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Elizabeth sat up and listened toward the landing. No sound came from Jane’s room. She had no reason to disturb her sister merely because she herself had dreamed badly.

At length she lay down again. In the morning, she resolved, everything would look more sensible.

Morning brought her father’s letter.

Elizabeth had scarcely seated herself at the breakfast table when Charles passed it across to her. She recognized the hand before she took the paper, and all her recollections of the night lost their importance beside the familiar slant of the address.

“At last,” she said.

“Have we kept you so long from your family?” Charles asked.

“You have kept me at a distance which Papa has not yet learned to overcome with his pen.”

Mr. Darcy looked up from his own correspondence. “Would you prefer to read it elsewhere?”

“I should, if you will excuse me.”

“Of course.”

He made it easy for her to leave. Elizabeth thanked him, took her cup at Jane’s urging, and went to the window seat in her room. She set the cup upon the little table and unfolded the letter with a pleasure so sharp that for a moment she did not begin to read.

Longbourn, September 1, 1813

My dear Lizzy,

Your account arrived yesterday and has been examined by your mother with a severity which ought to satisfy even Jane’s husband. She approves the sunshine, doubts whether Jane eats quite as well as you say, and wishes to know what she eats. I have declined to prepare a list of questions upon the subject, since you would then be obliged to write nothing else.

I am glad your host attends so carefully to your comfort. You must not encourage him to undertake the weather. I have spent several years declining responsibility for it here, and should dislike to have my conduct exposed by a more industrious gentleman in Derbyshire.

Lord Houndsmere appears to understand you very well. He began by taking something you wished to keep and has nevertheless secured your good opinion. I recommend him to your younger sisters as an example of a more successful method than their present one, which consists of denying that they have borrowed anything at all.

Mary has found a passage in a book which she wishes you to read. I offered to hear it in your place, but she informed me that you would understand her objection to it. I am therefore permitted to remain ignorant until your return. Kitty has begun trimming a bonnet upon which Lydia has already pronounced a judgment. The bonnet is altered every morning, and the judgment survives.

Your mother means to write to Jane herself, having discovered that I am not making sufficient use of this opportunity. She was much affected by Jane’s thanks for the old baby clothes and tells me that the drawers are quite empty without them. I have refrained from examining the drawers. Some statements are better received upon trust.

Your chair is unoccupied. I had thought to put a book upon it, but found myself removing the volume when I came in this morning, which you may interpret as you please. The fire is not lit, so your mother would have been correct in that particular. The room is quieter without you. I had expected to enjoy that more.

Write when you can. I should like to hear whether you have finished your borrowed book and whether its owner has survived your opinion of it. Give my love to Jane and my regards to Bingley. You may present my compliments to your host, provided you can do so without committing me to an opinion upon his weather.

Your affectionate father,

T. Bennet

Elizabeth read the paragraph about her chair again.

Then she put the letter upon her lap and wiped her eyes before looking out at the little court.

She had wanted news of home. It had not occurred to her that knowing herself missed might make the distance more difficult to bear. She could imagine her father standing in the library with the book in his hand, having moved it without thinking, and being vexed enough by his own action to make a joke of it in the letter.

She would have given a great deal to sit with him that morning.

A knock at the door saved her from considering precisely how much.

Jane came in carrying her workbag. “May I hear it?”

“Most of it. Papa has been entrusted with intelligence concerning Mama’s drawers, and I do not know whether I ought to make it public.”

Jane laughed and sat beside her. Elizabeth read the letter aloud, omitting only the part about the library being quieter. She wished to keep that a little longer for herself.