Page 31

“He says that a military family is expected to move frequently, so our movements will not seem suspicious.” Lydia managed a small smile. “It seems I am to be a true soldier’s wife after all, though not quite as I had imagined.”

There was something poignant in this acknowledgment of dreams adjusted to reality that touched Elizabeth deeply.

“You may find that the life holds more satisfaction than you anticipate,” she offered.

“Captain Wallace seems a man of substance, and your child will want for nothing under his protection.”

“No,” Lydia agreed, her hand moving instinctively to rest on the curve of her abdomen. “The baby will have his name and his care. That is worth much, I have come to realise.”

The sisters sat in companionable silence for a moment, the morning sunlight casting gentle patterns through the modest curtains.

Elizabeth found herself studying Lydia’s profile, noting the subtle changes that pregnancy and circumstance had wrought.

There was a softness to her features now that had nothing to do with physical changes, a hint of thoughtfulness that suggested the beginnings of true maturity.

“I shall miss you, Lizzy,” Lydia said suddenly, her voice catching slightly. “I know I have been very silly and thoughtless, and have caused nothing but trouble and worry, but I do so wish we might see each other more often now that I am trying to be better.”

Elizabeth moved to sit beside her sister on the small bench, putting an arm around Lydia’s shoulders.

“We shall see each other, I promise you, especially if you and your husband do transfer to London. Mr. Darcy and I visit London regularly, and we will certainly call upon you when we do. And perhaps before that, when your child is a few months old, you might be able to visit us at Pemberley, at a time when there is no risk of encountering acquaintances from Hertfordshire.”

This prospect brightened Lydia’s expression considerably. “Truly? I might come to Pemberley?”

“If Captain Wallace agrees, and if you are both discreet about the timing of your child’s birth when speaking with the servants, I see no reason why not.” Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s shoulders gently. “I should very much like to know my niece or nephew.”

“The captain thinks it will be a boy,” Lydia confided with a small smile. “He says he can tell by how I am carrying, though I cannot imagine how.”

“Old wives’ tales,” Elizabeth said, returning the smile. “Though I shall be equally delighted with either a niece or nephew.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Captain Wallace, who knocked respectfully before entering the room. He was dressed for travel, his manner as composed and courteous as it had been throughout their brief acquaintance.

“Mrs. Darcy, good morning. I trust you are well?” he greeted Elizabeth with a bow. “I hope you will forgive the interruption, but the carriage will be ready within the half-hour, and I thought Mrs. Wallace might wish to complete her preparations.”

“Of course, Captain,” Elizabeth replied, rising from her seat. “I was just taking my leave.”

Lydia stood as well, her movement slightly awkward due to her changing figure. “Must you go already, Lizzy?”

“I fear I must. Mr. Darcy and I intend to depart for Pemberley directly.” Elizabeth turned to Captain Wallace. “May I have a final moment with my sister, Captain?”

“Certainly.” He bowed again and withdrew, his discretion further confirming Elizabeth’s positive impression of him.

Alone once more, Elizabeth embraced Lydia. “Write to me when you are settled, and do not hesitate to let me know if you require anything at all. Mr. Darcy and I stand ready to assist you however we may.”

Lydia returned the embrace with surprising fierceness. “Thank you, Lizzy. For everything. I know I have not deserved such kindness.”

“You are my sister,” Elizabeth said simply. “That is reason enough.”

As they separated, Elizabeth saw tears glistening in Lydia’s eyes, but also a determination that suggested her youngest sister might yet find her way to genuine contentment, despite the inauspicious beginnings of her married life.

“Farewell for now,” Elizabeth said, moving toward the door. “Be well, Lydia, and give my regards to your husband. I look forward to hearing of your safe arrival in York.”

“Goodbye, Lizzy,” Lydia replied, visibly composing herself. “I shall write very soon, I promise.”

As the carriage bearing the newlyweds departed, Elizabeth found herself overcome by a peculiar mixture of emotions: relief that a solution had been found, concern for Lydia’s future, and an uncomfortable awareness of the web of deception they had all become enmeshed in.

“You look troubled, Mrs. Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked as they returned inside to prepare for their own departures.

“I am contemplating the curious moral position in which we find ourselves,” Elizabeth admitted. “We have done everything possible to ensure Lydia’s respectability, yet in doing so, we have created a fiction that must be maintained indefinitely. There is something... unsettling about it.”

The colonel considered this thoughtfully. “I understand your discomfort, but perhaps it may help to consider that the truth serves no one in this instance, least of all the innocent child. Sometimes the kindest course is not the most straightforward one.”

“That is a rather sophisticated moral position, Colonel,” Elizabeth observed with a small smile.

“War teaches one that virtue is rarely a simple matter, Mrs. Darcy.” His expression grew more serious. “In any case, I believe Captain Wallace will be a good husband to your sister. He is not a man given to regrets or second thoughts once he has committed himself to a course of action.”

This assessment provided Elizabeth with some comfort as they began the journey back to Pemberley, after farewelling the colonel who was returning to London.

The early summer countryside passed pleasantly outside the carriage windows, a marked contrast to the tension-filled journey they had made to Leicester.

“Do you think they will be happy?” she asked her husband as they travelled northward.

Darcy considered the question with his customary thoughtfulness. “Content, at the very least. Wallace is a steady man who will provide security and guidance, while your sister brings youth and vitality to what might otherwise have been a rather solitary existence for him.”

“It is strange to think of wild Lydia settled in such a sensible arrangement,” Elizabeth mused. “Though perhaps ‘settled’ is not quite the word yet.”

“She has more reason than most to embrace respectability now,” Darcy observed. “The security of her child depends upon it.”

Elizabeth nodded, hoping fervently that Lydia would maintain her newly discovered prudence.

“I would say that the most pressing concern now is ensuring Mrs. Wallace has appropriate female companionship and guidance as she prepares for her confinement,” Darcy said, after they had travelled on in silence for a little while.

“I had considered that,” Elizabeth admitted. “I wondered whether Mrs. Annesley might know of a suitable woman, someone discreet who could serve as a companion to Lydia. She would need guidance in establishing her household, and later, assistance with the child.”

Mr. Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “An excellent suggestion. Mrs. Annesley’s judgment in such matters is impeccable.”

As the conversation continued, outlining the practical support that would be extended to the newly married couple, Elizabeth found her mind returning to the fundamental discomfort she felt about the entire situation.

For all their careful planning and generous assistance, they remained complicit in a deception that would likely need to be maintained for a lifetime.

The child would grow up believing a fiction about its parentage.

Lydia would forever need to be vigilant about what she revealed of her past. Their mother would never know the full truth of her youngest daughter’s circumstances.

Each layer of the deception seemed to necessitate another, creating an ever-expanding web of falsehood.

Yet what alternative existed? The truth would destroy Lydia’s reputation irreparably and taint her child with illegitimacy. The very society that necessitated these elaborate measures to preserve respectability would show no mercy if the truth were known.

“You are troubled still,” Darcy observed quietly.

“I am contemplating the curious moral arithmetic we have engaged in,” Elizabeth confessed. “Weighing falsehoods against ruination, deception against disgrace. It seems there is no entirely virtuous path available.”

Darcy regarded her with the deep understanding that had become one of the cornerstones of their marriage.

“Perhaps virtue in this instance lies not in perfect honesty, but in acting with compassion toward those who are vulnerable. Your sister, her child, your family. All might suffer grievously from an excess of candour.”

Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “How practical you have become in matters of principle, Mr. Darcy. I recall a time when you were rather more rigid in your notions of propriety.”

“I had an excellent teacher in the art of moral complexity,” he replied, his eyes warming as they held hers. “One who taught me that true principles must be tempered with humanity.”

This gentle acknowledgment of her influence on his thinking provided Elizabeth with a measure of comfort. The web of deception troubled her still, but perhaps, as both her husband and Colonel Fitzwilliam had suggested, it was a necessary concession to the realities of the world in which they lived.

As she relaxed in their comfortable carriage, resting her head against her husband’s shoulder, Elizabeth allowed herself to hope that Lydia, in her new life as Mrs. Wallace, might find not just security but genuine happiness, despite the unorthodox beginning of her marriage.