“Aunt Madeline.” Elizabeth smiled, stepping into the hallway and embracing her aunt.
“Welcome to Cheapside, Lizzy,” Mr Edward Gardiner’s baritone echoed from the study door. Her uncle, a man of trade who worked hard and loved his family fiercely, stepped forward to kiss her cheek. “We have missed your particular brand of cynicism and mischief in this house. Even the children have been too well-behaved.”
As if summoned, the Gardiner nursery descended upon them.
Henry, who was eight and trying to appear as gentlemanly as his father, skidded to a stop in front of Elizabeth and bowed respectfully, ruining the effect with a wide grin. Elizabeth curtsied formally and then went to hug him and ruffle his hair.
Alice, six years old and clutching a primer, tugged on Elizabeth’s sleeve. “I can read three new words, Lizzy.”
“And I,” announced little Ruth, who was five, holding up a slightly gnawed wooden soldier, “have a soldier.”
“I see that you do, Ruth, though I suggest you do not eat his musket.” Elizabeth smiled, feeling the last remnants of Kent wash away in the tide of genuine, unpretentious domesticity.
An hour later, the children had been banished back to the nursery, the travelling trunks had been sent upstairs, and thethree women were sequestered in Mrs Gardiner’s comfortable private parlour. A silver tea service sat on the table, steaming gently.
Elizabeth took a sip, letting the silence stretch for a moment. She looked at Jane, who was calmly buttering a piece of toast.
“Jane.” Elizabeth set her cup down. “Your letter. It arrived just before Easter Sunday.”
Jane paused, a fleeting shadow crossing her features, but it was quickly replaced by an unwavering determination.
“I meant every word, Lizzy. I am not broken. I am merely... awake. I spent months believing Mr Bingley was detained by duty, or business, or his sisters’ machinations. But a man of true consequence does not allow himself to be led away from his own heart so easily.”
“He is amiable,” Aunt Madeline noted diplomatically, stirring her tea.
“Amiability is a lovely trait for a dinner companion,” Jane agreed, glancing through the window at the bustling street. “But it is a terrible foundation for a marriage. I want a steadfast man, Lizzy. I want someone who will plant his feet in the earth and refuse to be moved.”
Elizabeth felt a swell of pride. “You will find him, Jane. I am certain of it.”
“I know I will.” Jane smiled, a slightly mischievous glint entering her eye. “In truth, I feel as though a great weight has been lifted. However,” she hesitated, tracing the rim of her teacup. “I confess, I find myself wishing for one final interaction with Mr Bingley. Not to rekindle anything. Merely for closure. I wish to look him in the eye and confirm for myselfthat my assessment of his ‘lightness’ is accurate. I want to see the weather-vane turn, just so I know I am not mistaken.”
“That is a very natural desire,” Aunt Madeline agreed. “But under the circumstances, and given his sisters’ determination to keep him safely entombed in Mayfair, it is highly unlikely.”
“I know.” Jane sighed. “It is a foolish wish. But enough of my epiphanies. Tell us of Kent, Lizzy. Your letters have been vague regarding the Rosings party.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. The moment of reckoning had arrived.
“My letters were vague, yes.” Elizabeth found her teacup very interesting. “The reality was too absurd to commit to paper without sounding as though I had consumed too much of Mr Collins’s cheap wine.”
Aunt Madeline’s eyebrows rose. “Absurd how?”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes. “Aunt. Jane. I have something to tell you. It involves a proposal, a horrific breach of postal protocol, a great deal of ink, and a viscount hiding behind a bookshelf.”
For the next twenty minutes, Elizabeth laid out the entire saga of the time she spent in Kent. She told them everything. She described Darcy’s proposal, her furious rejection, and the morning in the grove. She watched her aunt’s jaw drop and her sister’s eyes widen as she recounted the letter. She recited the phrasewarden of my prison, earning a choked gasp of laughter from Aunt Madeline.
She protectively omitted the secret of Georgiana Darcy’s near-elopement at Ramsgate, merely stating that Darcy had fully exonerated himself regarding Mr Wickham’s slander.
Finally, she described the shifting tides. The encounter with Viscount Keathley at the circulating library, the truce in the church, and the beautiful conversation beneath the oak tree where Darcy had formally requested a courtship.
When she finished, both ladies were silent.
Jane was staring at her sister with delight. Aunt Madeline was staring at the tea tray, her mind working at lightning speed.
“A courtship,” Jane whispered, reaching across the table to clasp Elizabeth’s hands. “Oh, Lizzy. The master of Pemberley. He loves you so much he gave you the wrong missive! Let alone he wrote it in the first place! I did not think he had it in him, honestly!”
“He loves me enough to endure Mr Collins for many consecutive days,” Elizabeth corrected with a laugh. “Which is, arguably, the greater proof of devotion.”
“Ten thousand a year,” Aunt Madeline murmured. “And a man who takes instruction. Lizzy, you have executed the most magnificent victory in the history of our family.”
