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Anne gave her a grateful look. “Elizabeth, do you think… might I sit with my mother for a few minutes? They all told me that she needs rest and quiet… and my cousins said that I need not distress myself, but…”

Elizabeth swallowed the acerbic comment that came to mind when considering that people might attempt to keep a daughter away from her dying mother’s bedside.

Instead she merely replied firmly, “Of course you may sit with her… and for as long as you wish. She is your mother, and this is your house, after all.”

Anne gave an uncertain nod and studied the other woman for some moments before observing, “You are very frank.”

For some reason, Elizabeth found herself blushing. “I speak as I find… for better or worse. Unfortunately, I fear it is not a habit that my family and friends always appreciate.”

The other lady actually smiled a little at that. “My mother likes people who speak their mind. I’ve often wished I was strong enough to stand up to her; I think she might like me better if I did.”

At that, Lizzy actually squeezed the other lady’s hand. “Oh no, Anne—you must not think that. She is your mother and it is obvious to anyone who has ever listened to her how much she cares for you.”

A glimmer of a tear sparkled in Miss de Bourgh’s eye for just an instant. “How is she, really? Cousin Richard made it sound like everything will be fine, but I can tell that Cousin Fitzwilliam is very worried, indeed.”

Elizabeth studied her hands for a moment, considering how much she ought to say. In the end, she told the exact truth as she knew it, believing that it would do Miss de Bourgh no good to be kept ignorant of the actual state of affairs.

Anne’s cousins were surprised when the two young ladies presented themselves at the door to Lady Catherine’s suite. However, as neither gentleman had eaten since breakfast, it was not difficult to convince them to leave the ladies to their vigil.

Miss de Bourgh remained resolutely at her mother’s bedside throughout the night, and, although she was never asked directly, Elizabeth would not leave her.

The irony of her position was not lost upon Lizzy and she took care to sit where the elderly woman would not see Mr. Darcy’s new wife if she woke.

In the end, however, the precaution proved unnecessary; Lady Catherine de Bourgh never woke again and drew her last breath just before dawn. Even when it became obvious that her parent was gone, Anne continued to sit, staring at her mother’s still face as if it might suddenly surge to life again .

Mrs. Darcy shared a look with Dawson and then stood. Touching Miss de Bourgh’s shoulder, she asked softly, “Do you wish to tell your cousins, Anne, or should I?”

The lady shook her head very slightly, her eyes never leaving her mother, which Elizabeth took that to mean that the communication fell to her.

The gentlemen had spent the night in their aunt’s sitting room, having fallen asleep where they sat.

Richard’s eyes popped open the instant that Elizabeth entered the room with the sort of alertness so often found in military men, but she had to shake her husband’s shoulder several times before he responded. “Fitzwilliam? Will, wake up.”

Thus, Darcy was still shaking the cobwebs out of his mind when his cousin took one long look at Elizabeth and said brusquely, “So, she’s gone, then?

” At her small nod, he shut his eyes for a moment, took a breath, and then nodded to himself.

Standing, he demanded, “Anne?” His voice held the ring of command.

Darcy remained still and silent, staring at the carpet and Elizabeth kept her hand on his shoulder, hoping to provide him some comfort. “She is still with her mother.”

Richard retrieved the coat that he had discarded sometime during the night and began putting himself to rights.

“Very well. I’ll go talk to the butler and housekeeper and have them inform the rest of the staff.

They will know if the local undertaker is up to the task or if we need to send for a funeral furnisher.

” He grimaced and turned back to Elizabeth.

“I fear that Anne will not know what needs to be done as far as mourning clothes and such.”

Elizabeth quietly indicated that she was willing to do whatever was needed.

None of them knew how Miss de Bourgh might react to the death of her mother, but it went unsaid that Lady Catherine’s daughter was unlikely to have any more than the most general idea about what needed to be done, much less how to accomplish it.

“Very well. Darcy, will you write to the bishop and have him send someone suitable to perform the funeral ceremony? As soon as we can set a date, there will be a great many letters to write—I shall start a list, but that can wait for later. And the newspapers, we’ll need to publish a notice of her death… and notify her solicitors and bankers.”

Darcy finally raised his head and there was a spark of resentment mixed with his sadness. “How can you speak so easily of such things! Our aunt has just died… her body is still warm in the next room, for heaven’s sake, and you are treating it like the start of some military campaign!”

Richard stared at his cousin for a long moment before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Forgive me, Wills… but I am a soldier, and I suppose that this is how I have been trained to deal with death. ”

The two men shared a long look but eventually, Darcy broke eye contact and made a small gesture with his hand. “No, you are perfectly right. I know very well that there is much to be done. Please, just give me a few minutes, though.”

Fitzwilliam moved to squeeze his cousin’s shoulder, saying, “Take as long as you need,” and without another word, he left to attend to his self-appointed duties.

Elizabeth remained at her husband’s side for a time but Darcy remained determinedly silent; in the end, she agreed to leave him to his thoughts and retired to their suite of rooms alone.

Tilly’s sensible manner was perfectly suited to her mistresses’ mood. “Shouldn’t you like to have a bit of a lie-down, ma’am? I dare say you’ve earned it.”

Elizabeth managed a small smile. “Thank you, Tilly, but just a bath and fresh clothes for now. I fear I have no time for rest just yet.” The maid clicked her tongue but went about calling for the water and setting her mistresses’ things out with her usual efficiency.

Lizzy was tired, for indeed, she not gotten a full night’s sleep since before the ball. However, she also knew that there was much that needed to be set in motion and no one else to do it. With a small sigh, she sat down at the writing desk and began making a list.

Some hours later, when the sun neared its zenith, four matched blacks pulling a large barouche box came to a crisp halt on the drive before Rosings House.

The servants were still reeling from the news about the mistress, and so, when two strangers presented themselves at the front door demanding entrance, the footman could only mumble an argument.

Finally, the older gentleman exclaimed, “For God’s sake, man! I am the Earl of Matlock, Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s brother, and this is the doctor I’ve brought from London. We’ve been on the road since before dawn—let us inside this instant!”

The servant jumped back in shock and Lord Henry took advantage of the opening, leading the way through the house. He barely paused to knock before striding into his sister’s apartment.

Miss de Bourgh had remained sitting at her mother’s bedside all morning, trying to comprehend that her parent was dead. Certainly there had been moments over the years when she had wished for more autonomy, but never had she imagined a life entirely without the potent presence of her mother.

The sudden appearance of her intimidating uncle and a strange gentleman left her quite incapable of speech.

As a result, it was Darcy who responded to his uncle’s booming voice.

Unfortunately, the younger gentleman had remained in the sitting room and was not able to prevent Lord Henry from stepping up to his sister’s bed and touching her forehead .

“She’s cold!” exclaimed the Earl, recoiling. His doctor began examining the body on the bed, but could only shake his head in defeat.

“Uncle…”

Matlock turned to see his nephew standing in the doorway, looking exhausted. “Darcy! I came as soon as I could—see, here is Dr. Burrell, my own personal physician.”

“Uncle…” Will tried to interrupt, but the Earl could not seem to face what was before him.

“Burrell—how is… what…” He trailed off as the doctor gave him a grim look that offered no hope.

Henry Fitzwilliam barely made it to the nearest chair before his knees buckled. “Oh dear God…” He looked wildly to his nephew. “I came as soon as I could… I had no idea...”

Darcy made an effort to swallow his own anger in order to reassure his uncle. “Sir, she passed away during the night. I doubt that there was anything you could have done even had you come sooner. She was awake only once since I myself arrived, and even then it was only for a few minutes.”

Matlock could only shake his head, the pain over losing his only remaining sibling sealing his throat.

Meanwhile, the doctor had continued his examination, even though his patient no longer required it. “What the devil…” He had pulled back the bedclothes to investigate the injury to the lady’s side.

“What is that mess?!? What has been done to her!?!” exclaimed Lord Henry, turning pale.

Darcy easily understood his uncle’s dismay, for Ruthie’s poultice had soaked through its linen packing and looked unsanitary, to say the least. He was suddenly wracked with guilt.

“Dr. Humphrey had been seeing to her, but we dismissed him when we arrived. We sent for a physician from London, but given my aunt’s critical condition, we brought in a local herbalist last night and asked her to do what she could. ”

“Herbalist!!! What quackery is this? Did you want Catherine dead, for some perverse reason I cannot comprehend!?!” The Earl leapt to his feet and advanced several steps toward his nephew.

Fortunately, Mrs. Darcy arrived at that moment, having been summoned from a meeting with the housekeeper by an uneasy footman.

She took in the scene at a glance; her husband looking pale and upset, Lord Henry red-faced and furious, and poor Anne de Bourgh, crumpled in the corner and looking thoroughly terrified.

“Gentlemen,” she said calmly to alert them to her presence.

Despite his distress, the Earl remembered his manners and greeted his new niece politely.

Dr. Burrell used this opportunity to speak; “Madam; sirs, the poultice is perfectly well-prepared and most likely would have done a great deal of good had it been applied sooner. The wound itself is another matter, entirely, however.”

The physician showed them where he had peeled back the bandage and snipped open the stitches. “Look at this—there’s still dirt and splinters inside! Was this cleaned at all before it was sewn up? I’m no longer surprised that the wound went septic—I’m amazed that the patient lasted this long!”

Burrell was becoming as upset as his patron, but unlike Matlock, his anger was taking a more correct direction. “Who the devil did you say has been seeing to this poor woman?”

Seeing that her husband had paled and turned away upon seeing the injury, Elizabeth answered quickly, “Dr. Reginald Humphrey. He lives in Hunsford and has been treating Miss de Bourgh for some years.”

Dr. Burrell’s brow wrinkled. “I’ve never heard of him.

” He took another long, considering look at the corpse before turning to the Earl with a serious look.

“Normally, I would not be so forward in criticizing another member of my profession, but having seen this … I would like to ask this Dr. Humphrey a few questions, if someone will direct me to him.”

Such a statement, however calmly delivered, could only produce agitation among Lady Catherine’s kin, particularly when Richard Fitzwilliam’s arrival demanded a repetition of the conference.

Meanwhile, Miss de Bourgh had remained so quiet and still in her chair that the gentlemen had entirely forgotten her presence.

Unfortunately, she had been in exactly the right position to observe the physician’s investigations, and the result was a look of such horror that Mrs. Darcy went to her side as soon as she could politely make her way around the others.

“Miss de Bourgh? Anne? Come, you do not need to be here for this.” While the gentlemen (having worked themselves into a fury that was terrible to see) were calling for a carriage so that they might go confront Dr. Humphrey, Elizabeth gently but firmly drew the girl away to her own rooms and sent a maid running for Mrs. Jenkinson.

Though it was quickly apparent that Miss de Bourgh had descended into a state of nearly catatonic wretchedness, Lizzy continued to speak to her as if expecting a response. “You must be exhausted; wouldn’t you like to rest for a bit? And I could have cook prepare a tisane, perhaps?”

In the end, Elizabeth managed to get the young lady to sip at a steaming cup of tea (surreptitiously laced with brandy).

Miss de Bourgh had remained almost eerily silent throughout the ordeal, but when she realized that her new cousin intended to leave, she suddenly came to life, “Please—don’t go…

oh please… I fear being alone! I’m sure to have the most horrible nightmares if I fall asleep… ”

“Of course; I’ll be here as long as you need me.

” Anne was so upset that Lizzy set aside her own exhaustion and held the girl’s hand until she quieted.

Not for the first time, Elizabeth felt pity for the young heiress.

Death might release the suffering to their final reward, but those in mourning rarely felt like rejoicing.