Jane came down half an hour later to find her father seated with the letter still in his hand. He rose and offered it to her without hesitation. “Please read it. Then we shall speak.”
What followed was a long and painful conversation. When it ended, Jane wrote to Elizabeth, speaking simply of her desire to hear from her sister. Bennet sealed it within his own letter and instructed Mr Hill to see it posted at once.
Perhaps I can begin to heal now,he thought.Mayhap my atonement will permit it.
January 1807
London
Elizabeth
Elizabeth counted the marks in her journal with care. She should have started her courses five days before. Anxiety and hope warred within her as she counted them twice more.Could it be?She dared not let hope take root.If she were truly with child, perhaps her situation might improve. Unbidden, memories from the previous month filled her mind.
While she had taken tea with Suzanne one afternoon and was nibbling at small cakes, she had recognised the familiar sign that announced the arrival of her courses. In that instant she knew Fiennes would be disappointed—he would call her useless, inept, incapable of what he most desired. Only two months had passed since she had wed; what more could she do to give him a child? That evening before she retired, he had spent the better part of two hours lecturing her on her duties as a wife. Elizabeth had borne it all with barely concealed shame and frustration.
Determined to put the past behind her, she left her chambers, pelisse over her arm. It was Tuesday, one of her usual days to call on Lady Westland.Perhaps I shall have a letter. It has been two days since I sent mine.
Kane and Sloan never accompanied her on these visits; they were generally occupied with her husband at his business in Cheapside. Elizabeth treasured the hours when Fiennes’s men did not shadow her every step.Even Martha, whom she should be able to trust, reported her every move to her husband.
She gave the knocker a light rap and waited to be admitted. She planned to confess her suspicions to Suzanne; she longed to share them with someone who would understand. Elizabeth already loved the child she believed herself to carry, yet she dreaded what its existence might bring. Suzanne would know; she had once felt the same.
Admitted by the butler, Elizabeth followed him to the drawing room, her thoughts still far away. Arthur greeted her eagerly, slate in hand, showing his mother some recent writing.
“Go and show your drawing to Elizabeth, my dear.” Suzanne gave her son a gentle nudge in encouragement. Arthur obeyed, holding out his depiction of a soldier and recounting the history lesson he had studied that morning.
“’Tis very fine, my lord.” Smiling, Elizabeth bent to admire the slate. “Can you draw anything else?”
Arthur launched into a detailed description of the trebuchet he had sketched earlier, explaining its purpose and howbigthey werein person. When at last he paused for breath, his mother dismissed him with a fond touch to his cheek, sending him back to his studies.
“He is growing too fast.” Suzanne watched him go, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “My mother-in-law insists he should be sent to school, but I am loath to part with him.”
“I can understand.” Elizabeth met her friend’s gaze.
Suzanne regarded her closely, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “You seem thoughtful, Elizabeth. What has you in this strange, contemplative mood?”
Flushing, Elizabeth shared her concerns. Her fingers were laced tightly before her, a habit she had formed to keep from fidgeting. “I do not feel Iam ready to be a mother. I know it will please Fiennes, but the thought of welcoming a poor, innocent babe into the life I lead is frightening.”
“You are not so very late.” Suzanne drew her brows together. “It may be nothing of consequence.”
“Martha has likely already informed him,” Elizabeth groaned. “How shall I face his wrath if nothing comes of it?”
Rather than respond to a question for which she had no ready answer, Suzanne changed the subject. “I have a letter here for you.” She held it up, and Elizabeth’s breath caught as she recognised her father’s hand. Handing her the letter, Suzanne rose. “I shall just ring for tea. You know where the writing desk is.”
Eagerly, Elizabeth broke the seal. Within the first sheet lay another, folded and bearing Jane’s well-known script. Setting aside her father’s letter, she read her sister’s first.
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
24 January 1807
Dearest Lizzy,
Papa has told me everything. I can scarcely breathe;my heart breaks for you so! You were right, dearest sister, when you spoke of Mr Fiennes. Pray forgive me for doubting you. Share with me what you can, and I promise I shall never doubt your words henceforth. Dearest, tell me you are well. I shall not rest until I know.
Papa has told me of our new circumstances and urged me to keep the truth from Mama and our sisters. I confess I do not think it wise to maintain secrecy for long, though I understand why he hesitates. I am certain our mother would rest easier if she knew her future was secure. Perhaps you might persuade him of it.
You know I am not made for sadness. I beg you to tell me of the happy things in your life. Write to me as soon as you can.
With love,
