“Cotton?” Caroline puzzled. “I don’t believe I have ever seen the crop. Nor do I know anyone who wears cotton clothing. Can it truly be profitable?”

His forehead wrinkled in exasperation, and the man ignored her question. Instead, he concentrated on describing the land he loved. “Imagine rows and rows of fist-sized clouds bursting from dark cocoons.” He held Caroline’s gaze, and the melodic rhythm of his speech mesmerized her. Manneville paused, and she nearly begged to hear more. “It’s my hope that if I marry that my wife will agree to a small vacation home in Hickory Valley.”

The tone of his voice called to something deep inside her. “Hickory Valley?” she asked with interest.

“About halfway between Charleston and Savannah. Much cooler in the summer months than the cities. It’s so beautiful there. I’ve my eye on the perfect house — a large wrap-around porch where a person might enjoy the night breeze — moss-draped oak trees. The community has plans for a library and a school. Also, rolling hills with pine and hickory trees surround the town.”

“It sounds heavenly, Mr. Manneville. A woman would be a fool to reject such a house.” Caroline sighed deeply. She’d always wanted her own home; several, in fact. A summerhouse, like in the English countryside, not just a town house.

“Now, it’s your turn, Miss Bingley. I want to know of your life.”

Caroline flushed. “I have no idea what might interest you, Mr. Manneville.”

He sat forward, bracing his weight on the table. “Well, I know of your brother and sister already. Perhaps you would care to speak of your parents. That is, if it’s not too painful. From where do you hail? Is your brother’s estate your family’s heritage?”

Caroline stammered, “I… I fear… I fear, Mr. Manneville, that you misunderstand. My father lacked both a title and land. Our wealth is not old money, and because of it, some of a particular ilk would deny our presence in Society. My brother Charles owns an estate in Cheshire and a house in town, but he didn’t inherit either. We’re not of Lord Shelton’s station.”

The man’s eyebrow rose sharply. “If you think that a deterrent, Miss Bingley, you’ll find me of a sterner disposition than that. Now, I ask again to know of your family.”

For a brief moment, she paused to assess his sincerity, and then she said, “My parents came from Manchester, and my father earned his wealth dealing in silks and spices and many of the riches of the East India Company. He had an uncle who brought him along in the trade…”



She kept an eye on Mrs. Joseph’s restless slumber. Elizabeth didn’t remember her sister Jane having such a fretful time, and Jane had carried twins.Yet, Mrs. Joseph was quite large, and Elizabeth supposed it affected the woman’s sleep.

Having sent Darcy and Mr. Joseph away so Mary could rest, Elizabeth had spent some time reading a collection of poetry she’d bought at a small bookstore in Newcastle. Now, she returned to the stack of letters. The other evening she hadn’t read the two that Darcy had composed upon the loss of their children, but today, she felt compelled to revisit them. She’d acknowledged her pregnancy to Darcy. Obviously, her husband knew of her condition, but he’d accepted Elizabeth’s fears and made them his own. Somehow, Mrs. Joseph’s appearance at Prestwick’s had changed everything. As nonsensical as it sounded, Elizabeth no longer dreaded what might happen. If she lost this child, she would try again and again until she delivered a healthy Darcy heir. She possessed no other alternative: Because of Darcy, she could smile; her life was worthwhile, and she owed him her constant devotion.

First checking Mrs. Joseph’s blankets, Elizabeth settled in a chair near the window. Outside, she could hear the water’s steady drip from the roof to the ground. The rhythmic pattern made her think of the Maelzel’s metronome model, which sat on Georgiana’s pianoforte. Hopefully, by tomorrow, she and Darcy would be on their way to Pemberley.

Untying the ribbon, Elizabeth removed the two letters on the bottom. She normally kept the notes in order by the date Darcy had written them, but she had shuffled these two special letters to the stack’s bottom when she had read from the missives two nights prior.

She removed the one her husband had composed after the first disaster and unfolded the pages. Shifting her weight so she might see better, Elizabeth read…


2 February

My dearest, darling Elizabeth,

I sit in this semidarkness watching the rise and fall of your shoulders. I recognize your pain and am helpless to drive it away. You pretend not to know that I write this note, and I pretend that you sleep at last. I will not minimize your loss by repeating what you have already heard. What I will say is that although it may seem that you face this loss alone, please remember that I am here — standing beside you. Love — the truth of love — lies between us. I live only for the honor and the love you have given me.

Inside each of us grows a faith in a new day. So, put away the rage. From this we will learn how precious life can be — something I would not freely recognize if I had never held you in my arms.

All my love and devotion,

D


Her poor husband had suffered as much as she; but for her sake, Darcy had hidden his misery. Elizabeth had seen the lines deepen around his eyes and across his forehead. Had Darcy shed tears? She was certain that he had. Elizabeth knew his anguish — how the sunshine had disappeared from his smile.

Carefully, she refolded the first letter and replaced it where the note belonged within the bundle and then removed the second one. It held more tender memories than did the first. She had grieved briefly after the initial incident, but hadn’t felt the full loss until the second. Actually, Elizabeth prefaced that. She had experienced the total impact when her sister Jane cradled a small babe in each arm. Her most beloved sister had delivered twins when she could not give Darcy even one child. She had thought herself a failure and had refused to go through that emptiness again.

Elizabeth shot a glance at the resting Mary Joseph. The woman’s face betrayed the essence of her dreams — as if an angel had kissed the woman’s cheek. Allow me to reach eight full months, she thought. Even with my own imminent mortality, she prayed, give Mr. Darcy his child.

Unfolding the letter she read her favorite part first.

Had I never known you, my Elizabeth, I would have never realized what was missing from my life. I am no longer lost: I can emerge from the rain. Living outside your love is not living at all. You are the light in my darkness.

“What do you read, Mrs. Darcy?” a sleepy voice broke through Elizabeth’s thoughts.

Elizabeth blushed and refolded the letter. “Nothing important. Only some letters.”

With difficulty, Mrs. Joseph rolled onto her side, “From Mr. Darcy, I suspect,” she said teasingly.

Elizabeth’s color deepened. “I shall admit to nothing except that they came from a most handsome gentleman.”

Mrs. Joseph smiled indulgently. “Mr. Darcy then. He’s an intriguing-looking man. Was your husband the most exciting man of your acquaintance, Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth thought immediately of her first impression of George Wickham, whose appearance was greatly in his favor; he had all the best parts of beauty — a fine countenance, a good figure, and a pleasing address. “A pleasing face doesn’t define a man’s true character, but I admit to preferring Mr. Darcy’s countenance above all others.” Elizabeth scrambled to her feet. “Let me put these away, and I’ll help you to straighten your dress. Perhaps we could go below and join our husbands for tea.”

Elizabeth dutifully replaced the letter and retied the outside ribbon. Then she carefully placed the bundle in the bottom of her portmanteau. “Now,” she moved to the bed, “allow me to support your stance. You really must exercise more caution, Mrs. Joseph. You have God’s most priceless gift to attend.”

The woman swung her legs over the bed’s edge and sat with Elizabeth’s assistance. “I don’t understand it,” she observed. “When we departed Stoke-upon-Trent, I was quite a bit smaller. I feel as if I’ve gained weight each day we were on the road. I imagine myself quite heavy.” She gently massaged her enlarged abdomen.

“Women, generally, gain their most weight during the last six weeks of their gestation,” Elizabeth said absentmindedly as she braced Mrs. Joseph’s weight with her own.

Taking several deep breaths, the lady rose slowly. “And how would a gentlewoman know such details?” Mrs. Joseph lightly taunted.

“This gentlewoman’s sister’s weight doubled with her confinement.”

Mrs. Joseph countered, “Maybe that was because your sister delivered twins.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “There’s that possibility.” She stepped away from the woman. “I sent Mr. Joseph and Mr. Darcy away so you might rest.” She checked her own appearance in the mirror.

Mrs. Joseph shook out her skirts. “How long did I sleep?”

Elizabeth glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece. “Nearly two hours.”

“Two hours!” Mrs. Joseph gasped. “I never sleep so long.”

“Your body must have needed the rest,” Elizabeth asserted.

Mrs. Joseph began to repair her chignon. “Mr. Joseph must be terribly worried. We definitely should join the gentlemen, or Matthew will storm the door shortly.” She pinched her cheeks. “I look so pale.” She straightened her shoulders and turned to Elizabeth. “And don’t tell me being pale is part of being with child,” she warned.

Elizabeth smiled widely. “I shan’t speak of it as you know the obvious.” She reached for the door, but a grunt of discomfort from behind her brought Elizabeth up short.As she pivoted to the sound, Mrs. Joseph’s grimace spoke Elizabeth’s worst nightmares. “What is it?” she demanded as she rushed to the woman’s side.

Mrs. Joseph swayed in place. Complete fear crossed her countenance. “I… I,” she stammered. Then she raised her skirt’s hem, and Elizabeth could see the woman’s underskirt’s dampness.

“Oh, my, you poor dear,” Elizabeth sympathized. “Let’s get you out of those soiled garments. I’ll order some warm water so you might wash, and we’ll soak the items afterwards.” Elizabeth guided Mrs. Joseph to a plain wooden chair. “I should have considered your personal needs.” Elizabeth flushed with embarrassment.