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Elizabeth tried to stop beside the hall table. Her feet carried her past it. She had called the notion foolish upstairs; now she wanted the safety of being able to call it foolish again.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror as she passed. She looked perfectly normal. Calm, even. No one would guess that internally she was screaming.

So I cannot refuse major plot points, she cataloged mentally. But perhaps I can test smaller boundaries. Perhaps there are loopholes.

She had no intention of being led meekly upstairs. The difficulty was that, to every outward appearance, she was being led meekly upstairs. Perhaps a noise would help. An undignified one, with no possibility of being mistaken for agreement.

She tested it. Opened her mouth. Tried to scream. Her mouth yawned delicately instead.

"Tired, dear?" her mother asked.

Her mother had scarcely looked round. Elizabeth closed her mouth on the yawn. She had attempted an outcry and produced something suitable for the retiring room.

She would be strategic. She would be observant. She would document everything. If she was trapped in a story, she would learn which things it could prevent and which it merely suggested. But first, she would have to survive an assembly where she already knew a proud gentleman would insult her.

At least she knew about the slight. She might meet it with composure, as one might prepare to step into cold water.

She paused mid-thought. Knowing that cold water was coming had never yet made it any warmer.

"Splendid," she muttered. Or tried to. Her mouth stayed shut.

The list upstairs already required another page.

CHAPTER 2

She had spent the afternoon attempting small rebellions. First, she tried to tear her gown. Her hand reached for the fabric, then decided it would rather examine her fingernails instead.

She next asked to wear a plainer gown, hoping her mother would detain her for an argument. Mrs. Bennet agreed at once. The unexpected concession gave Elizabeth half a minute of hope, until she found herself dressed and waiting beside the carriage at precisely the appointed time.

She had been allowed a different gown. She had not been allowed a different evening.

"I'm being kept prisoner by my own body," she muttered to herself. "This is humiliating."

Her pulse quickened.

"Oh, be quiet. You're not even relevant right now."

She was, it seemed, required at the assembly. She folded her hands in her lap so Jane would not see them trembling.

* * *

The Meryton assembly offered every comfort of familiarity, including the discomfort of Aunt Philips' elbows. She scanned the crowd with the eerie sensation of watching a play she had seen performed countless times before.

There was Charlotte Lucas by the refreshment table, looking sensible and well-adjusted in a way Elizabeth suddenly deeply envied. There stood Aunt Philips, her voice carrying across the room as she discussed someone's gout with great enthusiasm.

The voice tried again: "Her breath caught."

"No," Elizabeth said aloud.

Jane turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Lizzy?"

"Forgive me. I was objecting to a thought."

"An unpleasant one?"

Elizabeth looked at her sister. "What would you say if I told you someone had written down what we must do tonight?"

"I should say Mama had made a list. Are you quite well?"