“I apologize for my… display,” she managed as they walked, mortified by her weakness yet unable to stem it.
“Never apologize for genuine feeling, Miss Bennet,” Darcy replied quietly. “It speaks well of your heart that you can mourn what was lost, even when you never knew you had it to lose.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE ROSE CHAMBER
Elizabeth stoodmotionless in the center of the Rose Chamber, listening to the door close softly behind Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. Only when their footsteps had faded completely did she allow her shoulders to slump, the careful posture of dignity she had maintained crumbling like sand beneath an incoming tide. The tears had finally stopped, but the hollow ache they left behind felt vast enough to swallow her whole.
She had never been prone to emotional displays. Even as a child, she had preferred laughter to tears, wit to sentimentality. How strange, then, that the sight of strangers’ faces—parents she had never known—should unmoor her so completely.
The chamber Darcy had assigned her was undeniably beautiful, decorated in shades of cream and rose that created an atmosphere of gentle warmth. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace, casting dancing shadows across walls adorned with delicate paper. The large four-poster bed with its rose-colored hangings looked inviting after days of uncomfortable travel and emotional turbulence. Everything about the room spoke of comfort and care.
But it was the small details that made Elizabeth’s throat tighten.A selection of books had been arranged on the bedside table—works by Shakespeare, Johnson, and Cowper that suggested someone had given considerable thought to her literary preferences. The writing desk had been equipped with the finest paper, quills that appeared newly cut, and ink that gleamed wetly black in the firelight. And there, positioned where she could not fail to notice it, sat the small family portrait from the gallery—John, Rose, and baby Elizabeth Rose Darcy.
Had Darcy or Georgiana discreetly placed the portrait there for her?
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, making a vow to herself. No matter what happened with the inheritance, she would never remove Darcy or his sister, Georgiana. They belonged within these walls, and Pemberley was the only home they knew.
A soft knock interrupted her contemplation. “Come,” she called, settling into the chair before the writing desk.
A young woman entered, neat as a pin in a crisp black dress and starched white apron. She appeared perhaps seventeen, with anxious brown eyes and the carefully composed expression of someone determined to perform her duties correctly despite nervousness.
“Miss Bennet,” the girl said, executing a proper curtsy. “I’m Cassie. Mr. Darcy has assigned me as your lady’s maid during your stay at Pemberley.” Her voice carried the careful diction of someone working to rise above her station, with only the faintest trace of Derbyshire accent bleeding through.
Elizabeth blinked in surprise. A lady’s maid? The expense and courtesy such an appointment represented struck her as extraordinary for someone whose very identity remained in question. Mr. Darcy continued to confound her expectations at every turn.
“How very thoughtful of him,” Elizabeth replied, studying the girl’s earnest face. “I confess I had not expected such consideration.”
Cassie’s expression brightened at this acknowledgment. “Mr.Darcy instructed that you be given every comfort, miss. He is having your valise delivered from the cottage, but in the meantime, I would ask if you’d care for a bath to be drawn?”
A bath. Elizabeth could have wept with gratitude. Days of travel, walking muddy roads, and emotional upheaval had left her feeling grimy and disheveled. The thought of sinking into hot, clean water seemed like the height of luxury.
“That would be heavenly,” she admitted. “Though I hesitate to put anyone to such trouble at this hour.”
“Oh, no trouble at all, miss!” Cassie assured her with surprising enthusiasm. “The water’s already heated, just waiting on your word. Miss Georgiana has also sent some of her gowns for your use, if you’ve no objection. You’re of a size, and she thought you might find them more suitable for country house visiting than traveling clothes.”
Elizabeth felt her throat tighten again. The generosity being shown—from both Darcy siblings—overwhelmed her. She had arrived as an antagonist, publicly humiliated their family head, and yet they offered her comfort, consideration, and now clothing.
“Miss Georgiana is very generous. I shall have to thank her properly.”
“She’s a dear, sweet young lady,” Cassie agreed, then seemed to catch herself, pressing her lips together as if suddenly aware that commenting on her betters’ characters might be presumptuous.
A footman appeared in the doorway, bearing Elizabeth’s familiar valise and reticule. “Your belongings, miss,” he said with professional neutrality, setting them beside the bed before withdrawing with silent efficiency.
Elizabeth stared at the items with mixed emotions. Her modest possessions looked rather pathetic in these elegant surroundings.
“Shall I help you prepare for your bath, miss?” Cassie asked. “I’ve arranged everything in the dressing room—towels, soap, and Miss Georgiana sent some of her lavender water if you’d care for it.”
“That would be lovely,” Elizabeth replied, though her attentionremained fixed on her belongings. Had they been searched? The buckles appeared correctly fastened, but something about the way they sat struck her as subtly wrong—as if they had been carefully rearranged to appear undisturbed.
Let Martha Wickham or anyone else search through her spare chemise and stockings. The letter that had started this adventure remained safely concealed against her heart, pinned inside her bodice where no casual investigation would discover it. She had learned enough of duplicity these past days to trust no one with her most important secrets.
Within fifteen minutes, a steaming bath awaited her, scented with lavender and roses. The servants departed, leaving only Cassie, who hovered nearby with evident uncertainty.
“Would you like help with your dress, miss?” she asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. At Longbourn, she had never had a lady’s maid, preferring to manage her own toilette with occasional assistance from Jane. The idea of a stranger helping with such intimate tasks felt foreign, yet she could not deny the practical difficulties of managing hooks and laces without aid.
