Page 79 of Twice Chosen

Her eyes filled.

He looked at his hands. "I have been lazy."

Elizabeth said nothing.

"I told myself I was above the foolishness of this house. It was convenient. I could retreat, laugh, and pretend observation was the same as responsibility."

"Papa--"

He looked up. "Why now?"

Danger.

Elizabeth could not tell him the truth.

She chose one instead. "Because I love you enough to want more."

His expression broke.

He reached for her hand.

"That sounds like something an old woman would say."

Elizabeth laughed through tears. "You have no idea."

The next morning Mr. Bennet asked Kitty to show him the sketchbook she had been hiding for months.

Kitty assumed he was mocking her.

He asked again.

By the following week one of her drawings hung in his library.

Small things.

But Elizabeth had lived long enough to know families often changed by inches rather than declarations.

The weeks after Elizabeth's confrontation with her father were uncomfortable in the way useful changes often were. Mr. Bennet made an effort, then retreated, then tried again. Mary remained wary of his jokes. Kitty did not suddenly become confident. Lydia still mistook correction for persecution whenever correction interfered with fun.

Elizabeth had to resist congratulating herself each time something went better than before.

One afternoon Mr. Bennet came into the drawing room while Kitty and Miss Harcourt were examining a set of botanical sketches. He asked a question about shading. Kitty answered cautiously. He asked another.

Lydia, bored, announced that Kitty's tree looked like a cabbage.

Kitty's face fell.

Elizabeth opened her mouth.

Mr. Bennet spoke first. "Then perhaps you should draw one yourself and demonstrate the distinction."

Lydia stared.

The remark was dry enough to be recognizably him, but it defended rather than diminished.

Kitty looked at her father in surprise.

Mr. Bennet looked uncomfortable with everyone's attention. "Do continue, Catherine."