Page 44 of The Longbourn Bloodline

Elizabeth drew a steadying breath. “I did, but now I don’t. I believed it was all an attempt to demonstrate his superiority and posture himself as a benefactor. To prove me wrong for disliking him.”

“Yet he desires your good opinion above all else, Lizzy. I strongly suspect he desires considerably more.”

“That is precisely what I cannot credit, and I keep expecting the jest to reveal itself—that he could never truly wish to marry the not-beautiful, not-accomplished, impertinent, perpetually muddy country mouse, when the ton offers him diamonds by the dozen. Jane, he has only to propose to his cousin, and Rosings Park will be his, neatly joined to Pemberley.”

Jane’s eyebrows lifted. “Did he tell you about his cousin?”

“No, the Colonel did, in explanation that Darcy had no other motives in coming to Longbourn than to assist his five cousins to be more presentable in society, as at the time, he held the entail as the heir, and we would have become his wards, his dependents should Papa leave us.”

“And yet, Lizzy, he has given up an inheritance to secure your approbation. I confess I do not understand it. What opinion could be worth so much?”

Elizabeth had no answer. Or rather, she had too many, each more contradictory and terrifying than the last. If Darcy’s actions were what Jane suggested—if they were not strategy or pride or some elaborate performance of superiority—then Elizabeth had been profoundly and disastrously wrong about a man. And she did not yet know how to live with that.

“I do not understand his character.” She heard the weakness in her voice. “That is the trouble. I thought I knew it. I was so certain, and now I find I do not know him at all.”

“Then you must learn it. You will not rest until you have it all figured out, Lizzy. That is your nature. But take care you do not miss the forest for the trees.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you are so busy examining his faults and virtues, weighing them like goods at market, that you may fail to see the man standing before you.”

Jane, as ever, saw only the best in everyone, and perhaps it was time Elizabeth reconsidered the lens through which she viewed the world. The Turner cottage came into sight, rescuing her from the need to reply, but the question remained lodged like a splinter she could neither ignore nor remove. What would it mean, truly, to know Fitzwilliam Darcy?

“The Turners,” she said brightly, gesturing toward the cottage. “Mrs. Turner will be expecting us. And little Molly will want her peppermints.”

Gerald coaxed the donkey through the Turners’ gate with a quarter of an apple, and Elizabeth lifted the first basket, ensuring that the peppermints were in place.

Mrs. Turner welcomed them into the recently scrubbed cottage. The children sat at the window as lookouts, and Elizabeth gave them the peppermints while introducing Jane.

“Miss Lizzy,” Molly piped, curtsying sweetly. “Your sister is so pretty.”

“Molly Turner!” Mrs. Turner patted her daughter’s head. “Children are to stay at the window. Thank the Miss Bennets for the peppermint sticks.”

The children dutifully thanked both Elizabeth and Jane and returned to the window with their peppermint sticks.

“Miss Bennet, we are glad to meet you,” Mrs. Turner said. “Your sister has been a friend to us, and we hope you will be the same.”

“I intend to be,” Jane said. “I trust that the Christmas season will be joyous. Please do come by Longbourn when we hold the wassailing in the orchard and caroling.”

“We will indeed, and Miss Bennet, we are so pleased that you are the heiress. My husband saw the previous heir leave, and while he was most generous, we trust you will be as involved.”

“He fixed the roof,” one of the boys chimed in from the window seat. “I got to see the sky through the roof before they stuffed it.”

Elizabeth remembered how Darcy had noticed the thinning thatch without Mrs. Turner’s mention, and they admired the new shutters Mr. Turner had fitted—with timber supplied, Elizabeth noted silently, from the estate stores Darcy had replenished at his own cost. After leaving flour, a ham, candles, and a cone of sugar, they were on their way.

The Hendersons received them with boisterous good cheer and a cup of cider. Old Mr. Henderson’s hearing had worsened since autumn, and Jane’s clear, patient voice carried where Elizabeth’s quicker speech sometimes failed. They left their basket and a length of warm flannel, and Elizabeth observed that Jane had already begun asking the right questions—about the well, the henhouse, and the eldest boy’s apprenticeship—with the natural attentiveness of a woman raised to notice the comfort of others.

The Fosters were briefer. She was in the middle of baking and could spare only a few minutes at the door, though she accepted the basket with genuine pleasure and told Jane she had “a kind face, just like your sister, and we are glad of it.”

The donkey rallied for the final hill toward the Millers’ cottage, the load being lighter with Gerald’s decision to push the cart from behind. The cottage looked different than Elizabeth remembered.

The roof, which had sagged so alarmingly, now sat straight and solid against the winter sky. New thatch gleamed golden-brown where the old had been grey and rotting. The chimney no longer leaked smoke from its patched crack, and the crack itself had been mended, the rags replaced with proper mortar.

“Miss Lizzy!” Mrs. Miller emerged from the cottage door. “And Miss Bennet. Oh, we are honored, truly honored. We have heard, miss. The entire neighborhood is talking about it. Is it true you are to inherit Longbourn?”

“Yes, it is true,” Jane replied. “You know my sister, Elizabeth, who has been standing in as steward these past years. I will work alongside of her.”

“Indeed, indeed.” Mrs. Miller’s eyes darted to Elizabeth. “We are glad of it, Miss Bennet, but who would have thought that the young gentleman would be so generous? We could hardly credit it when Mr. Jones told us.”