop, however, the words reached her prior to her grasping the doorknob.
“…a most unfortunate situation,” Miss Bingley was saying.
Elizabeth stilled.
“There can be no denying it,” Mrs. Hurst replied.
“A cripple,” Miss Bingley continued, her tone lowering, though not enough to escape notice. “And a burden upon her family.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. She remained motionless.
“She appears very independent,” Mr. Darcy said. His voice was steady. Measured, even. “I cannot imagine where you have formed the impression that she is a burden.”
