Page 108 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Beneath it, in Mary’s careful hand, was a note.

Dear Lizzy,

I had meant to send you a passage from Mrs. More, but I have lately been reading Cowper, and though I do not always comprehend him as quickly as I might wish, he leaves me feeling quieter than many authors who seem determined only to instruct me. There is a lesson in that, I think.

I copied these lines because they pleased me, though I am not certain whether pleasure is the proper word. They made me feel that a person may be improved by something gentler than correction. That while God’s work may not be clear to us, it does not follow that He is absent; this is a comfort to me, and I hope it may be to you.

I must thank you and Jane for trusting me when you left home. I do not mean that I have done everything well, for I have not. But being obliged to put my principles into practice has taught me that principles are rather more useful that way.

I am trying to do better.

Mary

Elizabeth read the note once, then read it again.

“I think Mary is learning patience and compassion,” Jane said.

Elizabeth gave a watery laugh and pressed the paper flat against the counterpane. “Yes, better than I have been.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “I asked you what was wrong with me, and Mary has answered with Providence.”

“Do you not see? Providence is the answer, Lizzy.” Jane drew her knees up beneath the quilt. “You think, because you cannot understand why these things have happened as they have, that there must be some fault in you. I do not believe that. Sometimes events are confused because people are confused. It does not mean these things happen without reason, even if we do not know what that reason is.”

Elizabeth looked down at the copied lines. “Mysterious way,” she read softly.

“Yes,” Jane said.

“That,” Elizabeth said, releasing a breath, “is a rather large comfort for so small a bedroom.”

Jane put her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and held her tight.

The ache did not leave Elizabeth’s heart, for nothing had been resolved. Mr. Darcy was still gone, and she had still sent him away. But perhaps things would work out as they ought, even if it was not as she wished.

A week after Mr. Darcy’s visit, Mr. Aldridge called.

His card came up at two. Elizabeth glanced once at Jane, who had looked up from her work a little too quickly, then smoothed her skirt and sat back.

When he entered, he bowed to them all, spoke first to Aunt Gardiner, and placed the second volume of Tom Jones on the table.

“For Mr. Gardiner,” he said, but his eyes met Jane’s.

“That is very kind,” said Aunt Gardiner.

Mr. Aldridge smiled. “It is good to see you all. My mother instructs me to say that the southern rooms are much improved, that the painters took three days longer to complete the business than they promised, and that the foreman told her no man of sense would begin such work in the winter. She took great satisfaction in relaying all three facts.”

“She is well, I hope?” Jane asked.

“She is always well when she has been proven right. It is the secret of her robust constitution.”

Jane laughed, then placed her hand over her mouth and pressed her lips together. “Forgive me.”

Mr. Aldridge looked at her, surprised, then pleased. His hand, which had been resting on his hat, moved away from it.

“She also had much to say about the sermons she has heard this winter,” he said. “Last Sunday, our curate preached eleven minutes by her watch. He is now considered an excellent man.”

“Did the eleven minutes include the text?” Jane inquired.