Jane set the brush down. She turned on the stool, her hair falling like a curtain of gold around her shoulders. "We were."
"And?"
"And he asked if he might court me properly."
Elizabeth let out a breath. "And you said?"
"I said yes."
Elizabeth climbed off the bed and moved to sit on the rug beside Jane's stool, looking up at her sister's face. "Are you sure, Jane? Truly sure? You have known him for four days. Four days! And you literally fell into his lap on Piccadilly. It is... it is all so fast. So reckless."
"It is, isn't it?" Jane's smile widened, becoming bright and unfamiliar.
"But is he stable?" Elizabeth pressed. "He is a Viscount. He is a rake—by his own admission! He is charming, yes, but charm is cheap in London. What if he is another Bingley? What if he is swept away by the next pair of fine eyes or the next novelty?"
Jane reached down and took Elizabeth's hands. Her grip was surprisingly firm.
"Look at me, Lizzy. I am three and twenty. I have spent my entire life being dutiful. Being careful. Being the sensible eldest daughter who smiles and waits and hopes that goodness will be rewarded. And look where that got me."
"It got you a broken heart," Elizabeth whispered.
"It got me ignored by a man who let his sisters tell him who to love," Jane corrected, her voice devoid of bitterness butheavy with truth. "I feel like I have been a pushover, Lizzy. A leaf blowing in the wind. Well, I am not. Not anymore."
"You have never been a pushover. You are simply good."
"I want to be more than good. I want to be happy. Robert..." Jane paused, saying the name with a reverence that made Elizabeth's stomach flip. "Robert makes me feel alive. He makes me laugh until my sides ache. He listens to me, Lizzy. He does not just look at me. He hears me. And he is not so frivolous as he wants the world to think. Beneath those fashionable waistcoats and the jokes, he is deeply educated. He has a sharp mind. We talked a lot—about books, about his tenants, about everything. He would not be so openly attentive, so willing to brave his mother's dinner table, if he were not serious."
"He does seem devoted," Elizabeth admitted.
"He is. And for the first time, I do not want to be careful. I want to live it. Whatever happens, I want to step off the ledge and see if I can fly."
Elizabeth looked at her sister and saw the steel spine beneath the velvet gentleness. Jane wasn't a victim of Bingley's abandonment anymore. She was the heroine of her own story. Tears pricked her eyes. She rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around Jane's waist, burying her face in her sister's hair.
"Oh, Jane," she mumbled. "You are so brave. I am so proud of you."
"And you," Jane whispered back, stroking Elizabeth's hair. "You and Mr Darcy... I think you are finding your own courage, are you not?"
Elizabeth pulled back, flushing. "That is entirely different. We are merely...establishing a truce."
"If that was a truce in the hallway," Jane laughed, "then I should hate to see a surrender."
Christmas morning in Cheapside dawned crisp and white, the world dusted in a fresh layer of snow that hid the grime of the city and turned Gracechurch Street into a landscape from a storybook.
Elizabeth and Jane were downstairs early, helping Mrs Gardiner manage the children. Henry, Alice, and Ruth were vibrating with the specific frequency of children who knew there were oranges and sugarplums in their immediate future.
"Papa says we must wait for breakfast," Henry lamented, pressing his nose against the frosty windowpane. "But it is Christmas! Breakfast is a waste of time!"
"Breakfast is essential," Mr Gardiner declared, entering the room with a pile of wrapped parcels. Then stilled, watching a carriage clattering to a halt outside. Not just a carriage—thecarriage. The Darcy crest was visible through the frost on the windows.
"Good heavens," Mrs Gardiner murmured, moving to see at a better angle. "They are keen, aren't they?"
A moment later, the invasion began. A footman helped unload a staggering number of packages. Then came the culprits. The Viscount entered first, carrying a rocking horse under one arm as if it were a baguette. Mr Darcy followed, looking less laden but infinitely more nervous, holding a stackof books. Miss Darcy came last, clutching a basket of ribbons and sweets.
"Happy Christmas!" Lord Keathley announced, depositing the horse in the middle of the drawing room. "We come bearing tribute for the small Gardiners. And possibly a few things for the large ones."
"Lord Keathley! Mr Darcy! Miss Darcy!" Mrs Gardiner exclaimed, though she looked delighted. "You are early."
"We were excited," the Viscount claimed. "And Georgiana has never spent a Christmas with children. We thought we'd borrow yours."
