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Lydia’s carefully maintained composure cracked slightly. “How should I be?” she replied, her voice bitter. “I am to be hidden away as a false widow, carrying a child whose father I...” She broke off, unable to continue.

“Whose father you killed,” Elizabeth finished gently. “In self-defence, Lydia. You must remember that.”

“Do you think I could forget?” Lydia’s laugh was hollow, nothing like her former carefree giggle.

“I see it every time I close my eyes. The look on his face when... when the knife went in.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“He was going to abandon me, you know. Pregnant and ruined, and marry you instead. He laughed when I begged him to do the right thing.”

Elizabeth felt a surge of anger toward the man who had nearly destroyed her sister, followed by profound pity for Lydia herself. “You were defending yourself, and your child,” she said firmly. “There is no shame in that.”

“Isn’t there?” Lydia’s eyes, when they met Elizabeth’s, were filled with confusion.

“I should feel only relief that I escaped both ruin and the gallows, thanks to Mr. Darcy’s intervention.

And I do feel relief... but also grief.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

“How can I mourn him after what he did? What does that make me?”

Elizabeth drew her sister to a stone bench partially sheltered by a hedge. “It makes you human,” she said, taking Lydia’s cold hands in her own. “Wickham had a talent for inspiring affection, even in those he wronged. Your feelings are not wrong; they are simply complicated.”

Lydia wiped at her tears with the back of her hand, a childish gesture that reminded Elizabeth of just how young her sister truly was. “I am afraid,” she admitted in a small voice. “Of having this baby, of living among strangers, of being alone.”

“You are not alone,” Elizabeth assured her.

“Mrs. Wilkins has delivered many children safely, and will care for you as she would her own daughter, and help you find a respectable home to adopt your child. And once you are well enough to travel after the birth, we shall bring you to Pemberley, where you can begin anew.”

“With a secret I can’t tell anyone except the man I might want to marry, who’d never marry me once I told him,” Lydia said bitterly. “What kind of future is that?”

“One of your own making,” Elizabeth replied firmly. “You have been given a second chance, Lydia. What you make of it is entirely up to you.”

Lydia was silent for a long moment, considering this, and finally nodded, seeming to accept this reality with a maturity Elizabeth had never before witnessed in her. “Mr. Darcy has been kinder than I deserve,” she said quietly. “After everything.”

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hands. “Mr. Darcy understands better than most how Wickham’s charm could deceive a young girl. He bears you no ill will.”

“And you?” Lydia asked, searching Elizabeth’s face. “Can you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Elizabeth said sincerely. “We are sisters, Lydia. That bond cannot be broken. Indeed, I owe you a debt of thanks, for I did not want to marry Mr. Wickham!”

The sound of approaching footsteps caused them both to look up. Darcy was walking toward them, his expression concerned.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said, bowing slightly, “but the horses are changed, and we should continue our journey if we wish to reach our lodgings before nightfall.”

Elizabeth rose, offering her hand to Lydia. “Shall we?”

Lydia stood, straightening her shoulders with visible effort. “Yes,” she agreed, her voice steadier than before. “I am ready.”

As they returned to the carriage, Elizabeth felt her husband’s questioning gaze and gave him a small nod of reassurance. He responded with a look of understanding that warmed her heart, reminding her once again why she had accepted this complex, generous man.

Darcy assisted each lady into the carriage with gentle courtesy, his hand lingering on Elizabeth’s for a moment longer than necessary. “We shall stop again in two hours,” he informed them. “If you require anything before then, signal to the coachman.”

“Will you not join us in the carriage, brother?” Georgiana asked. “You have been riding for some time.”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Darcy replied with a smile for his sister. “The exercise does me good.”

As the carriage resumed its journey northward, Elizabeth settled back against the cushions, reflecting on the extraordinary changes that had transformed her life in such a short time.

From a gentleman’s daughter with modest prospects to the mistress of one of England’s finest estates; from being horrified by Mr. Darcy’s first proposal to becoming a Mrs. Darcy full of esteem for her new husband; from a sister exasperated by Lydia’s wild behaviour to a guardian responsible for that same sister’s future welfare.

Life, she thought, watching the landscape roll past the carriage window, had a way of confounding one’s expectations in the most surprising and consequential ways.

The journey continued northward, Darcy riding alongside the carriage.

Elizabeth observed with quiet pleasure how he would frequently draw his horse near the window to check on their comfort, his concern manifesting in small, thoughtful gestures that spoke volumes of his care.

When he rode ahead to ensure their accommodations were properly prepared, she found herself watching the strong line of his back against the bright blue sky, still marvelling at the knowledge that this remarkable man was now her husband.

That night, they lodged in a most comfortable coaching inn. Elizabeth and Lydia were shown to the room they were to share, with Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley in the room adjoining.

Lydia looked at her uncertainly. “Are not you and Mr. Darcy…” she began. “Well, aren’t you going to…?”

“Not the most auspicious location for a wedding night.” Elizabeth mustered a smile.

“There will be time enough for that when we reach Pemberley, I dare say. Our whole lives.” She tried to make herself believe it, though there was a queasiness in the pit of her stomach that felt oddly like rejection.

“Brother has arranged a private parlour for us to have dinner!” Georgiana said brightly, popping her head around the connecting door. “I declare, I’m quite famished; they always have excellent victuals here, Elizabeth, I hope you will enjoy the meal.”

“I’m sure it will be delightful.”

Georgiana, at least, did not seem to think it odd that her brother was not sharing his new wife’s chamber.

Perhaps things were different among those who moved in the higher social circles which the Darcys frequented?

Elizabeth did not know, and she did not like feeling ignorant, but at least nobody seemed to be treating her with the pity she half-expected, as a new bride abandoned on her wedding night.

I’m being foolish , she told herself sternly as she washed her face and hands. Mr. Darcy is being everything kind and considerate, and the reasoning I gave Lydia makes perfect sense. I don’t even know him well enough to want to… that!

And yet, as she sat beside him at the dinner table enjoying a delicious meal, there was some part of her that greatly regretted Mr. Darcy’s honourable gesture.