Through the Lens of a Letter Chapter 13, a pride and prejudice fanfic

Thanks for all the encouragement this week! I've needed it :) I really love that this story is about all the little shifts that add up to big changes-keeping that lesson in the forefront of my brain helps me keep pushing forward even when things feel nearly impossible. I really appreciate you guys reading and commenting and just coming along for the ride with me. It forces me to stay in touch with my story, despite how crazy hard this year has been.

A knock sounded at his study, and Darcy called out permission to enter, one finger poised over a letter, ensuring he did not lose his place in the document.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir," a footman announced.

Darcy's brow creased. "Send him in."

His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, had promised to come to London for the holidays this year. Aunt Margaret had wrangled her son into taking a few personal days on the pretext of the importance of having a family holiday. Though she had originally demanded the Darcys join them all at Matlock, Colonel Fitzwilliam's military responsibilities had caused her to shift her plans to remain in London. The Darcys were, of course, commanded to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at Matlock House.

As it was only the day before Christmas Eve and Lady Matlock was greedy for her son's time, Darcy was surprised that his cousin was to be found anywhere but at home.

Colonel Fitzwilliam strolled in.

"Darcy! How have you been?" he asked, coming over to grasp Darcy's hand in a hearty clasp.

Darcy stood, returning the man's handshake. "Fitzwilliam. Well, and you?"

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, holding Darcy's gaze. "That is not at all what my mother has been saying. I am commanded to come cheer you up before you spread your gloom to the Christmas season."

Darcy grimaced, gesturing for his cousin to take a seat. With a suppressed sigh and a plea to God for patience, he studied the three decanters on the sideboard, attempting to stall for time. If his aunt had demanded Fitzwilliam cheer him up, he had not done nearly as good of a job as he had believed at hiding the frustrations and confusion that plagued him. Wickham's continued freedom and the man's latest scheme to entrap him burned through Darcy's thoughts. If there were any justice in the world, Wickham would never cross his path again. Such an outcome seemed hardly likely, however, as he appeared determined to annoy Darcy into the grave.

A pang went through his chest at the thought of Georgiana's near destruction and Miss Elizabeth's betrayal—no, Wickham desired more than to just annoy; he wished to wound, and he had succeeded this time. Darcy had expected that time away from the woman would lessen the effects of her person, but instead his thoughts seemed even more determined to dwell on Miss Elizabeth. Likely it was as his aunt had determined—he needed a wife—and that was why he could not shake the spell Miss Elizabeth had woven around him.

Nor could he forget the vehemence with which she had repudiated any intention of marrying him. Even if it was in defence of her plot, he still could not expunge from memory her statements about his arrogance and selfish disdain, or of her unwillingness to marry him even if he were the last man on earth.

Her forged letter resided in one of the locked drawers of his desk, and he alternated between taking it out and poring over it for the dozenth time and refusing to even look at said drawer. He had not realised that Wickham had known him so well—the turns of phrase were entirely his own. Yet there were discrepancies that could not be explained, such as the letter being dated for four months hence, ostensibly being written from Rosings, and the events that had not occurred, such as Miss Bennet following them to London and Darcy conspiring to hide her presence. It smacked of incompetence, but was it? Or was it carefully crafted to ensnare him in some incomprehensible way?

This puzzle kept his thoughts returning to Miss Elizabeth and speculations as to whether she had willingly participated in Wickham's scheme or had been blackmailed or beguiled into doing so somehow. Had he entirely misread her character from the first, or had Wickham perhaps left the letter for Miss Elizabeth to find? But again, such a convoluted plot was not in-character for Wickham. The whole thing teased at his mind, an unsolvable conundrum.

But what of that morass ought he to tell his cousin . . . .

"Darcy?" Fitzwilliam prompted.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Aunt worries too much," he said, pouring their drinks and settling into his desk chair.

"Hmm."

His cousin studied him, and Darcy held his gaze, attempting to cover over all the unsettled places in his soul. He doubted it would work; Fitzwilliam knew him too well.

"I'd say she is not worried enough if this is how you have been acting."

Darcy grimaced.

"How is Georgie? Mother said she has been wasting away."

"I believe she is on the mend." Perhaps. Hopefully. "In the course of our conversations after my return, she admitted that she still believed Wickham would come and ask for her hand the proper way."

Fitzwilliam looked ill. "She believed what?"

"Wickham promised undying love—you know his ways."

"Yes, but he is such a blaggard! How could she expect such honourable behaviour from—from filth?"

"She believed I had torn them apart because I disapproved of him."

"Rightly so!"

"I had, mistakenly, chosen not to belabour the man's abysmal behaviour and instead attempted to warn her of the dangers of eloping. Georgiana was experiencing guilt over entertaining such wretched behaviour, but more than that, she was heartbroken over Wickham's continued absence. I assume that was why she was more miserable in my presence than away from me."

"Mother said she did her best to ensure Georgie was aware of the depth of her mistakes, but also to cheer her with the thought that she did not, after all, make such a misstep and so her distress was entirely unnecessary."

Darcy sighed. "I wish that had been the problem."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth," Darcy said wearily. "That Wickham has a habit of profligacy in his money and his women and only wished to marry her for her dowry, which he likely would have squandered within a matter of months."

"Did she believe you?"

"I think so. The pianoforte pieces she has chosen to play as of late are of a rather angry tenor."

"Good. She ought to be angry—Wickham's behaviour is enough to send most people into a murderous rage."

"Not most people," Darcy said bitterly. "The man can even yet fool the most intelligent of women."

Fitzwilliam's eyes widened. "You have seen him since Ramsgate?"

Darcy bowed his head, annoyed with himself for letting that slip. "Yes."

"What did he do?" Fitzwilliam demanded wrathfully.

"Nothing to Georgie."

"Darcy, that's not what I asked."

Darcy took a sip of his drink, trying to organise his thoughts into some semblance of clarity. Unfortunately, none was to be found. Mentally, he threw caution to the winds, deciding to spread the whole mess before his cousin. Perhaps the man could help Darcy see the truth and cut this cursed preference for she-who-could-be-naught-but-a-temptress from his heart.

"Wickham joined the regiment at Meryton, the town closest to the estate Bingley is renting."

"While you were visiting him?"

"Yes."

"And what did he do? I cannot imagine he viewed your coming with complacency," Fitzwilliam said. "Actually, given his cowardly nature, I am surprised he did not leave at once."

"And suffer the consequences of desertion? I doubt Wickham would risk deserting unless his situation was dire."

Fitzwilliam snorted. "You mean unless he could no longer swindle people and seduce women."

Darcy inclined his head.

"Did he approach you?"

"In a sense. While there, I engaged in a flirtation with a young woman—"

"You? You flirted with someone?" A grin broke out over Fitzwilliam's face. "This I have to hear. Who was this paragon?"

Darcy glared at him. "She was not a paragon—unfortunately. She is eminently unsuitable for anything more than flirtation."

Fitzwilliam frowned. "I have never seen you even mildly interested in any of the harpies of the ton. I cannot believe that you would form an attachment for anyone less than a paragon—you are much more likely to deplore the state of said person rather than to indulge them in conversation. Darcy family pride and all that."

"Darcy family pride?" Darcy asked cautiously, Miss Elizabeth's words ringing in his ears.

"Yes." He leaned forward, adopting a pedantic expression and deepening his voice. "'Darcys only associate with those who are worthy.'" His posture relaxed. "You know, the thing that your father drummed into your head from the time you were born—although given that you just spent the past several months staying at Mr. Bingley's home, perhaps you have not taken that maxim to heart."

"Bingley is eminently worthy of my time," Darcy said sternly. "I find him to be an earnest young man who does not take advantage of our friendship, unlike the ton."

"I am not the one who dislikes your friendship with him. Mother is less than thrilled, but I imagine it is merely her fears that you will be tainted by lower class connections—and of how the Bingleys may attempt to use you."

"As I said, Bingley has not asked for anything. I offered to assist him in evaluating Netherfield when he invited me to see it."

"Where you met this fascinating young lady that you have yet to tell me about," Fitzwilliam prodded. "Why is she unsuitable?"

"Initially, I believed her unsuitable because, although she is witty, intelligent, and handsome, she possesses one of the most grasping, horrible mothers that I have ever had the misfortune to encounter."

Fitzwilliam's eyebrows shot up. "She must be something uncommon for you to risk a flirtation with her then. You hate predatory mothers even more than predatory daughters. Was she worse than Lady Catherine or Mrs. Jennings?"

Darcy glowered at him. Lady Catherine, though difficult in her own way and determined to marry him off to her daughter, had more breeding than to be so recklessly vulgar in front of him. Mr. Collins's earnest assertion that his "betrothed" was well swam through his thoughts—why Lady Catherine believed that setting about his "impending nuptials" with her daughter would entrap him, he did not know.

And Mrs. Jennings . . . he suppressed a shudder; the woman had no daughters of her own but was determined to make excellent matches of all seven of her nieces. She had an uncanny knack for cornering him and no respect for his position in the ton. Both ladies behaved much like Mrs. Bennet in their fierce quest to marry off their loved ones, but then again, Lady Catherine's position gave her greater leeway than Mrs. Bennet's, and Mrs. Jennings had many steadfast friends to defend her in the ton.

He dragged his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. "I was at no risk. Unfortunately, Miss Elizabeth's mother was entirely preoccupied with flinging her eldest daughter at Bingley."

"Mother said you returned unexpectedly. I assume you were saving Mr. Bingley from himself once again?"

Darcy gave a curt nod. "I believe he would have offered for the young lady within days had I not dragged him away. It is not just the family's entire lack of propriety—"

"You were enamoured with a woman who lacks propriety?" Fitzwilliam asked incredulously.

Darcy sighed. "No. Miss Elizabeth and her older sister are the exception—it is the rest of the family that lacks any semblance of understanding as to what is appropriate."

"And the rest of the family is comprised of . . . ?"

"Three more daughters in addition to their father."

"Again—this Miss Elizabeth must have been something special to catch the attention of the great Fitzwilliam Darcy in the face of such obstacles."

"The family is also penniless; the estate is entailed on a distant cousin, and Miss Elizabeth's father appears to be a negligent landlord, at best, from what I observed of his land."

Fitzwilliam whistled.

Darcy glared at him.

"You cannot take exception to my surprise, Darcy. You would sooner pet an eel than get yourself entangled with a young lady like that. For her to make you forget your standards—well, let me just say that I would very much like to meet her. She must be out of the ordinary indeed."

"She is not beautiful in the classical sense—though her form and expression are certainly pleasing—rather she has a great deal of character and kindness, or so I thought. Sparring with her was one of the more enjoyable flirtations I have ever indulged in."

"One of the only flirtations you've ever indulged in."

"However, I was sorely mistaken in her character," Darcy ploughed on. "She informed me that Wickham had been slandering me about the living and requested more information, ostensibly in order to protect her neighbours. It soon became clear that she knew more of the matter than I had told her—including Georgiana's involvement."

Fitzwilliam's eyes narrowed. "And how did she know about Georgie?"

"She claimed to have found a letter with the information written in it, but it is far more likely that Wickham told her some version of the truth."

"Why then would she have informed you of Wickham's slanders?"

"Perhaps because she was conspiring with Wickham to obtain my wealth."

Fitzwilliam choked on his drink. "What?"

"She was conspiring to force me to marry her," he said with forced nonchalance. "Wickham failed to get his hands on Georgiana's inheritance, so I assume he was attempting to gain mine."

"But how? You are so careful to avoid even the appearance of compromise! And besides, how would they get your money? A wife's allowance, while generous, would hardly satisfy Wickham or the sort of person who would conspire with him."

Darcy's cheeks heated. "I am afraid that my infatuation led me to be unwise; I met Miss Elizabeth at one of the local landmarks during our morning constitutionals, so that we might have a private conversation about Wickham."

Fitzwilliam gaped at him.

"I know. It was foolish of me, but I knew I would have to remove Bingley soon anyway, and I needed to ascertain how much she knew about Georgiana."

"And she had witnesses waiting? Darcy, what did you do? Please tell me you did not pay Wickham off again!"

"She did not have witnesses waiting. No one observed us, that I know of."

"How then did she plan to compromise you?" Fitzwilliam asked with a frown.

"The letter I spoke of." Darcy removed it from his desk and handed it to his cousin. "It is a very passable forgery. I assume they intended to blackmail me into offering for her."

Fitzwilliam took the letter. "How much did you have to pay her to get it?"

"Nothing. She gave it to me."

"She . . . gave it to you?" Fitzwilliam repeated with uncertainty.

Darcy nodded, realising once again how odd it was that she had given up the very leverage she needed to force a compromise. Of course, it was likely a draft (hence the mistakes) . . . or she truly had found it and didn't realise its significance.

Fitzwilliam frowned and turned his attention to the letter. "It certainly looks like your handwriting," he said, studying it.

"Indeed. I was disconcerted until I remembered Wickham's penchant for forging notes from our professors at school."

"Ah. He must have cultivated his skills since I do not recall him forging more than signatures."

"He has had years to perfect the skill."

Fitzwilliam's frown grew as he studied the letter. "The date is an immediate giveaway that it is not accurate. I cannot imagine how they would have convinced anyone of the letter's veracity."

Darcy hesitated. "Is it? Or is it something other than incompetence?"

"How so? They cannot have expected you to remain on the line until April."

"Unless Miss Elizabeth failed in her part and was not supposed to give the letter to me until next year . . . but why would they label it from Rosings?"

"And why would it not be addressed to Miss Elizabeth? Wickham has lost his touch."

"Unless he is more subtle than we have believed." Darcy's throat clenched as he attempted to consider rationally how long Wickham had plotted against Georgiana. "I hired Mrs. Younge a month before she and Georgiana went to Ramsgate."

"April seems a bit far in the future, even for him. Perhaps this Miss Elizabeth is the instigator of the plot?"

Darcy forced himself to examine the suggestion. If he had mistaken Miss Elizabeth's character, she could be an actress of the first order, certainly accomplished enough to fool her neighbours, perhaps even for years on end . . . but if she had the subtlety to concoct a plan for April of next year, then why had she given him the letter?

No. He shook his head. "She gave me the letter herself. I do not believe she would have done so were she attempting to ensnare me April next."

"Hmm." Fitzwilliam returned his attention to the letter for long moments before looking up, his brow creased. "I do not believe Wickham composed this letter or even wrote it—it is too accurate with regards to his character. Nor would he have unfolded his plot against Georgie so. I think it far more likely for him to boast of how Georgie had developed a tendre for him and that you had separated them due to his unsuitability."

"Not even when composing a letter ostensibly written by me?"

"Not if it's going to be used as evidence. Wickham would never wish his misdeeds so clearly spelled out to those who will decide if he can profit from it."

"Even if he desires to establish the illusion of disinterest?"

"He does not need to do so, given that such a plot would likely require Miss Elizabeth to partner with him." Fitzwilliam tapped the letter against the arm of his chair. "In fact, I am surprised that he would enact any plot that requires long-term dependence upon another person." He shifted in the chair. "I know he used Mrs. Younge, but once married to Georgie, he would not have required her services." He hesitated. "Is it possible that someone else is involved in the plot?"

"Someone else who could forge my handwriting so precisely?" Darcy considered. "I suppose someone who has regular access to my letters—a servant perhaps . . . . But again, I do not see how they would have convinced Miss Elizabeth. Nor do I believe one of my servants would do such a thing. You know how protective my valet is and my housekeepers are very thorough in vetting the servants. Most of them have been in my employ for many years or have been hired due to their connection with my other servants."

"True. It is a mystery." Fitzwilliam unfolded the letter and began to study it once more. "Perhaps there are more clues in the letter's content. Has Miss Bingley spoken of Miss Bennet's arrival?"

Darcy frowned. "No."

"Perhaps she merely intends to follow Mr. Bingley to London?"

"Perhaps. But why spell out such a plan and risk having me counteract it now?"

Fitzwilliam shrugged. "As I said, the letter is not calculated to convince. It is possible that the author is somewhat lacking in intelligence. Are you certain that Miss Elizabeth is as intelligent as she seemed?"

"Yes. Although that still does not explain how she could have forged my handwriting."

"You cannot recall a time when she examined your handwriting?"

"It takes far more than a simple examination to forge something this complex—a word might be memorised with short study, but not an entire style of writing. Besides, I cannot think of—" Darcy stilled as he recalled the night Miss Elizabeth had seen him writing Georgiana. A shock—that was what he had thought at the time. But why would she be so shocked by his letter to Georgiana?

She had not said when she had ostensibly found the letter, but the lack of crispness in the paper proclaimed it had been well-handled for some time.

If Miss Elizabeth did find the letter, was it possible that she doubted whether it was his? And that she had been attempting to verify the owner of said letter? But who would have known the truth about Georgiana so precisely? The servants at Ramsgate were hired for the season, but his valet, Baxter, had delivered the letter to Wickham's lodgings himself as Darcy had wished to prevent any scandal. None but Fitzwilliam (and Wickham and Mrs. Younge) knew that Georgiana had intended to elope with Wickham only the day after he arrived. Nor were the financial particulars of his transactions with Wickham known to any but himself, his secretary, Fitzwilliam, and Wickham.

"Darcy?" Fitzwilliam prodded.

"Miss Elizabeth did catch sight of my handwriting while she was staying at Netherfield and nearly fainted. If she found the letter sometimes prior . . . I had never seen her so disconcerted, not even when . . . ." He swallowed, thinking of the accusations he had hurled at her and her angry retorts. If she had not been plotting against him, he had insulted her unforgivably. "Fitzwilliam, am I disdainful of others' feelings?" he asked distantly.

Fitzwilliam's expression turned to one of bewilderment. "Pardon?"

"Miss Elizabeth—she said that I am disdainful of others' feelings."

"Elaborate; I am not following."

Darcy shook himself, returning to the present. "When she 'returned my letter,' I told her it was a foolish plot because I would never marry someone like her in any case. She is the sort of woman one flirts with, but not the sort one marries—at least not if one is a Darcy."

His conversation with Georgiana about character versus position leapt to the forefront of his mind. He had studied the women of the ton for years and not found any of Miss Elizabeth's apparent worth, but certainly one such must exist, mustn't they? His mother had been such a person. It was simply a matter of being patient. He had a duty, yes, but Georgiana's oldest child could inherit Pemberley if necessary.

Unless Georgiana was equally unsuccessful in finding a suitable marriage partner of breeding and worth.

If only Miss Elizabeth were as she appeared to be and possessed position, and wealth, and a less vulgar family, this debate would not have been necessary at all.

"And?" Fitzwilliam asked, his expression creased in concern.

"And she told me that I was the last man in the world she would ever marry due to my pride and selfish disdain of the feelings of others."

Fitzwilliam's eyebrows shot up. "She did what?"

"She said that I had so fully displayed my arrogance, conceit, and selfish disdain of the feelings of others that she had not known me a month before she felt that I was the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed on to marry."

"That—I do not even know—what could she hope to gain from that?"

"That is why I have been struggling with whether perhaps she was nothing more than a pawn—perhaps she did find the letter and was not trying to ensnare me."

"Even if that is true, why did she not return it at once?"

"I do not know. Unless she was unsure whether it was truly mine? Miss Elizabeth appeared—at least at first—to possess true concern for others, and if she believed there to be doubt, she might not have wished to expose Georgiana's mistake to another. Perhaps she believed it to be a forgery and did not wish to share it with me as it is not complimentary to her family."

"You know her better than I. Do you believe that likely?"

Darcy shook his head. "I do not know." He suppressed a flush of shame as he considered whether Miss Elizabeth had spoken the truth throughout the entirety of their acquaintanceship. The last things she had said to him . . . . "She said that she had never intended to flirt with me. I believed it to be part of her desire to absolve herself from any plot after I confronted her with it. But if she was speaking the truth . . . . I am—conflicted, Fitzwilliam. If I could but settle it in my own mind whether she was a harpy stalking my wealth or someone just as duped as I, then I could move forward. As it is, my thoughts are jumbled."

"You are not usually a poor judge of character. Then again, you have little experience with women. Clearly."

"Clearly?"

"If you believed you were engaged in a flirtation with a woman who had no intention of flirting with you . . . . I know how awkward you are around women—"

"You would be too if you were hunted at every turn!"

"I am not saying that there is no reason for it. Lord knows your inheritance has kept you too busy to even pursue any woman. My point is that, if she was telling the truth, this Miss Elizabeth's lack of flirtation with you puts an entirely different spin on the letter. I can see why you are confused." Fitzwilliam's attention returned to the letter. "I do not know who may have written it. It does seem unlikely that Miss Elizabeth would have done so, given your description of events. Unless Wickham has changed much in the past months, I do not believe he would have written it either." He grimaced. "There must be another player—someone who knows of Georgie's situation, your interest in Miss Elizabeth, Wickham's true behaviour, and can forge your handwriting. We shall have to be extra vigilant concerning Georgie. May I ask Mother to keep a closer eye on the situation?"

Darcy snorted. "I am not sure that is possible—Aunt Margaret has already assured me that she is alert to the slightest breath of scandal concerning Georgiana."

"You are probably right."

"Fitzwilliam, I would prefer my—encounter with Miss Elizabeth to stay between the two of us."

"Of course."

With that, talk turned to how best to catch the letter-writer. Darcy was unsure such a thing was likely to happen without the perpetrator making the next move. At least, if nothing else, they were now warned.

December melted away in a flurry of activity. Elizabeth's conversation with Kitty had gone similarly to the previous one with Mary—stilted with an edge of disbelief in her sister that she found disconcerting. Kitty had, however, agreed to accompany her when she visited the tenants.

Practicing with Mary remained an exercise in patience as her sister offered only blunt critiques leavened by moralisations, but Elizabeth persevered, hoping eventually she would be in a position for Mary to accept her own suggestions in return.

After some days of studying Kitty's mode of dress, Elizabeth was forced to admit that Jane was entirely correct: Kitty truly had an eye for design. She ventured to say so one day and Kitty had lit up, her words practically tumbling over one another as she expounded on her preferences regarding fashion and the best journals.

Elizabeth could not help contrasting this energetic, interested Kitty with the one who laughed a beat after Lydia and followed their youngest sister around. It was like meeting a different person.

Yet even in the midst of these small successes, Elizabeth chafed at her lack of true progress. Mary was no less prone to moralising, nor did she seem open to suggestion. And Kitty likewise continued to follow Lydia around; their forays into Meryton had continued despite the winter chill.

Elizabeth struggled to rein in her temper when rain prevented her from venturing out for her morning ramble. Without those precious minutes of solitude and time to stretch her legs and let her thoughts wander, she could barely stand to listen to Kitty's soliloquies on the officers or to Mary's discourses on the moral implications of music. After further conversation with Jane, they had determined to wait before inviting their sisters to join their nightly coze; instead using the time to plan further improvements or activities.

Lydia had thus far resisted all efforts to reach her, rebuffing every offered activity in favour of visiting the officers, speaking of the officers with Aunt Phillips, or speaking of the officers and Aunt Phillip's latest gossip with their mother.

Thankfully, Betsey and Hill had reported that Mr. Wickham was not so often seen in Meryton. Elizabeth had made a trip to her uncle's office the Monday after Mrs. Gardiner's letter had arrived and had shown him the letter from Mrs. Hatcher. He had not shared her mother's opinion and promised to quietly inform those he believed to be at risk. In addition, he had agreed that it would not harm the regiment if the local merchants limited how much credit they were allowed and promised that he would merely tell the shopkeepers he had received reliable information that some in the regiment were not in the habit of paying their bills.

Elizabeth hoped that the more general information would prevent her mother from suspecting she had broken the woman's strictures on the matter.

Another positive result was that her uncle had managed to ensure Mr. Wickham was no longer invited to Aunt Phillips's parties. Thus, it had been a blissful three weeks since Elizabeth had seen the man in company. She had, unfortunately, met him several times on the streets of Meryton, but she had been polite and no more. Mr. Wickham seemed like the sort who would give up on a one-sided flirtation before long.

The Gardiners were scheduled to arrive today, and Elizabeth was hopeful that her aunt could talk sense into her mother regarding Mr. Wickham. Mrs. Bennet had planned several dinners over the next week in order to keep the Gardiners entertained and had invited Mr. Wickham to one of them, despite Elizabeth's protests. Mrs. Bennet was stubbornly convinced the man was too handsome to be half as evil as gossip painted him and remained determined to support him, and Mr. Bennet was too entertained to overrule her.

"They're here!" Lydia shrieked, dragging Elizabeth from her thoughts with a jolt.

The Bennets immediately rushed out to greet the Gardiners.

"Oh my dear Madeleine, you must come inside at once! It is too cold to be standing about in this way!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed.

After giving hugs, the three Gardiner children ran circles around the group, clearly not ready to settle indoors after their long carriage ride.

Mrs. Gardiner gave Elizabeth an extra hug, but before she could say anything, Mrs. Bennet swept her away in a flurry of complaints about her nerves and promises of a jolly visit.

Elizabeth sighed. She had not expected anything else, but it was galling to have her aunt so close, yet still beyond her reach. Hopefully, the novelty of their visit would not last long and she could get a word in edgewise. She did not believe progress with her sisters was at all likely without some more useful advice from her aunt.