The Elizabeth Papers by Jenetta James Page A

comments about Pemberley and his strong connection to the Darcy family. No servant was allowed to enter the room without being questioned by her on their experiences of the late Mr. Wickham and no feature of the house and garden that he had favoured was allowed to pass unremarked. I had tried not to look at Fitzwilliam’s face as he sat at the other end of the table, turning his food over with his fork.
    “Hannah, do you know where the master is?” I asked when she arrived to bathe and dress me.
    “Yes, madam, he went out riding directly he came downstairs.”
    “Do you mean that he didn’t have any breakfast?”
    “I don’t believe so, madam. I understand from his valet that he will be on estate business at nuncheon as well, so it shall be just you and Mrs. Wickham.”
    I turned away slightly as I said, “I see.” I did not want even Hannah to witness the surprise on my face.
    As it was, Lydia was a pleasant companion at nuncheon and throughout the afternoon. When we had eaten, we repaired to the day nursery to find Alice and Emma about a game, Frances asleep in her crib, and Nanny repairing the buttons on a smock by the light of the window. My sister and I settled down on the chaise with a girl on each lap, and I read stories that I composed myself until it was time for their afternoon tea. Nanny, Lydia, and I enjoyed tea while Anne and Emma guzzled glasses of milk. We all had cake, and Lydia was quite right when she pronounced wistfully, “What a lovely time this is!”
    I did not see Fitzwilliam until shortly before dinner. I was dressed and sat at my vanity. When he came in, Hannah, who had been adjusting the sleeve on my gown, smiled, curtsied, and was gone. He paced around behind me, and the silence was like an ache in my limbs.
    “I am sorry that I have been gone all day, Elizabeth. I have had a lot to attend to.”
    “I understand, Fitzwilliam.” I turned on my stool and faced him, hoping he recognised I really did understand. “You will be pleased to know that Lydia has actually been very good today. After this morning, she has been much quieter. She and I played in the nursery with the girls, and she was lovely with them. She has calmed down a little, and she has promised me that she will be on her best behaviour this evening.”
    I touched his hand and saw his body relax. He smiled.
    “Good. Thank you. Shall we ask her to accompany us downstairs?”
    “She is already down, Fitzwilliam. She told me she was ready and going down about an hour ago.”
    When Fitzwilliam and I arrived in the drawing room, we found Lydia plumped down in the corner with a miniature of Wickham in one hand and a small glass of wine in the other. Dim light fell on the jet of her borrowed gown, and she looked up at us only briefly before returning her eyes to his likeness. The picture, which had been commissioned by my husband’s father many years previously, had been consigned to a place out of sight until—with Wickham’s death and Lydia’s visit—I had retrieved it. I had regretted doing so several times although I was gratified that, when Lydia saw us, she quickly put it aside and made her greetings. She did not get up, which seemed a little odd. For all of her complaints, my gown suited her, and Milly had dressed her hair in a new arrangement. Altogether, she looked rather pretty. When James approached me with a small glass of wine upon a silver tray, I wondered whether I imagined the strange look that he gave me. As it was, there was no time to ponder it further when my husband’s aunt and uncle were announced.
    “Lord and Lady Matlock.”
    The door opened, and in they swanned, looking every inch the grand, old people they are. Happy greetings were exchanged, and Lord Matlock complained to Fitzwilliam of the road whilst Lady Matlock focused on us ladies.
    “Oh, Elizabeth, how slender you are! How do you do it with three babies coming one after the other. It is quite remarkable. And this must be Mrs. Wickham. I am