“As do I.” Elizabeth took Jane’s hand. “Youwillcome in the spring, will you not?”
“If you truly want me, of course I will come.”
“I shall make it my first royal decree. Decrees two through four shall concern the outlawing of draughty bedchambers, overcooked vegetables, and men who quote Plato out of context.”
Jane’s smile deepened and she nudged Elizabeth with her elbow. “I confess I am not certain how one addresses a princess. Will you require me to curtsy?”
“If you curtsy to me, Jane Bennet, I shall never speak to you again,” Elizabeth declared with such vehemence that Jane laughed aloud.
They sat for some minutes in the silence, the popping of the wood in the fire and the faint ticking of the mantel clock filling the space between them. Elizabeth wished to tell Jane how her quiet steadiness had always been the anchor of her life, and how she dreaded the ache of not seeing her every day, not knowing when Jane felt troubled, not being able to receive Jane’s comfort when their mother’s nerves grew particularly trying, not sharing the small daily observations that had helped form the foundation of their sisterly bond. But the words would not arrange themselves without threatening tears, and she had resolved not to weep on her last morning at home.
Instead, she squeezed Jane’s hand with a tenderness that she hoped conveyed everything she felt without the necessity of speech and laid her head on Jane’s shoulder. Eventually, they heard the house beginning to stir.
“Come,” Jane said finally, in her gentle way. “Let us face the rest of them together.”
They stepped into the front hall to find the rest of the household already assembled to see Elizabeth off, despite the early hour. Lydia and Kitty were swaddled in shawls and looking as though they might burst from the effort of containing their excitement. Their cheeks were pink with cold and anticipation, and Elizabeth was struck by how young they appeared in the grey morning light.
“You must send us something from Thurnia,” Lydia declared at once, bouncing slightly on her toes. “Something fashionable that will make Maria Lucas absolutely wild with envy.”
“Yes!” Kitty added, hopping from foot to foot for warmth. “Something we may show to prove our sister is truly a princess.”
Elizabeth laughed, her breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. “I shall consider it, but only if you behave for Jane in my absence and do not drive her to distraction with your schemes.”
“We always behave,” Lydia returned with mock innocence, which earned her a snort from Kitty and a raised brow from Mary.
“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, “your behaviour has always been a model of propriety and restraint.”
Mary regarded Elizabeth with an air that might have belonged to a clergyman preparing to deliver a particularly important sermon. Her expression was solemn, befitting what she clearly considered a momentous occasion.
“I hope you will remember, Lizzy,” she said, “that vanity is unbecoming in anyone, but particularly in those placed in positions of power. It would be a great tragedy if you allowed royal attention to corrupt your good sense, or if you began to think yourself above others.”
Elizabeth took Mary’s hands and met her gaze. She recognised both the sincerity of the advice and the fear that propelled it. “I shall guard against it with all vigilance, Mary. You may depend upon me not to forget where I am from and who loved me before I took on this title.”
Mary blinked as though she was holding in tears, but she smiled a little too.
Then came Mamma. She fussed with the lapels of Elizabeth’s woollen pelisse, then her hair, then her scarf, murmuring a breathless catalogue ofgowns, jewels, and eligible young men who might be found at the royal court.
“Imagine the invitations, Lizzy! The dancing! Why, you might even catch the eye of some foreign prince, or perhaps a duke. The pin money alone would be enough to see your sisters all married respectably, and perhaps we might even—”
“Mamma,” Elizabeth interposed with affectionate exasperation, “you have me married to a duke before I have even crossed the county line. And do not forget that Thurnia is smaller than England. It will not be as wealthy. At best, I might secure a baron with good teeth, a tolerable library, and a particularly prosperous flock of sheep.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy,” her mother declared. “Aim for a husband with a title, a good house, and a tolerable fortune in ready coin.” She leaned in to place a kiss on Elizabeth’s cheek. “Much more reliable than livestock.” She touched a hand to Elizabeth’s cheek before stepping back.
Elizabeth knew it was her mother’s way of saying that she would be missed.
She smiled and stepped back, looking to Papa for her final farewell. He had made an effort to tame his wild hair and was wearing his Sunday coat. He took Elizabeth a little apart from the group, his voice lowered so that only she might hear.
“You know that this is not an adventure I would have chosen for you, Lizzy. I had rather hoped to keep you safe at Longbourn for many years yet, laughing with you at the world’s folly. But I know also that you go because you believe it will help those you love, and because you possess too much courage to refuse when you are offered the chance. For that reason, and many others, I am proud of you.”
Elizabeth swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “You will always be my Papa.”
“And you, always my daughter. I loved my sister, and she delivered to me one of the five best gifts of my life.” His eyes searched hers. “Do remember that, if the world of courts and princes proves less agreeable than your mother imagines.”
He pressed a small, wrapped parcel into her hands. “A few favourite books,” he explained gruffly. “I thought you might find comfort in familiar words when surrounded by unfamiliar faces.”
His voice fell low. “Do you have the purse?”
He had given it to her when they were alone the night before. She nodded.