Guests surged forward in congratulation.
Elizabeth was swept into embraces. Darcy endured hearty handshakes. Well-wishers pressed around them in waves.
Among them was Wickham.
“My dear cousin,” he said smoothly, extending his hand. “Allow me to offer my congratulations.”
Darcy accepted it.
“You are family enough to claim that privilege,” Wickham added lightly. “Though I wonder—am I family enough to secure a dance with Miss Darcy before the evening concludes?”
Darcy hesitated only a fraction.
“I would have allowed it,” he said evenly. “But Georgiana has already retired for the evening. She is not yet formally out.”
“Prudent.” Wickham nodded without resentment. Then his expression shifted, amused. “I may instead solicit Lady Anne’s patience, then. And I believe I shall ask Miss Lydia Bennet for the final dance.”
Darcy regarded him. “Miss Lydia?” he repeated, surprised.
“I believe I have already had the pleasure of the supper set,” Wickham replied with a slight shrug. “She makes me laugh. Life ought to be interesting.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, but in consideration. “See that it remains respectable,” he said quietly.
Wickham’s smile widened. “Of course.”
Across the room, Lydia’s bright laughter rang out as she teased a cluster of officers.
Darcy exhaled slowly. The evening was filled with joy—yet not without its undercurrents. He turned back to Elizabeth, who was surrounded by well-wishers, her face radiant.
Whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them together.
And that, at last, was enough.
Chapter 26
Elizabeth did not awaken until nearly noon the following day.
For a moment, she lay still, uncertain why her limbs felt so delightfully heavy and why the house was so uncommonly quiet. Then memory rushed back in a bright, breathless wave—the proposal, her father’s grave consent, her mother’s shrieks, Jane’s blushes, the double announcement.
She buried her face in her pillow and laughed.
Engaged.
The word felt at once thrilling and astonishing. She half-expected someone to burst into her chamber and declare the whole thing a dream brought on by too much dancing and too little sleep.
But no one burst in.
Longbourn, it seemed, had surrendered entirely to indolence. They had not returned home until nearly sunrise, and even Mrs. Bennet—who ordinarily rose early after any triumph in order to recount it—had succumbed to fatigue.
Elizabeth dressed slowly, pausing more than once to examine her reflection with narrowed eyes, as though some outward mark might have appeared upon her to denote hernew condition. She looked the same. Only her smile betrayed her.
Downstairs, she found Jane already in the breakfast room, her hair only half arranged and a teacup cooling before her.
“Lizzy,” Jane breathed, rising at once to embrace her.
They laughed softly together, a shared understanding passing between them that words could not improve.
“Mama has declared today a day of rest,” Jane confided. “She insists that no one in Hertfordshire will dare call upon us after such late hours.”
