Elizabeth felt something shift within her. An unexpected warmth filled her and she smiled.
Miss Darcy spoke then, her voice softer. “Miss Bennet must be a strong woman,” she said. “To have overcome such a difficulty.”
Miss Bingley gave a small, dismissive sound. “That may be so,” she said. “But strength alone does not create a future.”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened slightly around the handle.
“The best she can offer,” Miss Bingley continued, “is to become a dependent relation within her sister’s household.”
Mrs. Hurst murmured agreement.
“The evidence is plain enough,” Miss Bingley went on. “She has been sent to retrieve Mrs. Collins. Such tasks are properly the responsibility of a servant. A maid, perhaps, or a footman.” There was a pause. “The blind girl,” she added, her tone sharpening, “sent out alone.”
Elizabeth could not bear to hear another word. She lifted her hand and knocked. The sound cut cleanly through the roombeyond. There was a brief silence. Then she opened the door. She stepped inside, her posture composed, her expression calm. She turned her face pointedly, fixing Miss Bingley within the range of her good eye.
“My sister left her shawl,” she said. The words were spoken without heat and without the slightest tremor.
Miss Bingley’s expression flickered but only briefly.
Miss Darcy rose at once, moving quickly to retrieve the shawl from where it had been set aside. “Here,” she said, her voice gentle.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “Thank you.” She took it, her fingers steady. “I wish you all a very good day.” She did not wait for a reply. She turned and left the room.
The door closed behind her. For a moment, she stood in the hall. The air felt different. Colder, perhaps. Or perhaps it was only the shift within herself. Her steps resumed, measured as before, though there was a tension now that had not been there earlier.
The words lingered.Cripple. Burden. Dependent.They settled where she could not immediately dismiss them.
Elizabeth drew a breath and then another. Her grip tightened briefly upon the shawl before she forced her fingers to relax. She would not carry them with her, not in the way they had been intended.
Still… Her vision blurred, not from strain but from something else. She lifted her hand and brushed the moisture from her cheek with a swift, almost impatient motion.
No.I will not allow it.
She had come too far and learned too much. She had endured more than Miss Bingley could ever comprehend. Elizabeth straightened. She would move forward.
Jane stood near the entrance, her expression shifting at once as Elizabeth approached. “Lizzy?” There was concern in her voice.
Elizabeth shook her head slightly. “Let us go,” she said.
Jane hesitated, then nodded.
They stepped out together. The air beyond the door was cool, the damp earth beneath their feet still softened from the rain. The sky remained overcast, though the worst of the weather had passed. Elizabeth adjusted her grip upon her walking stick.
Jane fell into step beside her. They did not speak at once. Elizabeth was aware of her sister’s presence, of the glance that lingered, of the question that had not yet been asked.
She offered no explanation. Not here. Not now. Instead, she drew a steady breath and fixed her attention upon the path ahead. Each step was certain, each movement calculated. She had been called many things in the years since the accident, some spoken with kindness, some not. But none of them altered what she knew to be true.
She was not a burden, nor was she dependent. She wasnotdiminished. Elizabeth had learned to walk her own path, even when it was not easily seen, and she would continue to do so. She lifted her chin slightly. The road stretched before them. And she followed it forward.
Chapter Nine
Darcy did not immediately join the ladies’ conversation after Miss Bennet’s escape. For a moment, he stood where he was, his gaze fixed upon the door through which she had passed. The air in the small parlor felt altered, as though something essential had shifted and left behind a sharper edge in its absence.
Miss Bingley was the first to speak. “Well,” she said, her tone breaking the silence with practiced lightness, “I cannot imagine a more ill-bred display.” She waved her hand in a dismissive fashion, a pinched, sour look on her face.
Darcy turned slowly, irritation already beginning to rise in his chest. “I beg your pardon?”
Miss Bingley lifted her brows. “Listening at doors, Mr. Darcy. It is hardly the behavior of a lady.” She shook her head slowly and made a tsk-tsk sound with her lips. “Such an ill-mannered young woman. Perhaps whatever accident took her sight also addled her mind.”
