1.

If a young woman makes a mistake, any sort of mistake—whether in their choice of men or make-up, the elder generation will not be long in arriving to give their opinion in the matter. So, less than a half hour after the Bennet twins tucked their cousin in bed, Lizzy and Jane found themselves sitting across the kitchen table from Ben Bennet and Professor Molly Brettman, discussing Lydia's fate. It was a surprise to see them: a surprise that Ben was so prompt to pick up the car, a surprise that he brought his girlfriend with him, and a surprise that the professor brought the conversation immediately, awkwardly to the twins' pregnant cousin.

Molly Brettman was a slim woman and tall, almost as tall as Ben himself. She was beautiful in a restrained sort of way, with her hair twisted up in a barrette and a dark lipstick that matched the red detailing on her suit. She didn't talk much, even as Jane and Ben argued over Lydia's options, their coffee steaming between them and Jane's face flushing with the beginnings of anger. But that was probably wise; Lizzy wasn't sure if she could be patient with the strange woman if she thought she knew what was best for a pregnant teen without ever meeting Lydia. Even Jane seemed to be having a hard time with the professor's presence: she kept looking between Ben and his girlfriend with a slight, tight-lipped frown, and Lizzy was too drained to understand why.

"Zippy, you've been quiet. It's creepy," Ben commented suddenly. "Your jet lag bothering you?"

Lizzy grinned, and the smile felt like a lie across her face. "It'll be fine as soon as the coffee kicks in."

"What do you think, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

"I think it's too early to be having this conversation," Lizzy said, taking a quiet sip from her mug. "Bleh," she said, making a face. "It's cold," she explained to Jane and scooted her chair back to pour herself a new cup.

"Trust me," Ben said, turning his mug around his hands and barely meeting Jane's worried glance. "Nine months pass faster than you think."

Lizzy rolled her eyes pointedly before she turned to the sink and slosh the cold coffee into the drain. "I'm pretty sure we can afford to wait until Lydia wakes up," she pointed out, rinsing her mug. "Dad, you shaved your beard. Was that your influence, Professor Brettman?"

"Yes," Molly Brettman replied. Her voice was deep, for a woman's, and she held Lizzy's gaze levelly. "But it's not time to change the subject. And don't call me 'Professor.'"

"You shouldn't have said that," Ben commented before Lizzy could figure out a way to respond. "Now she won't rest until she's gone and changed the subject."

Her mug in one hand and the coffeepot in the other, Lizzy raised one challenging eyebrow at her father and replied, "As I see it, she has three options: abortion, adoption, or single motherhood. Did I miss one?"

"Lizzy," Jane warned.

Ben was looking at the professor, but his voice was low and slow and wary. "You don't seem to understand the situation that Lydia's in," Ben told Lizzy.

Lizzy grinned again, her mouth stretching around her teeth, and she poured herself a fresh mug, watching the bitter black coffee flow into the mug. "She's seventeen. Pregnant. Abandoned by the baby's father. Will be disowned by her parents as soon as they find out she's about to have Wickham Junior. What part of this situation don't I understand?" she said, settling the coffeepot back down and going to the refrigerator for milk..

Molly leaned backwards and crossed her arms in front of her, watching Lizzy with a slight, silent frown.

"Lizzy, I don't know if you understand the emotional implications," Ben started.

"Don't think that because she's blunt, she doesn't feel for Lydia as much as any of us," Jane said, looking sharply at her father. "This is just how Lizzy deals with it."

At the door of the fridge, Lizzy smiled at her sister in gratitude, until Jane added, "That doesn't mean that you shouldn't at least try, Lizzy."

"We still don't know anything," Lizzy pointed out, pouring milk into her mug, replacing it, and bumping the fridge door closed with her hip. "It's not like Lydia's told us much."

"We don't know when she's due," Jane agreed, passing her sister the sugar bowl.

"Or how long she's been dating Jack," Lizzy added, and even the forced smile dropped off her face. She spooned sugar into the steaming mug and stirred, wondering if this was how Will felt when he found out about Georgiana and Wickham. No, Lizzy decided as she blew on her coffee: it'd been worse for him probably. If Lizzy had been a little less tired, she would have been annoyed to feel a throb of sympathy on top of everything else. "That can be Option Four: track Wickham down and do him severe bodily harm. What do you think, Jane? You and me hold him, and let Lydia punch?"

Jane smiled weakly, and Ben said, "This isn't a laughing matter, Zippy."

Lizzy turned around to lean against the counter, facing the table, her hand over the top of her mug. "I'm not laughing. I'm not even smiling."

She composed an idle photograph of the three of them—Ben and Molly on one side of the table, their hands an inch away from touching, and Jane looking into her coffee and frowning. It struck Lizzy that it could be taken for a family portrait. "(Dysfunctional) Family Portrait—Not pictured: Mother." Or even "Father—unusually pictured."

Jane sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Do we really think that Aunt Grace and Uncle Jeremy will disown Lydia?"

"Well, I don't know about 'we,'" Lizzy replied, "but that's what I think."

"Which one is Grace? The short, top-heavy one?" Ben asked, and Lizzy snorted when she saw Molly Brettman scowl at him reproachfully.

"Mom's youngest sister," Jane said quietly. "She married a widower."

"A CEO, who soon inherited the corporation," Lizzy corrected, dropping into her seat beside Jane.

"Ah," Molly said delicately.

"I really don't think Uncle Jeremy could do that to Lydia," Jane said. "Remember when she moved in?"

Lizzy frowned, trying to remember. "No."

"You were here," Jane reminded her.

"Still drawing a blank," Lizzy said, wrinkling her nose apologetically.

"Oh," said Jane, glancing behind at the living room and then back at Lizzy. "You were in your darkroom."

"Oh, yeah," Lizzy remembered, trying a sip of her coffee and burning her tongue with a wince. "I was escaping."

"Did your mother come to help or something?" Ben asked, and Jane opened her mouth and closed it abruptly, looking at Molly Brettman.

"She didn't have to," Lizzy replied. "Aunt Grace started telling me what a pity it was that Mom never managed to teach me to take of myself." Ben snorted, and Lizzy shrugged. "I just needed a haircut."

"Well, you didn't come out until I told you it was time to say good-bye," Jane reminded her, "and left me to handle all the boxes."

"Aunt Grace always liked you better anyway," Lizzy said with a small smirk, taking a sip of coffee as Jane scowled.

"What does this have to do with Lydia?" Molly Brettman asked pointedly.

Jane's thumb glided up and down the mug's handle. "When they were moving in and setting up, Lydia realized how much space our living room has, and so she sent Uncle Jeremy to Circuit City for a bigger plasma TV."

"And he went?" Ben asked.

"He went. I think he said, 'Anything for my princess,'" Jane explained.

"Yeah," Lizzy snorted, getting up from the table again, gathering spoons and empty mugs, "but remember that's the same TV that Aunt Grace decided would look better in her living room than ours. If Lydia's the princess, she's got a Queen over her pulling rank." She stopped with her hand over Molly's empty cup and waited until the professor turned to her with a quiet bemused expression. "You done?" Lizzy asked her.

"Yes," Molly Brettman replied, and Lizzy smiled shortly and took the mug with her to the sink. In the mirror behind the kitchen table, Lizzy saw her father and his girlfriend exchange glances and Ben grin quickly.

Jane's gaze remained stubbornly on the table as Lizzy dumped the dishes in the sink with the sharp clatter of silverware. Lizzy knew that Jane wanted them to leave but couldn't tell what was bothering her twin: if it was just exhaustion or Ben and Molly's relationship. Probably both.

"Aunt Grace will be mad, but she loves Lydia," Jane said quietly. "Do really think she'd really want to disown her?"

Lizzy turned the faucet on and rinsed out two mugs before replying carefully, "Yes. She won't accept Lydia as anything other than a perfect debutante."

"But you're not sure, right?" Jane asked, twisting around in her chair to look at Lizzy.

Lizzy opened the dishwasher with a half-smile and began to line the top rack with mugs. "She's too much like Mom, Jane."

"Mom wouldn't—" Jane started.

Lizzy closed the dishwasher and turned back, arms crossed. "No," she told her twin lightly, "not to you."

The silence was almost awkward, but Lizzy met Molly Brettman's gaze steadily and smiled when the professor asked, "So you don't think we should call Lydia's parents?"

"No," Lizzy said, "but I think Lydia probably should."

"If they do disown her," Jane said slowly, "how are we going to pay for—"

"We'll manage," Lizzy said shortly.

"Lizzy," Ben said slowly, "your savings can't support two people."

"They won't have to," Lizzy said with a wry grin. "Lydia has a few trust funds. I'm almost sure that Wickham didn't know about them." If he knew, she wanted to add, he wouldn't have left so quickly.

"But she's a minor, right?" Ben said.

"Only for a couple more weeks," Lizzy replied, resuming her seat and pulling her steaming mug toward her.

Jane was staring across the table again, and when Lizzy followed her sister's gaze, she finally noticed what was sparkling on Professor Molly Brettman's finger. A ring, a modest one—with a single diamond and twin sapphires on either side, but it was worn on a very specific finger.

"Oh-ho," Lizzy said with a sharp fixed grin at the couple across from her. "You two are getting married?"

It was Molly Brettman who smiled back first, while Ben looked at Jane with a worried frown and Jane looked from Lizzy to Molly with wide eyes. "Yes," Molly said. "I'm sure Ben was about to mention it."

"Well, a word of advice about Dad," Lizzy said with a real, teasing smile, "it takes him a really long time to mention anything. You're better off making your own speeches."

"Excuse me, I'm the father here," Ben said gruffly. "It's my responsibility."

"Well, fine, but sometimes your actions—or objects--" Lizzy said, nodding at the ring with a wider grin, "speak louder than words."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Molly with a gracious, smiling nod, glancing at her scowling fiancé.

"Cool," Lizzy said.

Jane had her arms folded, watching them with a slight frown. Ben was doing his best not to meet his eldest daughter's eye. Molly was doing her best not to notice.

"So," Lizzy said dryly, "are you going to have kids?"

Both Molly and Ben turned to her sharply, Molly's mouth open in a half laugh and Ben still scowling, and Jane hissed, "Lizzy."

"What?" Lizzy asked, frowning back.

"I'm happy with the ones I have," Ben said evenly, and when Jane turned back to him with a slight guilt-filled frown, Lizzy couldn't help but wonder if that was the response Ben Bennet had been going for.

"Bummer," Lizzy muttered, crossing her arms and leaning back against the seat. "I always wondered what it'd be like to have a little brother."

"Not a little sister?" Molly said, smiling like there was a joke coming.

Lizzy felt obliged to give her one and turned to her twin with a smug grin, ignoring her sister's stern troubled stare. "Jane's shorter than me."

"I'm sorry," Ben said.

"Well, I don't really mind exactly," Lizzy said with a snort, "and I can't see how Jane's height is your fault."

"No," Ben said and looked up at his children. "I'm sorry I never stuck around long enough for you two to have younger siblings."

Jane's stare softened, just a little. Lizzy raised her eyebrows and waited.

"I know that's not enough, and I know you don't understand," Ben said, slowly and carefully. Lizzy felt her sister take her hand under the table, and she squeezed back gently. Molly Brettman was watching Ben with a steady, encouraging smile. "If either of you were ever in the position I was in, you would have stayed, but both of you girls are braver and better people than I'll ever be. I'm proud to have known you, even if I was too scared to raise you. I'm sorry, I regret it, and I thought you should know—"

Ben stopped, looked down at his big, clasped hands. For a second, he looked like he might cry. Molly's gaze turned to the Bennet twins.

"It's okay, Dad," Lizzy said quietly, and Jane nodded too.

Ben looked up with such an unsteady grin that Lizzy stood up and hugged him, awkwardly from the side because she was standing and he was still seated. He reached up and squeezed the top of her arm with a large calloused hand, and the others looked on, Jane with a determined, almost dogged stare and Molly with an affection that Lizzy appreciated, for her father's sake.

"I think," Lizzy said finally, straightening up and putting a hand on the top of her father's balding head, "that we have a good reason to celebrate."

"What?" Ben asked with a short laugh, as Molly Brettman placed her hand, the one with the ring, on top of both of his. "An apology?"

"I was thinking your engagement, but you can drink to whatever you want," Lizzy replied with a quick grin, watching Jane and Molly exchange glances over the table. Molly smiled first, and then Jane, hesitantly. "Jane, do we still have that bottle of wine? The one Charlotte gave us for Christmas?"

"I thought we were saving that," Jane protested.

"For what? Graduation?" Lizzy said, opening cabinet doors and searching. "Where'd we put it?"

"With the olive oil and stuff," Jane replied.

Lizzy opened the door above the refrigerator. "Bingo," she said, recognizing the tall bottles inside, and reached for it. "Who wants some?"

"Well, honey, how 'bout it?" Ben said. Lizzy looked his way quickly, wondering who he was talking to, but her father was grinning at Molly. "Turn off your taste-buds for college fare?"

"Uh-oh," said Lizzy, one hand around the wine bottle and the other rummaging through the drawers for the bottle opener. "Do we have some wine snobs in the house?"

"Only one," Ben corrected.

"I'm converting you already, though," Molly said wryly. "I can tell."

"I'll have some, Lizzy," Jane said with a smile, as Lizzy cut off the foil and handed the bottle and opener to her father.

"Me, too," Ben said, screwing the opener into the cork and pulling it out. "And you Molly? Feeling brave tonight?"

Molly shook her head, smiling. "I'll take some, Lizzy. I'm sure it's fine."

Lizzy gathered four wine glasses in her hands and brought them to the table, and when Ben finished pouring the wine, they clinked glasses together, and the twins chimed, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Molly said graciously.

"Is it okay with you two?" Ben asked them, but Lizzy noticed that he was only looking at Jane.

"Of course!" Jane said brightly. "I'm happy for you."

Lizzy refrained from pointing out that her sister had reacted about the same way when Charlotte announced her engagement to Collins.

"Well," Lizzy said slowly, and when Molly turned to her with narrowed eyes and Ben with wide ones, she let a slow grin grow on her face. "I can't believe you're marrying our teacher."

"Elizabeth, I don't believe I've ever had you in my class," Professor Brettman replied.

"Obviously, otherwise you'd know that I don't answer to Elizabeth," she amended. "That's the first thing you need to learn as our new stepmom. Call me Lizzy."

"Or Zippy," Ben said, grinning back. "And you didn't answer to that at first either."

Jane gasped, her hands over her mouth. "You're going to be our stepmother."

Lizzy laughed and hugged her sister around the shoulders. "When's the ceremony?"

"Christmas," Molly said firmly.

"We didn't talk about this," Ben said turning to her.

"October break, I have a conference, and Thanksgiving is too short," Molly reminded him with a small smile. "Do you want to have a proper honeymoon or not?"

"Christmas, then," Ben said mollified, and Lizzy laughed to hear her father so tractable.

"How's the wine?" Jane asked her stepmother-to-be.

Molly looked at the glass ruefully, and Ben laughed. "I don't think she's tried it yet."

"I'm getting to it," she told him, picking up her wine with a determined scowl, but she caught sight of something in the kitchen that made her lower the glass again.

"Hi," said a soft voice behind them, and everyone at the table turned to see Lydia, freshly showered but still hollow-eyed, wearing a baggy blue t-shirt and Care-Bear pajama bottoms, and standing next to the fridge. Her face was carefully blank, but when her gaze met anyone else's, it was defiant.

Jane put her wine glass down hurriedly.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Lizzy said with a smile.

"I couldn't sleep," Lydia admitted.

Lizzy pressed the wine cork back into the bottle. "Well, you still can't have any."

"Bad for the baby," Lydia agreed, opening the freezer and pulling out a creamsicle.

"Sure," Lizzy said, "but I was going to say that you're just plain underage." Lydia closed the freezer and turned back to the table like she was waiting for someone to announce a verdict. "You coming to me, or am I going to have to get up?"

Lydia walked obligingly across the room and—as soon as Lizzy had pushed away from the table—sat in her lap. Lizzy hugged her cousin crookedly around the neck.

"Hey, short stuff," Ben said.

"Hey," Lydia said. The corners of her mouth quirked.

Lizzy took that as a good sign and grinned.

"How are you feeling?" Molly asked, more gently than she'd spoken to the twins.

"I'm not getting an abortion," Lydia told them.

Lizzy considered, wrinkling her nose and nodding. "Okay. That narrows down your options to two."

"Three," Lydia corrected, and now she was smiling, just a little, trembling a little around the mouth, as she peeled the wrapper from the creamsicle. "I liked your beating the shit out of Wickham idea."

Lizzy ruffled her cousin's hair. "You've been listening for a while, huh?"

Lydia gripped Lizzy's forearm with a white-knuckled hand. "I'm afraid—"

"Don't be scared," Jane said, and her chair squeaked against the floor as she scrambled to her feet.

"—of getting stretch marks," Lydia told Lizzy seriously.

Lizzy's gaze automatically traveled to her cousin's stomach. There was nothing yet, not even the smallest bump, nothing that needed to be passed off as Lydia's Freshman Fifteen. Lizzy considered. Maybe it deserved a photograph anyway. Lydia might like to have it. Pre-stretch marks.

Molly and Ben were exchanging they-don't-know-what-they're-getting-into look. Jane looked at Lizzy, halfway between laughter and concern.

"Well," said Lizzy finally. "We'll have to buy you some cocoa butter then."

2.

Lydia was caught between Option Two and Three. She'd posted a new topic on www. Babyhood. com: should i give my baby up for adoption, a panel that she checked more often that her email. When Lizzy took her on a grocery run, she'd bought What to Expect When You're Expecting, a pair of baby shoes, and a can of formula milk that made Jane balk when she found. Lizzy found herself caught halfway between being supportive of Lydia and convincing Jane that all they needed to do was be supportive.

"She had tears in her eyes when you suggested shopping last night," Jane pointed out, a few days after they returned from Boston. Lydia was still asleep, or at least, she hadn't gotten out of bed. It was hard to tell these days when she was sleeping or faking it. Lizzy fished her keys out of her purse. "Maternity shopping," Lizzy pointed out, "and I just want to get it over with before Aunt Leah freezes the bank account tied to Lydia's debit card."

"Lizzy," Jane said, as Lizzy scooped up a stack of enveloped on the kitchen table. "She's not mature enough to make this kind of decision."

"Look—I think the clothes thing is the only way Lydia knows how to express all these new maternal feelings that keep cropping up," Lizzy said quietly, standing in front of the door. Jane was stubbornly silent, and Lizzy retaliated only by unlocking the front door and opening it. "I need to mail these. Tell Lydia I'll be back to pick her up soon, okay?"

"Fine," Jane sighed, and Lizzy decided she had too much to do to stop and deal with Jane's passive-aggressive temper.

Some things are unavoidable. Bills, for instance, will always come no matter what happens in your life, and someone will need to pay them. After sorting through the mail that Jane had forgotten on the kitchen counter, Lizzy found at least three pressing bills, paid them, and balanced her checkbook before her twin woke up and asked her about Lydia again. It wasn't that Lizzy minded talking about Lydia; it was that they'd been talking about Lydia for the last two days without reaching any sort of decision. There was too much to do to waste time worrying.

On the way to post office, Lizzy added to her to-do list at every stoplight:

Bills (mail)

Maternity wear (Baby Bloomers)

Grocery—dinner (spaghetti? Ckn salad?) MORE COFFEE

Schedule appt. w/ thesis advisor

Vickroot Bkstore books for semester

Call Sam and Diana? (Check: do they get back today or tomorrow?)

Call and thank Will

Lizzy pulled at the mail drop and reconsidered number 7. There was no way she could just call Will. She didn't have his phone number. Or his e-mail address. Or his mailing address. Lizzy was pretty sure that she could look up Pemberley's address online, but she had no way of knowing if Will would still be there. Probably not—his album was due to come out soon; he would have to be back in the states to promote it.

It surprised Lizzy that it bothered her: having no way to contact him. It could be—Lizzy mused as she rolled down her window and shoved the bills through the appropriate slot—that she hated owing anybody a favor. Or, she thought, putting the car back into drive, it might have something to do with needing a friend to talk to.

Lizzy stopped, her hand still on the shift, wondering: Friend? When were she and Will 'friends'? She guessed that was true enough. Friends—she and Will could've been great friends if there wasn't all that other—

HONK!

Lizzy jumped and glanced in her rearview mirror resentfully. The driver behind her—an older man with his hair dyed redder than Jane's—was apparently getting impatient, so Lizzy took her foot off the brake and eased the car forward—rebelliously slow—watching the man seethe behind her.

Her phone rang at the third stoplight on her way back.

"Hello?"

"Lizzy?"

Lizzy nestled the phone against her shoulder so she could keep both hands on the wheel. "Aunt Diana? So you and Sam got back okay?"

"What?" Something slammed in the background—maybe a door. "Oh, right—of course."

Diana sounded frazzled, but it was Wednesday. It was normal for Diana to be stressed on Wednesday. Most of the Keefe-Moore Agency's deadlines were on Thursday's, after all.

"I was getting ready to call you," Lizzy replied. "Sorry I had to leave so fast. Lydia was lost in Boston, and—"

"Right, your Will explained," Diana said. "We understand, but—"

"He's not my Will."

"Lizzy, will you just shut up for a second?" Diana snapped. "I'm trying to tell you something. I'm afraid Sam did something stupid."

"How stupid?" Lizzy said, pausing at the stoplight.

"He asked Grace how Lydia was," Diana replied. "They were talking about business, he said, and it just slipped—"

"When?" Lizzy asked sharply.

"An hour or so ago." There was a very uncomfortable feeling settling in Lizzy's stomach. "He just called me." Suddenly, two stoplights and a short university drive seemed way too far away from home. "I figured you should know." The light changed and Lizzy accelerated so quickly her engine protested. "Lizzy, was that your car?"

"What did Sam say exactly?" Lizzy replied.

"He said Grace sounded more pissed than when she found out your mom got married in Vegas."

"Shit."

"Lizzy, slow down or you'll get a ticket, which a) you can't afford and b) will slow you down."

"Doesn't matter," Lizzy said, drawing up behind a silver Mercedes with a license plate reading "GRACE-US". "She's here, and I'm back." She parked, unbuckled, and reached for her purse, listening to Diana curse and promise to commit several counts of domestic abuse towards her husband when Sam got home. "Don't worry about it. Thanks for the warning, but I gotta go." Lizzy was taking the steps two at a time, house key already in hand.

"You better let me know how it goes. I don't want to beat up Sam for nothing."

"Sure. Bye." Lizzy slapped her cell phone shut, shoved it in her pocket, and unlocked her door, and the first thing she heard when she walked in was "…tell your grandmother. She must be turning in her grave now. Maybe if you'd met her, you wouldn't have turned out like this."

"Mom, please—"

From the end of the hall, Lizzy could see Aunt Grace pacing in front of the coffee table; when she got closer, Lydia came into the frame next, sitting on the couch knees drawn up to her chin, cornered but proud. Jane was perched on the arm of the sofa, hands over her mouth, her gaze shifting from Lydia to her twin, as Lizzy entered the room.

"The way I heard it, you would have never married Uncle Jeremy if Lydia's grandmother was still alive," Lizzy said. Grace whirled, and Lizzy met her aunt's glare with a wry grin. Jane's shoulders relaxed, but Lydia barely looked up. She was so white that the freckles on her nose blazed. Aunt Leah was just as white, but a vengeful white, the kind that Lizzy associated with Snow White's wicked stepmother. The extra-long lapels on her black suit and red, red fingernail polish didn't change that impression much. "I also heard," Lizzy added, "that when you met, she called you 'white trash' and sent you packing."

"Jane Elizabeth Bennet, I told you that in confidence," snapped a voice in the kitchen.

"Mom?" said Lizzy aghast.

Mrs. Bennet stood near the sink, a glass of water in one hand and pills cupped in the other. She raised one eyebrow at her youngest daughter and waited.

"What are you doing here?" Lizzy sputtered.

"Moral support," Mrs. Bennet replied, crossing the room and handing the water and aspirin to Grace. "There you go. That'll take the edge off the headache."

"Thanks, Becky," Grace murmured.

Lydia's gaze was on the floor; Jane's eyes were on her sister's.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy snapped. "You came to keep me and Jane in line, didn't you?"

"Not everything is about you, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet retorted.

Jane made a sound behind her hands.

Lizzy's mouth fell open, and then she closed it, scowling, fists clenched. "Get out," Lizzy said, jerking her chin back toward the door. "Get out of my home."

Mrs. Bennet took a seat in the armchair nearest Grace, crossing her legs primly. "We pay just as much rent as you do."

Aunt Grace was staring Lizzy down with a scornful sneer that the Bennet twins recognized as their mother's. "She does give you a lot of trouble, doesn't she, Becky?"

"Not as much trouble as I'll give you," Lizzy muttered before her mother could answer.

"Honestly, Lizzy, now you just sound like a child," scolded Mrs. Bennet.

Lizzy took a deep breath and tried to control her temper. She felt Jane look at her again, but Lizzy wasn't sure yet if she could look back without glaring.

"So," said Grace, turning back to her daughter, "have you made an appointment, or can you not even manage that for yourself?"

Lizzy crossed her arms. "I think somebody's pissed that Lydia called us and not Mommy."

"Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet said coldly, "even you have to admit that a mother has a right to discuss pregnancy with her daughter."

"Discuss, yes—Insult, no," Lizzy snapped back.

"If you would be quiet, we might—" Mrs. Bennet started.

"I'm not going to make an appointment," Lydia said quietly, head bent so that her long blonde hair curtained her face from view.

Grace blinked twice. "This isn't the time for moral scruples, Lydia."

Lydia was looking at the carpet. "It's not…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm not against…" Lizzy reached across the couch and took her cousin's hand. "I just don't think I could live wondering what our baby would be like."

"You don't think you could live?" Grace replied. She was pacing again. "I'd like to see you try to live like this. You think you can pay for baby clothes and HBO? You think you can go to school and breast-fed at the same time?"

"It's been done," Lydia said. Her grip on Lizzy's hand was so tight that it hurt, but she was meeting her mother's eye stoutly.

"You want to try?" Grace said scornfully, gathering her purse—black leather, and Coach by the looks of it. "Fine. But I'll let you know, you little tramp, you slut—"

"Give it a rest, Grace." Mrs. Bennet rose wearily from her chair and picked up a small green canvas bag behind it. "Or I'll tell them to count back between Lydia's birthday and your anniversary, and we'll figure out exactly how white your wedding was."

"Mom!" Jane cried shocked.

Lydia was counting on her hands and frowning.

Mouth agape, Lizzy glanced from her mother to her aunt.

Grace's face had become almost as red as her fingernails, which completely ruined the Wicked Witch impression. "Becky, you can't tell me—"

"I'll tell you whatever I feel like," Mrs. Bennet said, fishing through the canvas bag. "And I don't feel like listening to you talk to my god-daughter that way.—Here we are." The keys fell out of her bag jangling, and Mrs. Bennet held them out to her sister, smiling. "Ready?"

Aunt Grace snatched the keys out of her sister's hand and glared long enough that the Bennet twins exchanged glances: Jane's aghast, Lizzy's amused. Then Grace marched stiffly out the door—"Bye, Mom," whispered Lydia—and slammed it.

"That's my cue," said Mrs. Bennet in a singsong and sauntered to the door, canvas bag swaying on her arm.

"Mom, thanks," Lizzy said with a smile as hesitant as Jane's.

Mrs. Bennet turned back quickly, looking Lizzy up and down with a suspicious frown, more surprised than touched, but Lizzy's attention had already returned to Lydia.

"Jane," Mrs. Bennet said, "I'm visiting Grace at the country house all week. Come by if you can."

"Okay, Mom," Jane said.

"You all right, Lydia?" Lizzy asked softly.

Lydia nodded, tears lining her lashes, and Lizzy hugged her gently. After the door opened and closed behind Mrs. Bennet, Jane came and took a seat on Lydia's other side, clasping her hand tightly.

"We'll help you," Jane told Lydia, trying to smile.

"I—" began Lydia before running into the bathroom. Then the twins heard their cousin retching in the toilet.

"Morning sickness?" Lizzy asked.

Jane shook her head. "I think it's too soon for that. Nerves, probably," she explained, as they both got up to hold back Lydia's hair.

After Lydia and Jane had fallen asleep in front of Notting Hill (Lydia's cinema therapy-of-choice), Lizzy called Aunt Diana back. Silverware clinked in the background; Aunt Diana was at a dinner party. "So—is your cousin disowned?"

"At the moment."

"How is she?"

"Asleep." Tucked in with a quilt around her. Her head against Jane's shoulder. They could be sisters—Lydia and Jane; they had the same high cheekbones and long slim frames. There was a picture there, if Lizzy could find her camera without waking them.

"She'll be okay?" Aunt Diana asked.

Lizzy smiled a little. "She'll be okay."

"Good—I'll tell Sam that. He's biting his fingernails across the table. I've got to go now, but I expect more out of you later."

"Sure," Lizzy said and hung up.

After a moment, holding the phone in both hands, she sighed and reached across the pizza boxes (their dinner, hours before) for her purse. She snagged her to-do list out of the side pocket and revised it, crossing out 1, 4 (she'd called Professor Murray before calling for pizza), and 6. She added:

Financial Aid Office/Vickroot—Lydia

Health Insurance—Lydia

Ben and Jerry's Mint Cookie—Lydia

Check—when do cravings start in pregnancy?

As an afterthought, she crossed off 7: Will wouldn't mind waiting to be thanked until things settled down a little.

3.

At certain busy times in a college student's life, unnecessary activities get shaved away from her schedule. Sleep especially becomes optional. Lizzy was averaging about five hours a night.

If anyone asked her what kept her so busy, Lizzy would shrug and say, "Stuff." Part of it was that she was running twice as many errands as usual and three times as many trips to the grocery store. Lydia developed a new craving almost every day ("She's probably just imagining them," Jane told her twin. "It's still too soon."), and Lizzy hadn't yet figured out a nice way to tell her cousin that she'd rather sleep than go find Lydia the materials for a tuna, pickles, and peanut butter sandwich. Then, there was that job Lizzy took, acting as teaching assistant for her advisor. Lizzy justified it, explaining that it wasn't too big of a time commitment, that she only worked when Lydia had class, and Lydia had decided to take only three credits this semester. Lizzy was, of course, also trying to finish her thesis. It gave her the perfect excuse to stay at home—laptop open at the kitchen table, books stacked around her, pen in her hair—in case Lydia needed her. It was really no wonder that she hadn't developed a photograph since Pemberley or that she hadn't gotten a full night's rest since she was getting over the transatlantic jet lag.

She'd done this before, of course, usually during finals week, but the dreams were what bothered her the most. When she slept through the night, she usually didn't remember her dreams, but at only five hours, her alarm usually woke her up in the middle of one. Then its images would haunt her throughout the better part of the morning:

Her mother telling her, "You should've never been born," and a blank-faced doctor adding, "Alive."

Will walking away, his shoulders squared against the rain, just as he had at Rosings, except this was at Netherfield with its high lofty ceilings, or at Pemberley with its great green lawn.

Jane and Lydia asleep on the couch; a monster under it, invisible in the dusty darkness, except for its eyes, bright and yellow.

A hospital: Lydia is in labor, sweat at her temples, fear in her frown. Something has gone wrong. Lizzy is trying to scream, but she has no voice.

Will kissing her temple, his hand cradling the nape of her neck. Telling her, "You'll be all right, Lizzy."

(Well, to be honest, Lizzy didn't mind that last one all that much.)

The dreams certainly explained why she had trouble sleeping. She wrestled with her blanket and pillows for at least thirty minutes after she climbed into bed, and she could only trick herself into sleeping when she pretended a gentle hand was giving her a backrub.

On a certain Thursday, just after a trip to the grocery store to pick up some pasta for dinner and order a cake for Lydia's birthday, Lizzy decided that this might be the day she deserved a nap. It was a beautiful day—there was the barest hint of fall in the breeze and not a cloud in the bright sky. She could just curl up on the window seat with Jane's yellow quilt, maybe with a book, and let the world drift away.

Jane was standing in front of the closed bathroom door when Lizzy walked in. The line between her twin's red brows made Lizzy reconsider her nap.

"What's wrong?" Lizzy said, dumping the grocery bags on the kitchen table and unslinging her purse from her shoulder.

"Morning sickness," Jane replied.

"Oh." Halfway to the fridge, spaghetti sauce in hand, Lizzy stopped, turned around, and thought. "I thought you said it was too early for that."

Jane shrugged, pressing her lips together tight. "That's what she called it."

Lizzy walked up and tried the door. It was locked. "How long has she been in there?"

"About two and a half hours," Jane said.

"Lydia," Lizzy called through the door. When no one replied, Lizzy repeated louder, "Lydia, answer me if you can."

The Bennet twins listened. Lizzy even pressed her ear to the door. She thought she heard a groan, very muffled, but she was almost sure.

"Jane," Lizzy said sharply, "there's a Philips head screwdriver in the junk drawer."

"Which one?" Jane asked, moving to the kitchen. "The one next to the sink or the one under the phone?"

"The sink—Lydia?" It was worth one more try. No use getting worked up over indigestion, if that was all it was. Lydia didn't answer. "We're coming in," Lizzy continued. "If you're right next to the door, you might want to back away so we don't hit you."

Jane came back and pressed the screwdriver into her sister's hand. Lizzy set to work on separating the doorknob from the door, one screwdriver at a time.

"Lizzy…" Jane started worriedly, but Lizzy just shook her head. When the doorknob was loose enough, Lizzy jostled it, and the bathroom door swung open.

There was Lydia, curled up on the floor, eyes squeezed shut.

There was so much blood.

4.

Lizzy knew she should feel more than this. Thoughts should be rampaging through her head, she should want to cry, or at least want to be held, but she was just so tired. Most of her thoughts—the ones nudged carefully away from her cousin—tended toward coffee. Or sleep. The best Lizzy could muster was a tight feeling, sharp in her chest if she tried to breathe too deeply, a lot like what happens after when you swim underwater for longer than your lungs will allow.

They were in the hospital. Lydia had finally been assigned to Room 202. After six hours of waiting, six hours of Lizzy and Jane watching nurses and doctors in green scrubs and white masks walk past the swinging doors that Lydia had disappeared behind, she'd lost the baby. One of the doctors had gone in to tell Lydia the news. They wouldn't allow either Jane or Lizzy to be there (immediate family only, they said).

Lizzy couldn't help but wonder—if the medical staff hadn't read Lydia's chart, if they hadn't known how young she was, would they have worked a little bit harder to stop the miscarriage? Would Lydia's baby still be alive? But that wasn't fair. Jane—the doctor-to-be—would be the first one to tell her so.

"I thought she was dead," Jane whispered to Lizzy. It was the first time either of the Bennet twins had spoken to each other for hours.

"That's understandable," Lizzy replied automatically.

"It just looked like…" Jane murmured.

Lizzy nodded, uncrossing her arms and bracing herself against the wall.

Jane turned halfway to her sister, eyes dropped to the floor. "I thought she killed herself."

Lizzy looked up at her sister, saw the horrified frown, and shrugged lightly with a sympathetic smile. "You and Lydia just watched The Virgin Suicides. You're bound to have it on the brain for a little while."

"I just froze," Jane said sadly.

She had. She'd stood in the doorway and looked on until Lizzy pushed her out of the way.

"I'm a doctor, or I will be soon," Jane said.

Research doctor, Lizzy almost reminded her sister, which is a whole different kind of stress. But that might not come off as comforting as she intended it.

"I should've been checking her vitals or something." She sounded near tears.

"Well," Lizzy said, her voice raw in her throat, "it's different when it's family, right?"

"You're family," Jane reminded her. "You didn't freeze up."

She hadn't. She'd walked into the bathroom, face grim, and bent towards her cousin to ask again, "Lydia? Lydia—answer me if you can." Lydia had opened her eyes and turned a little toward the door, and Lizzy had taken that as all the answer she was going to get. She'd smoothed her cousin's long hair, sticky with blood, from her face and told her sister to call 911.

Lizzy didn't know what else to say.

Someone had painted the hospital walls blue. It was supposed to be calming. Rolling beds lined the walls, empty and waiting for someone hurt or screaming. There was a photograph in it, if Lizzy could figure out how to take it. If she had a camera with her.

At the end of the corridor, Lizzy noticed a tall dark-haired man trying to punch coffee out of a Nescafe vending machine. She knew he wasn't Will.—He was about the right age, but Will would never slouch his shoulders like that. His posture was so much stiffer; she'd teased him about it in London.—but the tightness in her chest got tighter with disappointment when the man turned around, coffee steaming in a Styrofoam cup, and she didn't see Will's dark eyes meeting hers. Lizzy had to remind herself that Will had no reason to be here.

"What was she saying?" Jane asked.

Lizzy yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "What?"

"Lydia," Jane explained. "When we were waiting for the ambulance. She kept repeating something. It was too quiet for me to hear. What was she saying?"

"She said it wasn't her fault," Lizzy said, trying not to remember the ravaged look on Lydia had, pale-faced and wide-eyed, blood smeared on her cheek. "That it just happened."

"So she…" Jane started hesitantly.

"She had a miscarriage," Lizzy said firmly, "just a miscarriage. Nothing else."

Jane looked at the floor and crossed her arms, her red hair falling over her face. Lizzy stared out the window across from her cousin's door, watching the night creep along the trees. She couldn't think of a thing to say to Lydia. She wasn't sure there was anything to say.

"Who's going to sign her papers?" Jane asked. "We can't. We're not her guardians."

"She will," Lizzy answered.

"Lizzy, she's a minor."

"Not anymore," Lizzy said, checking her watch. "As of twelve minutes ago, Lydia's eighteen."

"Oh my God," Jane murmured, hand over her mouth.

"Yeah," Lizzy replied. She wondered if it was worth anything to pick up the cake. If she were Lydia, she wouldn't even want to see it.

After a few minutes, Jane said with a half-hearted smile, "At least this solves some of her problem."

"Don't say that, Jane." Lizzy pretended it was fatigue that made her voice shake. "It's too early for silver lining and all that crap."

They were silent for a moment. A nurse passed without giving them a glance. Then Jane said, "I'm sor—"

"Miss Bennet?" said a male voice. Both sisters turned to watch a doctor, closing the door to Lydia's room. He was young, barely old enough to have finished his internship, and unmarried, judging by the way he was looking at Jane, whose red-rimmed eyes made her seem particularly enchanting.

"How is she?" Jane asked.

The doctor smiled, kindly enough, but with all the concern in his face, he looked like he was a second away from stroking Jane's hair and promising everything will be all right. "She's fine. A little weak, but nothing a few days' rest won't clear up."

Lizzy refrained from asking him if he wanted to buy her sister a drink, maybe a cup of hospital cafeteria coffee. "How is she really?"

"Very unsettled, you might say," said the young doctor, straightening. "Or 'grave' is a better word—"

"Can we see her?" Lizzy asked sharply.

The young doctor turned back to the elder Bennet twin, who hooked her red hair behind her ears. "She said she wanted to see Lizzy."

Jane's mouth opened, a hesitant frown between her eyebrows. "Can't we both go in?"

"She requested Lizzy," said the doctor.

Lizzy knew Jane was hurt, but she could only comfort one person at a time. She kissed Jane's cheek before opening Lydia's door. She worried a little more when she heard the young doctor start to comfort her pretty sister.

Lydia was sitting up in the bed. The sheets were still tucked underneath the mattress. Lizzy could see the imprints of her cousin's knees under the taut sheets. Lydia's hospital gown was pink with yellow ducks. She was only slightly less pale than she'd been when the Bennet twins found her in the bathroom, and the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. Her eyes had a haunted look in them.

"I'm sorry," Lizzy said. It was so hard to breathe around that tight knot in her chest. "I'm so sorry."

Lydia's eyes had tears in them now. She raised her arms, and Lizzy moved into them, holding her cousin tightly. Lizzy knew Lydia was crying—she felt her shirt get wet at the shoulder—but neither of them made a sound.

"About Jane," Lydia said finally, taking a deep breath. Lizzy waited. "It's just—sometimes I feel like she's judging me."

"Oh," Lizzy said. After a pause, she added, "Jane would never do anything to hurt you. Not in a million years."

Lydia sniffed and shrugged, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "She's just so perfect, you know? She can't ever understand…"

When Lydia didn't finish, Lizzy felt herself nod and hug her cousin again, startled and ashamed and so, so tired.

5.

They got Lydia home. Jane had gotten there first and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom; good training, she said, for the grunt work she would have to do as a medical intern. Lydia surprised both the twins by marching straight into the bathroom. To use the toilet, she said, but the twins noticed that she stayed inside too long for any regular bathroom visit. When she came out, her eyes were red but dry.

They made Lydia eat. Lydia insisted that she wasn't hungry, but Jane had made Lydia's favorite: little pizzas: English muffins with pizza sauce and mozzarella on them, baked in the oven. And Lizzy bribed her with a promise to do all of Lydia's laundry for a month. (And Lydia went through a lot of laundry.)

They made Lydia sleep. She told them that she slept at the hospital, but Lizzy ordered her to go to her room, lie on her bed, and close her eyes for twenty minutes. She was lightly snoring in six, and the twins decided to follow her example. Jane seemed to fall asleep fin, but Lizzy curled up in bed, glancing around at her ceiling, her clock, her books, and her camera bag. With a slight smile, she got up, dug around for the negatives she'd prepared at Pemberley, and headed for her darkroom.

Lizzy had been too busy to go through any pictures from her trip to England, so she spent the rest of the afternoon making up for lost time. Of the photographs she developed, these were her favorites:

The view from Pemberley lawn, the series of photographs—what had she been watching? A flock of ducks, rising from the little lake? These were the ones that she took when she was supposed to be running away. The ones that caught Will's climbing the hill along the left side of the frame. She enjoyed watching his expression change, even though she hadn't really paid much attention at the time. His face was too small and blurry to make out in the first two photographs, but in the third, Will's frown was sharp with attention. She laughed a little as the fourth photograph developed and she saw Will's shock. In the fifth, his shock softened into surprise, a "delighted" surprise, and Lizzy was pretty sure that this was the first time she'd seen his smile caught on film.

Dinner in London. A little pizza place that Giana picked out. The picture caught the Darcy siblings, sitting across the table in a booth. Will had just returned from the bathroom, but Giana had taken advantage of his absence: she'd lifted the cheese off the pizza slice on his plate and hidden a yellow chili pepper underneath. ("He's bound to notice that," Lizzy pointed out, but Giana shook her head. "He's rather distracted today," Giana replied, looking pointedly at Lizzy.) Will sat down and took a bite. He must have tasted it, but all he did was turn to his sister and watch her grin at him as he finished the rest of his pizza. Then he dusted off his fingers, sat back, and looked at Lizzy for a few seconds before his eyes started to water. Lizzy laughed with Giana and passed her water down the table toward him, which he finished off gratefully. "Giana's not always like this," he told her, voice hoarse. "She's quite bold when you're around. Fitz has the same effect." "I've got an ally," Giana explained beaming, and Will ruffled her hair.
The photograph turned out really well: the pizza was raised to Will's mouth, covering the bottom half of Will's face, but you could see Will's eyes, brows pinched, glancing suspiciously at his little sister. Giana looked back, sidelong, mouth squeezed shut and bursting to laugh.

This one Lizzy didn't take. She was in it, and so was Will. On the train, nighttime black in the window. Will was sitting next to it, one arm resting on the windowsill and the other along the seat behind him. Lizzy is asleep at Will's shoulder, mouth slightly open. Lizzy knew it wasn't really a good picture of her, but the expression on Will's face: he's looking straight into the camera and grinning like a boy.

She took this one. A white arch—with woodcarvings adorning the curves. Through it, with her back turned to the camera, Giana is playing a Baby Grand Piano, which gleams in the light from the window beyond. Her head is bent over the keys. She is concentrating. In the foreground—peering at his sister around the right side of the arch—is Will, smiling a little, his shoulder against the wall and one foot tucked behind his ankle.

Lizzy had walked through Pemberley uncomfortably. The night before, she'd left the Darcys at the train station to Cynthia Grayson and Cynthia Grayson's car—in a hurry, flustered to find herself walking up on Will's shoulder.

Cynthia had seen her in, pointed out the corridor where she could find the owners of the house, and Lizzy had sidestepped tarps and paint cans, spotting Will down the hall and dreading the moment he turned around and she'd have to confront the expression on his face.

But she'd walked pretty silently (she was wearing flats). He'd been watching Giana and smiling, and Lizzy had seen the shot and taken it.

He turned when he heard the camera click, not surprised exactly but his grin got a little wider. He motioned her to one side, and she took two more steps to stand behind him at the side of the arch.

"She only practices alone," Will explained. "She gets rather nervous."

"She's good," Lizzy murmured, embarrassed at her own shyness.

"She's brilliant," Will corrected, and the grin on his face was proud, a nice kind of proud, brotherly even. "She's been accepted to NYU for the fall, but really she's going to try for Juilliard."

"The family business?" Lizzy asked with a small smile.

"No—of course not. Listen to her. She's a much better musician than I am," Will said, and Lizzy did her best to hide her suspicion that he was only being modest for her sake. Then he turned back to his sister, and Lizzy felt guilty for even suspecting—

There was a knock at the door, and Lizzy jumped, spilling fix out of its tub. "Lizzy!" It was Jane. "You're in there, right?"

"Yeah," replied Lizzy, squinting at her watch and not believing that she'd been in there for as long as it said she had.

"Get to a good stopping place if you can," Jane said. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Okay," Lizzy said, moving the last picture of Will watching Giana practice out of the fix and into the rinse.

She had gone through most of her negatives, developing something from each roll. Filing away her film, she noticed bemusedly that most of the photographs hanging to dry on the clotheslines around her had Will's face on them. She would have to make sure Lydia didn't come in the darkroom any time soon or her cousin would suspect her of having a stalker-like fixation on B.F.D.'s Dar. It'd be really embarrassing if Lydia accused her of falling in love with a rock star—

Lizzy yelped and dropped the second stack of negatives she'd just picked up, scattering them all over the door. "Fuck." She paused and looked around again, Will's face staring at her from every corner. "FUCK!"

"Lizzy, are you okay?" her sister called.

"I'm okay," Lizzy heard herself shout back.

And she was. She was fine, except for one little thing.

Lizzy was in love with Will Darcy.

6.

Sometimes, in today's society, things don't work out as they're planned, and returns must be made accordingly. The Olympic runner breaks his leg a couple weeks before the races and sends the new jogging suit back to Nike. The ex-bride must return a white gown to the bridal shoppe, and an almost mother must return her maternity ware to the baby store.

"It kind of reminds me of Ernest Hemingway's six-word story: 'For Sale. Baby shoes. Never used.'" Lydia said, digging through a Baby Bloomers bag for the receipt.

Lizzy watched her cousin and waited, not sure if this was supposed to be a joke. Lydia had made a whole bunch of cracks since she'd lost the baby a couple days ago. All of them would've been completely unfeeling out of any mouth but hers.

"I guess that this sailor outfit would've looked stupid," Lydia said thoughtfully. She pulled it out of the Tyke Tailors bag, shook it out twice, and folded it lovingly, price tag on the inside. "Especially if the baby turned out to be a girl, but you know, I just assumed I'd have a boy. And that he'd look like Jack. And I always knew Jack would look good in a uniform."

Lizzy knew she should say something, but she didn't know how to break it to Lydia that they'd probably never see Wickham again. Lizzy certainly wouldn't want anyone telling her she'd never see Will again, even though she had a kind of grating fear that it was the truth. Instead she stood up, kissed the top of her cousin's head, and grabbed her keys.

Lydia looked up smiling, and Lizzy might have been fooled if she hadn't seen her cousin's lower lip trembling. "At least now I won't get stretch marks."

Lizzy half-grinned. "Should we return the cocoa butter then?"

"No, I'll still use it. I like the smell," Lydia answered, getting up.

"Bleh," Lizzy said, making a face, and started gathering up bags.

"You don't?" Lydia asked.

"Too sweet," Lizzy replied, opening the door.

"Hmm," Lydia said thoughtfully. "That's the difference between you and me, Lizzy. Sweet doesn't bother me."

Lizzy rolled her eyes and ruffled Lydia's hair for revenge.

"Lizzy! You've messed it up!" Lydia cried horrified, heading for the bathroom. "I have to go fix it now."

"No, you don't," Lizzy said, snagging her cousin by the back of her shirt and pushing her out the door. "You can fix it in the car."

In the stairway, the cousins could hear voices yelling—a male and a female. The most Lizzy could catch, as she relocked the door and started down the steps, was the female voice shouting "…can't come up…leave…if you don't, I'll…"

"Lover's quarrel, maybe?" Lydia said, finger-combing her hair.

"I doubt it," Lizzy said, quickening her pace down the steps. "That's Jane."

"And the other voice is…" Lydia stopped and peered over the railing. "Is…"

Lizzy glanced back over her shoulder just in firm for Lydia to push past her and race down the steps, Baby Bloomers bag rustling. A flight and a half later, Lizzy heard her cousin should, "Jack!" After that, it took Lizzy about two seconds to get down the stairs.

At the bottom step was Wickham, locked lip-to-lip with Lydia, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands clasped under her bottom. Click. She could name it "Reunion (Happy?)" Not if she had anything to do about it.

"Well, shit," Lizzy muttered, dropping a couple bags against the wall and crossing her arms.

"Yeah," said, Jane coming to stand next to Lizzy and help her glare. "This is what I was trying to avoid."

"Did you miss me, love?" Wickham asked Lydia, kissing her chin.

"Of course, you jerk," Lydia murmured. Her hands were in his hair. "I knew you'd come."

Wickham smiled down at her and glanced away. "How 'bout you, Lizzy? Miss me?"

"Sure," Lizzy said sweetly, "so much I wanted to claw your eyes out."

"Lizzy," Lydia scolded, "you don't have to protect me." But the Bennet twins noticed that Wickham quickly lowered Lydia to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Lizzy asked Wickham.

"Isn't it obvious?" Lydia replied, arms around his waist.

"No," Lizzy said firmly, but neither of them were paying any attention to her.

"I've been a terrible bloody git," Wickham was murmuring into Lydia's hair. "I'm sorry, love. I was scared, you know? And I've been so bloody worried about you. I was searching all over Boston before I thought to—"

"Shut up," Lydia said smiling and kissed him again.

Lizzy snorted, and Jane turned to her. "You don't think…?" she started hopefully.

He's not Charlie, Lizzy wanted to say impatiently, but she just set her jaw and shook her head grimly. "I think he found out about the trust funds."

When Wickham's hands started traveling again, perilously close to Lydia's bottom, Lizzy decided that she'd had enough. "Break it up," she hissed. "Now."

When neither of them heard her, or pretended not to anyway, Lizzy lost her temper, walked up to them, and shoved Wickham back. He stumbled back farther than Lizzy expected.

"Lizzy," Lydia snapped, rushing forward to steady him.

Lizzy responded only by rolling her eyes.

"It's quite all right, love," Wickham said mournfully, wrapping an arm around Lydia's shoulders. "I've been a terrible bastard."

"You said that," Lizzy reminded him coldly, "and no one's arguing."

Wickham glanced halfway to Lizzy and back to Lydia. "I want to make things right."

"Good luck," Lizzy muttered.

To Lydia, Wickham continued, "You make me want to be a better man."

"What movie was that from?" Lizzy asked her sister.

"As Good as it Gets," Jane replied worriedly. "Lizzy," she added, nodding back at Wickham and Lydia.

He was on one knee and fishing something out of his jeans' pocket, while Lydia looked on, hands over her mouth, eyebrows raised to her hairline.

"Of all the sleazy—" Lizzy started.

"Lizzy, you're spoiling it," Lydia snapped.

By this time, Wickham had the box out and was opening it. He seemed to have trouble locating the hinge, but when he managed, the ring was gold and sparkling.

"Jack…" Lydia murmured, staring at it wide-eyed.

"Lydia, will you marry me?" Wickham asked. His voice sounded odd. Slurred.

"Yes," Lydia answered, eyes shining. "Yes." Wickham was swaying to his feet; they were hugging again and Lydia pressed kisses onto Wickham's lip, his neck, his—

"Oh, just stop," Jane hissed, and they turned to her in surprise.

"You aren't getting married," Lizzy told them.

"I'm not a child; you can't tell me what to do," Lydia said, tossing her chin up. She didn't seem to notice that Wickham was looking Lizzy up and down warily.

"I'll tell you whatever I want," Lizzy replied evenly, "and you'll do what I say until you stop acting idiotic."

"What's so idiotic about proposing to the mother of your child?" asked Wickham.

"Don't give me that shit," Lizzy said shortly. "What kind of guy proposes drunk?"

"I'm not drunk," Wickham replied, too quickly.

"Of course not, honey," Lydia soothed. To the Bennet twins, she added, "He's probably just had a shot or two."

"A shot? It's eleven o'clock in the morning!" Jane cried aghast.

"Dunno 'bout shots," Wickham mumbled. He was leaning on Lydia now. "Just finished the bottle."

"The bottle?" Lydia repeated, alarmed. "Of what? Please say beer."

"Tequila," Wickham replied with a rueful grin.

"Jack," Lydia scolded, looking up at him with a disappointed frown, "I told you to lay off the hard liquor." To Lizzy and Jane, she explained, "He's all right. It's just his bartending job. They let him take the almost empty bottles home, and his self-discipline isn't very good." When Jane and Lizzy failed to seem comforted, she added, "He's been much worse."

The Bennet twins exchanged glances, and Lizzy struggled to understand that Lydia had just willingly engaged herself to a playboy Brit with an apparent drinking problem.

"Come on, honey," Lydia said, guiding Wickham up the stairs, her arm around his waist. "Let's get you inside."

"He's not allowed in the apartment," Jane said.

"He'll just go to my room and sleep it off," Lydia promised. "You won't even notice him."

"No way," Lizzy said.

"Come on, Lizzy," Lydia said, flicking her hair out of her eyes irritably. "It's my apartment, too."

"Do you want to make this about sides?" Lizzy said. "Because then it's still two against one."

"Two against two," Lydia said stubbornly.

"He doesn't pay rent," Jane reminded her.

Lizzy nodded. "Doesn't count."

"'Salright, love," Wickham said, one arm pressing his young fiancée's shoulders and the other on the banister. Lydia helped him up one more step. "We'll get our own place. A flat, do you think? Just me and you and little Junior."

Lydia froze, one foot resting on the next step. Jane turned to her sister, and Lizzy took a step toward Lydia.

"What is it? You don't want a flat?" Wickham asked, looking at his fiancé. "We might get a house then. A small one, I suppose."

Lydia mumbled something.

"Lydia?" Lizzy said quietly, reaching out to rest a hand on her cousin's shoulder, the one Wickham wasn't occupying.

"Didn't hear that, love," Wickham said, leaning in with a wary glance at Lizzy.

"The baby's gone," Lydia blurted.

There was a pause as the three of them watched Wickham work this out through his intoxication. "Where?" He glanced down at her middle. "You can't have had it already."

Lizzy snorted, wondering how much Tequila had been in that bottle and how much he had left to digest. He was getting more and more drunk as time went on.

Lydia swallowed and tried again. "I lost it."

"Lost it? Well, have you checked all the places you've been?" Wickham asked frowning. "Here, I'll help you look."

"Have you had brain damage since we've seen you last?" Lizzy said impatiently.

"Oh, a miscarriage," Wickham said, brightening at the realization until he noticed the Bennet twins glaring at him and Lydia's lips pressed together so hard they went white. "I suppose that isn't good though, is it?"

"You complete and utter shithead," Lizzy snapped.

"There's no need for name-calling, Lizzy," Wickham said, taking his arm from Lydia's shoulder to scratch his chin. He was overdue for a shave. "I rather need a moment to sort this out."

"How hard can it—" Lizzy started.

"Shut up, Lizzy.—You don't know," Lydia hissed, and Lizzy flinched and removed her hand from Lydia's shoulder. Lydia took Wickham's hand. "Take as much time as you need, Jack. I'm here for you."

He patted her hand absentmindedly. "I just need to figure out if the same rules apply." He was having trouble just keeping his eyes open.

"Rules?" Jane asked concerned. Lizzy rolled her eyes; she could practically see Jane preparing herself to treat Wickham for late morning alcohol poisoning.

"Will's rules," Wickham told Jane, as if that explained anything.

"Will?" Lizzy repeated and yelped. "Will Darcy?"

"Yes, of course—do you know another Will?" Wickham said, swaying a little to his right.

Lydia caught him and pushed him back a standing position. He smiled down at her in thanks. "Who's Will Darcy?" she asked, looking from her fiancé to her cousins.

Lizzy wasn't sure how to answer her.

"What does Will have to do with this?" Jane asked, red eyebrows raised.

"He gave me"—Wickham spoke slowly, carefully annunciating his words—"a check."

"Why?" Jane asked.

"I don't understand. Who's Will Darcy?" Lydia repeated.

Lizzy realized with a sharp, quiet gasp. "To take care of Lydia?" she asked, meeting Lydia's eyes with a frown when her cousin turned around.

"Yesss," Wickham slurred. "And the baby. But there's not a baby, so I'm not quite sure…"

"Wait, let me get this straight," Lizzy said, so sharply that Wickham stood to attention. "Will is paying you—"

"$500,000," Wickham told her, nodding when Lizzy's mouth fell open. She closed it quickly. "Quite a lot, actually."

"To marry Lydia and raise the baby," Lizzy finished.

"Yes, and there was one more thing…" Wickham trailed off, trying to remember. "Oh, right: not to mention that we'd—Oh, bloody hell, I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" he asked Lydia with his most winning smile.

"I don't understand," Lydia said. Lizzy saw the hope in her cousin's face, and the tightness returned to her chest, sharper than ever. But even Lydia wasn't trusting it—she'd taken a step back. One step more and she'd be pressing her back into Lizzy. "Jack, you love me, right? That's why you want to marry me—because you love me. Right?"

"Lydia—" Lizzy started, but Jane shook her head.

"You're a bright girl, Lydia," Wickham said, stroking her arm affectionately. "I mean, a man doesn't just leave a girl if he loves her."

Lizzy wanted to hit him so badly she was shaking, but she didn't move. She had Lydia to tend to, Lydia who was clinging to her and pressing her hot, dry face to Lizzy's shoulder. Instead it was Jane who hit him, hard with a swift bony punch in the eye, red hair streaming behind her. She stood scowling and shaking the sting out of her hand as Wickham sank against the wall, unconscious.

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