“No,” Elias replied, his voice low and steady, though a quiet sigh escaped him as he recalled the past with resigned tenderness. “She might have done—had circumstances been different.”
“Is she married now?” James inquired softly, his question carrying no judgment, only the warmth of shared confidence between brothers.
“She is,” Elias confirmed, a faint, melancholy smile touching his lips as he met James’s gaze at last, the admission easing something within him.
James gave a short exhale, a kind of sympathetic silence that conveyed his understanding without need for words, his hand resting briefly upon the arm of his chair as though to steady the moment's quiet emotion.
“And have you looked elsewhere since?” he asked at last, his tone lightened with gentle encouragement.
“Not closely,” Elias said, his expression softening further as a subtle warmth entered his eyes, hinting at recent stirrings of hope that drew a knowing smile from James. “Not until recently.”
The words hung there, laden with unspoken promise, and James did not demand more, content to let the confidence rest in the comfortable trust between them.
“I suppose we are both waiting,” Elias said at last, his voice warmed by a quiet laugh that invited shared amusement, “for something that does not arrive at balls or drawing rooms.”
James gave a quiet laugh in return, his eyes meeting Elias’s with fraternal affection and a touch of wry agreement. “And we are endlessly advised to look in precisely those places,” he replied, the gentle irony in his tone drawing a deeper smile from Elias, the moment binding them in the easy intimacy of brothers who understood each other's hearts without need for further explanation.
They shared a glance—brother to brother, confidant to confidant—and something unspoken passed between them. The weight of being eldest. The pressure of being steady. The quiet ache of wanting something more than duty, without knowing where to find it.
The door creaked slightly in the hall beyond, then shut again—someone passing, but not entering. The sound reminded them of time.
James leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze settle once more on the hearth with a thoughtful air, his voice carrying a note of quiet reflection as he regarded his brother with fraternal affection. “We are fortunate, Elias,” he said, a faint smile touching his lips. “Father is not a man who forces hands, nor is Mother as meddling as she might be. But even fortune grows thin if not properly husbanded.”
Elias met his gaze with a subtle nod, his expression thoughtful as he absorbed the words with quiet agreement, a gentle warmth entering his eyes at the shared understanding between them. “You mean the future must be built, not waited for,” he replied softly, his tone conveying both recognition and a touch of wry acceptance.
“Exactly, my dear brother,” James confirmed, his smile deepening with affectionate approval as he leaned forward slightly, the gentle emphasis drawing a corresponding faint smile from Elias.
The younger shifted slightly on his heels and sat in a chair, as though re-settling thoughts long dormant, his posture relaxing into the comfort of confidences shared in the familiar parlour.
“It is a strange thing,” Elias said at last, his voice low and reflective, a subtle sigh escaping him as he considered the irony with gentle resignation, “how we are encouraged to beambitious, and yet expected to find satisfaction within such narrow borders. Meryton offers precious little in the way of genuine connection—not unless one is inclined to court an heiress or endure a flock of hopeful young ladies and their speculative mamas.”
James gave a slight smile, touched with the weariness of long observation. “Yes. True enough. I sometimes think the most eligible man at any Meryton gathering is the one who manages not to be caught standing still. As soon as I do, I find myself surrounded.I daresay the ‘speculative mamas’ would consider us the greater prize.”
“Do you remember the Assembly last Christmas?” Elias asked, his expression turning faintly amused. “The Miss Brownwoods seemed determined to speak with you between every dance.”
“I do. One of them spilled an entire glass of orgeat over my waistcoat in what she called an accident. A very well-aimed one.”
“Fortune favours the bold,” Elias murmured.
James gave a brief laugh. “And the shameless, apparently.”
But the humour faded quickly into thoughtfulness, and he turned more fully toward his brother.
“It is not that I disdain marriage, Elias. I only wish to choose with discernment. And how is that to be done when one is constantly observed? Evaluated for what I represent, rather than who I am?”
Elias nodded slowly, the weight of the sentiment clearly understood.
“And yet, there is no guidance for such matters. We are to select a wife with as much care as one would select a tenant—butwith none of the time, discretion, or real privacy afforded to such decisions.”
James’s tone turned drier. “And preferably one who is pretty, well-dowered, clever, musical, silent, and not yet forty.”
“I believe you have just described a unicorn,” Elias replied. “Or a wife who exists only in sermons and farce.”
For a moment, their eyes met in wry complicity—two men alike enough in mind to understand that the humour hid real frustration.
James exhaled, pressing his fingertips together.
“It has occurred to me—more than once—that if I were to marry, it ought not to be merely for position or peace of mind. I would rather remain unmarried than join myself to someone I could not respect, or who could not see me apart from Longbourn’s inheritance.”
