“Oh, not you too, Aunt. Do not sayten thousand a yearever again! And it was not a strategy! It was an accident!”
“The best victories usually are,” Aunt Madeline declared, setting her cup down. She stood up, brushing her skirts. “Well. This changes the requirements of our household.”
“How so?” Elizabeth asked.
“You said they return to London on Friday,” Aunt Madeline calculated, pacing the rug. “Which means we have precisely three days to ensure this house is impeccable. If Viscount Keathley, the colonel, and Mr Darcy are to be calling upon Gracechurch Street, I must speak to Cook immediately. We shall need better biscuits. And I must order the drawingroom curtains to be aired. We cannot have the future mistress of Pemberley courted in a room that smells of yesterday’s stew.”
“Aunt, please, do not fuss,” Elizabeth protested, though she was smiling. “Mr Darcy does not care about the curtains. He sat on a bench and had a bumblebee land on his nose, and he did not even flinch.”
“A man in love will ignore a bumblebee, Lizzy, but a viscount will absolutely notice a frayed tassel,” her aunt said firmly, heading for the door. “I am going to the kitchens. Jane, ensure your sister rests. She looks as though she has survived a siege. Which she probably has.”
As their aunt bustled out of the room to wage war on domestic imperfections, Jane moved to sit next to Elizabeth on the sofa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“I am so happy for you, Lizzy. You have found a man who matches your wit, respects your mind, and loves you enough to lay his pride in ink. Are you happy?”
“I am happy,” Elizabeth admitted, leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder. “I am overwhelmed, but I am happy.”
ELIZABETH SPENT ANhour on the nursery floor, helping Henry orchestrate a complex naval battle involving three wooden boats and an aggressive rag doll. She braided Alice’s hair, and successfully negotiated the surrender of a wooden soldier from Ruth’s mouth, replacing it with a significantly less splintery sugar plum.
Just being there was a profound relief. There were no ticking clocks, no looming portraits of ancestors judging herposture. There was only the children’s noise and the safety of family.
Later that evening, as the house quieted down, she retreated to the writing desk in the bedchamber she shared with her sister to perform her most daunting task of the day.
She had to write to her father. She knew her father’s cynical, protective heart and needed to assure him that she was not being coerced by ten thousand a year, nor bullied by a persistent aristocrat.
She dipped her quill and began to write.
My Dear Papa,
I have arrived safely in Gracechurch Street, having survived both the springs of the hired chaise and the condescension of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I am pleased to report that my intellect remains intact, though my patience was severely tested by the glazing on the windows.
I write to you today regarding a matter of some consequence.
Papa, I must confess that the world has turned upside down. Mr Darcy, the proud, disagreeable man I mocked last autumn, has proven himself to be different. He is honourable, he is loyal, and he has requested my permission to court me.
I know you will laugh. I know you will likely send me a satirical reply asking if I have suffered a head injury. But I assure you, my mind is clear. I have agreed to his courtship. He is... he is a good man, Papa. Beneath the granite exterior, there is a heart that I find I am eager to understand better.
Please do not tell Mama yet. If she learns that Mr Darcy is calling upon me in London, the resulting hysteria will likely be heard all the way down in Cheapside, and Aunt Madeline’s freshly aired curtains will not survive the acoustic shock.
I remain, your loving and bewildered daughter,
Elizabeth.
She sealed the letter with a sense of finality. The lines were drawn and the future was waiting.
Jane entered the room, and they started preparing for bed, performing the comforting ritual of brushing one another’s hair and untying ribbons. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the mattress, watching in the mirror her beloved sister methodically brushing Elizabeth’s long, dark hair. She seemed peaceful, but Elizabeth’s mind was still churning, snagging on the one remaining edge of her conscience.
“Jane.”
Jane paused, lowering the brush. “Yes, Lizzy?”
“I said I was happy today, and I am.” Elizabeth twisted the fabric of her nightgown between her fingers. “I have accepted Mr Darcy’s courtship. I look forward to his arrival with an eagerness that shames me.”
“But?” Jane prompted gently, as they moved to sit on the bed.
“But I still hold it,” Elizabeth confessed, her voice tight with guilt. “I hold a tiny sliver of resentment in my heart against him. Against Mr Darcy.”
Jane tilted her head, her eyes filled with understanding. “For what he did in November?”
