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After days spent on the post coach, Lydia was tired of the oversized black gown that invariably caused her to trip whenever she walked. Tired, too, of being packed like a sardine in a vehicle with people who smelled awful, and tired of surviving on stale biscuits and cold tea now that the sandwiches Jane’s cook had prepared for her were gone. She had lost count of the numerous stops they had made to let passengers off or on, and that did not include stops at larger villages to have the horses changed. She was relieved the trip was coming to an end, for they had been told that Derby was the last stop before reaching Lambton.

Once in Derby, the driver advised that they would have a longer-than-usual wait because a coach ahead of them would have their horses changed first. He then suggested they would have time for a cup of tea and something to eat. Lydia waited for several minutes for a seat to open in the common room and, once it had, she rushed to claim it, sat down and ordered yet another cup of weak tea. Taking a deep breath as she looked about the room, she was suddenly approached by a man dressed in the usual post coach garb.

Performing a hasty bow, he said, “Excuse me, Ma’am, but are you a passenger on the post coach?”

“I-I am,” Lydia stuttered, startled to be addressed.

“I was asked to tell you that the coach is almost ready to leave.”

“But-but I thought another coach was ahead of us having their horses changed.”

“That coach was discovered to have a wheel with a damaged spoke, which must be repaired first. The horses meant for them were reassigned to your coach. It will be leaving shortly.”

Cursing under her breath, Lydia grabbed the bag she insisted on keeping with her and rushed out of the inn. Seeing a man entering a coach waiting right in front of the inn, Lydia ran to that vehicle and entered behind him. Instantly, someone slammed the door shut, and it began to move. It was only then that her heart began to race with a vague terror.

Normally post coaches were packed with people, but there was only one other passenger aboard—a rough-looking chap of perhaps five and thirty, with unkempt brown hair and a scruffy beard, wearing what appeared to be well-worn clothes. Thoroughly befuddled, Lydia glanced out the window just in time to see them pass a coach that looked remarkably like the one she had taken to Derby. Moreover, right in front of that coach stable hands were diligently changing the horses on yet another vehicle. Glancing again at the man sitting across from her, the look on his face made another ripple of fear pass through her.

As Lydia cautiously reached for the door handle, he said in a low voice, “I would not do that if’en I was you.”

Lydia’s instinct was to scream, but that was thwarted when he hurled himself across the coach to place a hand across her mouth and sit beside her on the bench. Though she tried to fight, the villain proved too strong, and any alarm she might have sounded was silenced as he kept his grip on her until they were well away from the inn.

Pemberley

After spending several days at Pemberley, Elizabeth realised it was not just another manor house surrounded by a grand estate. She had toured many such places with her aunt and uncle on their summer tours, but none came close to the majesty of Mr. Darcy’s home. From the outside, it was just as impressive as Rosings Park, but the interior was far lovelier. It spoke of culture and refinement, a nod to Mr. Darcy’s character, instead of affluence and opulence, as Lady Catherine’s abode did. Though she prayed to be away before Fitzwilliam Darcy returned to his beautiful, ancestral home, Elizabeth was pleased to have been a guest at least this once.

Today, upon opening her eyes in a bedroom that featured pale green carpet and lavender, green and peach wallpaper with matching counterpane and drapes, Elizabeth, still partly asleep, could not help but smile. Last night’s dream had been a pleasant one. Taking a deep breath, buried hopes rose from their sepulchres and a thought came from out of nowhere: Of all of this, I might have been mistress. Could there still be a chance?

Instantly, Elizabeth sat upright. Two fantasies fought nightly for control of her mind. One consisted of night terrors where she randomly encountered Mr. Darcy only to have him act cruelly towards her, mocking her situation. In the other, they were blissfully married and already had children—most often a boy and a girl—who filled their lives with immeasurable joy. Whenever she awoke from a pleasant dream only to realise it was not real, her heart would ache so badly that she could hardly catch her breath. Just as it did now.

If only my dreams were consistent, I might be able to deal with them.

But, alas, they were not. In fact, they changed as often as did her claim to have completely purged Fitzwilliam Darcy from her heart. Whenever she felt strong enough to face him as an indifferent acquaintance, fate allowed agonising memories to assail her anew, and the push and pull nature of this conundrum proved exhausting. If not for summoning the core of icy steel within her, Elizabeth would not have been able to face each new day.

Tossing aside the counterpane, she turned to sit on the side of the bed before forcing herself to repeat the mantra she had adopted to deal with the pain: It does no good to dwell in the past, Lizzy! It is over, and it is not coming back.

Standing, she crossed the room to the tall windows, seeking to admire the view of the beautiful countryside. Beyond numerous pastures filled with horses or cattle, green hills swelled in the distance. These hills reminded her of Oakham Mount and created a longing for simpler times—a longing she quickly banished from her thoughts.

Suddenly, the shame of residing in Mr. Darcy’s home washed over her anew. She had requested to be quartered in the servants’ accommodations, but Mrs. Reynolds would not hear of it. She had declared that not doing as she deemed proper would reflect badly on her. Mrs. Reynolds’ actual words were: ‘The master would not be pleased with me should he learn I had approved such a thing.’

Moreover, the housekeeper had called upon Georgiana Darcy’s former companion, a Mrs. Annesley, to return to Pemberley to act as her chaperone. Fortunately, according to the housekeeper, the servant who was dismissed by the late Mrs. Darcy now resided near Lambton with her brother, and she and Mrs. Reynolds spoke often. Once Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned inviting Miss Bennet to reside at Pemberley whilst he left for London, the housekeeper had instantly thought of asking the former companion to function as her chaperone.

During their walks around the pond beside the stables, Elizabeth had grown to know Mrs. Annesley. She had discovered the woman was not only intelligent, but unafraid to speak candidly about the past. In fact, during their first stroll, Elizabeth asked if the old companion had the opportunity to see Miss Darcy nowadays and had cringed when her expression fell.

“Unfortunately, I have not seen that poor child since I was dismissed. She resides in London with the Matlocks now, so I suppose there is no need for a companion. Still, I shall never forget how cruelly the late Mrs. Darcy treated her … actually, how she treated both Darcys, for that matter.”

Mrs. Annesley did not elaborate, and the realisation that her rejection of William’s offer had been the catalyst behind his marriage to Anne de Bourgh, served to quash Elizabeth’s current desire to know more.

Today, Elizabeth meant to break her fast, make her usual trek around the pond with Mrs. Annesley and then convince Jesse to accompany her to Lambton again. Her purpose in going into Lambton daily was because she had not received any letters from Jane or Lydia, and she hoped that if Lydia had decided to come directly to Lambton, Mrs. Potter might be first to know.

As she thought of Jesse, her heart ached. According to Mrs. Reynolds, the boy clearly missed his grandfather and had little to say to those he encountered at Pemberley, much less anyone else. Elizabeth had tried to converse with him the day she arrived, but he had merely shrugged or nodded in answer to her enquiries. She had eventually given up and left him to the companionship of the pony he had been riding and to Duke, Mr. Darcy’s red hound, whose company he clearly favoured.

She had found success yesterday by requiring the boy to accompany her to Lambton, where she enquired about Lydia at the bakery—a mission which had proved futile. Afterwards, she purchased a bag of sweet buns, suggesting that he share them with the grooms who helped him care for his pony. Subsequently, she had taken him to the haberdashery, where she purchased a cap to keep his unruly hair out of his eyes. Jesse seemed pleased with the cap, and had murmured his thanks, raising Elizabeth’s expectation that he might talk a little more with each passing day.

Once in her dressing room, Elizabeth splashed her face with water from a basin before examining herself in the mirror. The person staring back looked years older, and eons wiser than the silly girl who had turned down Mr. Darcy’s offer of marriage more than two years before.

Pulling her hair atop her head as though preparing for a ball, Elizabeth smiled as confidently as possible. Her efforts were ineffective, though, for the dark circles under her eyes and wrinkles across her forehead were so pronounced that they stood out above everything else. Rudely reminded of the toll life had taken on her person, Elizabeth shrugged. As Papa would say, one cannot create a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Letting go of her hair, she began fashioning it into a braid, which she then wound into a bun and secured with the pins she had removed last night. Managing a smile that did not reach her eyes, she addressed her image one last time. I imagine if Mr. Darcy saw you now, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he would be relieved that you rejected his offer.