midwife to arrive. Elizabeth almost agreed until she recalled that she still had to maintain the fiction of Darcy’s presence at Pemberley. Lucy knew of the deception — Darcy had been gone less than a day when Elizabeth realized that keeping her personal maid in ignorance was impossible — but she could hardly be attended by Mrs. Godwin, or waited upon by other servants, in the chamber where Darcy allegedly lay on his own sickbed. It would no doubt appear odd enough that he had not emerged from it to aid her.
Georgiana gently insisted. “My brother would not countenance your neglecting your own health or comfort for the sake of perpetuating this illusion.”
She supposed Darcy could just as easily not exist in one room as another. “Very well. Let us say that Darcy has elected to remove to a different chamber for my comfort. Graham can contrive the means to make it appear so.”
“My brother should be advised of this so he can return posthaste. He will regret not having been here when this occurred.” Georgiana appeared pensive. She worried her lower lip and studied Elizabeth’s face as if scrutinizing every pore.
Lucy returned with warm compresses and confirmation that a servant had been dispatched to Mrs. Godwin’s house. She and Georgiana assisted Elizabeth into bed, propping pillows behind her so that she could sit up. While Lucy busied herself with the compresses, Georgiana sought out Graham.
Elizabeth closed her eyes and tilted her head back against the pillows. Application of the compresses induced a slight tingling in her upper leg that slowly spread down the limb. The response relieved her in more ways than one.
Mrs. Godwin arrived. “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy. I understand you are having a bit of discomfort today?” The midwife brought with her an air of calm competence that was a remedy in itself.
“My right leg fell numb. I feared it might have something to do with the baby.”
“Well, let us have a look at you.” Mrs. Godwin removed the compresses and palpated the limb. “Have you experienced pain in your legs?”
“No, simply numbness.”
“How does the limb feel now?”
“It improves. Some sensation returns.”
The midwife nodded. “You have grown considerably since the harvest feast. Does the child move a great deal?”
“Oh, yes.”
She felt Elizabeth’s belly. A sharp kick met her palm, evoking a smile from Mrs. Godwin. “Apparently so.”
After a few minutes’ further examination and gentle queries, Mrs. Godwin asked Elizabeth to test her leg. The numbness had ceased, and she found she could stand on it steadily once more. Georgiana returned and looked as relieved by the sight of Elizabeth standing as Elizabeth herself felt.
“Numbness such as this, even sharp pain in the legs, I have seen with other mothers,” Mrs. Godwin said. “It came and went, and disappeared entirely after their babies were born. And the infants themselves were fine.”
“Should she refrain from standing?” Georgiana asked.
“Most mothers of my acquaintance do not have that luxury.” Mrs. Godwin said. “Though indulging in extra rest before the birth is never unwise. Use your own good judgment, Mrs. Darcy.”
After Mrs. Godwin departed, Georgiana insisted that Elizabeth return to bed for the remainder of the day. Elizabeth resisted, certain that a day so spent would bore her into mental numbness.
“I shall remain here to keep you company,” Georgiana said.
“Today is your birthday. You can hardly wish to spend it in my bedchamber.”
“Better the bedchamber with you than the drawing room with my aunt.”
They struck a compromise: Elizabeth would submit to breakfast in bed and Georgiana’s fussing over her until it was time to dress for dinner, whereupon if her leg had given her no additional trouble she would pass the evening as usual.
She settled back against the pillows and arranged the blankets while Georgiana momentarily withdrew to the dressing room. Darcy’s sister reappeared carrying the Madonna lily, which she placed on the bedside table to cheer the room. Elizabeth welcomed the sight and scent of it. In a couple of hours she would return it to Mr. Flynn so that he could honor Lady Anne through his customary gesture.
“I also brought your book,” Georgiana said. “Would you like me to read to you? I can begin wherever you left off.”
Elizabeth regarded the book with confusion. She had read nothing but old letters for weeks, and the volume in Georgiana’s hands did not look at all familiar. ”I am not currently reading any book.”
“Oh? When I saw this in your dressing room, I presumed you presently enjoyed it.”
“Which book is it?”
“Geoffrey Chaucer.”
She had never read Chaucer, let alone this particular copy. Though she had become mildly curious about
“On your dressing table.”
When she had readied for bed last night, no book had been on her dressing table. How this one had found its way into her apartment, she could not fathom.
Georgiana regarded her uncertainly. “Shall I return it to the library?”
“No,” she said, thinking of the idle afternoon ahead. Lady Anne and George had found enough of interest in the
Georgiana began reading. One by one, Elizabeth was introduced to the pilgrims making their way to Canterbury. The knight was introduced, the squire, the yeoman, the prioress. When Georgiana said the name Madame Eglentyne, her listener bade her slow down. George Darcy’s first letter concerning Anne had referred to Madame Eglentyne, the prioress.
Chaucer painted a vivid, if not entirely flattering, picture of Madame Eglentyne, who seemed to have suffered from a broad forehead and was not, as he put it, undergrown — a trait for which Elizabeth felt increased sympathy with each passing day. But he did compliment the prioress’s manners and morals, her ability to eat without dropping food all over herself, and a trinket on her arm: a gold brooch engraved with “ ‘a crowned A. And after,’ ” Georgiana continued reading,
“Unfortunately, I do not know Latin,” Elizabeth said. “Will you translate for me?”
“ ‘Love conquers all.’ ”
But I will not torment myself with conjectures and suppositions; facts shall satisfy me.
Dorothy’s name was not Dorothy.
Her name was Mrs. Stanford, and she was the widow of Colonel Reginald Stanford. When the colonel made the ultimate sacrifice for king and country, Mrs. Stanford had continued his service to the military... in a manner of speaking.
By all reports, the merry widow had been prostrate, though not necessarily with grief, in the days following her husband’s demise. Apparently the companionship of the colonel’s fellow officers had assuaged the pain of her loss. Her name had been linked first with that of a lieutenant, then with a major, before she embarked on a longterm campaign with one officer in particular. A man of fortune, he had set her up in the style to which she’d always yearned to become accustomed, and they had carried on a relationship that lasted two years. Content to enjoy his company when he made himself available to her and his money when he did not, Mrs. Stanford lived as
