“I did not realise how difficult it would be for me to pretend that I care,” Elizabeth admitted to Jane. Her sister lay beside her on the great bed, and they talked together as they once had at Longbourn.
“Does it grow easier?” Jane turned to face her on the pillow, speaking low. “You have faced each day with such strength. I could not have done it. Elizabeth, I find myself in uncharted waters. I have learnt that not everyone is good. How can I live in a world where I must always be wary of everyone? And how willyoulive now that you have seen the truth?”
Elizabeth sighed, leaning back against her pillows. One hand fell to her middle, her thumb drawing slow circles over the taut fabric; the babe gave a gentle kick, and she smiled at his movement.
“Not everyone is untrustworthy, Jane,” she finally replied. “Indeed, some are kind and genuine. I hope you will meet Lady Matlock before you leave town—she is as wonderful as her sister, Lady Westland.”
Jane rolled onto her side, tucking one arm beneath her head. “You will remain in town, then?” The neat plait of pale hair fell over her shoulder, and Elizabeth’s thoughts turned briefly to her husband’s preference for fair-haired women.
“I have not yet decided. I think I should like my child to be born in the country, yet I do not know whether to return to our father’s house or to Netherfield. It is far too large for one woman and a babe.” Elizabeth twirled the end of a curl around her finger. “Mama will insist I take up residence there.”
“She is changed,” Jane searched her thoughts. “Still excitable, but less…strident, perhaps.”
“Has Papa informed her of his altered circumstances?”
Jane shook her head, awkward in her reclining posture. “No, he fears she will be unmanageable. It has not been long since he began making changes at Longbourn.”
“Then he doubts his own resolve?”
“Aye.” Jane looked a little sad. “He does not trust himself now. Papa is more attentive to his daughters, yet also more withdrawn.” She released a weary sigh. “I am not making sense, I know. You will understand when you see him with our sisters once more.”
Elizabeth made no reply. They both fell silent then, each lost in her own thoughts.
The stillness of the room wrapped around her like a balm. So much had changed, yet within that quiet, she sensed the stirring of her former self—wounded, certainly, but not destroyed. She would rebuild her life, and she would do so on her own terms. Whatever lay before her, she would never again be mastered by another’s will. She forced Fiennes’s memory from her thoughts; even in death he seemed to linger, his presence a chill she could not quite dispel. Turning her face to the pillow, she willed herself to rest.
Elizabeth felt restless the next morning and resolved to walk in Hyde Park. As a new widow, she did notrequirea chaperone; nevertheless, she requested Mrs Heinz choose a maid to attend her. Sarah, an upstairs maid, was selected, and eagerly tied a modest bonnet over her cap to accompany her mistress.
The heat was oppressive for mourning attire, but Elizabeth wore her black gown regardless. It would not do to invite gossip. Memories of her husband pressed in, unbidden—his civility, his schemes, the ease with which he had deceived so many. She wished her mind would grant her peace.
Her head bent in thought, she walked straight into the back of a gentleman who had paused to looked out over the Serpentine. He turned, steadying her with a firm hand.
“Mr Darcy! I beg your pardon, sir!”
His brow furrowed, though his mouth held the ghost of a smile. “You will forgive me—I recognize you, though I am afraid I do not recall your name.”
“That is hardly surprising. We met but once, some months past. I am Mrs Elizabeth Fiennes.” She curtsied, swaying slightly as she sought her balance. He clasped her arm once more, releasing her only when he was sure of her footing.
“Steady on, madam. It seems Hyde Park proves more perilous than one might expect.”
A reluctant smile touched her lips. “Perhaps it was my own fault for letting my thoughts wander.”
“Then I shall count myself fortunate they wandered my way.”
“Are you teasing me, sir?” Her cheeks flushed.
“Perhaps a little.” For an instant, a shadow of warmth crossed his features before propriety reasserted itself. “I recollect now—we met at my aunt’s ball, did we not?” His smile came, but it did not reach his eyes.
“Aye.” Elizabeth bit her lip and looked away. Perhaps he did not approve of her. Noticing the black mourning band on his arm, she added gently, “Lady Westland told me of your father. I am sorry for your loss.”
Some of the rigidity left him, though she could see sorrow in his eyes. “I thank you.” After a brief pause, he studied her with renewed attention, and she felt as though he were truly seeing her for the first time. “You have been similarly afflicted?”
“My husband,” she confirmed. “He died a fortnight past.”
“I had not heard—I only arrived in town last week. The notice must have escaped me on the road. Pray accept my condolences.” He appeared sincere, and his words seemed to carry genuine sympathy. She nodded and thanked him.
Mr Darcy offered his arm, inviting her to walk with him, and they fell in step together. Sarah followed at a respectful distance, soon forgotten, while Elizabeth became uncomfortably conscious of the gentleman beside her. He wasveryhandsome—and tall. He stood well over six feet, with dark hair that curled slightly at his collar and temples. The brim of his hat shadowed his eyes, but she imagined they, too, were dark—steady and intelligent.
She had never once dared look at other gentlemen when she had come to town after her marriage. He would have been furious had he even suspected her admiration for another. A pang of guilt touched her within—she was not behaving much like a mourning widow. Stubbornly, she pushed the thought away.
