Page 157 of Companions of Their Youth
The question settled into her bones like frost—but then, quietly, came another.
Or does He know that I was only trying to live?
She took a shuddering breath.
She had not chosen this. She had not asked for it. She had spoken the truth. Nothing more.
Wickham had made his choices—carried his bitterness like a torch for years.Hehad turned love into hatred.Hehad lured her away.Hehad raised the pistol.
She had only stopped him.
A warmth, faint but sure, spread through her chest.
Peace. It was not joy—she would never be able to rejoice in the suffering and death of another human being.
But it was clarity. And that was enough for tonight.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Come in,” she called, rising to sit more properly.
The door creaked open, and her mother peeked her head in.
“Lizzy?”
Elizabeth blinked. “Mama? Are you well?”
Mrs. Bennet looked pale—and oddly nervous. She clutched her shawl tighter about her shoulders and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with unusual quiet.
“Nothing is the matter,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all. I just… I thought it was time we had a little talk.”
Elizabeth frowned. “About what?”
Mrs. Bennet hesitated. “About… well… about the wedding night.”
Elizabeth’s entire body went hot. “Oh.”
“Yes.” Her mother gave a weak smile and gestured toward the chair at the vanity. “May I?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth nodded, unsure whether to laugh or flee.
Mrs. Bennet sat and folded her hands tightly in her lap. “You see, my mother died before I was married, so I never had… this sort of talk. Everything I learned came from Mrs. Long and a few other ladies who were more frank than decent. But it was better than nothing.”
Elizabeth swallowed.
“And most mothers,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “do not say anything until the night before the wedding. To preserve a girl's innocence, you see. But—well—I know you and Mr. Darcy are a love match. And with how often you go walking and such…”
Elizabeth blinked, confused. “I do not—”
“I am not accusing you of anything improper,” her mother rushed to add, flushing. “But I thought… it was best to say something now. Just in case.”
She pressed a hand to her brow. “Let me begin again.”
She took a steadying breath, then looked Elizabeth square in the eye.
“What do you know,” she asked, slowly, “about how babies are made?”
“I know it’s probably similar to the animals I have seen on here on the home farm,” Elizabeth murmured, her face already warm.
