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"So I have observed."

"He is devoted to Elizabeth. She has been fortunate in her friends."

"She has been fortunate in many things," Adelheid said.

Albrecht considered her. "You do not dislike her, I hope?"

"Why should I dislike her?"

"You are courteous, but there is a reserve in you when she speaks of Minna. I had thought you might find it painful to revisit those years."

She seized upon the explanation. "Of course it is painful. I watched you suffer through both losses. I scarcely dare believe that we have been granted this happiness, and I am afraid of seeing you hurt again."

He embraced her. "You have always guarded me too carefully. You need not fear Elizabeth. Whatever the proof finally establishes, I have come to care for her."

Adelheid pressed her forehead against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She could have told him that caring for Elizabeth was precisely what frightened her. Instead she let him believe her silence meant tenderness.

The following morning Adelheid stood outside Elizabeth's door with a bouquet sent from the conservatory. She had chosen the flowers herself because Albrecht had spoken of the young woman's fondness for pale roses. From within came laughter—Richard's familiar voice, followed by Elizabeth's, and then the lower sound of Saye replying. Adelheid did not knock at once.

There had been a time when Minna had laughed like that with Friedrich and Albrecht. Adelheid remembered standing at the edge of a room and seeing how easily the three of them understood a joke begun long before she entered. She had wanted to be included. She had wanted, too, never again to be the poor relation watching a door close upon the richer branches of the family. She could not now remember precisely when the two desires had become the same thing.

When Elizabeth opened the door, Adelheid's face was perfectly composed. The bouquet gave her something to do with her hands.

"For your room, my dear," she said. "I thought these might brighten it."

Elizabeth thanked her and drew her inside. Richard made room for the flowers among the books; Saye moved a glass so the vase could stand safely. Adelheid watched them complete those small accommodations as though Elizabeth had always been expected. The ease of it frightened her more than Elizabeth's resemblance to Minna. A woman loved by so many would not disappear quietly.

The following afternoon she found a reason to remain alone in Lady Matlock's morning room with Elizabeth's old maid, who had accompanied her from Longbourn. Mrs. Hill's former assistant, now serving in the Matlock household, was sorting parcels for her mistress. Adelheid asked whether Elizabeth still kept many treasures from her parents.

"Books chiefly, my lady," the maid answered. "And letters. Miss Bennet has never been one to discard a page merely because the writing is old."

"What a sentimental disposition."

"She had few things of her own when she came, ma'am. Lady Matlock has been very kind about keeping them safe."

"I imagine there must be trunks of papers."

"One small box, ma'am. The rest are books. Miss Bennet does not care to have anyone rummage through her keepsakes."

The maid said it with the unthinking loyalty of a servant proud of her mistress. Adelheid smiled, thanked her, and left without pursuing the subject. Yet she had learned enough to fear the existence of a box of letters. Henry Bennet might have recorded Minna's fears; Minna might have dictated an account in a lucid hour. For all Adelheid knew, Elizabeth had already read it and was patiently gathering evidence under the protection of an English earl.

Before the week was out, Lady Matlock received a further communication from Queen Charlotte's household. The Earl had discreetly informed the court that Prince Albrecht himself had arrived in England and recognized the woman described in Henry Bennet's records as his lost sister. The Queen's reply did not presume to settle the foreign family's title or private property. It conveyed her satisfaction that a long-separated family had begun to find one another, and expressed the hope that Miss Bennet and Prince Albrecht might be spared further sorrow.

Elizabeth read the message beside Georgiana, with Darcy and Albrecht standing near the window. The quiet remembrance moved her almost more than another formal declaration could have done.

“She remembers Mama,” Elizabeth said. “Not merely the crest. She remembers that there was a girl people once expected to see grown into a woman.”

Albrecht bowed his head. “The Queen remembers my mother too. Dorothea would never have believed that her daughter would be spoken of with such kindness in England.”

“Her Majesty has asked to be kept informed through the usual private channels,” Lady Matlock said. “We will answer only with what can be established. No one shall make a spectacle of Minna's life.”

Darcy turned to Elizabeth. “When the remaining papers arrive, I shall help your uncle examine them, if you wish it. But there is no need for the whole of your life to be conducted under the seal of a solicitor.”

“Then we shall continue living it,” Elizabeth said. “Georgiana has yet to discover how many German verses I can persuade her to learn.”

“I have discovered enough to know that you will make the lessons longer than necessary,” Georgiana said.

Albrecht smiled at them. Adelheid, sitting quietly beside the hearth, watched Lady Matlock fold the Queen's message. Her teacup had gone cold. She asked for more hot water so that no one would notice she had not touched it.