“Mrs. Darcy,” he said, “I have been charged with a message.”
Elizabeth set down her fork. “Indeed?”
“Anne wishes to know,” he continued, with just the faintest pause, “if you might be willing to sit with her for a few minutes. Only a few.”
Elizabeth did not hesitate.
“Of course.”
Lady Catherine’s chin lifted, satisfaction and relief mingling in her expression, though she said nothing. Darcy’s hand brushed Elizabeth’s beneath the table—a silent question. She answered it with the smallest nod.
After they finished their meal, Richard and Darcy led Elizabeth up the stairs and to the family wing of Rosings. Darcy kissed her cheek and gave her hand a squeeze before she entered the room and closed the room behind her.
It was quiet.
Not merely in the absence of noise, but in a way that felt… contained. As though the world beyond the door had been deliberately kept at bay.
Anne sat near the window, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked up at once, her gaze flickering with unmistakable anxiety—then steadied, with effort.
“Mrs. Darcy,” she said, her voice very soft.
Elizabeth smiled—not brightly, not in a way that might overwhelm, but gently.
“Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
She did not move too quickly, nor too close, but crossed the room at an easy pace and took the chair that had been set slightly to one side—not opposite, not directly beside, but near enough for conversation without intrusion.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Elizabeth could feel it—the tension in the air, the careful way Anne held herself, as though braced for something she could not quite predict.
So Elizabeth chose the safest ground she knew.
“We do not really know each other,” she said carefully, “so I thought you might like to hear about my family. I imagine my childhood is quite different from yours.”
Anne’s fingers tightened slightly, but she nodded.
“I have four sisters,” Elizabeth continued. “Which, I assure you, is quite enough to fill any house with noise, confusion, and general disorder.”
A faint flicker of something—interest, perhaps—crossed Anne’s face.
“My eldest sister, Jane, is everything that is good and kind,” Elizabeth said. “She has never thought ill of anyone in her life, and I suspect she never shall. It is both admirable and, at times, extremely inconvenient.”
Anne’s lips twitched.
Encouraged, Elizabeth went on.
“My youngest sister, Lydia, is… quite the opposite. She thinks well of everyone—but only because she has not taken the time to think at all.”
Anne’s head tilted slightly. Elizabeth leaned back just a fraction, her tone easing into something more amused.
“Last spring, she became convinced that we ought to take up archery.”
Anne’s brows lifted faintly.
“None of us had ever held a bow before. This did not trouble her in the least. She insisted we would learn in an afternoon and declared herself already quite accomplished.”
Elizabeth leaned slightly closer, her tone lowering just a touch.
