Thanks so much for all your reviews, favorites, follows and reads this week! I so appreciate the encouragement and the help in making this story its best self ;) And just as a side note: I posted this at the regular time, but the site is not updating. Hopefully, you guys haven't gotten a ton of notifications as I deleted the chapter and tried to repost it to push it through. If you did, sorry about that! And if this happens again, I do cross post on wattpadd. If you guys have another suggestion for a better site, let me know.
Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, who keep plugging away-you guys are amazing!
As always, please point out any story issues you notice. I don't always get things fixed right away, but I do have a list of edits to make eventually.
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief as she managed to escape into the garden, frost glittering in the early morning light like a field of diamonds. Longbourn often felt stifling, but this morning she could barely breathe.
In the kerfuffle with Charlotte (which had only increased when Sir William arrived and formally announced the news of Mr. Collins's engagement—Elizabeth did not think she had ever heard her mother so upset before) and the delicate task of warning the servants, she had forgotten to check the mail yesterday. It was only that night, when Jane had asked about their aunt's news, that Elizabeth discovered a letter had arrived for her from Aunt Madeleine.
Given the likely contents of said letter, she had no desire to read it in Jane's presence, and so Elizabeth had pleaded exhaustion and gone to bed without reading it. Though she was not in the habit of a morning constitutional on Sundays, she had taken the letter and absconded to the wilderness on the south of the house where no prying eyes might see.
With hasty fingers, she snapped the seal.
Gracechurch Street
27th November, 1811
My dearest Lizzy,
I must confess that I had not intended to wait so long to write you back, however, I was hopeful of receiving information regarding your Mr. Wickham.
According to my friend, Mrs. Hatcher, he is not a man to be trusted. Apparently, when he left Derbyshire, he left behind a plethora of debts, totalling some £315. Had not Mr. Darcy generously paid those debts, many of the tradesmen in Lambton would not have recovered. In addition, he left behind several ruined young ladies of various social positions—maids, tenants, and tradesmen's daughters were not spared his depredations. Mrs. Hatcher said that he is an angel of light in appearance, but that one should treat him with the greatest caution.
You are too sensible to fall in love with such a person, however, I fear for how he may be affecting the neighbourhood. I have enclosed Mrs. Hatcher's letter as proof of the man's character.
Now, as to the other questions you raised in your letter: If Mr. Bingley is indeed incapable of remaining true to Jane now, it is doubtful whether he will do so after they are married. I believe it is wisest to let the man's actions speak for him. I also do not believe that Jane would do well married to someone who lacks resolution, as her kindness often leads her to yield to everyone else.
I am sorry that you have to bear their improprieties. I have long wished for your father to take a more active role in your family. Like your father, you have remained content to observe, but perhaps that is changing. Although you cannot check your sisters in the way that your father could, you and Jane are quite capable of effecting positive change in your sisters were you to make the attempt. I cannot promise that it will be an easy task—likely it will not be—but you know your sisters well enough to know when extra attention from you and Jane will help them. Perhaps you can direct their thoughts into more useful avenues. As you said, I have made myself available. Are you available to your sisters?
Lizzy, I know that you share your father's propensity to judge those around you, and while character study is an admirable pursuit, your sisters may not feel safe expressing their true feelings if you treat them as objects of study rather than people you love. And, I am afraid, that at times your view of them obscures the reality of who they are. Love desires what is best for the beloved above all else—which may require painful honesty at times, and at other times, we all need room simply to be who we are. Do you let your sisters be their true selves around you?
I do not know if I can claim any great influence on you, my dear. I have tried to listen and to provide advice when necessary, but you have also chosen to take that advice. I am very proud of the woman you are becoming!
I am glad that you are beginning to see your mother's perspective; it takes compassion and effort to put yourself in another's place. With her anxious nature, she is often beset by fear for the future. Your uncle and I have discussed what help we might provide when your father dies. I am afraid our attempts to assist have been limited to inviting you and Jane to visit so as to introduce you to worthy young gentlemen in our circle. Of course, your mother would not like the idea of you marrying into trade, but had you or Jane found a gentleman you preferred, we would have spoken to your father. As it is, perhaps we shall invite you more often. But let us talk about what may be done during our Christmas visit when we can speak more fully on the subject.
I look forward to speaking with you in greater depth. We shall be arriving the 23rd of December, and . . .
The rest of the letter contained news of her aunt and uncle's lives and anecdotes of the Gardiner children. Elizabeth devoured the first half of the letter, each paragraph drawing her on before she had time to consider her thoughts or feelings on the previous one. After skimming her aunt's news, she returned to the beginning and re-read the first section.
Mr. Wickham was just as dangerous as the Letter-writer—Mr. Darcy had maintained. At least she had already begun warning the neighborhood, but more ought to be done. Her mother was one of the foremost gossips in the area; if she shared Mrs. Hatcher's letter, the news would be spread far and wide before the week was out.
But should she? If, as Jane had maintained, Mr. Wickham was attempting to change . . . .
No, the man would not have lied about his circumstances if he were attempting to reform.
Relief filled her breast at the thought that her aunt agreed with her regarding Mr. Bingley's character and whether he would make an acceptable husband for Jane. If the man returned, then they could reconsider his character. In the meantime, she would not build up Jane's hopes. Hopefully, their mother's laments and disappointed hopes would not serve to deepen Jane's distress.
Rereading the paragraph on her similarities to her father, Elizabeth could not suppress a wince. Was she available to her sisters? It had only been since the Letter's advent that she had even noticed Kitty's cough or Mary's attempts to gain attention. And even then she had not intervened, believing it to be her parents' job to rectify their neglect. She had not initiated conversations with any of her younger sisters, too annoyed with their improprieties and lack of sense to tolerate more than general interactions.
She really was just as bad as her father. Shame swept through her, a hot flush setting her cheeks on fire as her stomach roiled. She had newly seen how very lacking in proper feeling he was. To discover she shared his folly . . . she who believed her gaze so clear-eyed. Here was another folly she had been entirely ignorant of.
As her father's favourite, it was not surprising that she would have gained traits from him, but she had believed herself to have avoided the worst of his judgement and indifference.
How wrong she had been.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. She could not change how she had treated her sisters in the past, she could only change how she treated them going forward. As her sisters seemed desperate for attention, perhaps her aunt was right—she could not fill the roles left standing empty by her parents, but she could love her sisters and do more than observe them. Jane would be a willing ally, and her patience would certainly be useful.
How interesting that her aunt and uncle had come to the same conclusion regarding Jane's eligibility as she had; marrying into trade, though a step down, would be most likely the best situation they could aspire to. Elizabeth had always known that they were unlikely to find a rich young gentleman of the first order to marry, but she had never considered Jane marrying into trade until the advent of Mr. Bingley. She had always left the problem to be dealt with another day—no sense in repining that which she could not change. But perhaps that had been yet another thing she had taken from her father's character. Inaction rarely changed a situation, yet she had been content to merely hope and expect that things would work themselves out.
Uncomfortable with such reflections, she turned instead to Mrs. Hatcher's letter. As her aunt had written, the woman spoke of Mr. Wickham's depredations, of the dalliances he had engaged in and the debts he had left behind. Though disturbed, she was not surprised.
Mrs. Hatcher's words regarding Mr. Darcy did, however, surprise her. The woman spoke of him in glowing terms—apparently, her son worked as a stableboy at Mr. Darcy's estate and had shared many instances of the man's goodness and, more surprisingly, of his good-naturedness. According to Mrs. Hatcher's son, Mr. Darcy was never cross with his servants. It was likely an exaggeration, but still, Mr. Darcy had seemed cross with everyone in Hertfordshire. What could have effected such a change?
She tried to consider the visit from his perspective. Mere weeks before arriving, Mr. Darcy had suffered the acutest betrayal from one of his childhood companions and nearly lost his sister. The man could feel deeply—she had seen that in glimpses and glimmers. And he seemed often annoyed by Miss Bingley's heavy-handed flirtations, or at least his manner grew stiffer the more she pressed him.
Looking back on their first encounter, the man had prowled the edges of the assembly like a caged animal desperate for escape. Perhaps his insult had little to do with her as a person and everything to do with the fact that she had overheard his friend promoting her and he wished to avoid pursuit.
Was misery the source of his ill-temper?
Her heart felt sliced through with the news of Charlotte's decision, and it was not even a personal betrayal. How would she respond if Charlotte had betrayed her and nearly destroyed Jane in the process?
She might withdraw into herself and ignore those around her because it was simply too hard, too painful to attempt otherwise.
Elizabeth read through Mrs. Hatcher's comments regarding Mr. Darcy once more. The man had appeared proud, but perhaps such pride was merely a combination of his accustomed social strata and justifiable distress? If she was accustomed to behaviour of one sort and then was thrown into strange society. . . perhaps it was as uncomfortable for him to be around them as it had been for her to be around some of the tradesmen at her uncle's whose joviality felt a bit overly familiar.
Well, there was nothing to be done about the matter now. Likely she would never meet Mr. Darcy again. In the future, however, she resolved to consider there might be more to someone than her first, or even tenth, impression.
Elizabeth refolded both letters, slipping them into her pocket and turning back to the house. She would inform her mother at once—no point in wasting the Sabbath's opportunities.
"Mama, I have had a letter from Aunt Madeleine," Elizabeth said once they were all seated at breakfast.
Mrs. Bennet looked at her coolly, her desire for gossip apparently warring with her continued displeasure.
"She writes of Mr. Wickham."
"Wickham!" Lydia exclaimed. "What can she have to say about him?"
"As she is from Derbyshire, where Mr. Wickham originates, I requested any information she had regarding his character," Elizabeth said evenly.
Lydia frowned. "Why would you do that?"
"You do not wish to know more of the man?" Elizabeth countered with a half-smile.
"It is wise to learn all we can of such a blatantly worldly young man," Mary intoned.
Elizabeth's eyes flickered to her. Did Mary see more than expected?
"How would you know? You have barely spoken to him!" Lydia protested.
Mary glared at her. "Men who appear handsome and well-spoken are seldom as virtuous as everyone believes. Beauty is not a virtue; even Lucifer appeared as an angel of light."
"Lizzy, what did Aunt say?" Jane interjected.
"Aunt Madeleine wrote to one of her friends in Derbyshire who reported that, apparently, Mr. Wickham is not well-thought-of in his hometown. She enclosed the letter from her friend with her own."
Lydia's eyes widened. "Not Wickham! He is the most gentlemanlike gentleman I ever did meet!"
"Young men are often misunderstood," Mrs. Bennet told her youngest daughter indulgently.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. "I thought you might wish to read the letter from Aunt's friend for yourself, Mama." She held out the letter.
Mrs. Bennet took it with the tips of her fingers as though she would be soiled by anything Elizabeth had touched.
"I am surprised you asked your aunt for information on the man, Lizzy. Perhaps you are more invested than I had believed," Mr. Bennet commented. "I hope you have not decided to emulate your sisters' silliness."
"Not at all, sir. I was merely informing my aunt of the latest news and asked her what she knew of him since they are both from Derbyshire."
"I see," her father replied, looking entirely unconvinced.
Mrs. Bennet frowned. "This information cannot be correct—this Mrs. Hatcher must have some grudge against the poor man."
"What does Mrs. Hatcher say?" Mr. Bennet asked with curiosity.
Mrs. Bennet continued to peruse the letter. "She implies that he is less than trustworthy."
"Her information appears very exact," Elizabeth pointed out.
Mrs. Bennet huffed. "You are just determined to ruin all your sisters' prospects. It was not enough for you to selfishly refuse Mr. Collins, but now you intend to destroy their chances with Mr. Wickham—"
"Mr. Wickham is newly enlisted and in reduced circumstances; he is not much of a prospect to ruin!" Elizabeth protested.
"It would not surprise me to discover that you are responsible for the Bingleys departure," Mrs. Bennet continued. "I knew I ought not to have left you alone at Netherfield—you never manage things well, and likely your tongue chased them away. If it were not for Jane's beauty, I should worry that they might not return at all."
Mr. Bennet gave Elizabeth a sly smile. "If they are chased off by Lizzy's tongue, then perhaps she has done poor Jane a service. After all, a girl likes to be crossed in love now and again."
Elizabeth's gaze flew to Jane, who, though maintaining a facade of good humour, appeared to be wilting under their father's comment. Elizabeth wished she were close enough to offer physical comfort.
"No one in this family has a care for my nerves!" Mrs. Bennet declared, using the letter to fan herself. "I shall go mad. If Mr. Bingley does not return, I do not know what we shall do—particularly if Lizzy continues ruining her sisters' prospects."
"I doubt there is any fear of that, my dear," Mr. Bennet said tranquilly.
"Will you read the letter too, Papa?"
Mr. Bennet frowned. "Whatever for?"
Elizabeth hesitated, trying to formulate an excuse that would suffice—her father shunned anything remotely like work and would not take kindly to a suggestion that he ought to involve himself. "I believe you will enjoy the picture of Mr. Wickham she paints, particularly as you have met the man."
"Ah." He held out a hand to Mrs. Bennet who slapped the letter into his palm with a huff of indignation.
"I doubt the information is trustworthy—it is nothing against Madeleine, of course; she likely trusted the wrong person," Mrs. Bennet said fretfully.
Silence followed this pronouncement.
"Lizzy is correct that Mrs. Hatcher's information is very particular," Mr. Bennet said, lowering the letter. "It seems unlikely that she would have taken the time to make up such exact figures or the names of those affected." His lips curled in a mocking smile as he turned to his wife. "Unless of course she does have a grudge against Mr. Wickham."
"That is what I said!" Mrs. Bennet proclaimed. "Mr. Wickham is far too gentlemanly to be as bad as this Mrs. Hatcher makes him out to be."
"Neither good manners nor good appearance guarantee good morals," Mary pronounced.
"Very true," Mr. Bennet agreed. "I am certain I have met several people who prove that most conclusively—not least of all some of my family."
Elizabeth glared at her father as Mary's expression brightened at the beginning of his statement and then fell once more. If nothing else should come from Mrs. Gardiner's letter, she resolved to enact her aunt's suggestions regarding her sisters.
"Well, we shall just have to see what sort of young man he turns out to be. The proof of the pudding is in the eating, or something like that, eh?" Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth.
Elizabeth forced a smile. "Indeed."
Mrs. Bennet crossed her arms. "Well, I shall not spread such malicious lies as these, and I forbid you from doing so, Lizzy."
"You do not believe it would be to our neighbours' benefit to be on guard against the man lest he leave behind debts or ruin young women?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.
"Ruin young women?" Mary exclaimed, her eyes widening. "We ought not to have anything to do with him! 'Cast him out, so that his spirit may be saved.' Do you not know that a woman's reputation is as fragile as it is beautiful?"
"And that is why you will say nothing of this letter!" Mrs. Bennet declared. "You are too young to understand how fragile a person's reputation is and how a few words may ruin a person. It would be unkind to ruin Mr. Wickham's reputation when he is such a nice gentleman."
"Mama, he is not a gentleman—he may dress and speak as a gentleman, but this letter shows that he does not act as one," Elizabeth said.
Jane sat straighter. "I believe that we should give everyone a chance to redeem themselves, but it would not hurt the merchants or Mr. Wickham for them to take care how much debt they allow."
"Nor would closer chaperonage be an ill. Many of the women in our community have neglected that most important duty," Mary said.
Mr. Bennet chuckled. "Well, do what you will. I am going to enjoy a few moments of peace and quiet in my library before we leave for the Sabbath service." With that, he returned the letter to Elizabeth and left.
"Young men are apt to be flighty in their youth. I am sure Mr. Wickham has settled down now," Mrs. Bennet said.
Jane agreed at once, and talk turned to who would likely be at the Sabbath service.
As Elizabeth had not agreed with her mother's strictures, she had shown the letter to Betsey and Hill, requesting both of them inform whomever they deemed at risk. She cautioned them that she did not desire to destroy a man's attempt at redemption, little though it seemed likely that he was attempting any such thing.
Both servants had been with the Bennets for many years and agreed to handle the matter with discretion. Even if the gentry did not hear of Mr. Wickham's dangers, at least the man's other prey would be on guard.
Several times over the course of the day, she had attempted to gain a private conversation with her sister, but their mother was determined to keep Jane at her side as though she could ensure Mr. Bingley's return if she merely complained about the situation enough in Jane's presence.
Elizabeth watched her sister draw further and further into herself and wished there were some way to alleviate her suffering. Mr. Bingley was a cad for singling her out so and then leaving her on his family's word alone.
Although . . . a pang of sorrow filled Elizabeth's chest as she once more considered the part she herself had played in convincing Mr. Darcy of their family's unsuitability. She had not intended to blackmail him! She had not even exactly intended to give him the Letter. It had merely seemed like the right thing to do at the time since it belonged to him and there had been no other way to prove herself innocent of whatever terrible things he had been imagining.
If only giving him the Letter had not done the exact opposite.
It was difficult to wrap one's mind around—finding a letter so exact and so filled with future information was not at all likely. After all, it had taken weeks of meditation on the subject before she had concluded it was more likely that it was true in some inexplicable fashion than that it was a cruel practical joke.
Mr. Darcy had not had weeks, and she regretted her harsh words. But really! The man had been watching her for some time, had even spent four days under the same roof with her, and still believed her to be capable of blackmail, forcing a marriage with him, and conspiring with Mr. Wickham. If she had been uncivil, had not such accusations been sufficient cause?
At least Jane would arrive momentarily for their nightly chat, and Elizabeth could unburden some of her tangled thoughts to her sister.
"You look worried, Lizzy," Jane said as she entered Elizabeth's room.
Elizabeth forced a smile. "Not worried precisely, more—unsettled. I do not know what to do."
"About what?" Jane asked with a small frown.
"Our mother's determination to leave the neighbourhood vulnerable to Mr. Wickham for one."
"He may have changed."
Elizabeth scoffed. "If he had changed, then why would he lie to me?"
"Lie to you?"
Right. She had not told Jane (or anyone else) of her conversation with Mr. Darcy.
"I spoke with Mr. Darcy regarding Mr. Wickham's accusations, and they are false: Mr. Wickham voluntarily gave up the preferment in exchange for a generous monetary recompense."
"He did?"
"Yes. I thought it was odd that he chose to confide such intimate details to a stranger, and I still do not know why he singled me out . . . ." She did not come across as an utter ninny, did she? Hopefully Mr. Wickham had merely approached her because he had taken his cue from Mr. Darcy and not because she seemed stupid enough to credit his lies.
"Perhaps he merely enjoyed your company and wished to make his situation seem better than it is in reality."
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "You mean he was trying to impress me?" She shook her head. "I do not think that being penniless and not having even attempted to obtain an occupation until now is likely to impress anyone."
"I meant in contrast to Mr. Darcy. Perhaps he thought that you—prefer Mr. Darcy, and he wished to incline your preference towards himself."
Elizabeth chuckled. "I doubt that very much. Anyone could tell at a glance that I do not like Mr. Darcy."
"Then why did you speak to him of Mr. Wickham's accusations?"
"Because it was the right thing to do! We cannot allow our neighbours to be preyed upon, nor would I wish to remain ignorant of such accusations if our situations were reversed."
"As you say," Jane said, her tone making her disbelief clear.
"Besides, that is not what I wished to speak to you about. I read Aunt's letter this morning, and in addition to the information about Mr. Wickham, she included some advice about our sisters." Elizabeth hesitated, considering how best to explain her thought processes to Jane without having to admit what a wretched person she had become. Perhaps it was not possible. "Jane, am I just like Papa?"
A furrow marred Jane's brow. "How so?"
"I asked Aunt about Papa's predilection to observe and judge and how best to help our sisters despite that reality, and she said that I share his propensity."
Jane smiled. "You do like to study characters."
"I know. But I am wondering whether that is a—a fault."
"I do not believe so."
"If I were more prone to engage with others instead of merely studying them, perhaps our sisters would not be so—lacking in propriety."
"You cannot take that on yourself, Lizzy. It is not your place to offer them guidance."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I am aware, but I ought to do more. Though I cannot be their parent, I can make myself available. I do not know when I last spent time with one of our younger sisters. I have begun to wonder if only our association with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner has prevented us from becoming just as wild as our younger sisters."
"Mary is not wild."
Elizabeth huffed. "You know what I speak of. We are each our parents' favourite child—no, do not object," she added as Jane opened her mouth. "You and Lydia are mother's favourites; you for your beauty and Lydia for her enthusiasm. I am father's favourite, though you are his second favourite, and he has done his best to mould me into a fit companion."
"This is true, although it is not right for parents to have a favourite child."
"I agree. But we are only aware of that because of our time spent with Aunt and Uncle. Were it not for them, I would not realise how very wrong our parents' behaviour is."
Jane frowned. "Nor would I—although it is not kind to ignore anyone."
Elizabeth was struck by a sudden thought. "Jane, you are so tender-hearted; does our parents' behaviour towards our sisters pain you?"
"Of course it does, Lizzy. I wish that I could change things every day. When Mama spoke so harshly to you at breakfast, I was quite distraught. Does it not cause you pain?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I am afraid I have been so accustomed to their behaviour that I did not even realise the damage it causes our sisters—I have realised that Kitty only coughs when she is distressed and that Mary homilizes when she desires attention."
Jane nodded. "I have long wished for our parents to pay them attention."
"As have I. But I had resigned myself to things remaining as they are. Aunt, however, suggests that we intervene even if our parents do not."
"How does she propose doing that?"
"She suggested that we make ourselves more available to them, spend time with them, and try to provide sound advice. She said that love means telling difficult truths when necessary, but it also means leaving room for someone to just be themselves."
Jane blinked at her.
"I was thinking that perhaps we could approach Kitty and Mary at first—either together or separately. Perhaps I could assist Mary with her pianoforte or take Kitty with me when I visit the tenants."
Jane frowned. "I wonder if it would be more beneficial for you to request Mary assist you with your pianoforte. Mary desires to be an expert—I am not sure she would accept help with something she considers herself already proficient at."
Elizabeth stared at her sister. Sometimes she forgot that behind Jane's goodness and sense, she could read people in a way that Elizabeth could not. "What else do you think would be beneficial?"
Jane considered for a moment. "They are both desirous of attention—particularly from our parents—but I believe they desire your attention as well."
"My attention?" Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows shooting up.
"I realise that it is less visible than it used to be, but both Kitty and Mary have watched your reactions when they speak as well as our parents' reactions. Mary more so than Kitty. I have wondered if she is attempting to gain Papa's favour or yours with her choice of activities."
Elizabeth frowned. "Why would she believe that I am interested in moralisations?"
"I believe she is trying to match your interest in books and music," Jane said with a small smile.
Elizabeth blinked at her. She had never considered the similarities—primarily because the books Mary chose were ones she had little interest in, and Mary's font of moralisation was more obnoxious than interesting. Nor could she tolerate her sister's pianoforte playing as it lacked heart entirely and droned on and on. Many times she had returned from a walk only to hear Mary's playing and fled back to the outdoors. She tried to recall even once when her sisters had watched her for approval, but could not.
"It may be that they believe that only books and sense or beauty and liveliness will gain our parents' affection, and they are each attempting to follow those paths," Jane added.
"I suppose that is entirely possible. It does seem as though our parents will only accept those accomplishments," Elizabeth said slowly.
Perhaps she had been more lucky than she realised: she enjoyed reading classic literature, debating, learning maths, Latin, and all the other things her father had taught her. Then again, did she enjoy them for themselves or because they had always been a way to relate with her beloved father?
No, she could not endure the thought of deconstructing her entire character in the space of mere days. She had already learned more about herself this week than she could bear.
Besides, even if Papa decided that he did not wish to do those things, even if she could no longer enjoy reading companionably with him in his library, she would still wish to read. Her brain felt as restless as her body when it had not been sufficiently exercised. She was still herself—she still required mental and physical exercise; that was not something her father had created. Perhaps he had taken advantage of her need for mental stimulation, but he had not initiated it. After all, he merely tolerated her habit of physical exertion. He had interceded with her mother so that Elizabeth was allowed her morning rambles and had laughed at her propensity to climb trees and get into one scrape after another when she was younger, but he had not actively promoted those behaviours.
"I am afraid our parents' own characters make it impossible for them to enjoy those who are different," Jane said sadly.
"People tend to prefer those who are similar to themselves," Elizabeth agreed. "I believe it gives them a sense of belonging and of being acceptable the way they are."
"How do we help Kitty and Mary feel like they belong and are good enough the way they are then? Do you believe that including them in our regular activities will accomplish that aim?"
"I do not know," Elizabeth said helplessly. "Perhaps we may try and then modify our methods if they fail to succeed?"
Jane nodded. "Better ways may occur to us as we look for opportunities."
"True. I will speak to Mary tomorrow about bettering my pianoforte playing."
Jane frowned slightly. "I believe I shall see if Kitty would like assistance with one of her fashion projects."
"Her fashion projects?"
"Have you not noticed that Lydia often 'borrows' Kitty's things because Kitty has a talent for dress?"
Elizabeth's heart sank. Here was yet another confirmation that she did not know her sisters at all. "No, I am afraid not."
Jane smiled. "She is quite talented at translating the pictures in fashion magazines into something similar in real life. I do not always agree with her colour schemes, but that is a personal preference rather than a lack of design."
"Hmm." Elizabeth tried to recall Kitty's various creations. They always seemed both frilly and brightly coloured, which was not at all Elizabeth's style; she preferred simplicity in her dress. And Kitty's designs rarely looked quite right on her—as though the clothes stood out so much that you could not see the person underneath. However, Jane was more likely to know how fashionable Kitty's choices were as she had spent far more time poring over fashion magazines with their mother than Elizabeth.
Elizabeth shook herself and turned the conversation towards how Jane was doing after their mother's barrage of complaints. Tomorrow was soon enough to begin fixing her mistakes with her sisters.
A/N: Regency experts: is it kosher for Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley to stay at Netherfield if the Bingley sisters are not there?