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"An excellent distinction."

Georgiana played with increasing confidence. She paused twice when she lost her place and began again without apology, which pleased Elizabeth more than a faultless performance might have done.

Afterward Georgiana asked whether she could still come and go as freely at Pemberley when Darcy and Elizabeth married.

"You will be welcome as long as you wish," Elizabeth said. "I have seen how much that home belongs to you. I am coming to share it, not to send you away from it."

Georgiana's eyes shone. "I sometimes forget you will be my sister."

"Then I shall have three people entitled to call me so," Elizabeth answered. "Though I hope you will not be as determined to correct me as Saye."

"I should never dare correct you."

"That would be a pity. It is one of the privileges of a sister."

The two laughed, and Georgiana returned to the pianoforte with a freedom Elizabeth had once feared she might never know again.

Several days before the journey, a letter arrived from Jane. Elizabeth carried it into the garden to read beneath the last roses. Jane was still with the Gardiners in London, where Bingley had come from Netherfield on business connected with his lease. He had dined in Gracechurch Street and lingered afterward beside Jane while her aunt arranged the tea things at the other end of the room. He had confessed that he feared asking too much before he could offer a settled home; Jane had answered that affection was not a debt to be paid all at once. They had spoken plainly enough to understand one another, though he had not yet asked her to marry him. Distance, estate business, and Jane's own caution had kept their meetings irregular through the winter and spring. At the bottom she added, almost as an afterthought, that he had remembered the name of a little book she had mentioned the previous autumn and found a copy for her.

"You shall soon require a larger family chapel," Richard said, discovering her with the letter.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Darcy's wedding and Bingley's wedding in the same season. The clergyman will ask whether there are any other gentlemen in your acquaintance who may be persuaded to settle matters while the candles are lit."

Elizabeth folded Jane's letter. "You need not look so alarmed. No one is suggesting you marry merely for the convenience of the church."

"I do not look alarmed."

"Then perhaps your face has been misinformed."

Saye joined them with a map tucked beneath his arm. "If you have finished threatening my brother's liberty, Elizabeth, I have discovered that the western stretch of the Ashcombe road has been repaired, but the approach from the old chalk cutting remains poor. Avoid it if possible."

Richard groaned. "We are to be lectured on roads again."

"Only until Elizabeth reaches her destination," Saye answered.

"You might save yourself the labour by accompanying her."

"I am expected at my estate tomorrow. Our steward has booked Whitcomb and Sons, the same London firm we have employed before, and told them which road is preferred. Their carriage is sound, and they will furnish a coachman and a groom. The posting inns can supply fresh horses along the way. Those are precautions enough for an ordinary journey."

"And I shall do my part by remembering every word," Elizabeth said, examining the map. "This southern road looks pleasant enough. There is a village before the last turning where we may change horses."

Saye indicated the route carefully and asked her to repeat the name of the lane that must be avoided. She did so, laughing at his solemnity, then folded the map and put it among her travelling papers.

The steward had received a proper receipt from Whitcomb’s yard, with the firm’s usual seal and the hour at which the carriage would be brought round. He placed it in the household papers without anxiety. Nothing in the booking suggested that Whitcomb would obtain a replacement driver from a smaller supplier, still less that the supplier would be a man with business hidden under another name.

The afternoon was so peaceful that none of them thought again about the warning. Richard persuaded Elizabeth to walk once round the garden with him, where he gave her absurd advice concerning marriage and received equally absurd answers. Saye stood watching from the terrace a moment before returning to his correspondence, satisfied that he had done everything a responsible elder brother ought to do for a brief country visit.

The following morning Albrecht arrived carrying a parcel wrapped in thick paper. His expression was that of a conspirator who had at last secured the necessary opportunity.

"I meant to give you this earlier," he told Elizabeth. "Then I thought perhaps it would be too much. I have discovered that I am not very good at deciding when to offer you gifts."

"You need not give me anything."

"That is precisely the obstacle. I have a lifetime of missed birthdays to contend with."

Elizabeth unwrapped a narrow book bound in faded green velvet. Inside were sketches of Falkenried's gardens and pressed flowers, each identified in a young girl's looping hand. At the bottom of the first page was written a name: Wilhelmine.