Elizabeth closed the journal but did not set it aside. She absently held it against her chest, her thoughts occupied by its author.
Lady Anne had awaited Georgiana’s birth with optimism. George had restored her faith in their bond, and the ivory had done the rest.
The blessed figurine had removed Anne’s self-doubt. And when it disappeared, Anne had somehow known that she would never have an opportunity to reclaim it herself. So she had reached out to someone she would never meet, but whom she hoped would understand the value of her treasure.
Elizabeth understood.
She too yearned for assurance that all was and would remain well as she embarked on this journey of motherhood. The changes in her body, the growing child’s toll on her own physical strength, uncertainty about the impending birth and how she would adjust to motherhood afterward. . all conspired to assail her confidence. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life.
Lady Anne had faced this trial many times before her, had known the doubts a woman carries in her heart as she carries a child under it. In her own last hours, she had hoped to spare her daughter-in-law some of that anxiety. She had urged Elizabeth to find her missing treasure.
Find it she would. For them both.
To be sorry I find many occasions. The first is, that your return is to be delayed, and whether I ever get beyond the first is doubtful.
— Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra
Mrs. Darcy, where — precisely — did you say my nephew is at present?”
Elizabeth experienced a moment’s panic. Where had she said Darcy was this morning? In the village, meeting with tenants? No, that was yesterday. Riding? Perhaps — she had used that excuse multiple times. Penning a letter to Mr. Harper? That seemed like a safe pretense. He had no lack of business requiring communication with his solicitor, as his aunt well knew.
She struggled to a standing position to acknowledge her ladyship’s appearance in the doorway of her morning room. The baby was now so large that there was no truly graceful way to rise from her seat anymore. Were Lady Catherine a more sympathetic woman, she might have bade Elizabeth dispense with the formality — but then she would not be Lady Catherine.
“I believe he is in the library dispatching some correspondence,” Elizabeth said.
“I have just come from the library; it is unoccupied.”
Confound it. Ever since Dr. Severn had circumscribed Elizabeth’s mobility, Lady Catherine was literally one step ahead of her. Though upon the physician’s departure Elizabeth had reverted to his original dictate of restricting herself to sitting within the house — the subsequent order of confinement to bed having, in her mind, resulted solely from his fit of pique — the command had rendered it nearly impossible to monitor Darcy’s aunt. Her ladyship moved about Pemberley too freely, and consequently had caught her in more than one falsehood regarding Darcy’s whereabouts. If Darcy did not return home on the morrow, Elizabeth doubted her ability to maintain the facade any longer.
“He was there earlier. He must have completed his letter.”
Lady Catherine stalked across the drawing room to plant herself in front of Elizabeth. “Does my nephew avoid me? Has he no respect for his aunt? No sensibility of the duties of a host to his guest? I have not seen him in weeks! Every time I seek him out, he has just left the room, or has requested not to be disturbed, or has retired for the evening. Is he truly so engaged every day that he cannot come to dinner?” She narrowed her eyes. “I begin to wonder if you play some game with me, Mrs. Darcy. I will not be taken for a fool.”
“I assure you, Lady Catherine, I play no game.” She found the burden of keeping up appearances not the least bit amusing.
“Hmph.” Lady Catherine settled herself into a chair.
Elizabeth returned to her own seat and picked up her book. She had originally come to the morning room for a change of environs as she wrote some letters of her own, but the glare of the sun at this particular hour drove her from the desk. The other side of the room had proven more hospitable, so she had sent a servant to retrieve the Chaucer volume from her apartment. After hearing Georgiana read Lady Eglentyne’s description from the opening of The Canterbury Tales, Elizabeth had thought perhaps the Prioress’s Tale would provide amusement. It turned out, however, to be the grisly story of a murdered child, a theme not at all suited to her present spirits or general taste. At the moment she also lacked the patience and concentration that Chaucer’s language required of her, and had been about to abandon the volume altogether when Lady Catherine entered.
“That is an enormous tome,” her ladyship declared. “What on earth do you read?”
“Geoffrey Chaucer.”
“Not those bawdy tales, I hope? Though I suppose you might find such matter diverting.”
The appearance of Mrs. Reynolds provided a welcome distraction. “You have visitors, ma’am. Your—”
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Mama! What a”—she swallowed—“delightful surprise.” Her father, an even more unexpected guest, also entered. “And Papa.” She mustered a smile. “I did not anticipate you for another month, Mama.”
“Now, Lizzy, you know babies come early sometimes. Look at Jane! If we waited another month I might miss all the excitement.”
That had been the general idea.
Elizabeth extricated herself from her seat once more and waddled forward to greet them. An embrace with her father proved awkward — her protruding middle preceded her into it by some distance — so she settled for grasping hands with her mother.
“Look at you!” Her mother beamed. “So fat!” She reached out and patted Elizabeth’s roundness. “Gracious, Lizzy, you are big as a house!”
Elizabeth’s smile became still more forced. “Thank you, Mama.”
Mrs. Bennet touched her belly again. “And you are carrying low — that means it is a boy! Mr. Bennet, we shall have another grandson!”
“Before you issue the announcements, my dear, I would remind you that you cited the same evidence five times to assure me you carried a son. And it all came to naught.”
“Oh, but I was never as plump as Lizzy!”
Perceiving that her mother’s hand threatened a third dart toward her abdomen, Elizabeth sidestepped the assault by turning toward Lady Catherine.
“Your ladyship, I believe you have met my mother.”
Lady Catherine acknowledged Mrs. Bennet with a nod and displayed enough civility to submit to an introduction to her father. When the formality had been performed, Elizabeth invited her parents to sit.
Her father, in passing, caught her arm and winked. “Your mother was plumper,” he whispered.
When all were comfortably settled, Elizabeth enquired after their journey.
“Oh, it was fair enough,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Though long. Did it not seem long to you, Mr. Bennet?”
“Indeed, it seemed much longer than when I traveled alone in August.”
“The roads were probably better in summer,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Did your ladyship find them agreeable?”
“Perfectly agreeable. My carriage is well sprung and comfortably outfitted.”
“Oh, yes! I recall admiring your chaise when you honored us with your visit to Longbourn.”
Lady Catherine offered no reply. Mrs. Bennet, who could never bear silence, cast about for another topic.
“We did not expect the pleasure of finding you at Pemberley, your ladyship. Are you come in anticipation of Elizabeth’s lying-in?”
Lady Catherine cast Elizabeth a pointed glance. “I have business with my nephew.”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Mrs. Bennet smiled at Lady Catherine, but the disdainful stare she received in return discouraged her from gazing too long in her ladyship’s direction. She instead focused her admiration on Elizabeth’s belly. “Lizzy, how is Mr. Darcy? I hope he spoils you. A gentleman cannot indulge his wife too much when she is in a delicate condition.”