She walked back to him, leant down and kissed his cheek. "Of course, Papa. It is more than likely a strange mood—it will pass."
She left the library and Mr Bennet sighed. He always knew that before long, his most spirited—and if he was honest, favourite—daughter would chafe at the confines of their small corner of the world. But he had hoped to hold her tight for just a little longer.
???
Later that day, she set out with Jane to visit a tenant family who had just welcomed a new baby. They carried the basket between them, its contents carefully chosen by their housekeeper, Mrs Hill: two fresh loaves, a small pot of blackberry preserve, broth for the mother and a neatly folded bundle of linen that had belonged to one of the Bennet girls in infancy.
Jane smiled up at the sky as they stepped out into the sunshine. The lane towards Meryton lay warm beneath the June sun, the hedgerows alive with birdsong and the scent of honeysuckle. They walked side by side for some distance before either spoke.
"You have been thoughtful all morning," said Jane at last. "Is all well, Lizzy?"
"Have you ever had the feeling that your life had become... familiar?"
Jane looked at her with mild surprise. "I should think it has always been familiar."
"No, I do not mean familiar in that sense." Elizabeth searched for the right words. "Only that everything begins to feel as though it has happened before. The same neighbours call, the same conversations begin and end in the same places, and every week seems to resemble the last. Honestly, Jane, one wonders whether anything truly new will ever happen again."
Jane was thoughtful for a moment. "I cannot say I have ever looked at it in quite that way."
"I suspected you had not. You are content in a way I have never managed to be."
"I do not know that it is contentment. I suppose I like knowing what to expect. There is comfort in it."
"There is," Elizabeth agreed. "And I love Longbourn. I would not have you think otherwise. If I sound dissatisfied, I am expressing myself very badly indeed."
"I did not think you dissatisfied."
"No?"
Jane shook her head. "I think you are looking for adventure, Lizzy Bennet—you always have. Do you remember when you climbed that huge oak tree in Mr Goulding’s field? Because Robert Lucas said you would be able to see the sea?"
Elizabeth laughed softly. "Oh dear, yes. And then I couldn’t get down and Papa had to rescue me. And Mama was furious because I had torn another gown. I never could work out how you always looked so tidy, dearest."
"I have never been nearly so curious as you, and I generally remembered I should have to walk home in the same clothes."
"You see? That is exactly the sort of sensible thought which has never once occurred to me."
"I also remembered what happened when you attempted to rescue Kitty’s doll from the brook."
Elizabeth groaned. "It didn’t seem all that deep before I went in." After a pause, she added, "I do not think it is adventure itself that I want. Not if adventure means dangling from oak trees or falling into rivers. I have had quite enough of both."
"What, then?"
"I scarcely know." She frowned a little. "Only... I should like something to happen that I could not have predicted when I woke this morning. Somewhere to go where I cannot guess, before I arrive, exactly how the day will unfold."
Jane considered this. "I think I understand."
"Do you?"
"I understand the wish, though I have never shared it. I have always found enough to interest me where I am."
Elizabeth looked at her sister with affection. "You truly never wonder what else is beyond Hertfordshire?"
Jane's eyes drifted across the fields before them. "Oh, I do wonder. I should dearly like to see the Lakes one day, and perhaps Scotland, if only because Aunt Gardiner insists the scenery is beyond description." She smiled. "But I do not feel that I must go. I should be equally happy if I never travelled farther than Meryton."
"I suspect," Jane added with a smile, "that if something truly unexpected were to happen, you would be the first to run towards it."
Elizabeth laughed.
