Her thoughts turned to Colonel Forster, a decent enough man, though too easily distracted to serve as a proper guardian for Lydia. His wife was kind but flighty, more interested in social amusements than in the careful chaperoning of young ladies prone to mischief. Could Elizabeth blame them entirely? No, her parents bore the greater fault. But blaming them would accomplish nothing—what she needed was a solution.
She considered her options as she listened to the lighthearted conversations around her. Lydia and Kitty speculated on which officers might soon propose to eligible young ladies in Meryton, giggling over imagined romances. Elizabeth clenched her hands in her lap. They spoke of marriage as if it were a game, as if it could be won with charm and laughter alone. If only they knew. If only she could make them understand.
But what could she do? How could she steer Lydia away from the recklessness that would lead her to ruin? Elizabeth glanced toward her parents. Her father smirked behind his book, making no effort to curtail the girls’ enthusiasm. Her mother, eyes bright with anticipation, only encouraged them further, dreaming aloud of wealthy officers and advantageous matches. Elizabeth’s stomach twisted. No help would come from them.
Nor could she expect much assistance from her aunt Philips, who delighted in the regiment’s presence as much as Lydia did. Aunt Gardiner might offer wisdom, but she was too far away to intervene.
Elizabeth exhaled slowly. She would have to find a way herself.
“Lizzy, you are terribly quiet,” Lydia said, nudging her. “Are you not excited? Think of all the dances to come! I am certain I shall be quite in love before the season ends.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “Love, Lydia? Is that what you seek?”
Lydia laughed. “Why, of course! If a handsome officer were to fall madly in love with me, I should be the happiest girl in England.”
Elizabeth suppressed the urge to shake her. “And if he were not so honorable as you hoped? If he made promises he could not keep?”
Lydia blinked at her, confused. “Why would he do that?”
Elizabeth hesitated. If she spoke too plainly, Lydia would only scoff and dismiss her words. She needed to be subtle, to plant a seed of caution without Lydia realizing she had done so.
“Not all men are as they seem,” she said at last. “A uniform does not make a gentleman.”
Lydia waved a hand. “Oh, you are always so serious, Lizzy. You shall see—this winter will be nothing but joy.”
Elizabeth sighed. If only she could believe that.
With that, a footman entered with a note for Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer.
Jane took the letter eagerly, breaking the seal with an anticipation Elizabeth both recognized and dreaded. The moment she saw the handwriting, her own memories stirred. Caroline Bingley. The invitation to dine at Netherfield. The rain that would soon fall. The illness that would keep Jane there for days. And for Elizabeth—an excuse to follow. A week under the same roof as him. Her husband—no, not her husband. Not yet. Not now.
Elizabeth clenched her hands in her lap, forcing herself to remain still as Jane read aloud.
“My dear friend,
If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and me, we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives; for a whole day’s tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers. Yours ever, Caroline Bingley.”
“With the officers?” Lydia exclaimed. “I wonder my aunt did not tell us of that.”
Elizabeth barely heard her sister. She was too focused on the conflict waging within her own mind. She should stop Jane from going. She knew that. The right thing would be to protect her sister from the rain, from illness. To change the course of events. And yet…
Elizabeth bit her lip. To alter Jane’s visit meant altering what would follow. She could not deny that she longed for that week—those fleeting days when she might steal glances, hear his voice, be near him again in a way she never thought possible. She had already taken liberties, accepting that dance at Lucas Lodge. It had been torture, but asweet one, a reminder of everything she had lost. A test of her resolve. A test she had failed. And now?
“I had much rather go in the coach,” Jane said hesitantly.
“But, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet interjected, “your father cannot spare the horses, I am sure. They are wanted in the farm.”
Elizabeth saw her chance—one final opportunity to do the right thing. “If she must go, she should at least take precautions.” She fetched an extra scarf, wrapping it carefully around Jane’s shoulders, and pressed a small vial of oil into her hands. “Take this. It will help.”
Jane smiled at her, full of gratitude and unsuspecting trust. Elizabeth returned the smile, though it did little to ease her conscience.
The rain would come. The illness would come. And she—she would go to Netherfield.
Elizabeth walked beside her younger sisters, their chatter an endless stream of officers, bonnets, and the latest gossip from Meryton. She had tried, once more, to lecture them on decorum, on the dangers of unchecked flirtation, but as ever, her words were wasted. Lydia only laughed, tossing back some careless remark about how she would marry a redcoat before the year was out. Catherine, eager to echo her sister, added her own girlish giggle.
Elizabeth sighed. They would not listen. Her warnings were pebbles cast into a rushing river—swallowed and forgotten before they had a chance to land.
As they reached Meryton, she left them to their foolishness, her thoughts slipping into something far more dangerous. She had known this moment would come. She had tried, half-heartedly, to prevent Jane from going, but deep down, she had known she would fail. Had wanted to fail.
