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"Do you think this has made me foolish?" she asked. "I have imagined him at least a dozen ways. A solemn old prince. A fierce soldier. A gentleman who cannot abide questions. I have even imagined he might laugh as Mama did."

"Perhaps he is simply a man who has lost a sister," Darcy said. "He will have imagined you too. Neither of you need resemble the person the other has invented."

Elizabeth considered that. "I have lived in fear that he will look at me and see too little of her."

"And he may fear that you will look at him and see too little of your mother's kindness. You must allow yourselves to become acquainted as you are."

His hand rested upon the chair arm, close to hers but not touching. Elizabeth thought of how often he offered steadiness without making a display of his care.

"You have become very wise since you proposed," she said.

"I was obliged to improve. My future wife is unlikely to overlook my deficiencies."

"She is extraordinarily fortunate in her choice."

"Then we agree upon something."

They sat together without needing to speak until Lady Matlock called for Elizabeth and Darcy rose to escort her into the drawing room.

In April, Elizabeth discovered that there was one occupation even less satisfactory than waiting for letters: attempting to appear agreeable when everyone around her was determined to prevent her from waiting. Lady Matlock had invited Georgiana to spend a week with them, ostensibly for music and drawing, although Elizabeth suspected that the countess had decided a companion nearer her own age would do more good than a dozen assurances from solicitors.

Georgiana found her in the morning room with a half-finished letter and a sheet of music balanced upon an atlas. She did not ask whether there had been news from Germany. Instead, she set a little volume upon the table.

“I have brought the sonatas you wished to see,” Georgiana said. “My brother tells me that when you grow very thoughtful, you ought to be given something sufficiently difficult to quarrel with.”

“Your brother has developed an unfortunate habit of understanding me,” Elizabeth said. “It makes concealing my faults exceedingly troublesome.”

“He has not attempted to conceal yours,” Georgiana said, with a flash of unexpected mischief. “He says that you find consolation in correcting other people.”

“Then I shall begin with his judgment.” Elizabeth pushed the atlas aside. “Will you play the first movement for me?”

Georgiana sat down at the pianoforte. Her confidence had grown steadily since the unhappy summer at Ramsgate, but she could still become frightened of an audience before she had played a single note. With Elizabeth turning pages and offering the occasional encouraging smile, she began without apology and continued even after a small mistake. The music filled the room that had lately seemed devoted to foreign seals and uncertain dates.

Darcy arrived during the second movement and remained at the doorway until Georgiana finished. She rose when she saw him, surprised into delight by his applause.

“I thought I had lost my place,” she said.

“You found it again,” Darcy answered. “That is a better accomplishment than never losing it.”

“I have instructed her badly,” Elizabeth said. “She is learning not to be afraid of imperfection. Soon she will become entirely unfit for polite society.”

“I believe she has already suffered the worst possible influence,” Darcy said. “She calls me Fitzwilliam when she is particularly displeased with me.”

Georgiana's laughter came freely. Darcy looked from his sister to Elizabeth with an affection that made Elizabeth almost forget the letter lying unanswered upon the table.

Later, the Earl and Lady Matlock joined them for tea, followed by Richard and Lord Saye. Saye brought accounts from his estate; Richard declared himself insulted that everyone had gathered without first obtaining his permission. He was promptly informed by both young ladies that the omission had been intentional.

Darcy turned a page of music for Georgiana; she struck the wrong chord, laughed, and began the phrase again. Across the room Lord Matlock was disputing a household account with Richard, who claimed the wine had been charged twice. Elizabeth's unfinished letter to Germany remained on the table. She left it there until Georgiana had finished playing.

When the gentlemen began discussing improvements to Darcy's Derbyshire property, Georgiana turned to Elizabeth with sudden earnestness.

“You have never seen Pemberley,” she said. “I should like you to know it before the wedding. Not from a drawing, or my brother's account of the tenants, but as it is when one lives there.”

“I should like that very much,” Elizabeth said. “Though I warn you that if the library proves as extensive as I have been led to suppose, you may not recover me for several days.”

“I shall show you the music room first,” Georgiana said. “Then you may bargain for the library.”

Darcy did not interfere with the arrangement. He only asked Lady Matlock whether a visit during the summer might be agreeable, provided that the correspondence from Germany gave them no immediate reason to remain in London. The countess approved. Lord Matlock observed that a house capable of accommodating his nephews ought not to object to a few more relations, and Richard offered his services as an expert in keeping the household sufficiently lively. Saye warned that such an expert might be the very reason to decline.