“Thank you,” Elizabeth said softly. “Would you also be so kind as to return these books to Mr. Darcy’s library?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said as she picked up the books and turned to leave.
Elizabeth walked over to the window and looked out over the beautiful grounds. She turned her head to look at the ridge behind the house. Her heart lurched as she thought about how much she longed to join Mr. Darcy up there in the morning to watch the sunrise. The very last thing she placed in her bag was the pair of mud boots.
With a sadness and grief that pervaded her whole body, she stepped from the room and for one last time walked down Pemberley’s grand staircase.
Upon meeting Mrs. Willstone downstairs, Elizabeth was informed that their carriage was being readied, and she would send one of their maidservants along with Elizabeth to Lambton. Emily stood at her side, her eyes stained red from tears.
“Emily wished to say good-bye, but please make it brief,” Mrs. Willstone said icily.
Elizabeth stooped down and wrapped the little girl in her arms. “I will miss you, Emily,” she told her. “You keep practicing your playing and singing. Will you do that for me?”
Emily nodded. “Do you have to go, Miss Bennet? Why do you have to go?”
Mrs. Willstone placed her hands on Emily’s shoulders and gently pulled her away. “There, you have said your good-bye. Now, Emily, be off with your friends.”
A look passed between Elizabeth and Emily that spoke of the love and affection they had for one another. Elizabeth fought to keep back her tears.
“Where is Rosalyn?” Elizabeth asked. “I should like to say good-bye to her.”
Mrs. Willstone let out a long sigh. “She is spending some much wanted time with Mrs. Goldsmith. I would not wish to interrupt them. They are becoming good friends, and we know how important that will be in Mr. Darcy’s eyes.”
Mr. Willstone then walked in. “The carriage is ready, Miss Bennet.”
“Thank you, Mr. Willstone. Good-bye. Good-bye, Mrs. Willstone.”
As she walked away, she felt as though her fate was already settled in their minds, and she most likely would never see them again. She could live with that, but hardly believed she could bear it if she never saw Mr. Darcy again.
She stepped outside and as she walked down the front steps, turned to look down the length of Pemberley from one end to the other. It was this place and its Master that she would miss so terribly. How she wished she could at least have said good-bye. How she wished she could at least have had a morning walk with him. She reminded herself that it no longer mattered. A tear fell freely down her face, which she did not bother to wipe away.
As she approached the carriage, she nodded at the maidservant who waited there. It took all of her strength to step up into it. When she was finally in and seated, she kept her head to the window, longing to see Mr. Darcy hurrying out to prevent her departure. As the carriage began to pull away, she imagined him coming out and rushing after it, his hand reaching out to her.
She inhaled deeply, her breath shaky. She knew that once he learned what happened—including all the particulars—he would be grateful she left. It was probably better this way—he would not be put in the position to make polite apologies, while feeling all the disgrace of the situation.
She gazed toward the magnificent house as the carriage drove around the circular lane and then away from it. She wished to see Pemberley and all its grandeur as long as she could. She had a sombre conviction that she would never see it again.
When she arrived in Lambton, the Ketterlings welcomed Elizabeth graciously. They were only acquainted with the fact that there had been a family crisis, and Elizabeth needed their help. They offered her their home for as long as she needed to stay and assured her that they would secure transportation for her to London as soon as possible. Mr. Ketterling informed her that he would inquire first thing in the morning whether a conveyance would be leaving some time tomorrow.
They did not press her for information but allowed her some privacy in the room that would be hers during her stay. Once left to herself, Elizabeth collapsed onto the bed and allowed the tears to fall. She convulsed with sobs that came from the depths of her very soul. She closed her eyes, trying to wipe away the images of Mr. Darcy that intruded. But more than that, she wished to still those ardent feelings that had developed over the past week. She did not leave the room for nearly an hour.
Alone there, she contemplated all that this would mean for her whole family. The worst for Lydia would be if Wickham took advantage of her with no intention of marrying her. He had no reason to marry her—she had no fortune. Elizabeth wondered how long Lydia would remain with him after she discovered the truth. The longer she stayed, the worse her reputation would be ruined.
She thought with alarm how Mr. Bingley might choose to end his engagement with Jane if their family was tarnished by Lydia’s actions. It certainly would be a true test of his love and devotion to Jane. Elizabeth could only hope it was strong enough to weather this storm.
Then her thoughts went to Mr. Darcy. She could not pull up one ounce of hope that he would overlook this offence. Even if his love for her had remained constant this past year, this was certainly a disaster of the worst kind. To consider marrying someone whose family reputation was now tainted by the thoughtless and dissolute actions of the youngest sister would be damaging to his name as well as his sister’s. Add to that the fact that George Wickham was involved was even more devastating.
Mr. Darcy had every reason to despise the man and would assuredly do anything to protect his sister and keep her from him. If Wickham did marry Lydia, as unlikely as Elizabeth felt that would be, Mr. Darcy would put as much distance as he could between her, her family, and himself.
Elizabeth dried her eyes and dabbed her face with a moistened cloth, steeling herself to leave the shelter of her room. She knew dinner would be served soon, and she felt obligated to tell the Ketterlings everything that had occurred. She would not reveal all, particularly Wickham’s involvement, but she would be forthright about Lydia. She was fairly confident that she could trust them to be understanding.
They were served a delicious meal, but Elizabeth ate and drank very little as she relayed to them the news she had received. She picked and poked at her food, only occasionally taking a bite. The Ketterlings were, as she expected, very sympathetic and offered her kind words of consolation. While she expressed her appreciation for their words, in truth they did little to soothe her pain.
Mr. Ketterling assured Elizabeth that he would check with the livery station on carriages that could convey Elizabeth to London. He warned her, however, that due to the recent rains and flooding, nothing had been able to leave for several days. There may be no space available for her tomorrow, but he would secure her passage on the first one with a vacant seat. He assured her that she was welcomed to stay with them as long as she needed.
The conversation soon turned to other things. The Ketterlings were more than eager to express their admiration for Mr. Darcy and how he opened up Pemberley to those families who were stranded and whose homes were threatened by flooding water. With each word of praise they uttered for him, Elizabeth felt a greater sense of loss. She returned to her room early, hoping sleep would come and relieve her of her anguish.
Elizabeth tossed and turned throughout the night, granting her with very little sleep. While she lay awake in her bed, her thoughts presented her with every conceivable outcome of Lydia’s actions, most of which were injurious to all. The few times she did fall asleep, her dreams tormented her with images of Mr. Darcy in all his warranted anger. His dark eyes flashed before her, speaking volumes more than any words could. While he said nothing, his tall, commanding figure issued her orders to leave Pemberley, as she lay curled up at his feet sobbing.
Elizabeth wakened early, even more distressed than the previous day. The passing of one night did nothing to ease her misery, fears, and pain. She hoped that Lydia had already been found and perhaps Jane had sent off another missive alerting her to a respectable resolution. She hoped whatever the outcome, it would somehow appease Mr. Darcy as far as Wickham was concerned. The pain within, however, reaffirmed to her that no resolution would suffice.
She crawled out of bed and walked to her window. As she peered out, she saw the bright colours of the eastern sky announcing the sun’s arrival. Her heart skipped a beat as she considered that she ought to be out
