Page 97 of The Crown’s Gift

He drew her close in the empty schoolroom. "I shall never regret you."

His kiss was warm, familiar now but never ordinary. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck. Somewhere in the corridor, a floorboard creaked.

They separated.

Sir Thomas opened the door, looked at them, and looked at the ceiling.

"The roof is sound here," he said. "I thought perhaps another repair required Mr Darcy's full attention."

Elizabeth covered her face. Darcy, to his credit, did not retreat.

"Your timing is remarkable, sir."

"Ten years of practice."

* * *

Mary's wedding composition was published in December under the name M. Bennet.

The first printed copies arrived at Netherfield tied with blue string. Mary opened the parcel in the morning room while the family gathered around her.

Her name—partial, modest, but hers—appeared above the title: Two Houses, A Duet for Pianoforte.

Mary touched the ink as though it might vanish.

"They printed the wrong tempo in measure forty-six," she said.

Elizabeth laughed and embraced her. "Then you are truly an author. Your first response is correction."

The publisher had accepted the piece after hearing it at Jane's wedding. Lady Matlock purchased fifty copies for friends. Queen Charlotte requested one after Georgiana mentioned it to a lady of the household. Within a month, Mary's music was played in drawing rooms by young women who would never know how often its composer had once wished herself invisible.

Success frightened her nearly as much as presentation.

"What if the next piece is poor?" she asked Georgiana during a visit to London.

"Then you will write another."

"What if everyone discovers I am ordinary?"

Georgiana looked surprised. "Mary, ordinary people make music. That is why it matters."

They sat at Darcy's London pianoforte with manuscript pages between them. Georgiana had also changed. She entered shops without clinging to Mrs Annesley's arm. She spoke of Ramsgate to Mary when memory demanded it and then spoke of other things, refusing to make survival her entire identity.

At a small concert, Mary was asked to perform her duet with Georgiana. She nearly declined.

Elizabeth, seated beside Darcy, watched the old fear enter her sister's face. She did not rise to rescue her.

Mary looked toward Georgiana.

Slow the measure.

They sat together.

The performance was imperfect. Georgiana missed one entrance. Mary recovered without stopping. At the end, applause rose warm and sustained.

Sir Thomas stood at the back of the room, tears in his eyes.

"You must not tell her I cried," he told Darcy.