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"Then the shouting on the landing was a curious method of ensuring my continued sleep."

"I told him to leave the parcels," Saye said. "He insists that a birthday gift loses its character if carried by a servant."

"An excellent principle," Elizabeth answered. "I hope he applies it to luggage whenever we travel."

Richard attempted a bow. A parcel slid toward the floor. Saye caught it before it could fall.

"That one is from Georgiana," Saye said. "I advise treating it with greater respect."

"You see why I require assistance," Richard muttered.

Elizabeth accepted the flowers. They were roses and early sweet peas, some cut rather shorter than the others, and she suspected her brothers had gathered them themselves.

"They are beautiful," she said. "Thank you both."

For a moment neither gentleman jested. Richard bent to kiss her hand in extravagant ceremony, and Saye touched her shoulder affectionately.

"Happy birthday, Elizabeth," he said. "We are glad you came into our lives."

She felt the same sudden pressure behind her eyes that their kindness sometimes brought. "And I am glad you found room for me."

"Room?" Richard said. "You have taken possession of our mother's heart, my father's books, half the music room, and nearly every argument in the house."

"I left you the chessboard."

"Only because you had already conquered it."

They escorted her downstairs with as much nonsense as affection. Lady Matlock presented a small bracelet set with garnets, and the Earl gave her a beautifully bound edition of English and German poetry. Georgiana had embroidered a workbag with a delicacy Elizabeth envied, while Darcy's gift arrived with a handwritten note explaining that he had found a first edition of a travel account by an English naval officer whose descriptions of the Baltic might interest the daughter of Henry Bennet.

Elizabeth read the note three times. His gift was not the most splendid one she received, but it was the most carefully chosen. He remembered not only what she liked to read, but why certain books mattered to her.

She carried it into the garden room after breakfast, where Lady Matlock found her turning the pages without reading a word.

"You are pleased," the countess observed.

"Very."

"And you appear to be searching for the proper words in which to say so."

Elizabeth shut the book. "I am being foolish."

"An uncommon event. Shall I call for the household to witness it?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I have begun to care for someone more than I intended."

Lady Matlock sat down across from her. "Does that make you unhappy?"

"No. That is what troubles me. I am so happy that I scarcely know what to do with it."

"You might begin by allowing yourself to enjoy it."

"He is a very great gentleman."

"He is also a man who has known you long enough to form an opinion without reference to a fortune."

Elizabeth looked up sharply. Lady Matlock's expression was tender rather than triumphant.

"You knew?"