To her.
A tear slipped silently down her temple into her hair.
Then another.
Soon she could not stop them.
Her chest tightened painfully as the reality of it all settled upon her.
I will most likely never see Longbourn again.
Never again walk down the familiar gravel path beneath the old trees.
Never be married from the small church where she had grown up.
Never hear her mother’s triumphant boasting as she proclaimed to all of Hertfordshire that two daughters were married and a third engaged.
Never sit at a wedding breakfast surrounded by neighbors and friends, laughter and congratulations filling the air.
All those simple, ordinary joys had been stolen from her.
Elizabeth curled slightly into herself beneath the blankets as the grief finally overwhelmed her. She may be in a house full of servants, along with people who risked everything to rescue her, but she had never before felt so alone.
The sobs came suddenly—great, shuddering breaths she could not contain. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her face into the pillow, trying desperately to quiet the sound.
She had always known that marrying Darcy would mean leaving home.
But this—
This felt like exile.
She loved him. She knew he loved her. She would have gone with him willingly—joyfully.
But now everything was broken, and she did not know how to fix it.
Pressing her hands to her face, she willed back the tears that were forming again.
“No, Elizabeth.” Her tone was sharp as she spoke out loud. “That is enough. You must not fall to pieces now.”
“Bravo.”
Elizabeth’s head flew up.
There, standing in her doorway, was the same woman who had lain unconscious on the floor not that long ago. She was tall, with a regal bearing and commanding presence.
And she was unsettlingly familiar.
Like herself and Lady Anne, the woman possessed unfashionably dark hair and striking green eyes, but it was more than coloring that caught Elizabeth’s attention. There was something in the shape of her face—the set of her mouth, the line of her brow—that stirred an uneasy recognition,as though Elizabeth were looking at a reflection altered by time and experience rather than the sister of her betrothed’s stepmother.
The woman stepped into the room without waiting to be invited and seated herself in a nearby chair.
She said nothing at first—only watched. The intensity of her gaze was such that Elizabeth felt as though she were being measured, weighed, and judged all at once.
Elizabeth straightened despite herself. After a moment, she said, with careful politeness, “Are you well, ma’am?”
The woman inclined her head slightly. “As well as may be expected.”
A pause.
