Elizabeth lifted her fingers cautiously to the spot and winced.
The physical pain seemed almost unreal compared to the turmoil in her mind.
She turned slowly toward the washstand beside her bed. The porcelain basin still held a small quantity of water left from her morning toilette. It had grown cool in the chill air of the room.
Elizabeth poured it fresh from the pitcher and dipped a cloth into the basin.
The frigid water stung her fingers, and she wrung the cloth out and pressed it gently to her cheek. The cold eased the burning of the skin almost immediately, dulling the sharpness of the swelling.
But it did nothing—nothing at all—to quiet the dread that had settled like a stone in her chest.
Elizabeth sank down onto the edge of the bed, the cloth still held to her face.
And then, quite without warning, the tears came.
They slipped down silently at first, then faster, until her shoulders shook with the effort of holding in the sobs.
Her father.
Her own father had spoken of carrying her away in the night as though she were a parcel to be delivered elsewhere.
A forced marriage. A stranger. The destruction of everything she and Darcy had built together.
“There must be a way,” she whispered hoarsely to the empty room.
But no answer came.
The house outside her chamber seemed quiet—too quiet.
Time passed, though Elizabeth could not have said how much.
At length a knock sounded at her door.
Elizabeth hastily wiped her eyes and lifted the cloth to her cheek once again. “Come in.”
The door opened and Kitty entered carefully, balancing a small tray. “I brought you some tea,” she said, stepping inside. “I heard what happened with Mary.”
Elizabeth blinked in surprise.
Kitty set the tray upon the small table near the bed. “There are biscuits too,” she added, with an earnest little nod. “You know how Mama always says tea cures nearly everything.”
Elizabeth felt a sudden rush of affection. “Thank you, Kitty,” she said softly. “That is very kind of you.”
She lowered the cloth from her face, and Kitty gasped, horrified. “Oh! Lizzy—your cheek! And your wedding day is tomorrow!”
Elizabeth attempted a small smile. “It looks worse than it feels, I promise.”
Kitty frowned sympathetically but said nothing more as Elizabeth poured the tea. She added a little sugar, then reached for one of the biscuits.
The first sip tasted… odd.
Elizabeth paused. There was a faint bitterness beneath the sweetness. But then she remembered that her lip had bled a little after Mary’s slap.
It must be the dried blood mixing with the tea.
She took another sip, and Kitty began to ramble, as was her wont each time a room fell silent.
“I suppose it will be very strange with you and Jane gone,” she said, wandering about the room restlessly. “And Mary leaving in January besides. It will only be Lydia and me then.”
