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The story was false; her borrowed knowledge insisted upon it. But she had more to object to than a warning in her head. He lingered over his own modest wants and passed very quickly over what he might have received. When she attempted to ask about that, her mouth prepared another expression of sympathy. He accepted it with a little bow, as though she had handed him exactly what he had ordered.

"How terrible!" her voice said with perfect sympathy. "Mr. Darcy must be very proud indeed to ignore his father's dying wishes."

I'm going to scream. I'm going to scream for a week.

She tried. Nothing came out but another sympathetic sigh.

"You poor man," her mouth continued. "To be treated so ill by someone you considered a friend!"

Kitty was listening. That was what Elizabeth could not bear: her sister hearing encouragement in her voice and trusting it. She tried again to say no.

The conversation continued for another ten excruciating minutes. Wickham hit every manipulation beat with practiced ease. Elizabeth's mouth agreed with everything. Her face arranged itself into sympathetic expressions. Her body language conveyed trust and outrage on his behalf.

But then (and Elizabeth wasn't sure if it was intentional or accidental) she managed something. As Wickham was mid-sentence about Darcy's "cruel pride," Elizabeth's hand twitched. Just a tiny movement. She had been trying to fold her arms, to give him something less inviting than another smile. Her arms stayed at her sides, but her fingers drummed against her skirt.

Three quick taps. It was nothing. Wickham didn't even notice. But Elizabeth felt it like a victory.

I moved my finger. On purpose. During a major plot point.

It was like celebrating managing to blink during an avalanche, but still. Progress. When they finally parted ways, Wickham with promises to attend future social gatherings (oh joy), Elizabeth cataloged the encounter:

Major Plot Point Results:

- Mouth fully hijacked: yes

- Face fully hijacked: yes

- Outward agreement hijacked: yes. Private belief: still stubbornly my own

- Managed to tap fingers three times: also yes

She looked at those three fingers on the way home. They looked unremarkable. She had never been so pleased with them.

"Oh, is he not charming!" Lydia gushed. "So handsome and friendly! Not proud like that horrible Mr. Darcy!"

"Mr. Darcy is not horrible," Elizabeth said.

Everyone turned to stare at her. Elizabeth waited for the words to be dragged back or contradicted. She had said what she meant. For one moment she could have cried from the relief of it.

"I mean," her mouth added quickly, "he has the advantage of looking disagreeable in a very good coat."

Kitty giggled. "Lizzy, you are ridiculous." Elizabeth had contradicted the script (sort of) and it had allowed the words but then course-corrected with a joke. Interesting.

* * *

That night she wrote one conclusion: My mouth may agree with a lie while I know it remains a lie. Keep hold of the distinction. Also, tell Darcy about the fingers. Elizabeth closed the notebook on her angry conclusions. Downstairs, Kitty was hunting for a missing glove, accusing every member of the family except the one who had last worn it. Elizabeth found it hanging from the back of a chair and carried it down.

For once she did not ask whether this small service belonged to the plot. Kitty seized the glove, kissed her cheek in distracted gratitude, and immediately accused Lydia of losing the other one.

One could scarcely call the household restored to peace. Still, Elizabeth had brought something useful into it. Wickham had borrowed her mouth for a morning; he had not prevented her from helping Kitty or privately disbelieving every word he said. She would remember that the next time he smiled. She would also keep her hands in her lap, where she could count her own answers on her fingers, unseen. A refusal need not be audible to remain a refusal.

CHAPTER 6

Three weeks after the assembly, the Bennets' cousin Mr. Collins, a clergyman from Hunsford and heir to Longbourn, had arrived for a visit earlier that week.

Elizabeth's morning had been going well until her mother announced that she was to call on Charlotte. Which meant Elizabeth's feet immediately walked her toward Lucas Lodge despite her attempts to suggest literally anything else.

"I need to write letters!" she had tried to say.