Page 25 of Twice Chosen

Georgiana touched the paper.

Someone with whom you may be unhappy without first reassuring them.

She had no such person. Not really. Mrs. Annesley was kind, but employed. Darcy loved her, but Georgiana had spent months pretending she had recovered because his pain frightened her.

She took up her pen.

Fitzwilliam,

Then stopped.

Usually she wrote Dear Brother.

She left his name.

Yes. I have been lonely.

She stared at the words.

Then kept writing.

The days between Georgiana's first reply and Darcy's next visit to Longbourn were not idle. Elizabeth discovered that foreknowledge did not spare her the ordinary inconveniences of family life. Lydia still borrowed her ribbons. Kitty still repeated Lydia's opinions five minutes after declaring them her own. Mary still chose the precise moment everyone wished for silence to explain a moral principle. Mrs. Bennet still announced Bingley's annual income to visitors who had not asked.

What changed was Elizabeth's response.

One morning Mary entered breakfast carrying a sheet of music and announced that she meant to play a new piece after dinner. Lydia groaned before Mary finished the sentence. Kitty laughed. Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper with the expression Elizabeth knew too well: he had thought of something clever and was about to offer it at Mary's expense.

Elizabeth spoke first. "Will you show it to me after breakfast?"

Mary stopped. "Why?"

"Because you chose it. I should like to know what you heard in it."

Mr. Bennet's eyes moved toward Elizabeth.

Mary sat slowly. "The middle section is difficult."

"Then perhaps that is the interesting part."

The conversation remained awkward. Mary did not suddenly become charming, and Lydia interrupted twice. But Mr. Bennet's joke went unsaid.

Later Elizabeth found him in the library.

"You rescued Mary," he observed.

Elizabeth leaned against the desk. "From whom?"

Her father smiled. "From me, apparently."

She did not smile back quickly enough.

His expression shifted.

"Lizzy?"

"Nothing, Papa."

"That answer is usually a declaration that something is very much the matter."