She paused, considering how much to reveal of her emotional state, her doubts about Mrs. Wickham, and her conflicted feelings toward Darcy himself. Jane’s gentle heart would understand, yet Elizabeth hesitated to burden her sister with concerns she could not ameliorate from a distance.
I have seen portraits of John and Rose Darcy today—my parents, if Mrs. Wickham’s claims are true. The resemblance is undeniable. I saw myself in their faces with a clarity that left no room for doubt. Whatever else may be false in this tangled web, I am convinced that I am indeed their daughter.
There is more to tell than I can commit to paper, but I beg you to speakto Papa about a gold locket that may have been among my possessions when I arrived at Longbourn as an infant. Mrs. Wickham claims such a locket exists and contains miniatures of my true parents. Its discovery would provide crucial evidence of my identity.
I remain, your loving sister,
Elizabeth
She set the letter aside to dry and began a second, this one addressed to her mother:
Dear Mama,
Extraordinary circumstances have led to my residence at Pemberley in Derbyshire, the estate of Mr. Darcy, whom we met in Hertfordshire. I write with news that will doubtless surprise you as much as it has astonished me: there is reason to believe I may be Elizabeth Rose Darcy, daughter of John Darcy and Rose Bennet Darcy, thought to have perished in a fire twenty years ago…
Elizabeth hesitated, considering how best to phrase her request. Her mother’s excitement upon learning of a potential connection to Pemberley would be boundless, her discretion nonexistent. Yet this very lack of restraint might prove useful if it brought the locket swiftly to Derbyshire.
I require your assistance in a matter of great importance. I believe Papa may have in his possession a gold locket containing miniature portraits—a locket that accompanied me to Longbourn as an infant. If such exists, I beg you to bring it to Pemberley with all possible haste. An assembly is planned for All Hallows’ Eve, providing the perfect occasion for your arrival…
She continued writing, emphasizing the urgency of her request while downplaying the potential dangers. Her mother would focus on the social opportunity rather than the risks, making her the perfect courier for the vital evidence.
Please give my love to Father and my sisters, and tell them I am well and in no immediate danger. I shall explain everything when we meet.
Your devoted daughter,
Elizabeth
She sealed this letter carefully, knowing it would bring hysterical nerves in its wake, but seeing no alternative. Mrs. Bennet would undoubtedly arrive in high spirits at the prospect of her daughter claiming a great estate. With her father refusing his assistance, her mother’s urge for social advancement would bring her to Pemberley post haste.
A soft knock at the door preceded Georgiana’s appearance.
“I hope I do not intrude,” she said, hovering in the doorway. “I merely wished to ensure you had everything you required for comfort.”
Elizabeth smiled, genuinely touched by the girl’s solicitude. “You are most welcome, Georgiana. Please, come in.”
Cassie discreetly moved to the dressing room with the bath linens, leaving them in relative privacy.
Georgiana entered, her eyes taking in Elizabeth’s borrowed nightclothes with evident pleasure. “They suit you,” she said, gesturing to the garments. “Though we shall have to see about proper gowns tomorrow. My modiste in London could send patterns—” She stopped abruptly. “Forgive me. I presume too much.”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth assured her, rising from the desk. “Your kindness has been a beacon in what has been, frankly, the most bewildering day of my life.”
Georgiana moved closer, her expression turning serious. “I cannot imagine what you must be feeling. To discover such things about oneself, about one’s family…” She trailed off, then continued with unexpected firmness: “I want you to know that I believe you. The resemblance is too striking to ignore, and there is something… familiar about you, though we have only just met.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of affection for this earnest, sweet-natured girl who offered her trust so freely. “You cannot know what that means to me.”
“May I show you something?” Georgiana asked, suddenly animated. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a small leathercase. “Fitzwilliam doesn’t know I have this—he believes it was lost years ago.”
She opened the case to reveal a miniature portrait of a young woman with dark curls and dancing eyes—unmistakably Rose Bennet Darcy.
“This one belonged to Grandmother Darcy, who gave it to me secretly when I was nine. She told me to remember that Darcy women had spirit as well as dignity, and that I should never let anyone convince me otherwise.”
Elizabeth stared at the miniature, transfixed by another glimpse of the mother she had never known. “She was beautiful.”
“Like you,” Georgiana said simply. “Everyone must see it, especially Fitzwilliam.”
The mention of Darcy brought Elizabeth’s confusion rushing back. “Your brother has been unexpectedly kind today. The chamber, the portrait, even his words after my embarrassing display in the gallery.”
“That’s who he truly is,” Georgiana insisted, returning the miniature to her pocket. “Not the stern, prideful man most people see, but the brother who stayed up all night when I had a fever, who learned to curl my hair himself when our mother died, who tries so hard to be both father and brother to me.”
