Page 78 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

Now, in the sanctuary of the bedroom she shared with Jane, the silence of Christmas Eve settled around them. Jane sat at the vanity, brushing out her hair, the rhythmicshhh-shhhof the bristles the only sound in the room. Her reflection in the mirror was serene, a soft smile playing about her lips that had nothing to do with the memory of the evening's port.

Elizabeth watched her from the bed, hugging her knees. She felt the weight of protective anxiety that always accompanied her love for her gentler, kinder sister.

"Jane," Elizabeth said finally, unable to hold it back.

"Hmm?" Jane did not stop brushing.

"In the conservatory. With the Viscount. You were gone for quite some time."

Jane set the brush down. She turned on the stool, her hair falling like a curtain of gold around her shoulders. "We were."

"And?"

"And he asked if he might court me properly."

Elizabeth let out a breath. "And you said?"

"I said yes."

Elizabeth climbed off the bed and moved to sit on the rug beside Jane's stool, looking up at her sister's face. "Are you sure, Jane? Truly sure? You have known him for four days. Four days!And you literally fell into his lap on Piccadilly. It is... it is all so fast. So reckless."

"It is, is it not?" Jane's smile widened, becoming bright and unfamiliar.

"But is he stable?" Elizabeth pressed. "He is a Viscount. He is a rake—by his own admission! He is charming, yes, but charm is cheap in London. What if he is another Bingley? What if he is swept away by the next pair of fine eyes or the next novelty?"

Jane reached down and took Elizabeth's hands. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

"Look at me, Lizzy. I am three and twenty. I have spent my entire life being dutiful. Being careful. Being the sensible eldest daughter who smiles and waits and hopes that goodness will be rewarded. And look where that got me."

"It got you a broken heart," Elizabeth whispered.

"It got me ignored by a man who let his sisters tell him who to love," Jane corrected, her voice devoid of bitterness but heavy with truth. "I feel like I have been a pushover, Lizzy. A leaf blowing in the wind. Well, I am not. Not anymore."

"You have never been a pushover. You are simply good."

"I want to be more than good. I want to be happy. Robert..." Jane paused, saying the name with a reverence that made Elizabeth's stomach flip. "Robert makes me feel alive. He makes me laugh until my sides ache. He listens to me, Lizzy. He does not just look at me. He hears me. And he is not so frivolous as he wants the world to think. Beneath those fashionable waistcoats and the jokes, he is deeply educated. He has a sharp mind. We talked a lot—about books, about his tenants, about everything. He would not be so openly attentive, so willing to brave his mother's dinner table, if he were not serious."

"He does seem devoted," Elizabeth admitted.

"He is. And for the first time, I do not want to be careful. I want to live it. Whatever happens, I want to step off the ledge and see if I can fly."

Elizabeth saw the steel spine beneath the velvet gentleness. Jane was not a victim of Bingley's abandonment anymore. She was the heroine of her own story. Tears pricked her eyes. She rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around Jane's waist, burying her face in her sister's hair.

"Oh, Jane," she mumbled. "You are so brave. I am so proud of you."

"And you," Jane whispered back, stroking Elizabeth's hair. "You and Mr Darcy... I think you are finding your own courage, are you not?"

Elizabeth pulled back, flushing. "That is entirely different. We are merely... establishing a truce."

"If that was a truce in the hallway," Jane laughed, "then I should hate to see a surrender."

Christmas morning in Cheapside dawned crisp and white, the world dusted in a fresh layer of snow that hid the grime of the city and turned Gracechurch Street into a landscape from a storybook.

Elizabeth and Jane were downstairs early, helping Mrs Gardiner manage the children. Henry, Alice, and Ruth were vibrating with the specific frequency of children who knew there were oranges and sugarplums in their immediate future.

"Papa says we must wait for breakfast," Henry lamented, pressing his nose against the frosty windowpane. "But it is Christmas! Breakfast is a waste of time!"

"Breakfast is essential," Mr Gardiner declared, entering the room with a pile of wrapped parcels. Then stilled, watching a carriage clattering to a halt outside. Not just a carriage—thecarriage. The Darcy crest was visible through the frost on the windows.