“That is not enough,” Lydia said. “You must tell us everything. It has been obvious for some time that you favored his company, and he yours. Now we insist on knowing all.”
Elizabeth laughed softly, though there was a hint of tension beneath it. “There is nothing so very remarkable to tell.” And yet, she found herself recalling his words with a clarity that resisted dismissal.
Mary raised a brow. “If that were true, you would not be avoiding the telling of it.”
Elizabeth looked at her with mild reproach. “You are all exceedingly determined this morning.” How had her sisters observed that which she refused to acknowledge herself?
“We are concerned,” Kitty said, though her tone suggested more curiosity than concern.
“We are invested,” Lydia corrected. “And you are behaving in a manner that demands explanation.”
Elizabeth drew a breath. It would be easier, perhaps, to deflect them. It would also be futile. “He wished to speak with me,” she said at last.
“And?” Lydia prompted.
“And he… clarified something I had misunderstood.”
Kitty leaned forward. “What had you misunderstood?”
Elizabeth hesitated again, though this time her pause was longer. “I had believed,” she said slowly, “that his regard for me was… founded upon pity.”
Lydia made a face. “That is absurd. No one with any sense would pity you.”
“So, he said,” Elizabeth replied.
Mary inclined her head. “And you believe him?”
Elizabeth did not answer immediately. “I think,” she said at last, “that I may have been mistaken.”
Lydia clapped her hands softly. “Then it is settled.”
“It is not settled,” Elizabeth said, though her tone lacked conviction.
“It is,” Lydia insisted. “You admire him, and he admires you, and everything will be perfectly delightful.”
Elizabeth shook her head, though a faint smile touched her lips. “You are very certain of outcomes you cannot possibly predict.”
“I am certain of what I see,” Lydia said. “And I see that you admire him.”
Elizabeth looked away. The room seemed suddenly too warm. “That is not—” she began, then stopped.
Kitty leaned closer. “It is not what?”
Elizabeth pressed her hands together. “It is not merely admiration,” she said softly. The words, once spoken, did not retreat.
Lydia’s expression brightened at once. “I knew it. Our dear sister is inlove.”
Mary smiled, though more gently. “It is no great surprise.”
Elizabeth laughed, though there was something unsteady in it. “You are all exceedingly unkind.”
“We are exceedingly right,” Lydia corrected.
“And you will have your happily ever after,” Kitty added with certainty.
Elizabeth did not answer. She could not. The idea, once dismissed as impossible, no longer felt entirely so. It frightened her even as her insides warmed.
Jane’s name was spoken then, though she had not yet entered the room.
