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Lydia huffed and folded her arms, not to be mollified.

“I must confess,” said Mr. Collins, drawing himself rigidly upright on the carriage seat, “that I find myself wholly in agreement with Mrs. Ellington’s sentiments. Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself has often remarked on the necessity of circumspection in the behaviour of young ladies, particularly in the case of those whose fortunes oblige them to rely upon their character for advancement. I ventured to say something of the kind this very evening. Had I been attended to, we might have been spared the present discussion.”

Lydia shot him a look of the most undisguised disgust. “Then I feel sorry for Lady Catherine, for her life must be very dull indeed.”

At this, Mrs. Ellington tapped her cane against the carriage floor before stating plainly, “Miss Lydia, for the remainder of our ride you will be silent. I will not hear another word.”

Her declaration silenced the entire carriage, and save for an occasional cough from Kitty, the short journey was quiet. Even Mr. Collins, though clearly simmering, restrained himself; he was conscious that he must soon report the whole incident to Mr. Bennet, and felt certain Lydia’s disrespect to the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh would not go unremarked.

As a gentleman, Mr. Collins could not go directly to Mr. Bennet, having to see Mrs. Ellington inside first, but once he had relinquished her care to her maid, he made his way toward the passage with all the self-importance of a man who thought himself in the right. Elizabeth cringed, for although she knew her father well enough to suppose that he would not act, the events of the evening had been trying enough without her father hearing only Mr. Collins’s version of events. Yet, she could not follow Mr. Collins to her father’s library. Instead, she turned to the drawing room, where she spotted Mrs. Hill dusting the mantle.

“Mrs. Hill, has my father eaten, or has he been lost in his books all evening?” she asked.

“He was served his supper, miss, but it returned to Cook uneaten,” was her answer.

“Will you see a tea tray made up? I will bring it in so that I can ensure he eats. Enough for two, at least, for Mr. Collins is with my father in his library.”

“Certainly, Miss Elizabeth.”

It did not take long for the tea to be readied. The Longbourn staff, although small, was efficient. They knew about when the party would be returning and had much of the preparations already in place, should any of them wish for refreshment before retiring. Taking the tray, despite Mrs. Hill’s offer to see it brought to Mr. Bennet, she went to her father’s library. She hesitated at the door and listened. Through the heavy oak door, she could hear the drone of Mr. Collins’s voice, but not his words. She had no desire to enter, but a sense of duty compelled her forward. After a moment, she knocked and waited for her father’s greeting before entering.

“Ah, Lizzy,” her father said upon her entrance.

“Mrs. Hill said that you did not eat your supper. I thought you might wish for some tea instead,” she explained. “I also wished to see you before retiring, but I had no notion that you were speaking with Mr. Collins. I apologise if I am intruding.”

“Certainly not. You are a welcome sight, my dear.” Mr. Bennet took the tray from his daughter and set it on the sideboard. He took a sandwich and gestured toward the plate. “Collins, will you eat?” he asked, his tone making it clear he expected a refusal. “Mr. Collins was just relating the events of the evening. It appears I have been missing a great deal. From what he tells me, Lydia has managed the singular feat of gaining Lady Catherine’s disapproval without ever being in her presence.”

“Indeed, sir!” Mr. Collins said, his tone conveying immediate satisfaction that his cousin understood the gravity of the situation.

“I am sure Lady Catherine would be so generous and kind that she would forgive such an infraction,” said Elizabeth, “if the offender were repentant.”

Elizabeth saw a flicker of weariness cross her father’s face and inwardly chided herself; she ought to have known her words would send Mr. Collins into a monologue about Lady Catherine’s many fine qualities, which included her gracious forgiveness.

“Indeed, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet, waiting until the other man, who clearly loved the sound of his own voice, had finally paused for breath. “I shall act as I see fit.”

To Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr. Collins was satisfied with this and, after a few more civilities, quit the room. A weary silence settled, which Mr. Bennet broke by turning to his daughter. “Now, Lizzy,” he said, gesturing to a chair, “pray tell me what truly happened.” Elizabeth began, and her father listened as she gave an account of the evening that was both measured and comprehensible.

Mr. Bennet sighed, the sound barely audible in the quiet room. “Perhaps I ought to listen to Mr. Collins and Mrs. Ellington,” he said, his tone heavier than before. “It seems it would cause less trouble to put Lydia back in the schoolroom than it does to let her remain out.”

“She and Mamma would both be upset,” said Elizabeth, “and yet, her conduct of late does argue for some manner of retreat.”

“Indeed, they would. But the complaints of the foolish are easily borne. Mrs. Ellington complains quite as readily as your mother, I find, though she has the advantage of being right.”

Mr. Bennet fell silent, his gaze distant as he considered the matter. After some minutes, he noticed the hour and sent Elizabeth off to bed.

Elizabeth obeyed and retired. She reflected, somewhere between the library door and her own room, that she had not felt so little troubled at the close of an evening since some time before Lydia’s coming out.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth woke early the next morning. The house was still silent, and she took a moment to enjoy the stillness. Naturally, servants were already about their duties when she descended the stairs, yet she had the room to herself for some time before any of her family appeared. Mary was the first of her sisters to come down to the breakfast room. Elizabeth was glad for this, as she had no wish for her peace to be interrupted. As Mary moved to the sideboard to pour her tea, Elizabeth noticed her sister was in better looks and spirits than she had enjoyed for a long time.

“You are up early, Mary,” Elizabeth remarked, watching her sister fill her plate at the sideboard. Mary’s quiet composure at the sideboard drew her attention.

“I suppose I am awake a little earlier than my usual time,” Mary replied. “I enjoy waking early when the house is yet peaceful. I can read without disturbance after I finish breaking my fast.”

“Indeed,” was all that Elizabeth said in response.

She turned her attention back to her own cup of tea, though her gaze kept drifting toward her sister. Mary’s posture, usually so erect and deliberate, seemed less rigid than usual, and her whole countenance was lit by an unaccustomed warmth. Elizabeth could not help but wonder when this most extraordinary change had come over her sister.