This reminder brought a slight smile to Lydia’s lips, though it quickly faded. "As long as they bring some gentlemen with them," she muttered.
Elizabeth laughed, unable to help herself, and drew Mary more firmly into the group. She would not allow her sister to feel herself forgotten or set aside. If their family must be a chaos of noisy complaint and quiet endurance, then Elizabeth was determined that, for once, Mary should not bear the worst of it alone.
The sun had risen with a gentle warmth that morning, and by the time the sisters had finished breakfast, the weather had become so inviting that a walk was proposed and unanimously agreed upon. Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary set out along the familiar lanes, the spring air scented faintly with blooming hawthorn and early roses. Their conversation was light, but within it, Elizabeth felt the ease and natural pleasure of companionship restored, particularly with Jane. Mary, though quieter than the others, walked steadily beside them, sometimes offering observations on the flora, and sometimes smiling—truly smiling—at her sisters' teasing banter.
They had just begun to return from the far meadow path, laughing about something Jane had said about Mr. Collins’ notion of poetry, when Elizabeth halted, her brow creasing.
"Is that Kitty?" she asked, pointing toward a figure walking slowly along the lane ahead.
Jane shaded her eyes, then gasped softly. "It is. But she looks—oh, Lizzy, she looks upset."
Within moments they reached her, and Kitty, though clearly embarrassed to be discovered, could not hide the tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
"Kitty, dear, what has happened?" Jane asked, placing a gentle hand upon her sister’s arm.
Kitty hesitated, but her frustration bubbled over. "It’s Lydia," she burst out. "She told Aunt Philips she’d promised to help prepare the parlor for when the officers visit again. She said it would be improper for both of us to stay—and somehow I ended up being the one sent home. I had to walk all the way by myself. She didn’t even ask if I minded. It was like I wasn’t there at all."
Elizabeth, with a look to Jane and Mary, gave a soft nod. "Mary, Jane, will you walk ahead? I shall be along shortly."
Jane glanced between them, then smiled and took Mary’s arm without protest. Mary, though curious, followed willingly.
Elizabeth turned to Kitty. "Come, let us sit a moment."
Kitty sniffed, still flustered, but allowed herself to be led to the low stone wall that bordered the lane.
For a moment, they sat in silence.
Then Kitty said, more bitterly than Elizabeth had expected, "You’ve changed. Everyone sees it. Even Mama says you are not the same."
Elizabeth blinked. "Have I?"
"Yes," Kitty snapped. "You speak differently. You act like you know more than the rest of us. And you look at us sometimes like we are children. You never did before."
Elizabeth felt the pang of truth behind the accusation. "Kitty," she began softly, "I—I never meant to make you feel small."
"Then why do you act like I’m stupid?"
Elizabeth turned fully to her, taking Kitty’s hand. "You are not stupid. And you are right. I have changed. But it is not a thing I can explain. Not yet. Not even to Jane. But I promise you this: I do not look down on you."
Kitty swallowed, watching her sister with uncertain eyes.
"You are cleverer than you believe. And kinder, too. And I know it is hard to feel as though no one sees you. But I do, Kitty. I promise I do."
Kitty gave a small nod, her chin trembling just a little. "Then why won’t you talk to me? Like before."
Elizabeth looked down at their joined hands. "Because I am still learning how. But I shall try. I promise."
Kitty managed a faint smile. "All right."
As they neared Longbourn, Jane and Mary—sensing the privacy Elizabeth and Kitty had required—walked slowly ahead to allow them to catch up. Elizabeth, still unsettled from her talk with Kitty, offered a brief smile to Jane as they drew level.
"You look as though the weather has burdened your thoughts more than the sun should permit," Jane said kindly, taking her sister’s hand.
Elizabeth shook her head. "Only the usual troubles we Bennet girls are accustomed to."
Mary glanced between them. "It is perhaps a blessing, then, that we are rarely allowed a moment without interruption."
Just then, as if summoned by prophecy, Mrs. Bennet’s high-pitched voice rang through the hallway. "There you are, girls! Walking, walking—all you ever do is walk, and now Lydia is gone off to town, and the wedding plans must be managed without her. I had much to discuss with Jane this morning, but now the time is lost."
