“Custom-spiced cider. Without nutmeg. Because he overheard you once, weeks ago, and remembered. Oh, and let us not forget that you wounded his pride once and he still came to heel when you snapped your fingers. And today, there was hardly room for us in his carriage amid all the hot bricks he laid out for your comfort. I do not think he is making casual gestures.”
Elizabeth frowned into her drink. “Do you think he is handsome?”
“He is,” Jane allowed. “He wears that uniform like a promise.”
Elizabeth’s mouth tightened. “Promise! Such an apt word. I should very much like someone to keep one.”
“That sounds rather bitter.” Jane was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “You deserve more than that.”
Elizabeth turned slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do I? I wonder.”
“You do,” Jane repeated, not as correction, but as fact.
Elizabeth looked away. “Then why does it feel as though I have already asked too much?”
Jane did not answer. She simply reached out and brushed a fleck of ash from Elizabeth’s sleeve.
Across the green, Captain Marlowe turned from a knot of officers. A woman laughed at something he had said—but the moment his gaze found Elizabeth, the sound seemed to fall away. His expression shifted, not quite into a smile, but something suspended between anticipation and relief. He hesitated. Then, adjusting his gloves with needless care, he began making his way back across the frost-hardened ground.
Elizabeth straightened. Her spine found its steel. Her gloves were smoothed.
Jane’s eyes flicked to the movement, her tone edged with wariness. “Lizzy...”
But Elizabeth had already risen from the bench and stepped forward, intercepting him with a warmth she summoned like an actress to her mark.
“Captain,” she said, her smile a flawless courtesy. “I was thinking of trying out my skates. Would you assist me?”
He brightened, visibly heartened. A flush touched his cheeks—not just from cold, but from the awareness of her attention. He stood before her a little taller, his shoulders a touch squarer. When he reached to adjust the fall of her scarf, asking whether the wind had turned too sharp, whether the fire was making her eyes sting, Elizabeth did not flinch. She let him fuss, let him think it pleased her. Perhaps it did, in a strange, soft way—like being wrapped too tightly in a blanket that you had not asked for.
Before he could say more, a familiar voice broke through the light chatter of the crowd.
Elizabeth and Jane turned in unison. Mr. Bingley was making his way toward them, his stride brisk, cheeks flushed from the cold, and eyes alight with pleasure.
"Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth!"
He reached them with a boyish grin, bowing slightly. "Captain Marlowe," he added with a nod, "what a delightful surprise to find you all here."
They exchanged greetings, and Jane, ever gracious, inquired after his sisters. Mr. Bingley responded warmly, but his gaze lingered on Jane.
"We are planning a gathering for Christmas Eve," he said after a few pleasantries. "Nothing grand. A bit of music, some cards, perhaps a parlor game or two. I hope you will all come."
He smiled at them all, but his eyes kept drifting back to Jane—hopeful, intent, and so clearly smitten that Elizabeth had to look away for fear of smiling too much.
“I am sure it will be delightful,” Jane replied. “We would be… delighted, will we not, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Of course.”
“And I have managed to convince my sisters to keep the guest list restrained this year,” Bingley added with a touch of pride. “Only a few friends and neighbors. Some of my friends from school, and… well, Darcy will be there, of course.”
Elizabeth managed a polite nod. She had assumed that the moment he opened his mouth. She would be astonished if it were otherwise. But the certainty of his presence landed differently now—now that Captain Marlowe seemed ready to step forward. Now that she might have to look Darcy in the eye while another man tried to claim her attention. It was not guilt, exactly. Just… a new discomfort. One that made her toes curl.
“And Miss Ashford,” Bingley added, with a little laugh. “My sister was—ah—somewhat surprised to learn she would be joining us, but I think she has made peace with it now.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Peace with Miss Ashford?”
Bingley tilted his head. “Oh! Yes, you have not heard, then. Darcy is engaged. He proposed yesterday, I believe. My sisters have scarcely spoken of anything else since.”
He smiled as if he had delivered news of a successful harvest.
