That evening, Mr. Bennet summoned Kitty into his library again. She could hardly imagine him doing anything to her that she was not already far more effectively doing to herself. And she could only put him off for so long. She appeared on his threshold, and when he invited her in, stepped through and closed the door behind her.

"Come and sit."

She obeyed. He stood up and began pacing the circumference of the room. He made several false starts before he settled on what he was going to say, and she sank further into her seat with each one. What he did say, though, startled her to speechlessness. "Clearly, I have failed you in every way. I have done everything I could to keep you from following Lydia's path, and at every turn I have accomplished nothing but driving you further down that very road."

Kitty stared at him in mute astonishment.

"I am going to try something new, and ask you exactly what is the matter, and what you propose I do about it."

Kitty stared at her hands, folded in her lap. "I don't know what is the matter with me," she said. She couldn't manage to speak louder than a near-whisper. "I don't mean to do anything wrong, but somehow I always seem to manage it anyway."

"You certainly have developed quite a knack for it. I had hoped that you would begin to come into your own when Lydia left. I had not anticipated you choosing this."

"I did not choose it!" she said with sudden fury. "Do you think I would have chosen any of this? If I had my way, I would never have seen Mr. Johns again—I would have married Mr. Knott and settled down with him and been happy! What person would choose this anguish? Who would rather be ostracized, and misunderstood, and hated, and laughed at? All I have ever wanted was someone to love me—me, not Lydia, not one of the Bennet girls, but ME, Kitty. And now nobody ever will, and I cannot find out where I went so terribly wrong as to ruin forever every chance I might have had in finding it! Mr. Knott—" But she could not even think the rest of that sentence.

Mr. Bennet's pacing had slowed, and finally stopped during this tirade. Now he stared at her, arms folded across his chest. "I was not aware that you cared for Mr. Knott at all," he said.

"Well, I do," she said, as passionate as she was bitter, "and I can never love another man the way I love him, and he will want nothing to do with me. Did you see his face when—when—Papa, he hates me!"

Almost in spite of himself, Mr. Bennet's lips twitched a half-hidden smile. "Well you certainly gave him plenty of reason to."

"God! I know it!" She put her face in her hands and waited for the tears to come again, but she couldn't cry any more. She just couldn't bear to look at him. "I just want everything to go away. I never want to see anyone again."

He sighed heavily. "Well. I see you have repented of your behavior, at least, and I believe your heartbreak is sufficient punishment that I don't feel it necessary to add anything else to your tribulation." He chuckled, though the sound held no mirth. "You seem quite miserable enough to satisfy even me."

If he meant that to be a relief to her, it missed its mark. What did she care if he punished her as severely as he wished? There was nothing for her in her room, and there was nothing for her anywhere else, either. Her misery was not of a sort that he could touch.

"So my question is, what shall we do with you now?"

Kitty shook her head. How should she know?

"Well, I shall have to think of something, since I can't very well have you moping around here for the rest of your life. Do you have any suggestions?"

"No, Sir."

"I thought you might not."

But no sooner had she said she did not have an idea, when she thought of something. "Wait. Papa… what if I were to take care of Longbourn's tenants the way Miss Darcy takes care of Pemberley's? I think… it might be good for me to be able to worry about someone else's troubles sometimes."

He sighed again, shaking his head. "You hardly seem in a fit state to think of anyone but yourself, troubled or otherwise."

"Well, I don't want to think of myself any longer," she said, suddenly angry. "Or ever again. There's nothing of myself worth thinking of. I've ruined my own life. The least I can do is keep someone else from ruining theirs."

For a few moments, he said nothing, only looked at her closely. She raised her chin. She did not know whether it would actually help relieve her misery, but it was something, and that was more than she'd had since she returned to Longbourn. She would not give it up easily.

He must have sensed it, or decided that her idea had enough merit to warrant a trial. "Your mother has been the one to care for the few that need it, since your elder sisters left. You will have to see what she wants you to do."

Kitty did not think she would have a difficult time convincing her mother to give up the task. Mrs. Bennet had never been particularly attentive to anyone outside of her immediate family. And this gave her something to think and plan for. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go out and talk to everyone, and see what might be needed. Then she could make a plan to bring it to them. Her spirits lifted a bit just thinking about it—and the best part, though she hardly allowed herself to think it, was that Mr. Knott would certainly approve. She was determined that she would conduct herself in a manner that was worthy of him. She would never make up for her failure, but she might avoid adding to her reproachfulness.

She was on the threshold when her father called her name, and she stopped, still facing the hallway. His voice was quiet. "I am very sorry, Kitty."

She did not know how to respond. She nodded once, and left.

There was, indeed, no trouble with Mrs. Bennet. On the contrary, she was so happy to see Kitty asking to leave the house that she probably would have agreed to anything. For, as she said to anyone who would listen, who knows what might happen while a young lady is out walking in the country? So, Kitty went out the next morning, with very little idea of what to do except see what help she might offer.

She spent most of the morning going about to as many of the tenants as she could, and compiling a mental list of things she might do to be helpful.

And, indeed, one boy showed an interest and aptitude with horses beyond what Kitty had ever seen before. His response, when she complimented him on it, provided her with her first sense of the real difference she might make.

"Thank you, Miss! I been working hard as can be. Uncle Tim says if I keep on this way, I might find a post at a real stable."

"I imagine that would be just the place for you," Kitty agreed. "Have you any prospects? You're old enough to find some situation of that sort, surely."

"No, Miss, but Uncle says to keep on anyway, and promised to keep an ear out for something that would suit."

Kitty knew her father's needs were too small to justify hiring a stableboy, but she promised him that she would talk to Mr. Fields about allowing him to come to her father's stables and learn, if he could spare a morning per week. "I do not know whether there would be much in the way of payment, but he could at least supply a good reference for you, if you do well, and I am sure he would hear of more eligible situations than your uncle might."

"Would you really, Miss? If Uncle Tim allows…" The excitement on his face as he calculated the opportunities that might await him lifted Kitty's spirits as nothing else had done. Here, at least, was one positive thing she could point to, and say that whatever mess she had made of her own life, she had improved someone else's. She promised him faithfully that she would send Mr. Fields to talk to his uncle as soon as may be.

Over the course of the next week, Kitty went out every day to visit her father's tenants and attend to the list she had made for herself. She got to know most of the tenants fairly well, and started to look forward to seeing them. It was such a relief to have something to worry about other than her own troubles. By the end of that week, she was starting to believe that she might not die of despair, after all.

She returned from her visits later and later each day. It wasn't exactly on purpose, but she had so much more fun visiting with them, working with them, and seeing what they were up to, that she found it harder and harder to go back home. At home there was despair, and a constant reminder of what she had lost. When she was visiting, she could focus on other problems, ones that had solutions that she could provide, or at least that indicated a need she could meet. Life lost some of its bleakness.

By Thursday afternoon, she had to run home to be sure that she would be back in time to dress for dinner. It was not very ladylike of her, but she made it to the front hall in good time, even if she was breathing heavily.

Hill stopped her almost as soon as she came in the door. "You have a caller, Miss Bennet; he has been in the parlor for an hour at least. Your mother is frantic for you. Will you not go in?"

Kitty frowned, still trying to catch her breath. "A caller?" A caller, moreover, who was apparently male? She could think of no one who would call on her, much less a gentleman, but her spirits were still high enough that she felt equal to some company. "Let me change out of these filthy clothes, at least."

But Mrs. Bennet came into the hall at that moment and would not hear of Kitty leaving for even a moment to change. "You look well enough! He has been waiting too long as it is. How could you be so irresponsible as to vanish for the whole morning? Go, go!" She nearly yanked off Kitty's bonnet and gloves as she spoke, and gave her a little push toward the parlor door.

Kitty was more confused than ever by her mother's urgency, but she did as she was told and entered the parlor. She did not notice when her mother closed the door behind her. She was aware of only one thing, and it was the last thing in the world she expected.

Standing before the fireplace, one hand gripping the mantle, was Mr. Knott.