“When you are at Longbourn, Mama smiles more.”
Toby added, “Papa comes out of his library.”
“Jane looks happy because Mr. Bingley is there.”
“Mary brings her best books.”
“Kitty talks about gowns.”
“Lydia behaves for almost seven minutes.”
Thomas lowered his voice. “And Lizzy stops worrying.”
Darcy’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
The boys had turned the matter over with all the solemnity they usually devoted to forts and campaigns and arrived at a conclusion no adult had stated aloud.
Toby dug the toe of his boot into the frozen earth. “You make the house better.”
“That is all,” Thomas said, as though he had merely summarized a household inventory.
Darcy stared beyond them toward Longbourn.
Smoke rose from the chimneys. Somewhere behind those walls Elizabeth would be reading, laughing with Jane, or disentangling her brothers from some fresh difficulty. The image came with such immediacy that his chest ached.
He had spent weeks considering practical objections, family expectations, and the distinctions society treated as immutable. He had examined her origins, his own position, and every argument caution could supply.
The boys had ignored all of that.
They had asked a far simpler question.
Did he make Elizabeth happier?
Darcy pursed his lips tightly. “I love your sister.”
The words emerged without preparation.
Without flourish.
They hung in the cold air between them.
Thomas and Toby exchanged triumphant looks.
“We know,” Toby said.
“That was obvious,” Thomas added.
Darcy gave a short laugh. “Apparently to everyone except myself.”
“That is what we have been saying.”
Thomas straightened, all business once more. “Then you must stop waiting.”
“Immediately,” Toby said.
Darcy mounted his horse.
The boys stepped back to allow him room, their faces bright with the satisfaction of generals whose campaign had at last achieved a decisive breakthrough.
