Elizabeth shrugged. “Maybe I wanted it to be a sign so I wouldn’t have to ask.”
“That,” Jane said kindly, “is a lot of pressure to put on a present.”
Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Talk to him,” Jane prompted. “About what you need, not about what the headphones meant.”
“And if he can’t hear you,” Lydia declared, “then we riot.”
“We donotriot,” Jane said.
“We riot at dawn!” Lydia cried, pushing one fist into the air.
Elizabeth’s laugh was shaky but genuine. “No riots. Just emotional bravery and direct speech. Which may be harder than taking on the Bastille.”She gazed around at her sisters. “Have I told you all lately that you’re irritating and wonderful?”
“Yes,” Mary told her.
“You tell us that all the time,” Kitty added.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. “I need to talk to him.”
“Obviously,” Lydia agreed. “The question is how. You can’t just march up to him and say ‘Your Christmas present made me feel insecure.’”
“Why not?” Kitty asked. “That’s basically what happened.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Because subtlety, you absolute walnut. Relationships require finesse.”
“Since when do you know anything about finesse?” Mary demanded.
“I’m a writer,” Elizabeth said, ignoring them all. “I can come up with some better way to communicate than present-giving.”
Mary nodded. “Good. Communication is the foundation of—”
“If you start lecturing, I’m drinking your wine,” Lydia threatened.
“You can’t drink my wine. It’s in my hand.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Girls,” Jane interrupted before the wine standoff could escalate. “Focus. Elizabeth needs our help figuring out how to approach this conversation.”
Elizabeth stood up, needing to move. She walked to the window, looking out at the garden where snow was falling steadily now, coating everything in white.
“Talk to him,” Jane urged. “Tell him how you need to be loved.”
Georgiana had told her the same, hadn’t she? “And if he can’t or doesn’t want to?”
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you’ll know he’s not the right person for you. And you can move on to someone who thinks you’reperfect as you are, wild dog and murder plots and terrible knitting skills and all.”
Elizabeth felt a smile tugging at her lips. “My knitting skills aren’t terrible. They’redeveloping.”
“Your knitting skills,” Mary said, “are an affront to sheep everywhere.”
“Mary!” Jane scolded.
“What? I’m being honest! That scarf looks like it was knitted during an earthquake!”
Elizabeth was laughing. “You’re all horrible.”
