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Elizabeth entered hesitantly. Georgiana had told her of Mrs. Preston’s part in their ill-fated first meeting—the incident where Georgiana had confronted her because of Cecile’s erroneous conclusions. Why this woman would agree to bring her a letter from Fitzwilliam was beyond her grasp, but she wanted to hear from him so desperately that she cast her apprehension aside. As she shyly moved forward, Cecile stood and smiled holding out her hand.

“Miss Lawrence. I am Georgiana’s sister, Cecile Preston.”

Elizabeth nodded, though she did not move to take her hand. “I know who you are, Mrs. Preston. Georgiana has spoken of you.”

Dropping her hand, Cecile continued cheerfully. “I just came by to speak with you on Fitzwilliam’s behalf.”

“I understand that you have a letter for me.”

Cecile’s smile was more of a grimace. “Not exactly. Shall we sit down?”

Elizabeth stiffened, continuing to stand. “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’?”

Just at that moment, a servant quietly entered, deposited a tray with tea and cakes on a sideboard, and after bobbing a curtsy, departed. After she was gone, Elizabeth shut the door behind her and turned back to Cecile.

“Either you have a letter or you do not.”

“I am afraid I do not, but if you will just sit down, I shall explain my intentions in coming.” Each sizing up the other, they both sat down stiffly.

“I own that I fabricated the existence of the letter because I felt that it was the only way you would agree to meet with me. I have travelled many miles because of my concern for Fitzwilliam’s welfare.”

Elizabeth’s chin rose. “You have come to counsel me to stay away from him?”

“I am here to appeal to your concern for his wellbeing. I pray that if you truly care for him, as I believe you do, you will leave Pemberley to assure his safety.”

Elizabeth’s dark eyes grew wider. “Continue.”

“Your husband, madam, is aware of your ruse and is, at this very moment, formulating a plan to steal you away from Pemberley—by force, if necessary.”

Elizabeth stuttered, “My—my husband?”

“Count Stefano.”

Her face crumbled at the name, and her face paled with fear. “How—how would he know that I am here?”

“The gossip circulating in London is that a married woman, claiming to be a distant cousin of Mr. Darcy, has insinuated herself at Pemberley. It even has been said that she was hiding from her husband. The count was bound to hear of it since he apparently has people searching for you. When I learned of the count’s plans, I immediately set out to warn you.”

Elizabeth raised brows. “But why would you—”

“For Fitzwilliam!” Cecile interrupted curtly. “I still care for him very much, and I would not like to see him hurt or, heaven forbid, killed.”

“How did you learn this?”

Cecile took several minutes to weave a tale of meeting Mr. Wickham and through him, the count. She said that the count had talked frequently of recovering his unfaithful wife and, only days ago, claimed that he had discovered her location. According to Cecile, it was only after she realised that he was speaking of Elizabeth and Pemberley, that she felt she had to take action. She ended the lies by repeating Wickham’s words that the count threatened to extract his wife from Pemberley, even if it meant killing Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Seeing that Elizabeth was in shock, she added, “I instantly knew what I had to do—offer you a way out—a way for you to escape your husband and to keep Fitzwilliam from being harmed.”

Elizabeth sat silently for a long time, overwhelmed by everything she had heard. The thought that Fitzwilliam could die because of her and knowing she could not live if that happened, forced her to compose herself.

“How do you intend to help me to leave?”

“I will personally escort you to Liverpool tomorrow morning. There is a ship there leaving for the Americas next week. I have taken the liberty of purchasing you a passage. In addition, I shall give you one hundred pounds, which should be sufficient until you find some type work when you land. Moreover, I will send an express to Mr. Wickham informing him that I called on you at Pemberley and learned that you were no longer here. He will be sure to pass the information to his friend, the count.”

“But why would you help me—buy my passage and give me money?”

“Fitzwilliam thinks he is in love with you. Once you are out of his life forever, I shall comfort him and, hopefully, assume my rightful place in his life. After all, I was his choice before you appeared.”

Though William had told her many times that she was the only woman he would ever love or have in his life, Elizabeth physically ached to hear Cecile speak as though it would be no challenge to replace her in William’s affections. And for a moment, in her mind’s eye, she could picture him with Cecile, entering a crowded ballroom, smiling and laughing as lovers do. Her tortured meditation was so vivid that only Cecile’s raised voice could penetrate it.