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"You have allowed me to argue an entire quarter of an hour!" Richard protested when he discovered Saye's instructions the following day.

"It seemed to give you pleasure," Saye said.

Elizabeth laughed, then stopped when she saw Lady Matlock standing in the doorway with her sewing. Her ladyship was looking at all three of them with an expression so soft that Elizabeth wondered whether the countess had been thinking of something long past. She took the empty place beside Elizabeth without disturbing the game of cards upon the table.

Later Elizabeth found a loose button on one of Richard's cuffs. She sat beside him while he related an implausible history of its loss and sewed it back into place. Saye held the candle higher when the light failed, though he maintained that Richard did not deserve assistance after accusing his tailor of conspiracy. A needle, a candle, and a rather poor joke consumed nearly twenty minutes. Elizabeth did not know why she remembered them so clearly. Years later, when the house was full of frightening news, it was that evening she would long to return to—not because anything happened, but because she had not been afraid of being sent away if she did nothing at all.

In the opening months of 1810 Lady Matlock began speaking of court dress, the requirements of presentation, and the responsibilities of an unmarried young lady who would soon make a more formal entrance into society. Elizabeth listened with interest, though she privately doubted whether three feathers arranged above her head could render her any wiser.

"I should prefer to meet the Queen carrying a book," she told the countess. "It might provide a subject for conversation."

"Her Majesty has met young ladies carrying every sort of expectation," Lady Matlock answered. "You must not attempt to astonish her."

"I shall endeavour to astonish only myself, then."

She went upstairs that evening and opened her mother's locket. The miniature inside had always been a mystery, a gentle face not quite familiar enough to claim as kin. The hinge was stiff from age. Elizabeth carefully polished the gold with a soft cloth before closing it again.

She had come to London believing she might be tolerated in a generous household. She now knew the sound of her name spoken with affection at every door. Whatever society might make of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, she had ceased to be merely a guest who feared overstaying her welcome.

When she descended to dinner, Richard was already arguing with Saye about a matter so inconsequential that Elizabeth suspected neither gentleman remembered how it had begun. Saye moved her chair out from the table; Richard claimed the seat beside her; and the Earl demanded to know why he was obliged to preside over a company of children.

"Because, Father," Saye said, "you raised two of them, and then invited the third."

"I begin to think," the Earl replied, catching Elizabeth's delighted glance, "that it was the wisest mistake I ever made."

CHAPTER 10

An Unwelcome Improvement

Fitzwilliam Darcy arrived at Matlock House on a damp afternoon in March 1810 and found his cousin Richard conducting an examination of Elizabeth Bennet's bonnet.

"I submit that it is impractical," Richard declared, holding the offending article at arm's length. "Its brim is insufficient to protect the wearer from rain, and its ribbon serves no military purpose."

"It was not designed for military service," Elizabeth said. She stood at the library table with her arms folded, apparently enjoying the trial. "And if you must question its ability to resist the weather, you should do so after it has dried."

"I am attempting to improve your equipment."

"You have never improved a lady's bonnet in your life."

"I have never been offered one before."

"Nor have you been offered this one," Elizabeth pointed out. "You appropriated it from the hall."

Darcy paused in the doorway. He had not seen Elizabeth since the preceding autumn. She had gained confidence without losing the quick intelligence that made every conversation with her unpredictable. She wore a plain dark-green gown and had escaped the rain with a lock of hair curling beside her cheek. He remembered the lively fourteen-year-old who had once informed Richard that a knight could not leap over an argument merely because its owner was a colonel. The young lady before him was unmistakably the same person, yet something in the quiet assurance with which she held her ground suggested the intervening years had mattered.

"Have you enlisted a new regiment?" Darcy asked his cousin.

Elizabeth turned. "Mr. Darcy! You have arrived in time to save my bonnet from a court-martial."

"I fear the colonel has never permitted justice to interfere with his conclusions," Darcy said. "You may have to appeal to a higher authority."

"My brother," Richard said darkly, "would charge the bonnet rent for occupying his table."

"Then Lady Matlock must decide," Darcy answered. "I have never known your mother to lose an argument over clothing."

Richard surrendered the bonnet with all the ceremony of a general returning a captured standard. Elizabeth brushed a drop of water from the brim and smiled at Darcy.

"I hope you had a comfortable journey," she said. "Your sister wrote that you were expected before dinner."