Chapter Fifteen #2
Mary pursed her lips. “Once or twice like ‘occasionally in passing’ or once or twice like ‘obsessively complaining about’?”
“Once or twice like . . . once or twice.” Elizabeth took a drink and watched everyone from over the rim of her glass.
Her sisters exchanged meaningful looks.
“So let me get this straight.” Lydia leaned forward with the intensity of a detective closing in on a suspect. “You gave him a handmade declaration of love that took you three weeks to even learn how to make, and he gave you a technological solution to a problem that may not even exist?”
“That’s a rather harsh way to put it—”
“But accurate?” Kitty asked.
“He listens,” Elizabeth said, stubborn. “He always listens.” She put her head down. “It’s not fair to him. It’s just how I feel. But if I tell him, I’m afraid—”
“This is textbook—” Mary reached for her pen.
“No,” Elizabeth warned.
“But the psychological implications—”
“Are none of your business,” Lydia finished.
“This isn’t about your thesis,” Kitty reiterated.
“Right,” Lydia added. “It’s about Lizzy and her emotionally constipated boyfriend.”
“He’s not emotionally constipated,” Elizabeth protested. “He’s just practically minded.”
“I think . . .” Mary stared at the ceiling as if the right word might be written there, “that perhaps you saw the headphones as an ambiguous signal. You attempted to extract meaning about your relationship from a data point that was not designed for that use case.”
Kitty blinked. “English, please.”
“She wanted the present to answer a question,” Mary said, and then appeared almost surprised at her insight. “And when it didn’t, the question got louder.”
Elizabeth stared into her wine. The truth of that rang uncomfortably loud. “You know what? Maybe.”
Jane nodded. “That was well done, Mary.”
Mary smiled.
“They’re headphones!” Lydia exploded, throwing her hands up so dramatically that she nearly took out a table lamp.
“Shh!” Elizabeth glanced back in the direction of Charles’s study.
Lydia lowered her voice. “For Christmas! What’s next, a rainbow feather duster for Valentine’s Day instead of flowers? A nice sensible filing cabinet for your birthday?”
“A subscription to an organisational app for your anniversary?” Kitty added.
“Ooh, or a time management seminar,” Mary chimed in, temporarily forgetting her brilliant deduction. “I’d love one of those.”
“A self-help book about productivity,” Jane added, and they all turned to stare at her again.
“Jane!” Elizabeth gasped. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Jane looked abashed. “Sorry. I am on your side.”
Lydia was undeterred. “Look, if a man isn’t bringing sparkly things, he can at least bring tickets to something iconic. Or the perfume everyone on TikTok keeps drooling over.”
“I told you.” Elizabeth tried to sound as though it was nothing. “We’ve only been together three months.”
“Exactly,” Kitty said. “Prime time for gestures that say ‘I’m wildly into you, please admire my taste.’ Not . . . office supplies.”
“It’s not office supplies.” Elizabeth insisted.
“He always listens. I just hoped that . . . I don’t know.
” It didn’t make any sense. She pressed the heel of her hand to her brow.
“And now it’s like Mary said. I can’t tell whether I’m upset about the headphones or that he didn’t understand why they bothered me. ”
Jane tipped her head to one side. “And why don’t you just ask?”
Elizabeth hesitated. The room felt very warm.
“What if I bring it up and it knocks the whole thing sideways? What if I’m reading the tea leaves wrong?
What if I ask for more and find out he doesn’t want the same more?
” She tried to laugh. “What if I’m just—” She broke off, hunting for the shape of it. “Out of my league?”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Elizabeth was grateful no one rushed in to tell her that her fear was ridiculous. Because it wasn’t.
Kitty nudged Elizabeth’s knee with her toe. “Do you like him?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. "I like him quite a bit."
“Does he like you?” Lydia pressed.
“He acts like he does,” Elizabeth replied.
“Then maybe the topic isn’t ‘Why didn’t I get earrings,’” Jane said. “Maybe it’s ‘Why did I need earrings to believe what I already know.’”
Kitty wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”
“I think Elizabeth is just feeling a little insecure about the difference between her social position and Darcy’s.”
Elizabeth stared at her. “Sometimes I hate that you’re a therapist.”
Lydia huffed. “Fine. But for the record, I remain anti-headphone as a concept.”
“Were you hoping that his present to you would tell you where you stand with him?” Kitty asked.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Maybe I wanted it to be a sign so I wouldn’t have to ask.”
“That,” Jane said kindly, “is a lot of pressure to put on a present.”
Elizabeth let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “It is, isn’t it?”
“Talk to him,” Jane prompted. “About what you need, not about what the headphones meant.”
“And if he can’t hear you,” Lydia declared, “then we riot.”
“We do not riot,” Jane said.
“We riot at dawn!” Lydia cried, pushing one fist into the air.
Elizabeth’s laugh was shaky but genuine. “No riots. Just emotional bravery and direct speech. Which may be harder than taking on the Bastille.” She gazed around at her sisters. “Have I told you all lately that you’re irritating and wonderful?”
“Yes,” Mary told her.
“You tell us that all the time,” Kitty added.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. “I need to talk to him.”
“Obviously,” Lydia agreed. “The question is how. You can’t just march up to him and say ‘Your Christmas present made me feel insecure.’”
“Why not?” Kitty asked. “That’s basically what happened.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Because subtlety, you absolute walnut. Relationships require finesse.”
“Since when do you know anything about finesse?” Mary demanded.
“I’m a writer,” Elizabeth said, ignoring them all. “I can come up with some better way to communicate than present-giving.”
Mary nodded. “Good. Communication is the foundation of—”
“If you start lecturing, I’m drinking your wine,” Lydia threatened.
“You can’t drink my wine. It’s in my hand.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“Girls,” Jane interrupted before the wine standoff could escalate. “Focus. Elizabeth needs our help figuring out how to approach this conversation.”
Elizabeth stood up, needing to move. She walked to the window, looking out at the garden where snow was falling steadily now, coating everything in white.
“Talk to him,” Jane urged. “Tell him how you need to be loved.”
Georgiana had told her the same, hadn’t she? “And if he can’t or doesn’t want to?”
Lydia crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you’ll know he’s not the right person for you. And you can move on to someone who thinks you’re perfect as you are, wild dog and murder plots and terrible knitting skills and all.”
Elizabeth felt a smile tugging at her lips. “My knitting skills aren’t terrible. They’re developing.”
“Your knitting skills,” Mary said, “are an affront to sheep everywhere.”
“Mary!” Jane scolded.
“What? I’m being honest! That scarf looks like it was knitted during an earthquake!”
Elizabeth was laughing. “You’re all horrible.”
“But not wrong,” Mary concluded.
As they finished the conversation, Lydia promised to “throttle Darcy personally” if he proved to be hopeless, Mary recommended a stack of relationship psychology articles she insisted Elizabeth should be aware of, and Kitty took at least seventeen more photos of the evening’s wine glasses.
Ultimately, Elizabeth found herself alone with Jane in the kitchen.
“You’re going to talk to him,” Jane stated. It wasn’t a question.
“I have to, don’t I?” Elizabeth replied, rinsing wine glasses in the sink. “He knows something is off, and I can’t keep pretending it’s not. At least now I won’t lead with ‘your present was stupid.’”
No, it was her who was being stupid.
Jane turned to face her sister, her expression gentle but serious. “Lizzy, I have something I’d like to say.”
“Please.”
“You and me and the girls—we’ve all learned how to be loved by watching Mum and Dad.
We’ve all been, well, imprinted by spectacle, don’t you think?
Mum lives for big moments—bright colours, big emotions, and public declarations.
Quiet care is lovely, but of all of us, you, especially, seem to register love best when it’s . . . undodgeable.”
It was a different way of saying that she didn’t trust easily, and Elizabeth knew it was true. “Dad is the opposite of Mum too. He loves her in a thousand quiet ways, but she still tells the story of the time he hired a brass band for their tenth anniversary.” She smiled at Jane. “Do you remember?”
“I do.”
“Somewhere in my overthinking brain, real love is always associated with fanfare,” Elizabeth mused. “But I know that’s not right. At least, it’s not right for everyone.”
Jane’s smile was encouraging. “Mum and Dad are far more extreme opposites than you and Darcy. And they’re still together.”
“I’m not sure Dad hiding in his office is the model of a healthy relationship,” Elizabeth said with a little laugh.
She glanced toward the den, where she could hear the low murmur of male voices and occasional bursts of laughter.
“But Darcy and I are different than Mum and Dad in any case.” She sighed.
“I think I’m going to have this conversation with him tonight, while I still have the nerve. ”
“Here?” Jane asked. “Now?”
“Why not? The longer I put it off, the more I’ll overthink it.”
Jane smiled. “You’re very good at that.”
“And besides,” Elizabeth smiled ruefully, “if it goes badly, at least I’ll be somewhere with a sympathetic sister nearby.”
“In that case, I’ll put the kettle on. Just in case you need tea afterward.”
“Or something stronger,” Elizabeth muttered, finding a chair and sitting down to wait.
Jane gazed at her for a moment.
“What?”
“You’re allowed to be doing well, you know.” Jane's gaze was steady. “You don’t have to stay who you were out of a fear of changing. You’ll always be you, you just won’t need duct tape to keep the bumper on your car.” She smiled. “You’re not peering in through the window at the posh kids anymore.”
Elizabeth huffed a laugh. “What a picture.”
Jane just waited.
It hit her like a piano falling on her head in one of those old slapstick films. Her sister was right.
She’d earned her place, and Darcy had never questioned it.
It wasn’t even her success Darcy had wanted.
He had no use for society darlings like Caroline and Louisa.
He wanted her. He admired her drive and her ambition, and he had never required proof that she belonged in his world.
He had just invited her in. She was the one lingering outside and refusing to accept that she belonged.
Well then. No more pressing her face to the glass. Keys out, door open, walk in.
She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m stepping inside. Happy?”
Jane nodded. “I am. And you will be too.”
Through the kitchen door, she could hear the murmur of Darcy’s voice, deep and warm. Soon enough, she’d find out whether that warmth extended to conversations about Christmas presents and emotional needs. She deserved clarity. And so did he.