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Elizabeth followed her sister upstairs in considerably better spirits.

Jane’s apartment occupied the sunny side of the house. The windows were open, the bed turned down, and a ewer of hot water stood ready upon the washstand. Charles examined a chair as though he had commissioned its construction himself, while Jane removed her bonnet with an audible sigh.

“You see, Lizzy? I shall be very comfortable.”

“I shall come back when you have rested.”

“You will rest, too,” Jane insisted.

Elizabeth made a promise sufficiently indefinite to satisfy them both and followed Mrs. Reynolds onto the landing. Caroline had remained with them, presumably to discover whether there was anything in Elizabeth’s accommodation that ought to have been offered to herself.

“The room across from Mrs. Bingley’s is ready for you, Miss Bennet,” the housekeeper said. “It is in the older part of the house, but convenient if your sister should want you.”

The door opened upon a smaller chamber with a deep window seat and a bed hung in faded green. The floor sloped a little toward the hearth. Elizabeth could see Jane’s door from the threshold.

“It is exactly what I should wish,” Elizabeth said.

Caroline went to the window and looked out into a small court. “There are much finer views on the western side. Surely one of those rooms would be more suitable.”

“I should like to be near Jane,” Elizabeth replied.

“Jane will have her maid,” Caroline pointed out. “And Charles.”

“Then she will have a choice.”

Mrs. Reynolds waited, her keys quiet in her hand. She made no attempt to persuade Elizabeth to admire the old room. That restraint recommended both the room and its keeper.

“If you are satisfied, miss, Sally will bring up your things,” Mrs. Reynolds said.

“Entirely satisfied. Thank you.”

Caroline departed to inspect her own view. Elizabeth took off her bonnet and ran a finger along the smooth wooden edge of the window seat. The cushion was broad enough to accommodate a book, its reader, and perhaps even a dog of immoderate consequence. Already she could imagine a wet afternoon pleasantly spent there.

When Elizabeth returned to Jane an hour later, she found her sister sitting before the looking glass while her maid fastened the last buttons of a clean gown. Jane’s hair was brushed, the dust washed from her face, and the cushion that had caused them so much concern lay forgotten upon the bed.

“You look more like yourself,” Elizabeth said.

“I feel more like myself. Will you tie this for me?”

Elizabeth took the ribbon her sister held out. For a few minutes they occupied themselves as they might have done at Longbourn, finding a misplaced pin and deciding that Jane’s shawl would be sufficient if the evening grew cool. Then Elizabeth reached to put away the brush and opened the wrong drawer.

Jane laughed. “I have done that twice already.”

“We shall learn. We have until November, at least.”

“A little longer, I hope. You will not leave the moment the baby is born?”

“You could not make me. I mean to inspect this child thoroughly before I surrender you to its management.”

Jane caught her hand. “I am glad you came, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth returned the pressure, then tucked the brush into the drawer Jane indicated. She had not needed thanks for accompanying her sister. Nevertheless, it was pleasant to hear that her company was wanted, after an afternoon in which she had chiefly distinguished herself by objecting to other people’s arrangements.

Charles met them upon the landing and conducted them to a small sitting room overlooking the lawn. Tea stood ready on a low table. The open windows admitted the smell of newly cut grass, and somewhere outside a gardener was putting away his tools. Elizabeth took the chair beside Jane and let the sounds of the house settle about her: china touching a saucer, Charles asking for another cushion, a distant door closing.

Caroline poured the tea. She knew without asking how Mr. Darcy took his and handed him the cup before turning to Elizabeth.

“Sugar, Miss Eliza?”