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"I should not object to a game," she said, "provided Lord Saye will again undertake to observe whether the pieces are honestly arranged."

"I always favour honesty," Saye answered. "It is one of the few advantages of being the elder son. Richard has never believed himself obliged to practise it when losing."

"I see that my reputation has not survived your arrival," Richard said. He took a step toward her and then, noticing the small strain beneath her smile, abandoned his jest. "We are glad you are here, Elizabeth. Truly."

Saye came forward without the least ceremony. He did not embrace her, for she was still trembling between grief and relief, but he offered his hand and waited until she placed hers in it.

"Father has explained something of your circumstances," he said. "You have been required to make many decisions too quickly. There is no need to make another tonight. My mother will see that you are comfortable, and we shall all be here when you wish for company."

"I am afraid I shall be very poor company at present," Elizabeth said.

"That is scarcely a disqualification in this family," Saye answered. "I have managed Richard for years upon far less encouragement."

"You see how he indulges me," Richard said with renewed animation. "He pretends it is duty. I insist it is affection."

Elizabeth looked from one brother to the other. Their fondness was as evident in Saye's patient glance as in Richard's determined attempts to make her laugh. She had expected to be received kindly; she had not imagined that the two gentlemen might make room for her in the easy habits of their own childhood.

"I hope," she said slowly, "that you will not regret having another person to disagree with."

"Miss Elizabeth," Saye said, "my brother has never yet found a sufficient opponent. I should consider your arrival an improvement to the peace of the house."

"There, you see?" Richard said. "He intends to keep you for purely selfish reasons."

"I think we all do," Lady Matlock answered. She rested a hand upon Elizabeth's shoulder. "But before anyone begins another contest, our guest must see her room."

Saye inclined his head, and Richard promised to delay their next game until she had slept. As Lady Matlock led her toward the stairs, Elizabeth heard the brothers begin another half-serious dispute behind her. Their voices followed her only as far as the landing; by then she was smiling.

"You must be tired. Come upstairs and see your room. You may have supper beside the fire, and tomorrow we shall discuss anything you please. Tonight there is nothing you need to do."

The room prepared for Elizabeth overlooked a quiet garden. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth, and a small writing desk stood beneath the window. There were fresh flowers upon a table and a shelf of books, several of them in German.

Elizabeth crossed the room slowly. Among the books she recognized a volume of poems she had once mentioned to Lady Matlock but had never been able to obtain.

"I hoped these might please you," Lady Matlock explained. "Your mother taught you German, did she not? I thought it would be a comfort to continue reading in her language."

Elizabeth rested her fingers upon the book's spine. Her throat tightened so suddenly that she could not speak.

Lady Matlock did not mistake her silence for ingratitude. She placed an arm around Elizabeth's shoulders and waited.

Elizabeth had held herself steady through the journey, the introductions, and Richard's determined attempts to make her laugh. The books defeated her. She traced the raised letters on a German title and remembered Minna's voice sounding out a word she was too small to understand. There had been so few possessions she could claim without imagining that someone would tally their expense.

Lady Matlock felt the girl's shoulders tremble and did not ask her to explain. She crossed to the bell and requested a tray for two, then seated herself beside the fire rather than going immediately downstairs to her husband. A maid brought toast and a small pot of chocolate. The countess poured both cups and spoke about the gardener's perpetual war with the roses, allowing Elizabeth the shelter of an ordinary conversation.

When the cup was empty, Elizabeth said, "I have brought very little with me."

"Then we shall begin with what you want rather than what you lack," Lady Matlock answered. She moved the other cup out of Elizabeth's way. "Tomorrow you may tell me where you prefer your desk. And if you dislike the flowers, we shall find others."

Elizabeth had spent years learning to accept what she was given without complaint. Nobody had asked her to choose the position of a desk. She looked toward the window, where the garden paths met in the evening light, and imagined writing to Jane from that place. The possibility was so modest, and so immense, that she could only nod.

"You remembered," Elizabeth whispered at last.

"Of course I remembered."

Lady Matlock remained until the household bells announced dinner. She rose then, reluctantly, and asked whether Elizabeth wished to come downstairs or have supper brought to her room. Elizabeth chose the room, surprised to discover that she could express a preference without justifying it. After the countess had gone, she found that one of the German books held a folded note marking a favourite poem: a small pencil question, in the Earl's unmistakable hand, asking whether she agreed with its last line. She sat before the fire and began composing an answer. She had expected kindness. She had not expected the ordinary freedom to disagree, laugh, and occupy space in a house that was not hers by blood.

That night Elizabeth placed the locket beside her bed. She opened her father's book but found that she could not concentrate upon the words. Outside the window the garden was still, and beyond it the city murmured with distant carriage wheels.

For the first time since Mr. Bennet's death, she did not wonder where she would be permitted to live when morning came.