Elizabeth turned sharply. “About what?”
His brows lifted. “Nothing improper. Only whether my continued attentions are unwelcome to the family.”
“To the family?”
“To you, chiefly.”
“Then ask me.”
He appeared startled.
Elizabeth regretted the sharpness, though not the sentiment.
“If you wish to know whether I welcome your attentions, Mr. Wilson, you must ask me. Mama may advise me. Papa may tease me into madness. But they cannot answer for me.”
A slow smile touched his mouth. Not triumphant. Respectful.
“You are very much your mother’s daughter.”
“I am also my father’s.”
“Yes,” he said. “You are.”
That pleased her.
It complicated nothing. It solved nothing. It pleased her nonetheless.
When they returned to the house, Mrs. Bennet received them with an expression too perceptive for Elizabeth’s comfort. Mr. Wilson asked for a word with her later that day, and Mrs. Bennet agreed without surprise.
Elizabeth escaped upstairs before she could be asked any questions.
Jane found her in her chamber an hour later.
“You walked with Mr. Wilson.”
“I did.”
Jane sat upon the bed, still careful with her strength though nearly restored. “Was it pleasant?”
Elizabeth rolled the same ribbon three times. “Yes.”
Jane waited.
Elizabeth made a face. “Do not look so patient. It is unkind.”
“I am saying nothing.”
“That is the worst of it.”
Jane giggled politely.
Elizabeth sat beside her. “He is better than I first judged him.”
“That is good.”
“It would be easier if he were not.”
Jane’s expression gentled.
