“You look very well,” Lydia said. “Better than well. You will quite outshine us all.”
“I doubt it,” Elizabeth returned, though she smiled.
“You always doubt it,” Lydia said. “And you are always wrong.”
Kitty laughed softly.
Elizabeth turned slightly, orienting herself toward the mirror at last. She looked not directly into it—such a thing had long since lost its former meaning—but she allowed her gaze to settle where it could, catching what reflection she might.
Her right eye found enough.
The shape of the gown, the arrangement of her hair, the faint gleam of the pearls—these she could discern.
It was sufficient.
“You must take my arm when we arrive,” Lydia said suddenly. “There will be too many people to manage otherwise.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “I shall manage.”
“You always say that.”
“And I am always correct.”
Lydia made a small sound of reluctant agreement. “Still—if you wish—”
“I shall tell you,” Elizabeth said gently.
Lydia hesitated, then nodded. “Very well.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Are you quite ready?” Jane’s voice came, warm and composed.
“Yes,” Kitty called.
Jane entered, her presence bringing with it a steadiness that seemed to settle the room. She paused just inside, taking in the scene.
“You all look lovely,” she said.
Elizabeth turned toward her, her expression softening. “And you, Jane?”
Jane smiled. “I hope to be presentable.”
Lydia laughed. “You are always more than that.”
Jane moved closer, her gaze lingering on Elizabeth for a moment longer than the others. There was no scrutiny in it—only care.
“You feel well?” she asked quietly.
Elizabeth inclined her head. “I do.”
Jane reached out, adjusting the fall of Elizabeth’s sleeve with gentle precision.
“The light will be bright,” she said. “There will be many candles.”
“That will assist me,” Elizabeth replied.
Jane nodded. “I thought it might.”
