Page 48

"You were once very afraid of losing your place here," he said.

"Yes."

"And what persuaded you otherwise?"

"No single speech. It was a hundred little kindnesses, and the discovery that none of them ceased when I was tiresome."

For the first time in their acquaintance, Darcy wondered what it had cost her to appear so cheerful while carrying that fear. He had seen the result of the Matlocks' affection, but scarcely thought of the years in which she learned to trust it.

"I will remember that," he said.

"And you must let Georgiana discover some things without our assistance," Elizabeth added. "That is the most difficult part of loving someone, I believe."

His expression softened. "You speak with considerable authority for someone who has no younger sister."

"I had Kitty and Lydia in my charge often enough to qualify. You have never tried preventing Lydia from exchanging her ribbons for a neighbour's pet rabbit."

"I confess I have not."

"Then your guardianship has been comparatively tranquil."

He laughed, and the severity left his face. When they returned to the drawing room, Georgiana was choosing a piece of music for the next evening. Darcy did not immediately offer advice. He asked what she would like to play and listened to her answer.

The following afternoon Georgiana stopped halfway through a difficult passage and took her hands from the keys. An old habit made her turn at once toward the door, as though someone might arrive to tell her she had disappointed them. Elizabeth, who had been turning the pages, remained quite still.

"I should begin again," Georgiana said.

"You may, if you wish. Or we might discover whether the next passage is kinder than the last."

"I do wish to finish. I only cannot seem to reach the end."

Elizabeth placed the music back upon the stand and sat down at the lower end of the pianoforte. She played the accompaniment slowly enough that Georgiana could find her place. The melody stumbled twice, steadied, and went on. When it ended, Georgiana stared at the page as if surprised to see the final bar.

"There," Elizabeth said. "I should call that a victory."

"I made three mistakes."

"At least. I made five, and no one has ordered us from the room."

Georgiana laughed and asked whether they might try it again. Darcy, pausing at the doorway on his way to the library, heard the laughter and stopped. His sister was not looking to him for reassurance. She was already turning the pages to begin another attempt.

Later he found Elizabeth in the passage carrying the music back to its cabinet. He relieved her of the heavier volumes without remark. He wanted to thank her for a thousand things he scarcely knew how to name. Instead he asked whether Georgiana had enjoyed the lesson. Elizabeth glanced toward the music room, where his sister had begun playing once more without an audience.

"You might ask her yourself," she suggested. "She will be very pleased to tell you."

Two days later Elizabeth found a letter upon her writing desk. It was from Mary Bennet, who had written a thoughtful description of an encounter with a visiting clergyman and wished to know whether a passage from a moral essay truly supported his conclusion. Elizabeth read the letter with amusement and affection. Mary could turn a simple question about conduct into a dispute over the nature of virtue, but she did not deserve the easy ridicule her younger sisters sometimes directed at her.

Elizabeth answered carefully and enclosed a German verse about kindness. Before sealing the letter, she showed it to Georgiana.

"Mary wants to be correct," she explained. "She sometimes forgets that one may be correct and still unkind."

Georgiana studied the verse. "Will she be offended if you tell her?"

"Possibly. That is the disadvantage of having relations. One must occasionally tell them the truth and hope they forgive the inconvenience."

"I wish I had a sister," Georgiana said, almost under her breath.

Elizabeth looked up. "You have cousins who are prepared to plague you with advice, if that is what you require."