Jane’s cheeks colored slightly. “Preparation.”
Elizabeth stared, startled. “Preparation?”
Jane turned her face toward Elizabeth at last, and there was something in her expression Elizabeth had never quite seen before—still gentle, still kind, but edged with a new firmness, as though Jane had discovered a spine she had always possessed and simply never used.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Jane said softly, “taught me.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Taught you what?”
“How to defend myself,” Jane answered, voice still soft but unshaken. “Not in a ridiculous, theatrical way. Not with threats or shrieking. But in a way that…works.”
Elizabeth gaped for a heartbeat, then found herself smiling despite the lingering horror of the memory. “How on earth did that come about?”
Jane’s blush deepened. “It began as a jest, I think. After the picnic—after Mr. Bingley grew…more obvious in his displeasure. Colonel Fitzwilliam said something about how soldiers learned quickly what it meant to be cornered, and that women were far too often cornered in different ways. I laughed. I told him no one had ever tried to harm me.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened.Until they did.
Jane continued, her voice steadier now that she had begun. “He did not frighten me with tales of violence, Lizzy. He simply—” she hesitated, searching for the right words “—he simply made me understand that it is not unladylike to protect oneself. That refusing to be handled is not a failing of sweetness. He said that kindness is a virtue, but it should not make one helpless.”
Elizabeth felt warmth rise in her chest, hot and sudden. “He said that?”
Jane nodded. “He asked permission first. That mattered. He said he would never presume to touch me without my consent, but that he could show me a few ways to break free if ever I was seized.” Jane looked down at their joined hands. “We practiced—only once or twice. In the garden. With Mama’s roses watching us, as if judging.”
Elizabeth let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “And you agreed?”
“I did,” Jane said simply. “Because I did not wish to be foolish. And because…I trusted him.”
There it was. The word did not sound like Jane’s usual charitable trust in all mankind. It sounded particular, chosen and earned.
Elizabeth leaned closer, voice gentle. “And when the moment came, you remembered.”
Jane’s eyes lifted. “Yes. It was not graceful, I am sure.”
“It was magnificent,” Elizabeth said fervently, and Jane’s smile finally warmed.
Jane’s gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight lay pale on the glass. “I have spent my life trying to make others comfortable,” she said quietly. “Trying to smooth everything, to keep harmony, to see only good. And I still believe in goodness, Lizzy. I do. But I am beginning to see that goodness must be…protected. Otherwise, it is only something others take advantage of.”
Elizabeth’s throat burned. She squeezed Jane’s hand. “I am proud of you.”
Jane swallowed, then gave a small nod as if accepting the praise was itself a new skill she had to learn. “I did not tell you earlier because I did not wish you to worry. And because…because I did not wish to speak too soon of what I feel.”
Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Jane…”
Jane’s cheeks flushed again, more deeply than before. “I am falling in love,” she whispered.
The words hung in the soft, candlelit air like something sacred.
Elizabeth stared at her sister, and for a moment she could not speak—not from surprise, but from the sheer relief of hearing Jane say what she had long suspected yet feared to hope. Jane deserved love that saw her mind, her heart, her strength—not merely her face.
“With Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth managed softly, though she already knew.
Jane nodded, eyes shining, though no tears fell. “Yes.”
Elizabeth’s own eyes stung. She blinked quickly, unwilling to cry and ruin the moment with her own sentiment.
Jane gave a quiet laugh that sounded almost incredulous.
“It is strange, Lizzy. I always thought love would feel…like inevitability. Like a clean, bright thing.”
