The guest chamber was warm and welcoming, just as Elizabeth remembered from previous visits. Mrs. Gardiner efficiently ordered hot water for a bath and sent for a light meal.
“I’ll have one of the maids help you change,” she said, surveying Elizabeth’s travel-worn appearance. “Those clothes have seen better days.”
“Wait,” Elizabeth said as her aunt turned to leave. “There is one more thing I should tell you.”
Mrs. Gardiner paused, her expression concerned. “What is it, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth placed a hand over her abdomen, her voice barely above a whisper. “I may be with child.”
Her aunt’s eyes widened momentarily before her face softened with understanding. “I see. All the more reason to take good care of you, then.”
“It’s too soon to be certain,” Elizabeth added hastily. “But the possibility exists.”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “We will monitor for signs. In the meantime, complete rest and nourishing food are in order regardless.” She hesitated, then added, “Have you considered what you will do if your husband is…”
“I cannot bring myself to think it,” Elizabeth interrupted, her voice breaking. “Not yet. Not until we know for certain.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Gardiner wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “One step at a time, my dear.”
Left alone to bathe and change, Elizabeth allowed herself a moment of true vulnerability. She sank onto the edge of the bed, Darcy’s signet ring clutched in her palm, and wept—for her lost family, for her missing husband, for the uncertain future stretching before her.
“Where are you, Fitzwilliam?” she whispered to the empty room. “What has happened to you?”
No answer came, of course. Only the distant sounds of a household preparing for dinner, the normal rhythms of family life continuing despite her world having shattered into pieces.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. Mrs. Gardiner entered, carrying a warm shawl. Her eyes softened at the sight of Elizabeth’s tear-stained face.
“I thought you might need this,” she said, placing the shawl around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “The room can grow chilly in the evenings.”
“Thank you, Aunt,” Elizabeth managed, trying to compose herself.
Mrs. Gardiner sat beside her on the bed. “Your uncle is sorting through correspondence. I thought perhaps we might speak privately.”
Elizabeth nodded, grateful for her aunt’s gentle approach.
“Lizzy,” Mrs. Gardiner began carefully, “I confess I’m trying to understand. Your mother wrote to me after Mr. Collins’s initial visit, mentioning his interest in you. She seemed quite convinced you would accept him.”
“She was mistaken,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“So it seems.” Mrs. Gardiner hesitated. “But I remember our conversations last summer. How adamant you were about only marrying for the deepest love and affection. How you laughed at Charlotte Lucas’s practical approach to matrimony.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands, at the heavy signet ring resting in her palm. “I remember.”
“Yet now you find yourself married to Mr. Darcy—a man your mother described in her letters as insufferably proud and universally disliked by your neighbors.” Mrs. Gardiner’s voice held no judgment. “I understand the circumstances at the inn left you little choice, but… are you happy with this turn of events, Lizzy? Truly?”
The question pierced through Elizabeth’s anxiety about Darcy’s fate, forcing her to examine feelings she had barely had time to process. Was she happy? Could one be happy about a marriage born of necessity, even one as swiftly consummated as theirs?
“I misjudged him.” She raised her eyes to meet her aunt’s gaze. “Badly, I think. The Mr. Darcy who rescued me at the Red Lion was not the same man I thought I knew in Hertfordshire.”
“How so?”
Elizabeth considered the question carefully. “In Hertfordshire, I saw only his pride and reserve. I interpreted his caution as disdain, his formality as coldness. But in those hours at the inn, I glimpsed a different man entirely. When he found me alone and unprotected, he didn’t hesitate to help me, despite the complications it would create for him.”
“An honorable action,” Mrs. Gardiner acknowledged. “But obligation is not love, my dear.”
“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “But there was more than obligation in how he treated me. He listened—truly listened—when I spoke of my family’s rejection. He told me I mattered, that my happiness mattered.” Her voice caught. “Do you know how long it had been since anyone told me that?”
Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes filled with compassion. “Oh, Lizzy.”
