Page 138 of Twice Chosen

"He asked her about Fordyce," she whispered to Elizabeth.

"Romantic."

"Horrifying."

Mary married at thirty.

Mrs. Bennet declared she had always known Mary would marry a learned man.

No one challenged this.

They had matured.

At the wedding breakfast Mary played a short piece she had composed herself.

Elizabeth sat beside Darcy and listened.

The melody was restrained, delicate, and far more emotional than Mary would ever have admitted.

When it ended, Darcy whispered, "You were right."

Elizabeth looked at him. "About?"

"Mary."

Her eyes filled.

Darcy squeezed her hand beneath the table.

Three times.

I am here.

Elizabeth thought of an old woman lying in Pemberley and regretting laughter offered too cheaply.

This Mary had been allowed room to become herself sooner.

Not because Elizabeth remade her.

Because she stopped making her smaller.

That difference mattered.

Bingley and Jane's marriage also gave Elizabeth a view of her sister she had not fully understood the first time. Jane did not become forceful in Darcy's manner or witty in Elizabeth's. She remained gentle. But gentleness, Elizabeth realized, was not the absence of strength.

When Bingley considered a risky investment proposed by a London acquaintance, Jane did not tell him what to do. She asked him to explain it to her.

Halfway through the explanation Bingley stopped.

"I do not actually understand how the return is produced."

Jane smiled. "Then perhaps you should understand before deciding."

Bingley stared at the papers. "Darcy would have said no already."

"Probably."

"You aren't saying no."