The wind stirred between them, carrying away the words they could not say. At last, with a curt nod, he stepped back. "I shall not detain you any longer, Miss Bennet."
She inclined her head, her heart sinking as he turned and strode away. And though she had spoken in desperation, though she had done her utmost to assure him, she knew that nothing was truly settled. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the meeting she dreaded most. And after that… she did not know.
As she watched him disappear over the hill, Elizabeth pressed her hands to her face, muffling a weary sigh.
Chapter 14
Elizabeth arrived back from her walk, still unsettled over Wickham, though uncertain of what more she could do. Yet, as soon as she entered the house, her thoughts were forced elsewhere. Mr. Collins had arrived.
She quickly retreated upstairs to change before being formally introduced. The evening proceeded much as she remembered from years before, though she could not help but note the subtle improvements Charlotte had managed to effect in her husband’s manner. Mr. Collins was still pompous, still insufferably enamored with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but his worst excesses had been tempered. Charlotte was a miracle worker, indeed.
During dinner, Mr. Bennet, ever eager for amusement, steered the conversation towards Lady Catherine. As expected, Mr. Collins launched into a speech on her affability, condescension, and unrivaled wisdom. He recounted every instance of her notice, from approving his sermons to advising him on the placement of shelves in his parsonage. His fervent praise extended to her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, whom he insisted was a model of beauty and refinement, despite her delicate health.
Mrs. Bennet, ever pragmatic, was less interested in Lady Catherine’s virtues than in Miss de Bourgh’s fortune, but her inquiries were met with the same unwavering admiration. Meanwhile, Mr. Bennet delighted in provoking his cousin, his expressions of mock seriousness sending Elizabeth amused glances. However, Elizabeth, wearied by the evening’s ordeal, was in no mood for the entertainment her father found in their guest. She merely endured it.
After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing-room, where Mr. Collins, ever eager to improve their minds, offered to read aloud. Upon realizing the available books were novels, he recoiled and instead selected "Fordyce’s Sermons." Lydia’s immediate and irreverent interruption put an end to the reading entirely, much to Elizabeth’s quiet relief. Mr. Collins, affronted, turned his attentions to backgammon with Mr. Bennet, who accepted with undisguised amusement.
Elizabeth sat in front of her vanity, running a brush absentmindedly through her curls, when a soft knock interrupted the stillness of the evening. She turned to see Mary hesitating in the doorway, hands clasped before her, her brows knit together in uncharacteristic uncertainty.
"Mary?" Elizabeth said, setting the brush down. "Come in."
Mary stepped inside but did not immediately take a seat. Instead, she lingered near the door, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for something. "I know we are not given to confidences," she began, her voice measured, "but you are my sister, and Ilove you. I may not have Father's intellect or your wit, but I observe, and I care. Something is troubling you."
Elizabeth stiffened. "I assure you, I am quite well."
Mary tilted her head, unconvinced. "No, you are not. You have been... different. Ever since you recovered from your accident, you have changed. I know others may not see it, but I do. Your demeanor, your words, your thoughts—they are not as they were."
Elizabeth forced a light laugh. "Am I to take this as a compliment or a reproach?"
Mary did not smile. "Neither. It is merely an observation. But that is not all."
She finally took a step closer, folding her hands tightly together. "You played a song the other evening that I have never heard before, and I have searched for the sheet music, yet it is nowhere to be found. Unless you are hiding it here in your room, which would be most unlike you."
Elizabeth inhaled sharply but kept her expression neutral. "Perhaps it was a piece long forgotten? Something buried in the collection that we have overlooked?"
Mary shook her head. "No. I know every composition we possess. I may not be a great player, but I have spent years studying them. That song—there was something about it that did not belong."
Elizabeth turned away, feeling exposed under Mary’s quiet scrutiny. "What exactly are you asking me?"
Mary hesitated, then said, "I do not know. But I know you are keeping something from us—from me. And I do not mean to pry, but if you are in distress, if you are frightened or burdened, then I would rather bear it with you than watch in silence."
Elizabeth swallowed hard, her instinct to deflect warring with the undeniable truth in Mary’s words. She had underestimated her younger sister, always believing her to be preoccupied with moral philosophy and good conduct to the exclusion of deeper feeling. And yet, here she was, proving her wrong.
"Mary, I..." She faltered, looking at her sister’s earnest face. Could she trust her? Dare she speak aloud the impossible truth?
Her fingers trembled as she reached for Mary’s hand. "If I tell you something, will you swear it will go no further?"
Mary’s grip tightened. "On my word as your sister."
Elizabeth exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her secret pressing against her chest. "Then listen closely, for what I am about to tell you is not something you will easily believe."
Mary, ever analytical, crossed her arms and regarded Elizabeth with a mixture of concern and skepticism. "You have certainly been different, Lizzy. More serious, more... deliberate. I cannot pretend that I have not noticed. But if you have some great revelation, I must warn you that I do not place stock in flights of fancy."
Elizabeth almost laughed. "Oh, Mary, if only it were a mere flight of fancy. That would be far easier to bear." She hesitated before continuing, choosing her words carefully. "I woke up with memories that do not belong to this life—not yet, at least. I have lived before, or rather, I have seen a life that is yet to come. It was so vivid, so real, that I believed it to be a dream at first. But then—then, things began happening exactly as I remembered. Conversations, events, all unfolding as they did before, unless I change them."
Mary's brow furrowed. "That is quite a claim, Elizabeth. And yet..." She paused, choosing her words as carefully as Elizabeth had. "You have changed. I had assumed it was because of your accident, but this? This is something else entirely."
Encouraged by Mary’s measured approach, Elizabeth pressed on. "The song I played the other evening, for example—'Ode to the Happy Heart' by Haydn. You will not find the sheet music for it, because it is very old and difficult to find. The Darcys would have it, as Lady Anne loved music."
