“But not wrong,” Mary concluded.
As they finished the conversation, Lydia promised to “throttle Darcy personally” if he proved to be hopeless, Mary recommended a stack of relationship psychology articles she insisted Elizabeth should be aware of, and Kitty took at least seventeen more photos of the evening’s wine glasses. Ultimately, Elizabeth found herself alone with Jane in the kitchen.
“You’re going to talk to him,” Jane stated. It wasn’t a question.
“I have to, don’t I?” Elizabeth replied, rinsing wine glasses in the sink. “He knows something is off, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not. At least now I won’t lead with ‘your present was stupid.’”
No, it washerwho was being stupid.
Jane turned to face her sister, her expression gentle but serious. “Lizzy, I have something I’d like to say.”
“Please.”
“You and me and the girls—we’ve all learned how to be loved by watching Mum and Dad. We’ve all been, well, imprinted by spectacle, don’t you think? Mumlivesfor big moments—bright colours, big emotions, and public declarations. Quiet care is lovely, but of all of us, you, especially, seem to register love best when it’s . . . undodgeable.”
It was a different way of saying that she didn’t trust easily, and Elizabeth knew it was true. “Dad is the opposite of Mum too. He loves her in a thousand quiet ways, but she still tells the story of the time he hired a brass band for their tenth anniversary.” She smiled at Jane. “Do you remember?”
“I do.”
“Somewhere in my overthinking brain, real love is always associated with fanfare,” Elizabeth mused. “But Iknowthat’s not right. At least, it’s not right for everyone.”
Jane’s smile was encouraging. “Mum and Dad are far more extreme opposites than you and Darcy. Andthey’restill together.”
“I’m not sure Dad hiding in his office is the model of a healthy relationship,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh. She glanced toward the den, where she could hear the low murmur of male voices and occasional bursts of laughter. “But Darcy and I are different than Mum and Dad in any case.” She sighed. “I think I’m going to have this conversation with him tonight, while I still have the nerve.”
“Here?” Jane asked. “Now?”
“Why not? The longer I put it off, the more I’ll overthink it.”
Jane smiled. “You’re very good at that.”
“And besides,” Elizabeth smiled ruefully, “if it goes badly, at least I’ll be somewhere with a sympathetic sister nearby.”
“In that case, I’ll put the kettle on. Just in case you need tea afterward.”
“Or something stronger,” Elizabeth muttered, finding a chair and sitting down to wait.
Jane gazed at her for a moment.
“What?”
“You’re allowed to be doing well, you know.” Jane's gaze was steady. “You don’t have to stay who you were out of a fear of changing. You’ll always be you, you just won’t need duct tape to keep the bumper on yourcar.” She smiled. “You’re not peering in through the window at the posh kids anymore.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh. “What a picture.”
Jane just waited.
It hit her like a piano falling on her head in one of those old slapstick films. Her sister was right. She’dearnedher place, and Darcy had never questioned it. It wasn’t even her success Darcy had wanted. He had no use for society darlings like Caroline and Louisa. He wantedher. He admired her drive and her ambition, and he had never required proof that she belonged in his world. He had just invited her in.Shewas the one lingering outside and refusing to accept that she belonged.
Well then. No more pressing her face to the glass. Keys out, door open, walk in.
She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m stepping inside. Happy?”
Jane nodded. “I am. And you will be too.”
Through the kitchen door, she could hear the murmur of Darcy’s voice, deep and warm. Soon enough, she’d find out whether that warmth extended to conversations about Christmas presents and emotional needs. She deserved clarity. And so did he.
Chapter Sixteen
