“Thomas,” Jane called gently, her voice carrying across the lawn.
Elizabeth turned her head toward the sound, angling slightly so that her left eye might better catch the movement. The figures ahead resolved themselves slowly—Jane seated upon a low bench, Mrs. Hill standing nearby, and between them a small, determined form making a most spirited attempt at escape.
“He is quite decided this morning,” Kitty said, amusement threading her voice.
Elizabeth smiled. “He comes by it honestly.”
As though in confirmation, the child broke free of Mrs. Hill’s light hold and set off in a most unsteady dash across the grass.
“Thomas!” Jane rose at once, though her tone held more laughter than alarm.
The boy did not reach far before his momentum overcame his balance. He tumbled forward onto the lawn with a soft thump, then lay still for one breath—two—
Elizabeth took a step forward.
Then Thomas pushed himself upright with all the indignation of one deeply wronged and began to laugh.
Relief loosened something in Elizabeth’s chest. “He is unhurt,” she said, though she knew it already from the sound.
Jane gathered the child into her arms, pressing a kiss to his curls. “You must not run so recklessly, my love.”
Thomas patted her cheek with one small hand, entirely unconcerned.
Elizabeth approached more slowly, stopping just within the distance where she could see them clearly. She had become adept at evaluating that space meticulously. Too near, and she must tilt her head at an uncomfortable angle; too far, and expression became guesswork.
“He grows daily more determined,” Elizabeth said.
Jane shifted Thomas upon her hip. “He grows daily more like a Bennet.”
Kitty laughed. “Or a Collins, perhaps.”
Jane's expression became gentler; however, she offered no disagreement.
Elizabeth watched them for a moment, warmth settling gently over her. There was something deeply reassuring in the sight of Jane thus—composed, capable, wholly at ease in her place. It had not always been so. The early months after her marriage had been marked by uncertainty, by the sober strain of stepping into a role not chosen for romance but for necessity. Her marriagehad come during mourning out of necessity. Yet Jane had done what she always did—she had adapted and then improved upon what she found.
“Have you quite finished reading?” Jane asked, turning slightly so that Elizabeth might better see her face.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I have.”
Jane’s gaze lingered a moment, as though assessing whether that answer concealed anything. If it did, she did not press.
“Mr. Collins will wish to speak with you later,” she said instead. “He mentioned it before I left the room.”
Elizabeth suppressed a smile. “Then I shall prepare myself for instruction.”
Kitty’s lips curved. “Or for something entirely unrelated to instruction.”
“That is equally likely,” Elizabeth agreed.
Jane shifted Thomas again, settling him more comfortably. “He has been reviewing the accounts. I believe he values your opinion.”
Elizabeth considered that. “He values having someone to speak to.”
Jane did not deny it. “That also.” There was no resentment in her tone—only the acceptance that had become characteristic of her.
Elizabeth turned her face slightly toward the warmth of the sun. The light here was kinder than within the house. It did not eliminate the strain, but it eased it.
“How does the morning stand?” she asked.
