Page 6 of Secrets Across the Sea

Hertfordshire, England – 1809

Returning home from London, Elizabeth and Jane enjoyed the solitude of the coach the Gardiners had provided them with, well content in all they had accomplished.

Longbourn's investments were, with Uncle’s help, secure and earning above what they had been. Indeed, if all continued as it had, Longbourn and its tenants would not want for anything.

Rounding a familiar bend, Elizabeth glanced toward her sister, prepared to remark at their being but some quarter of an hour from home before sitting back in her seat. The sleeping form of her sister serene. Their sisters, work, and the sad state of their father would greet them soon enough. Now, they ought to enjoy the peace they knew apart from their dear young cousins and Longbourn.

Lips pulling, Elizabeth wondered about a certain gentleman she had spoken to at Hyde Park. Handsome. He certainly was handsome. Polite, kind, and yet, intelligent. His eyes had revealed that quite readily, even before his words had had chance to confirm.

A pity then, that they had met when they did. No names and with her less than a day from leaving. True, he might have proved better on first impression than second… but she would not have minded giving him a second.

Longbourn’s familiar stone facade appearing in the distance, Elizabeth sighed as she viewed the sleeping form of her sister.

It was for the best that she had not spoken to that gentleman more? Surely. With the harvest season approaching, she had no time for distraction, pleasing or otherwise.

Jane stretching across from her, Elizabeth gave her a soft smile before peering through the open carriage window, their three younger sisters already waiting for them outside, the youngest waving wildly as their carriage pulled up to the house.

Yes. It was for the best.

Always.

∞∞∞

The harvest came and went and the coming of Christmas drew near. Though the estate still pulled steadily at each sister, requiring long hours of toil, the tasks began to dwindle, proving easier than any of those they had known in autumn and, in many ways, far pleasanter. Sewing, purchasing, creating, and in other ways preparing gifts for one another, servants, tenants, and the poor alike lent its own nightly ritual lit by the glow of more candles than their usual want. But in the time of giving, such small sacrifices came easily, as did the few sleepless nights and busy days leading up to that time of Christmas.

The joy of each sister appeared to Elizabeth great indeed; her own equally enhanced, save for those moments when she passed by her father’s study, the door shut as always, and the quiet causing her to imagine she could hear him within. Then her heart sank, the hope he would return to them thinned, and the bitterness of her thoughts that followed led her to shame. For, in those dark moments contrasted with the light of her sisters, she wished he might remain there rather than risk destroying what his five daughters had built. Yet, those feelings never lingered; hope and longing for him flickering again, in spite of endless attempts to shut it out.

The familiar squeak of wood penetrating the air, Elizabeth’s bleary gaze kept downward. It would prove to be in her mind. It always was. She would often hear the sound of his door opening in the night, she would come down, and no one would be there.

Only Mrs. Hill or one of the maids ever entered or left.

None of his daughters had the strength to do so.

“Lizzy?” a soft, male voice spoke, causing Elizabeth’s gaze to fly to the haggard man emerging from her father’s study. “Is that my Lizzy?”

Tilting her head, Elizabeth studied the figure before her, heart thudding within. “PaPa?”

So thin. He had grown thin, far too hollow since she had last caught a glimpse of him. And that beard, bushy and unkempt.

The air grew heavy as quiet lay between them, each searching one another’s countenance for signs of change and familiarity.

All those months of silence. What could one say? It felt as if a vast chasm lay between them, too wide to cross; did he recognize it? Who ought to speak first?

“I…” he gulped, voice hoarse and empty. “I have missed your face.”

Her face? Her face? Not her? Or her sisters? A face.

Surely, he had not meant it that way… but oh, those words hurt. The sight of him hurt.

Biting her cheek, she forced back the bitter retorts that mingled in her mind. Those that taunted with it being his choice. Or that recalled her sisters–his daughters–whom he had abandoned. Those words tempted in their veracity and told of how she might be justified to say them–how she would feel better. Only her sisters asleep upstairs held her tongue in check. The knowledge that they lacked a father.

“It has been a while,” Elizabeth said at last; an understatement, yet, the safe answer.

“I need more time.”

“Still?”

“I. I have not… I have not felt in a while. Anything. Pain at first, then… but now.”

“Now?”

“Yesterday, I saw a bird on the window’s edge. The sheen of its feathers glistening in a beam of sun. It. My chest pulled. I. I could feel something… or remember what something feels like. Wisps of something I could not quite place.” His face pulling painfully, his eyes never left hers. “It is true with your face. Your voice. It is close. This feeling is close enough I can almost touch it and yet, it is leagues from me.”

Feet firm on the floor, Elizabeth kept his gaze, those eyes, swallowed by dark, puffed up spheres, pleading for understanding. All their emptiness enhancing that small hint of light, of hope, trying to grow. She would give him more time. To what end she did not know.

“Though I cannot speak for my sisters… I am willing to give you more time. For all that, I have one request. That you sit in the drawing room every evening,” his body tensing, she amended, “for a few minutes or more. We will not force you to speak even, if that is too much. Only sit with us. Listen. In that, you may one day remember.”

A soft word of promise and a slow nod as he returned to the sanctuary of his study were all she received, but that proved enough.

It had to be.

∞∞∞

Sitting in the drawing room, the Bennet sisters each struggled to lend their full attention to their work, for, whether keeping the books or sewing, gazes would be drawn toward the door, the faintest noise causing their chests to seize. Elizabeth had hesitated to tell of the promise, yet, as the day had worn on and each sister had paused at their father’s study, faces downturned at its sight, the secret proved too great for her to bear, or rather, their pain proved too great to bear; the secret being a means to soothe their pain, if their father kept his word.

“PaPa?”

All eyes fixed to the doorway at Lydia’s soft question, their father standing there, as worn as he had appeared to Elizabeth the night prior, yet, he had made an effort. His facial hair a little less wayward. His clothes perhaps clean. And in his frame, there seemed an endeavor to stand straighter.

Hopefully, the listlessness would continue to lessen. His having gone to the effort must prove promising in that regard.

“Lydia. Kitty. Jane. Mary. Elizabeth,” he said to each, their names all the greeting they might expect as they observed their father sit in his once favourite chair; the chair, like their mother’s, as he had left it.

The logs crackled. Paper rustled as Jane shifted the bookkeeping to one side. And the air, silent and warm, save for the hint of a whistling wind and the chill brought to those nearest the window, grew heavy.

Gulping, Elizabeth’s gaze wandered between her sisters. Each perched awkwardly on her seat, as if prepared to fly toward their father, and yet, they sought to keep their eyes on their work; the glances sent his direction fleeting in their own way, though as frequent as those they had earlier sent toward the door.

She had told him they would not expect him to speak. Did that mean they ought not address him at all? Or, if so, that they ought not speak to one another even?

“A cold winter,” Lydia said softly, her sisters’ eyes cutting toward her then their father.

His face fixed toward the glow of the fire, Elizabeth could almost make out her father’s eyes turned toward Lydia. Perhaps listening to them talking to one another, would help? Force him out of his own thoughts?

Still, talk of winter might not be wise. Aunt Phillips had been gone only four years; lost in that horrid snowstorm. Lydia did not remember it as he would.

“It is cold. Though the autumn proved mild,” Elizabeth noted, the awkwardness of the conversation making her lips pull into an equally awkward smile.

“A good thing for the harvest,” Mary said, tone far more genuine than her sisters’. “The tenants and the estate needed it after the woes of January. First those days of snow–which I read caused one vicar in the north of Somerset to cancel Sunday prayers–then all the flooding and rain and wind by the month’s end. I never recall such a month. Still, the fine autumn we had puts those woes to rest; and this winter, though not warm, certainly is nothing to the last. A blessing.”

“True,” Jane added, “the blessings have been great. The books speak well of the harvest, and to the future.”

“That small field toward Meryton–the one which abuts Longbourn–I have heard it is for sale,” Kitty said, leaning forward in her seat as she looked between her sisters. “We should consider purchasing it. It is excellent for growing root vegetables, and the price is not too dear. One or two years of good yield would see it return the investment; three should the earnings be lower than usual.”

Elizabeth’s previously strained smile turned to a genuine grin; Kitty’s words evidence that including their sisters in work had been worthwhile. Now, all they needed was to draw their father out.

Thus, the sisters gave their support to Kitty’s plan, discussing how it would benefit Longbourn and its tenants, and thinking of additional ways in which they might bring stability and prosperity to all. By the fire, their father continued to face the warmth of its flames, yet, more often than not, the tilt of his head would be toward his girls, and the cut of his eyes rarely left them. Though he did not smile, or indeed, even frown, he still remained long into the night until, with his girls, he headed off to bed.

Weeks passed and in them a new routine found form. Every evening at ten past five, their father would enter the drawing room. His greetings, at first limited to their names, in time included a pleasant note on whatever task they were engaged in or some similar topic, recalling in his address his once subtle jests, though rarely did his eyes shine with the humour they formerly had. Still, each addition of speech, every near smile, gave rise to a hope that their father might one day return to them; this hope furthered as his appearance began to echo its former form. Indeed, by the closing of 1809, little of the haggard stranger who had first graced their drawing room remained, his figure beginning to fill, his face no longer swallowed by a massive beard, his hair and clothes washed, and the weariness of his eyes lightened. The evidence of his long mourning and his poor spirits remained in many ways–perhaps they always would–yet, some spark of who he once was might recommend him to friends and family in time, and in that, his daughters held hope.

∞∞∞

Hertfordshire, England – 1810

Time. She had heard it healed all wounds. Unfortunately, Elizabeth considered one evening as she observed her father by the fire, that saying was one she did not agree with.

Time certainly helped, but it alone did not cure, it only eased wounds at best–sometimes merely through the grace of a failing memory.

No. Time alone did not cure. Love. Inventiveness. Resolve. Hope. God Himself. Things along those lines were necessary to push the passage of time into its office of use.

To push? Yes. A little push could be exactly what they needed. A little inventiveness, and love, and hope, and prayer, and a great deal of resolve... for getting PaPa to shift himself would be a monumental challenge.

Her plan settled in her mind, Elizabeth convinced her sisters to walk with her to Meryton the next morning, the November chill sharp and bitter to their lungs as frost clung to the ground, the crunch of each footfall upon the hardened earth mingling in the air with the sounds of bird song.

“Why are we walking to Meryton this early?” Kitty asked, her words polite, though a surly tone could be heard laced within.

“Kitty would have remained snug in bed until the sun rose high,” Lydia laughed, “she has a strong aversion to the cold.”

Rubbing her arms, Kitty frowned, her huff of indignation clouding in the air, “With the winters we have been having, it is no wonder… In any case,” she added, her lips curling upward, “I have heard your grumbling at having to rise early.”

“Only on principle,” Lydia said curtly. “Your staying abed comes from the cold. Mine, from a dislike of rising early for a day of drudgery. Did you know that yesterday I helped in the kitchen in the making of salves and they took seven hours. Seven! Drudgery. Utter drudgery. If I am expected to do the same thing for that many hours, you may well find me remaining in bed as long as I am able. I need variety!”

“When we plan our duties for next week, we shall try to do better,” Elizabeth conceded, eyes sparkling with mischief before she pulled her lips tight, the reason why she had required them out on such a cold morning forced to the forefront of her mind. “As for your question, Kitty… I wanted to speak with you all privately. PaPa has improved a great deal, but it is because of this that I believe we can help further. You recall Aunt Gardiner’s letter a month or so back? Well, she said the invitation she made to have Father visit is a standing one. We dismissed it easily enough, Father almost never leaving the house, yet, I do believe it would be a help to him. To see his wife’s brother; the children too. To get away from Longbourn. If we did not have the estate to run and all of the happenings we enjoy, Longbourn might easily seem as dull and dreary to us as it must be to him.”

Her sisters drawn close, Elizabeth studied the faces of all in search of approval or disapproval as it may come, the silence as unwelcome as the biting chill.

“I know you are right,” Mary said, her arm wrapping around Elizabeth’s as they walked. “In spite of Father’s strides, he is far from… from being whole. Visits from our uncles and a few neighbors have helped, but it is too easy for him to retreat to his study when he is despondent. At the Gardiner’s they would be considerate of his needs, but such periods of quiet loneliness would not be possible. All I fear in this is that he may refuse to go.”

Taking Elizabeth’s other arm, Jane’s face knit, “We could ask Aunt to extend the invitation again? We often read her letters aloud in an evening, and that might allow us to broach the subject easier?”

“What if he draws inward again?” Kitty worried, “He can be rather unpredictable.”

Gazing down at her feet, Lydia added her opinion, “But as you say, he is unpredictable, he could just as easily decide to accept. It is a chance, but what other choice do we have? He ceased improving some time ago.”

“I agree with you all, yes, even you Kitty,” Elizabeth said. “There is always the chance of it making things worse. Or of making no difference at all. Yet, there is a chance he might accept and benefit from it, and that makes it a chance worth taking. As things stand, he may never improve, or it could take years to.”

“I know I do not have a better idea,” Mary said as she pulled nearer Elizabeth’s warmth. “I am for it.”

Jane and Lydia voiced their agreement in turn, the quiet bustle of Meryton traveling in the winter’s air in such a way as to be heard, though the town still stood far off. Their private conversation would not remain so for much longer.

“Kitty?” Elizabeth asked at last.

“We shall try it,” Kitty smiled sadly, “for as you all say, what other choice is there.”

Nodding, the sisters made their way into Meryton silently, their thoughts swirling as they considered the weight of their decision. Indeed, after their few needed errands were complete, not even Lydia or Kitty gave thought to the fine lace in the mercantile window, nor the grand hat, nor even the ribbons which were a far more affordable luxury. No. Instead they returned home without delay, the letter written to their aunt before the sun set, and a servant sent to post it.

Three days later a response came from their aunt, Elizabeth delaying its reading until, as per their want, they and their father gathered in the drawing room.

“A letter from Aunt Gardiner,” Elizabeth announced upon entering the room, the eyes of all her family turned eagerly toward her, Mr. Bennet no exception.

That, Elizabeth thought as she held the letter aloft, was a good sign indeed. Had he been unaffected that would surely have meant a refusal.

“Do read it,” Lydia exclaimed as she sat aside the bonnet she was reworking, “I long for a bit of news!”

Moving toward the glow of the fire, Elizabeth shifted the letter until she no longer had to squint.

Dear Family,

It has been far too long, I know, since I wrote last. The boys you would hardly recognize, the elder having reached his father’s waist, and his brother not far behind. Even the girls continue to grow at a rapid pace, though it is less their height and more their accomplishments you would be astounded by; for both can embroider far better than I could at their age. I may boast in saying so, but I do think they will be as accomplished as any of the girls of their circle when they are grown.

Oh, how I wish you all might see them. You know visiting is not in my power at present, but I desire family greatly; the days grow short, yet, Mr. Gardiner’s work increases during these cold months. Again, I happily extend an invitation for Mr. Bennet to visit us and hope that this time he does not say no, if only for my sake–as selfish as that may be. Please, do write and say that the answer to these dark days has been realized.

I await the answer impatiently. Yours ever,

Mrs. Louisa Gardiner

The room grew quiet, the letter’s contents unsurprising to the girls, for there had been no worry that their aunt might not do as requested. Still, each held their breath throughout much of its reading and beyond, for, unlike their aunt, they had no assurances of their father’s response. He alone would see their plan fail or succeed.

Coughing gently, Mr. Bennet crossed his legs as he leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed toward his daughters. Many minutes passed in silence, his brows raising and the soft hint of impishness shining in his eyes.

“Well then,” he murmured at length, his daughters hanging on his every word. “It would seem–this is only a guess, mind you–that you have all conspired to be rid of me.” Lifting his hand as they began to protest, he added, “I do not believe it is done with anything but the best of intentions. However, I gather that it is you all I have to thank for this reminder that I am welcome at the Gardiners. And, as loath as I am to admit it, this scheme may not be devoid of merit. Certainly, it is unlikely to do me harm. In this house, I am always reminded. Of your mother. Of what happened. Of the ways in which I ought to have behaved. I am of a mind to accept… though, if it is agreeable, I prefer to wait until the new year is upon us. I wish to spend Christmas and on through Twelfth Night with you all… is that agreeable?”

“Agreeable?” Elizabeth laughed as she hurried to her father’s side, arms spread around him, “It is wonderful!”

The sisters, laughing and crying as their father managed a true smile, all gathered around him.

1811 would surely be a good year, Elizabeth smiled as she made room for her sisters. How could it not be? She had everything she could ever want.

∞∞∞

Hertfordshire, England – 1811

“Lizzy!” Kitty shouted down the stairs, Elizabeth eyes lifting from her book. “Is my sewing box downstairs? I used it last evening and I cannot seem to find it?”

Gaze darting over tables and chairs, the floor, and any other place it might hide, Elizabeth set down her book–Mother’s old sewing box sitting in the corner, but no other. “It is not in the drawing room,” she called back upstairs.

Footfalls pounding on the stairs, Elizabeth’s brow raised as her sister came racing around the corner, the pale-yellow dress she held flapping behind her.

“It has to be in here. I went through everything upstairs, and this is the only other room I use it in.”

“Perhaps it was moved. Can it not wait? Jane will be back soon; she always seems to know where everything is.”

“I promised Lydia I would adjust the hem on her dress; she has grown– again –and it has to be let down. We are all to visit the Lucas’ tonight–except Father of course–and it must be done before then.”

Nodding, Elizabeth scoured the room with her sister, though, aside from a lost ribbon and a surprising amount of crumbs where Lydia usually sat, nothing out of place could be found.

“Here,” Elizabeth suggested, “Jane would not mind you using Mamma’s. Or I can try to find mine–I think it is in the bottom of a trunk? I hope.”

“For someone who used it mere weeks ago, you ought to know where it is,” Kitty chuckled.

Smirking, Elizabeth handed Kitty their mother’s sewing box. “Says the person who used theirs last night and has already mislaid it–and you enjoy needlework a great deal more than I. Just use this. It is for Lydia after all.”

With a huff Kitty accepted the box and moved to the settee, the dress set beside her before she turned to the box. Hand shaking, she reached toward it, stilling as she did. “You do not think Jane will mind?”

“No,” Elizabeth said as she sat across from her sister. “Nor would Mamma.”

Dipping her head, Kitty lifted the lid, the fine blue silk of the interior complimented by the silver and ivory tools and the fine ebony and gold design on the boxes within.

As always, it was exquisite. Mother had had many fine things, but this one, which she had had since childhood, this was perhaps the finest of them all.

Even the daughter of an earl or a duke could not boast better! And Mother, a tradesman’s daughter, must have been proud to own such a fine piece.

“Elizabeth,” Kitty said slowly, “did you know there is a cubby under this little row of boxes? See, there is a silhouette of Father, five locks of hair, a jeweled brooch, and a letter.”

Setting the dress on a nearby chair, Elizabeth sat beside her sister, leaning toward her sister to get a better look. “Ours, do you think? The hair. And yes, you are right, that is a silhouette of Father. Is the letter from him, do you think?”

Setting the silhouette aside to better view the letter, Kitty squinted at the handwriting. “It does not look like PaPa’s, though it would be romantic if it were–it is still sweet that she kept a likeness of him as she did–but no, I… Here, I know a way to find out.”

“Kitty, we ought not,” Elizabeth began, her words lost as her sister opened the letter and began to read it aloud.

My Dearest Fanny,

I am at a loss when it comes to my father’s behavior. Indeed, were he not a man I have known and loved from my start, I could not now remain under his influence. As you know, I am to be married in the spring, and I cannot deny I long to depart this house we have all so loved.

The fun we had in the gardens hiding from one another. Long hours playing in my father’s study. These memories I return to. Memories of our joy, and of a father whose love for me and all of you was without measure. These I cling to, and in them I hope and pray he will one day accept what each of you did; understand that you have been as happy as he wished you to be. Even now, in his anger, I know he looks upon you all as his own.

I rejoice that you are soon to bring into this world a god-child for me to spoil when these dark days pass. Father’s anger cannot remain forever, the man I am to marry cannot always seek to appease him; surely, we will be able to write and see one another soon without all this subterfuge and trickery. Even now, it grows harder and harder to write you without their knowledge.

Please, do not think me too much a coward in staying with my father. In not fighting him or my intended more in this. I rarely ever managed to be as brave as you; in your Mr. Bennet you saw what you wanted and did not count the cost. Somehow, counting the cost is all I have ever done. Though, perhaps one day, I will find myself unhindered by the opinions of others. Will act in boldness. And behave as silly and absurd as our great-aunt with all of her eccentricities. For, then, I might hear you laugh; and discover my courage as well.

With all my love,

Your C.

Head tilted as she stared at the letter, Kitty lifted her hand before allowing it to fall. “Whatever can it mean? It. I.” Shaking her head, she turned her gaze to Elizabeth, “Do you understand this?”

A simple question. If only there were a simple answer.

“Not truly. I have an idea… I promised Jane I would leave it be, but in this I fear I must break my promise. Some time ago I overheard Sir Lucas talking to Father; he spoke of a cousin and uncle of our mother, which I assumed was a mistake, but Father did not correct him. In fact, he spoke as if it were truth. Jane knows nothing of it, but at the time the very thought of it upset her, so I let it be. Father was in no state to answer questions in any case, and though I might have gone to Sir Lucas, none of us were well and truly ready for what it might unearth.” Motioning to the letter Kitty held in her lap, Elizabeth lifted her shoulders, “It would seem the time has come. Wait until I have spoken to Father before showing this to our sisters. I would like to have answers beforehand.”

“Why would the existence of a cousin and uncle have been kept from us all these years?” Kitty wondered.

Lips pursing, Elizabeth’s gaze turned toward their father’s study. “PaPa sounded angry when he spoke of the uncle at least. Some falling out? Unscrupulous behavior? I suppose there are many reasons families avoid one another… let me ask Father. Wait here.”

Squeezing her sister’s hand, Elizabeth stood, fully ready to make her way to their father’s study before turning toward Kitty. “I suppose I ought to bring the letter. It is harder to deny what is written.”

Accepting the letter, Elizabeth squared her shoulders, her stomach reeling with each step. If it had been hidden from them for this long, it must have been dreadful. Did she really wish to know? Would Father push her away because she had the gall to ask?

Hand lifted to knock, Elizabeth hesitated for only a moment, curiosity and determination not to be hindered.

“Come,” the voice of her father answered, her throat tightening as she opened the door. “Ah. Lizzy. Just in time, I asked Mrs. Hill to send someone for that book of poems we spoke of, and it just arrived. Pick your favourites and perhaps tonight you might read them for us?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her voice stilted as she sought some easy way to broach the subject, none making itself known to her.

She would have to be direct.

“PaPa, I have something to ask you, and I want you to know I do not do so to injure you in any way.”

“This does sound serious,” he said, the teasing words mingled with uncertainty as he motioned to her favourite seat. “Ask what you will.”

Taking her seat, Elizabeth settled deep within the plush cushions, her lips pulling inward as she sought resolve. “I have heard rumour that Mother has an uncle and cousin. Well, not exactly rumours, since I heard you confirm it, however… Kitty and I were in Mother’s sewing box and she happened upon some hidden cubby. In it there was a silhouette of you, five locks of hair, and a letter, signed only with C . It likely was from this unknown cousin, C perhaps standing for that or a name? What I would like to know is, who exactly are Mother’s cousin and uncle. Why no mention of it to any of us? And why the strange divide between them?”

“That is all you wish to know,” he laughed lightly. “It is a great deal more than you think… and as much as I wish to tell you, I made a promise a long time ago.”

“A promise? To whom?” Elizabeth questioned incredulously, the familiar seat no longer comforting.

“Your mother,” he answered simply. “When Jane was born she swore all who knew to silence. Not only to whatever children we might have, but any who might ask. I know it is not fair, and a time will come when I can tell you all the secret–after some future events take place–but I cannot now.” Eyes glistening as he gazed up at her, he gave a sad smile, “Your mother; I know I never did enough for her, never gave her the affection and respect she deserved. It may feel a slight against you, but I swear it is not. I have to keep this last promise to her. It is a small atonement, but it is all I can do to show her my respect… to honour this wish of hers, the oath I gave. Please, accept it. For my sake, and for hers.”

Resting her head on her hand, Elizabeth’s eyes drifted to the worn carpeting. She understood that Mother wanted it kept secret, or else she would have told… Swearing Father and who knows how many other people to secrecy she had not expected.

Over two years she had known of this secret–rather, its existence–but for the sake of Jane, her sisters, Father, and who knows who else, she had kept the questions at bay. Now. Now, when it came to light again, she–and her sisters–would be expected to let it be? Even if Jane might bear the truth as she could not before?

Hands clenching, the words of her father echoed through her mind, ‘Please, accept it. For my sake, and for hers.’

Father had all but begged her to let it be–if Jane was now ready for the truth, Father certainly was not. She could not press it. Not when he had worked so hard to return to them. But she would show the letter to all of her sisters, and explain all this, and, well, hope they might understand.

Nodding, Elizabeth sat back in the chair, her father’s face easing as he viewed her.

She would leave it be.

For a time.