Lydia caught her arm at once, drawing her along. “You must describe it to us properly.” With that, they were gone.
The interruption was swift and effective. Elizabeth remained where she was, aware of the sudden ease that returned to her side of the path. She knew what her sisters had done. The thought stirred both gratitude and something else, something tinged with sadness.
Their efforts were kind. They would not change what could not be changed. No one wished for a wife who could not meet the expectations of society without difficulty. No amount of affection or loyalty could alter that truth. She had accepted it long ago.
And yet, she walked beside Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth steadied herself. He was the best man of her acquaintance, and she could not deny the way his presence felt natural and easy.
“You are well defended,” Darcy said, his tone low.
Elizabeth allowed a small smile. “My sisters are attentive.”
“I believe they are more than that.”
She took a moment before answering. “They might have been entirely different had life not taken such an unexpected turn. Lydia was bordering on wild and Kitty followed her into whatever mischief she arranged. Mary was prone to sermonizing, but I believe the younger Mr. Collins cured her of that. He had been studying for the church, you see, and his particular manner of preaching taught Mary how parsimonious she sounded. All my sisters have risen to the challenge of adapting for their injured sister.” She smiled, watching Lydia and Kitty keep Miss Bingley occupied further up the path.
“They need not trouble themselves,” she said after a moment. “Their efforts will come to nothing.”
Darcy’s gaze shifted to her more fully. “You are certain of that?”
Elizabeth’s hand tightened slightly upon her walking stick. “I am practical.”
Darcy did not reply promptly, though his expression altered in a way she could not quite read.
They walked on. The path curved gently, the others moving ahead without noticing the small distance that had begun to grow between them. Conversation carried faintly from before, laughter rising and falling with the easy rhythm of those who felt no need to moderate their voices.
Elizabeth felt the shift before she fully acknowledged it. They had fallen behind. She slowed her pace slightly, not from intention, but from habit, her attention fixed upon the ground before her. Darcy matched her without remark. A small bench came into view, set just beyond a cluster of low trees where the path widened.
Elizabeth paused. “It may be agreeable to sit for a moment,” she said. She forced herself to admit she was a little tired from her restless night.
Darcy inclined his head. “As you wish.” He moved first, ensuring the bench was clear before she reached it. Elizabeth stepped forward, her hand brushing the edge before she lowered herself into place. The wood was warm beneath her, the sun having settled there for some time.
Darcy seated himself beside her, not too near, though near enough that she was aware of him without effort.
For a moment, neither spoke. The sounds of the others had softened, distance lending them a gentler quality. The air was still, the warmth steady rather than oppressive.
“You manage such situations with remarkable composure,” Darcy said at last.
Elizabeth turned her head slightly. “Which situations?”
“All of them.”
She smiled faintly. “That is a generous assessment.”
“It is an accurate one.”
Elizabeth considered this, then shook her head. “It is necessity, not virtue.”
“Many would not manage it so well.”
“Many are not required to,” she replied.
Darcy’s expression did not shift, though his attention seemed to deepen.
“And what would you prefer,” he asked, “if necessity did not dictate your course?”
Elizabeth let out a slow breath. “You persist in asking questions that have no practical answer.”
“And yet you answer them.”
