Page 58 of Elizabeth's Futures
Elizabeth read the letter twice, and then a third time, and found herself laughing—really laughing—in a way she had not done since Jane’s last visit to Pemberley. She had seen it, of course; had seen Lydia’s happiness in a dozen remembered moments, had seen the face of Don Mateo before his name was written. But seeing it confirmed in Lydia’s own hand, with its inkblots and its postscript about the horse, was something else entirely.
She folded the letter carefully and set it on the writing table. Outside, the first snow of an early winter was beginning to settle on the park, very softly, without any fuss.
She thought of her mother. Mrs. Bennet would, in due course, take to her nerves with considerable dedication; would declare herself betrayed; would then, when it became known that Don Mateo’s family were of ancient lineage, however reduced, revise her opinion upward by several degrees. Elizabeth knew this too, as she knew most things, and felt a great tenderness for her mother’s absolute predictability.
She took up her pen.
My dear Lydia—
I had indeed guessed, and I could not be more glad of it. Tell Don Mateo that he has the good opinion of the Darcys, which I am told counts for something in England, though I suspect in Asturias it counts for very little. Tell him also that his horse has an excellent name, but I am not sure Don Quixote would have approved.
As for Mama—leave her to me.
She paused, and looked again at the snow, which was settling now in earnest along the stone balustrade. Darcy would be back from the south field within the hour. She could feel it, not as a memory but as a simple certainty. She dipped her pen again, and smiled.
I am, as ever, your most affectionate sister, who knew before you told her, and loved you all the better for telling her anyway.
Doña Isabella
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