Page 146 of The Crown’s Gift

A middle child may disappear without leaving the room. You became an echo because echoes are noticed. Miss Harwood saw your eye for shape before I did. You have since shown me the boundaries of my own land, the expressions I missed in familiar faces, and the future of Netherfield. I entrust the estate to you not because your sisters left, but because you remained by choice and learned to see it wholly.

Kitty looked up sharply. "Papa."

"The legal arrangements are complete. Your sisters agreed years ago."

"You never told me it was decided."

"You were still deciding whether you wanted it."

Her husband squeezed her hand. Kitty crossed the room and embraced her father without caring that everyone watched.

Lydia opened her letter last.

She attempted to joke after the first line and could not.

You required more of me than laughter, and for too many years I offered you little else. You might have mistaken noise for character and attention from strangers for love if we had left you unguided. Instead, you became the person who noticed a rider at the boundary, built accounts for a school, and taught frightened families to speak. Never apologize for being lively. Only ask where the life in you may be useful without consuming the quiet of others.

Lydia read the final portion aloud because tears made secrecy impossible.

"I still consume quiet," she said.

Captain Carter smiled. "In measured quantities."

"Not always."

"No."

She kissed Sir Thomas's forehead. "I was your most difficult daughter."

"You were my loudest lesson."

Lady Bennet opened her box. There was no copy of the royal message. Instead she found the peacock ribbon, faded now to gray-blue, preserved since the day of the King's visit.

Her letter was brief.

You loved them aloud while I loved them at a distance. They survived my silence because your devotion filled the rooms. I mocked your fear rather than sharing the burden beneath it. Netherfield secured you, but you had carried this family before it. I am sorry I allowed you to carry it alone. I have loved you in every version of our life, including the years when I behaved as if affection excused absence.

Lady Bennet folded the ribbon over her fingers.

"It was peacock," she whispered.

"Unquestionably."

She leaned down and kissed him with five daughters, three sons-in-law, and Darcy present. No one laughed.

Sir Thomas looked around the library. "I should have said these things sooner."

"You told us," Jane said.

"Not each of you. Not exactly."

Mary held her letter to her chest. "Exactness matters."

"To musicians and daughters."

Darcy watched them. His own father had left questions that could never be answered; Sir Thomas had risked hearing his daughters disagree.

Anne appeared at the door in her nightdress. "Why is everyone crying?"