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The plan was not a flight from Elizabeth's history. It was a modest promise that, whatever might be discovered about her mother, her own future would not be held indefinitely in suspense.

In May, a second packet reached London. This time it bore Albrecht's own hand, strong but uneven in several places. He wrote in German, addressing Elizabeth formally at first before abandoning the stiffness of strangers.

"If you are indeed my Minna's child," the letter said, "then you must forgive an uncle whose heart has outrun his judgment. I thought her lost before she had known any happiness. I learn now that she possessed a home, a husband, and a daughter. I am grateful for all three, though grief prevents me from expressing it properly. I should very much like to hear of her life from you."

Elizabeth read the letter aloud to Lady Matlock, translating it into English for her. She reached the last sentence and found that her voice would not obey.

"If you will permit it, I intend to come to England when arrangements can be made without unreasonable danger. I should like to meet you, whether you prove to be my niece or merely the bearer of news I have waited to hear all my life."

"That is generously said," Lady Matlock observed.

"I think I should like him very much," Elizabeth whispered.

She wrote back that evening. She did not attempt to prove her ancestry through sentiment. She told Albrecht about Henry's kindness, Minna's love of music and languages, and the lullaby that had accompanied Elizabeth through childhood. She described how Minna laughed when Henry tried to pronounce an unfamiliar German word and how she had loved English roses despite complaining of the weather.

At the end she added a single sentence.

"If I am fortunate enough to be your niece, dear sir, I hope you will tell me what my mother was like before she became mine."

Before sealing the letter, she showed it to the Earl. He read it in silence, then returned it without correction.

"Will he think it too affectionate?" Elizabeth asked.

"If he has waited for news of his sister as long as I believe he has, affection will be a kindness rather than an impertinence."

"And if the documents still fail to satisfy him?"

"Then we shall continue to examine them," the Earl said. "But we need not permit lawyers to dictate the speed at which two people begin to care for each other."

The invitation from Windsor arrived early in June, as Elizabeth approached her twenty-first birthday. Lady Matlock received the communication through a lady attached to Queen Charlotte's household and read it twice before setting it down.

“Her Majesty remembers your conversation in German,” she said. “Countess von Altenfeld has written to her concerning the locket and Princess Dorothea. The Queen would be pleased to speak with you quietly when we attend a small gathering at Frogmore.”

Elizabeth looked at the paper as though it might disclose some further meaning if she studied the folds. “Does Her Majesty believe my mother was Wilhelmine?”

“She considers the possibility worthy of attention. That is not the same as a judgment upon the evidence.”

“Then I am to meet the Queen in order to explain how little I know.”

“You are to meet her because she wishes to hear you,” Lady Matlock said. “And you are not required to be anything except yourself.”

Lord Matlock arranged for the party to travel by carriage to Windsor, a journey manageable in a day with an early departure and a change of horses if needed. Darcy and Georgiana accompanied them as far as their lodgings, where Georgiana had been invited to spend an afternoon with an acquaintance. Neither young lady imagined that Georgiana, who had not yet been formally presented, would be ushered into a private royal conversation merely by virtue of Elizabeth's invitation.

Frogmore seemed to Elizabeth a place designed to make solemn matters appear less alarming. Trees shaded the paths; a lake caught the changing light; and a succession of carefully tended borders offered enough botanical disputes to have occupied her mother for an entire afternoon. Lady Matlock and Countess von Altenfeld accompanied her to the appointed gathering. The Queen was not conducting a public Drawing Room. Her guests had come at private invitation, and Elizabeth's brief conversation took place apart from the larger company, where no train or cumbersome court hoops impeded her movements.

Queen Charlotte received her with a warmth tempered by the dignity Elizabeth remembered from court. After a few formal courtesies, Her Majesty addressed her in German.

“You have remained faithful to your mother's language, Miss Bennet,” the Queen said.

“It is one of the few things she was able to leave me which cannot be lost,” Elizabeth answered.

The Queen studied her. “Countess von Altenfeld tells me that you possess a locket commissioned by Princess Dorothea. I remember Dorothea as a woman who took considerable pride in her children. She wrote warmly of her youngest daughter.”

Elizabeth felt the familiar catch in her throat. “My mother never knew that those letters existed, Your Majesty.”

“There are forms of sorrow that cannot be repaired by discovering their cause,” the Queen said. “But you may yet learn that your mother was cherished before she was lost.”

Elizabeth told her of Henry Bennet, of the quiet household in which her parents had been happy, and of Minna's insistence that her daughter should learn German properly rather than acquire the language as a schoolroom ornament. The Queen listened with evident interest. At one point she smiled when Elizabeth described Henry's troublesome pronunciation.