Lord Seeley’s men continued to guard the treasure in the days leading up to the event, with the intention of taking it to Town as soon as the evening was over.
That evening, when Mrs. Bennet was momentarily occupied with Mrs. Hill over the question of whether to serve syllabub or lemon posset, Jane slipped quietly into Elizabeth’s chamber.
Elizabeth sat at her dressing table with a ribbon in her hand that she had tied and untied three times without realizing it.
Jane closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a soft sigh.
“You look as though you have been holding your breath for weeks,” Jane said gently.
Elizabeth turned, startled by how nearly Jane’s words matched the truth.
“Perhaps I have.”
Jane crossed the room and took the ribbon from Elizabeth’s fingers, then placed it neatly upon the table, restoring order to the world.
“I did not realize,” she admitted, “how out of sorts you were until the cloud dispersed.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Was it so obvious?”
“To me,” Jane said, and smiled. “But I know you, Lizzy. Your jokes were sharper. Your silences were longer. And you would look at Papa in a way that frightened me. I thought—” She hesitated, her brow knitting. “I thought you had begun to despise him.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “I did not despise him. I…did not understand him. And I was angry. And I still am, a little. But—”She exhaled, feeling the words unclench within her. “Jane, I am very glad it is finally over.”
Jane’s eyes softened. “So am I.”
Elizabeth rose and went to the window. Outside, the late afternoon light slanted across the lawn, turning the edges of trees to gold. Somewhere beyond those trees lay the common, still scarred by footprints and spade marks—proof of a frenzy that had gripped the neighborhood like a fever.
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said quietly, “this will put paid to any more treasure hunting in the area. Mayhap everyone will assume all has been found,and they will cease trampling the fields as though the earth exists only to be torn apart.”
Jane came to stand beside her. “I hope so. Though you know people, Lizzy. If they believe there is one miracle, they will begin to search for another.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh. “Then we must hope they will tire before they find it.”
Jane’s hand slipped into Elizabeth’s. She squeezed lightly. “You have done a brave thing.”
Elizabeth’s eyes stung unexpectedly. “It does not feel brave. It feels…inevitable. I could not continue with it inside me.”
“You carried it alone,” Jane said, her voice tender. “That is brave enough for me.”
Elizabeth turned away from the window before Jane could see too much of her emotion. “We must prepare,” she said briskly, seizing upon action like a lifeline. “If half the county is to be paraded through Longbourn, Mama will expect us to be perfection.”
Jane’s smile returned, amused and affectionate. “Then we must endeavor not to disappoint her.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
They readied themselves, moving with the easy coordination of sisters who had dressed together their whole lives. Elizabeth opened her wardrobe and drew out her finest gown—a white muslin, its sleeves fashioned of sheer fabric that softened into short, delicate puffs upon her shoulders, while the bodice beneath was fully lined. The material was light enough to float, yet structured enough to sit properly upon her frame. The bodice was cut high beneath the bust, as fashion demanded, the neckline modest but graceful. A narrow band of embroidered silk—pale gold, almost cream—trimmed the edge and echoed along the hem, catching the light when she moved. The skirt fell in a long column, lightly gathered at the back to create a train so modest it would not impede her steps, yet elegant enough to mark her as a woman who understood consequence.
Jane’s gown was different—less embellished, but somehow more striking for its simplicity. The soft lavender silk, chosen to flatter her complexion and hair, had a smooth, luminous sheen that made her look like a painting brought to life. The bodice was plainly cut, the neckline modest, the sleeves shortand fitted with a narrow cuff. A pale blue sash, tied beneath her bust, added the slightest hint of color, and when Jane moved, the silk whispered with each step, reluctant to disturb her.Jane laughed quietly. “You look as though you mean to upstage the treasure.”“Impossible,” Elizabeth retorted. “Even I cannot compete with Roman gold.”
They dressed carefully, each fastening hooks and pins for the other, smoothing wrinkles, adjusting sashes, ensuring the fall of fabric was correct. Then came their hair.
Jane sat first while Elizabeth brushed it out, the honey-colored lengths shining in the candlelight. In 1811, hair was worn higher than it had been in their mother’s youth, arranged in soft curls and knots that framed the face without appearing severe. Elizabeth gathered Jane’s hair into a simple chignon at the back, leaving tendrils loose at the temples. She curled those tendrils carefully, winding them around a heated paper and letting them fall in gentle spirals. The effect softened Jane’s already angelic features and made her look both fashionable and entirely herself.
Then Jane returned the favor.
Elizabeth’s hair was darker, thicker, more unruly in spirit. Jane tamed it with patient hands, parting it neatly and drawing the front sections back, twisting them into a small knot that sat high enough to be modern but not so high as to look absurd. She pinned it with care, then allowed a few curls to remain loose, framing Elizabeth’s cheeks. Finally, she took a narrow ribbon—green, because it suited Elizabeth’s complexion and made her eyes appear brighter—and wove it through the knot at the back in a way that looked effortless, though Elizabeth knew Jane had done it with meticulous thought.
“There,” Jane said softly, stepping back. “Perfect.”
