Author's note: wow, thank you all so much for your kind words! I really appreciate them a lot. Shall we find out what was in the last two letters Elizabeth never read? And the girl really needs some new dresses. Let's bring Plumelle back in. :)

Chapter 15

The following morning, Elizabeth once again broke her fast with Colonel Fitzwilliam. It had been clear that the man had been in discussions with Mrs. Reynolds, for after he informed her of the express he'd sent the day before, he then said, "I've also sent a note into Lambton to request the presence of the local seamstress. She is no London modiste, but she should be able to fit you up well for the winter."

Elizabeth felt her face grow warm. "I am certain my trunks should arrive from Longbourn any day now. There is no need for the expense—"

"Nonsense," he interrupted firmly. "You are Mrs. Darcy, wife of the largest landowner in the county. Besides, your Hertfordshire gowns will not keep you warm in a Derbyshire winter."

She tried again to protest, but he raised a finger and wagged it in her face. "Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Darcy! I understand it was the apothecary himself who told you to have a warmer wardrobe made. How can we convince my cousin to follow the doctor's orders about laudanum when you yourself are such a poor example?"

He punctuated this statement with a roguish wink, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Point well made, Colonel. I concede this battle to you."

"I daresay Mrs. Reynolds and your lady's maid will be able to have things in hand. I must ride to Matlock today to update my father and Georgiana of the events here, but I shall return tomorrow morning. If I'm right, the doctor I've sent for will come as soon as he sees my note, which will put him here tomorrow afternoon."

She gaped after him. Well now, a large income certainly is the best recipe for getting something done! As Mama has often said, wealth can indeed create the means for many comforts and opportunities.

With burgeoning excitement, Elizabeth returned to her room to await the woman's arrival. As she paced the floor, the small table near her bed caught her eye. Suddenly, she remembered that she had not yet opened her the letter from her father, nor the second one from Jane.

Deciding it would be a good way to pass the time, she sat down in a comfortable chair near the window. Taking a deep breath, she broke the seal on the note from her father and began to read.

My dearest little Lizzy,

I write to you from the comforts of my own study, having finally returned to Longbourn after my most regrettable adventure. Your mother and sisters greeted me with such effusive tears and hysterics that I feared I might expire from their overwhelming display of affection. Your mother has, naturally, declared me a martyr and now insists on recounting my "heroic" journey to anyone within earshot, while Kitty and Lydia weep at the sight of me, as if I were a ghost come to haunt them. Then moments later, they are laughing uproariously with the officers who have come to visit.

Mary, ever the philosopher, has taken to quoting scripture and lamenting the fragility of life. Only Jane, with her angelic disposition, has been a balm to my frazzled nerves, though even she cannot quite hide her relief that the old man has survived his ordeal.

I confess, Lizzy, that I expected nothing less than a full-scale theatrical performance upon my return. Your mother has always had a flair for the dramatic, and your sisters, bless their hearts, follow in her footsteps with alarming accuracy. I dare say that if I were to drop dead in the drawing room, they would scarcely pause their lamentations to fetch a doctor.

Now, to matters of greater import. My health is improving, thanks in no small part to your sacrifice. I am in your debt, my dear girl, though I fear it is a debt I can never truly repay. Your decision to trade your freedom for my safety was both brave and foolish, a testament to your character and your love for this family. For this, I am profoundly grateful.

Yet, my gratitude is tinged with sorrow. I worry that in sacrificing yourself, you have condemned yourself to a life where respect and mutual regard may be in short supply. I fear for your happiness and your safety, and it grieves me to think that you may not find the respect and partnership in marriage that you so richly deserve.

But enough of this somber talk. You know me well, Lizzy, and you know that I am not one to dwell on guilt or regret for long. In fact, I give myself a fortnight at most before I return to my usual state of cheerful indifference. Life is too short, after all, to be spent in perpetual lamentation.

I hope to hear from you soon, as there have not been two words of sense spoken in this house since I returned without you here.

Yours affectionately,

T. Bennet

Tears filled Elizabeth's eyes as she went back to the beginning and read the letter once more. She smirked a few times at his words, but amid the diversion, she felt a weight on her heart that she'd never had before.

It wasn't until that moment that she realized she'd had different expectations of how this event would affect her father. While she did not begin to hope he'd change in essentials, she had presupposed that he would take life a bit more seriously.

Another thought struck her as she pondered over his words about Kitty and Lydia. They are still seeing the officers! Lieutenant Wickham is in company with my youngest, silliest sisters! What will he do to them?

Her breathing grew faster as the sight of Darcy's burns mingled with the faces of the two youngest Bennet daughters. After a moment, however, she shook her head to clear the images. What reason would he have to harm them? After all, he has no quarrel with them. And surely the colonel of the regiment would keep his men in line, would he not? No, as despicable and cowardly as Mr. Wickham is, he is not a wild animal to attack without some provocation, however preposterous his logic.

Once her anxiety had eased, she turned to Jane's next letter eagerly, yearning for the comfort of her gentle elder sister's counsel.

Dear Lizzy,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I have much to share with you, and though I wish I could deliver this news in person, I know that your current situation makes that impossible.

Two weeks ago, Mr. Bingley— Charles, as I may now call him— held a splendid ball at Netherfield. It was a grand affair, with the house beautifully decorated and the company in high spirits. During the evening, he asked me for a courtship, and I was overjoyed to accept. Then, just last week, he proposed! Of course I accepted. Oh Lizzy, I am now engaged to be married!

Charles is everything I could hope for in a husband. He is kind and genial, and he will allow me to provide a good home to my family after Papa is no longer with us.

It seems, however, that not everyone was pleased with this development at first. Caroline and Louisa tried to persuade Charles that I did not truly care for him, even though I had taken Charlotte's advice to show him more affection than I felt in order to not lose him. Thankfully, Colonel Brandon was also visiting Netherfield. He recognized my shyness and reserved nature, having experienced similar traits himself. His kind words helped Charles see the truth of my feelings.

Since then, Caroline and Louisa have been exceedingly kind to me. They have taken to treating me like a sister, showering me with compliments and assistance. Caroline has even offered to stand up with me at the wedding, which is a gesture I find quite touching. I know we promised to stand up for one another when we were children, but I do not know if you will even be able to attend my wedding, and it would not do to shame Charles by not having an attendant. Caroline has become as good as a sister to me, Lizzy, she assures me that if you truly love me like a sister should, you would not begrudge me for having Caroline as my bridesmaid.

Mama, of course, is insistent on a large and extravagant wedding, with all manner of fine things from London. Caroline and Louisa seem to encourage this, and though I have always preferred simplicity, I find myself getting swept up in their enthusiasm. They assure me that a grand celebration will be most fitting for a lady of my new position.

On another note, Mr. Collins has returned to Longbourn with the express purpose of choosing a wife. He made an attempt to court Kitty, but she rebuffed him quite openly. When he offered to escort her to Meryton, she replied, "I would rather walk barefoot through the mud than be seen on your arm."

Poor Mr. Collins was so taken aback that he quickly shifted his attentions to Mary, who, with Mama's encouragement, has accepted his proposal. Though Charlotte Lucas seemed rather put out by this, I believe it is a good match for Mary. Even if Mr. Collins is not the most sensible or clever man, as Caroline remarked, "He has his uses, if not his charms." His use, I suppose, will be to keep Longbourn in the family line.

I miss you dearly, Lizzy, and I long for the day we can be together again. I am sorry you are missing out on so many joyous events here at Longbourn. Please take care of yourself and know that you are always in my thoughts.

All the love I can spare from Charles,

Jane

Elizabeth gaped at letter. Who is this person writing with Jane's hand? I do not even recognize her! Is it possible for someone to change so much in character in such a short period of time? She read the letter again, her disbelief growing with every word.

Jane, her beloved sister, seemed to have transformed into someone she scarcely knew. The subtle flattery and shallow excitement over an extravagant wedding, the influence of Caroline and Louisa, it all felt foreign. Jane, who had always been the epitome of kindness and simplicity, now seemed to be caught up in a whirlwind of societal expectations and material desires.

She glanced at the part about Mr. Collins, almost laughing at Kitty's bold rejection, but then frowning at the mention of Mary's engagement. Even Jane's view of Mr. Collins seemed tainted by Caroline's influence.

"He has his uses, if not his charms," she muttered aloud. What a cruel and dismissive way to describe anyone, least of all one's future brother-in-law! The Jane I know would never even think such a thing, let alone repeat it or find it amusing.

Elizabeth could not shake off the uneasy feeling that Jane was being subtly manipulated by her new companions. The Bingley sisters, with their polished manners and underlying condescension, were not the sort to genuinely embrace Jane without some ulterior motive. Could they be trying to mold her into their idea of a suitable match for their brother, stripping away the very qualities that made Jane so uniquely wonderful?

She sighed, her heart heavy with worry. Jane's sudden shift in character, her acceptance of the opulence and the mean-spirited comments, all pointed to a deeper change that Elizabeth feared was not for the better. Could love and the prospect of marriage truly alter someone so fundamentally? Or was it the pressure of fitting into a new social sphere that was transforming her gentle sister?

Elizabeth smoothed the letter on her lap, resolving to write back with caution. She would gently remind Jane of the values they held dear and urge her to stay true to herself, no matter the pressures around her. She would also express her own concerns and assure Jane that she was not alone, even if circumstances kept them apart.

As for Mr. Collins and Mary, Elizabeth could only hope that their union would be more agreeable than it appeared. Perhaps, in time, they might find a way to be content with each other, despite his apparent lack of sense and her rigid propriety.

With a final sigh, Elizabeth set the missive aside and reached for her writing materials. She would not let distance and circumstance erode the bond between her and Jane. They had always been there for each other, and Elizabeth was determined that would not change, no matter how much the world around them did.

Elizabeth was just signing her name to the bottom of her letter to Jane when a knock came on the door.

"The seamstress is here, Mrs. Darcy. Shall I show her up to your room?" Plumelle's soft accent was a welcome interruption to Elizabeth's turbulent thoughts.

"Yes, please do, then send for Mrs. Reynolds."

A few minutes later, a light scratching at the door announced their arrival. Plumelle and Mrs. Reynolds entered, followed by a timid woman wearing a large apron, which she smoothed nervously over her thin frame. Her eyes were wide as she took in the grandeur of her surroundings, though her gaze repeatedly drew back to the door to the master's chambers.

"Mrs. Darcy, may I introduce to you Mrs. Hawkins, the local seamstress at Lambton?"

Elizabeth, recognizing the woman's anxiety for what it was, gave her a kind smile. "I am so grateful you were willing to come to Pemberley on such short notice, Mrs. Hawkins."

Mrs. Hawkins dipped a low curtsy. "It is an h-honor, Mrs. Darcy," she stammered.

"My husband is feeling unwell these last days and is abed. It will just be the three of us. I must admit to looking forward to this appointment. I have never been fitted at home before; I would always do shopping with my sisters and mother. Perhaps I can convince you to use less lace than Mama would have thought necessary."

The tension on her face easing slightly, Mrs. Hawkins curtsied again. "I will do my best, Mrs. Darcy."

Three burly footman entered at that moment, each carrying a large trunk. Mrs. Hawkins opened all three and said, "This is the fabric I had on hand. Should you wish for something more, please let me know. After we select the colors, we can look over the fashion plates I brought to choose the designs."

Plumelle began eagerly rifling through the nearest trunk, emitting little squeals as she sorted through the bolts of muslin and silk. "Oh, Mrs. Darcy," she exclaimed, her accent more pronounced in her excitement. She lifted a deep burgundy silk out of the trunk. "This would make a splendid ball gown!"

Elizabeth shook her head, her smile gentle. "That is very fine, Plumelle, but I certainly have no need something so extravagant."

Mrs. Reynolds chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Nonsense, Mrs. Darcy. You are the mistress of Pemberley now. You must have attire that befits your station."

"I really don't think—"

Mrs. Hawkins cleared her throat, her hands fumbling with a notebook. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but even the wives of lesser landowners have quite the wardrobe. It's expected, really."

Elizabeth glanced at the seamstress, noticing the slight tremor in her voice, and said with a grin. "Come now, Mrs. Hawkins, there is no need to be nervous. I don't bite! We are all friends here, and I am grateful for your expertise. Please feel free to speak your mind."

Mrs. Hawkins visibly relaxed, her shoulders dropping as she offered a tentative smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

"We are here to have a bit of fun, are we not?"

The seamstress's smile widened, and she nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am. Let us begin, then."

Plumelle and Mrs. Reynolds exchanged amused glances. "We must start with the essentials," Mrs. Reynolds said, pulling out a list. "Day dresses, dinner gowns, and a few ball gowns, naturally."

Elizabeth raised a brow. "A few ball gowns? Mrs. Reynolds, I do not foresee attending that many balls."

Plumelle grinned. "But you must be prepared, Mrs. Darcy. You never know when you might need them."

Mrs. Hawkins held up a swatch of emerald green velvet. "This would suit you perfectly for a dinner gown, ma'am. And perhaps some fine muslin for day dresses?"

Elizabeth sighed, though her smile did not fade. "Very well, but let us not go overboard. I do not wish to appear as though I am a fortune hunter."

Mrs. Reynolds patted her hand reassuringly. "No one would think such a thing, Mrs. Darcy. You are simply acquiring what is necessary for your new role. You will also need at least two riding habits and several cloaks of varying thickness for warmth."

"But I don't even ride!" Elizabeth protested.

"That doesn't matter," Plumelle said fervently. "As Mrs. Reynolds said, you never know what the future holds."

Elizabeth sighed. "Very well, though I doubt they shall ever be worn."

Once all of the fabrics had been sorted into colors that would suit Elizabeth's complexion and those that made her look "pale and pasty" according to Plumelle, the ladies moved on to the fashion plates.

"For your day dresses, I recommend long sleeves for the winter. Perhaps something with lace cuffs?"

Elizabeth examined the sketches, pointing to a day dress with elegant lace detailing at the sleeves and neckline. "This is lovely. The lace adds a touch of refinement without being too ostentatious. But the neckline is quite low!"

Plumelle gave a wicked grin. "Now that you are married, Mrs. Darcy, you are allowed to display more of your assets— something of which you have in abundance!"

Her face turning a charming shade of pink, Elizabeth said, "I'd prefer something a little less daring."

"We could add a small fichu here," Mrs. Reynolds interjected, giving Plumelle a quelling look. "Something that shows off your grace and elegance, but still in keeping with propriety."

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that would be appropriate."

Mrs. Hawkins held up a delicate fabric adorned with flounces. "This would make a charming ball gown. Perhaps with short sleeves and a square neckline, adorned with this lovely lace. Then for your dinner gowns, we could use rich fabrics like the velvet and silk, with necklines that are a bit more daring but still tasteful."

Elizabeth blushed again but smiled. "Yes, that sounds perfect."

Once the chosen designs had been set aside, the seamstress then laid out several sketches. "I also have patterns for nightgowns, ma'am."

Feeling as though her face would catch fire, Elizabeth's cheeks turned a deep red, and she raised her hands up to cool them. "Nightgowns? I suppose those are needed as well."

Plumelle held up a drawing. "This one would look lovely on you, Mrs. Darcy. Perhaps with a soft muslin and delicate embroidery?"

"I… I suppose," Elizabeth said. "I hadn't really considered that." Her eyes darted towards the door that led to Darcy's room. The last time he had seen her in a nightgown, it was ugly and shapeless, yet he'd still wanted her.

How would he react if I wore something like this? Would he still be able to control himself? Still wait until I am ready? What message would I be sending him if he came in and saw me attired thus?

"Perhaps we choose some simple nightgowns for now," Mrs. Reynolds said, "and just one that's more fine? More can always be ordered later."

"Of course," Mrs. Hawkins said, her heart going out to the young woman who was so obviously ill at ease with the discussion. "All that's left to do now is take your measurements."

Elizabeth sighed with relief at the change in topics and allowed herself to be poked and prodded. It was a surprise to see that the seamstress measured every part of her— even the lengths of her fingers and the different parts of her torso, arms, and legs.

It certainly does make things different, having wealth, she thought again.

As she bade farewell to the now confident Mrs. Hawkins, Elizabeth felt a swelling of excitement and anticipation— not only for the new clothing, but for the symbolism behind it. She was putting aside the clothes of her past self and embracing her new role as a wife and mistress of an estate.

With a lightened heart, she watched the three women leave her room. She turned to stare out the window, feeling more empowered and ready to face the future.