“Yes, thank you,” she decided. “Though I warn you, I’m unused to such attention.”
Cassie brightened visibly. “Oh, I’ll be ever so careful, miss! I’ve been practicing with Miss Georgiana’s gowns. Not that I’m her regular lady’s maid, of course—that’s Abigail. I’m just learning, you see, to better my position.”
As the girl carefully unfastened Elizabeth’s travel-worn gown, her cheerful chatter continued, providing a welcome distraction from heavier thoughts. “Mrs. Reynolds says I’ve a good hand with hair, though, which is why she assigned me to you. She said a lady must look her best at all times, especially with company coming.”
“Company?” Elizabeth asked, stepping out of her gown with relief.
“Oh yes, miss. All sorts of preparations are underway for the AllHallows’ Eve gathering. Half the county to be invited, from what I hear below stairs.”
Elizabeth filed this information away as Cassie helped her into the bath. The warm water embraced her aching muscles, and she sank deeper with a sigh of profound relief. Days of travel, grime, emotional turmoil, and physical exhaustion seemed to dissolve in the scented water.
“Shall I wash your hair, miss?” Cassie offered, already rolling up her sleeves.
Too weary to protest such unaccustomed luxury, Elizabeth nodded. As the girl’s gentle fingers worked soap through her curls, she allowed her mind to drift, piecing together the extraordinary events that had led her to this moment.
Less than a fortnight ago, she had been Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, second daughter of a country gentleman, facing the prospect of an unwanted marriage to Mr. Collins. Now she sat in a copper tub at Pemberley, possibly the rightful heir to the estate, mourning parents she had never known, while the man whose inheritance she threatened provided her with every comfort.
“It makes no sense,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Miss?” Cassie paused in her ministrations.
“Nothing of consequence,” Elizabeth assured her. “I was merely reflecting on life’s peculiar turns.”
“Oh, yes, miss. Life’s full of surprises, my mother always says. One day you’re scrubbing floors in the scullery, the next you’re a lady’s maid to a young lady who might be the master’s cousin.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Begging your pardon, miss! I shouldn’t speak of such things.”
Elizabeth smiled despite herself. “Your discretion is admirable, Cassie, but I assure you, the entire household must be abuzz with speculation about my presence.”
Cassie’s blush confirmed this assessment. “Mrs. Reynolds says we’re to treat you with every courtesy due a member of the family,” she offered, resuming her work on Elizabeth’s hair. “And Mr. Darcyhimself came to the housekeeper’s room to give instructions about your chamber.”
This revelation caught Elizabeth’s attention. “Did he, indeed?”
“Oh yes, miss. Most particular about everything being just so. The fire to be lit regardless of the hour, fresh flowers brought in, the desk positioned where the light would be best.” Cassie rinsed Elizabeth’s hair with careful thoroughness. “Asked for the blue guest linens specifically—said the color would be… familiar and comforting, though I don’t know what he meant by that.”
Elizabeth glanced around the room with new appreciation. The linens were indeed a soft blue that reminded her strongly of her chamber at Longbourn. Had Darcy somehow known? Or was it a mere coincidence?
By the time Elizabeth emerged from her bath, wrapped in a soft linen towel, she felt physically refreshed, though mentally no less confused. Cassie produced a borrowed nightgown and wrapper, “Miss Georgiana sent them, miss, with her compliments”—and helped her into both before settling her before the fire to dry her hair.
The simple domesticity of the moment brought a lump to Elizabeth’s throat. What would it have been like to grow up here? To take such luxuries for granted? To be surrounded by servants who had known her from infancy, remembered her parents, and considered her rightfully belonging to this grand estate?
She returned to her chair before the fire, allowing Cassie to continue drying her hair with gentle efficiency. The maid’s chatter provided a soothing background to Elizabeth’s troubled thoughts. Who could she trust in this household? Darcy showed unexpected kindness, yet his father stood accused of orchestrating her parents’ deaths. The Bingleys offered support, yet their sudden attentiveness reeked of calculation. Mrs. Wickham claimed to be her savior, yet demanded marriage to her son as payment for testimony.
“There now, miss,” Cassie announced, stepping back to admire her work. “All dry and ready for brushing. You’ve lovely hair, if youdon’t mind my saying so. Just like the portrait in the gallery—your mother had the same curls.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard against the renewed tightness in her throat. “Thank you, Cassie. You’ve been most helpful.”
“Shall I brush it out for you, miss? Or would you prefer to rest? You’ve had quite a day, from what I hear.”
“I think I should like to write some letters first,” Elizabeth decided. “Though I would appreciate your assistance with my hair afterward.”
“Of course, miss. I’ll tidy the bath things while you write.”
Elizabeth moved to the writing desk, pulling the chair close to the fire for warmth. The small portrait seemed to watch her, those painted faces from the past bearing witness to her present confusion. What would they want her to do? How would they advise her to proceed?
She selected a sheet of paper, dipped a pen in ink, and began to write:
Dearest Jane,
I scarcely know how to begin this letter, for the events that have transpired since I left Longbourn seem scarcely credible even to me, who has lived them. I write to you from Pemberley, the great estate in Derbyshire belonging to Mr. Darcy, though whether it truly belongs to him or to me remains a question of some urgency and considerable complexity…
