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For a moment the room remained unfamiliar. Then the dim shape beside the window became her chair, with her gown laid over it, and the patch of lighter gray across the floor was moonlight from the court.

There was no cradle.

Elizabeth sat up and pushed back the bed curtain. Sir was asleep upon the rug, his long legs extended toward the hearth. He lifted his head at the sound of her moving.

“I beg your pardon,” she whispered. “I did not mean to interrupt you.”

The dog considered whether her apology required his attendance, then lowered his head again.

Her breathing grew quiet. She had held a baby that morning and spent much of the afternoon discussing another. There was nothing extraordinary in dreaming of one afterward. She had once dreamed that Lydia had brought a pony into the drawing room, upon no better foundation than hearing her ask their father for a horse.

Still, she looked once more at the empty floor beside the hearth before lying down.

By morning, she remembered little of the passage. The weight of the child in her arms, however, she recalled distinctly.

Sunday gave the household enough ordinary occupation to make her ashamed of having been disturbed. Jane came down in time to join them for church, and Charles spent the few minutes before departure trying to discover whether she ought to take a second shawl without asking her the question. Elizabeth supplied it herself, chiefly to put an end to his examination of the weather.

Charles handed Jane into the carriage. Once she was seated, Mr. Darcy asked whether she wished the window left open and adjusted it as she requested.

Elizabeth watched him from the other side of the door. Had he attended Anna’s mother as carefully while she was with child? Did he still visit her, or had he made provision for the child and left the mother to bear the disgrace alone?

Jane thanked him. Elizabeth looked away, ashamed of the thoughts with which she repaid his kindness to her sister, but unable to dismiss them.

Mr. Darcy then offered Elizabeth his hand. She accepted it, thanked him, and sat beside Jane.

“Are you quite comfortable, Miss Bennet?” he asked.

“Quite, thank you.”

She looked toward her sister before he could say anything more. Her civility was exact enough that Caroline could have found nothing to criticize in it. Elizabeth nevertheless knew she had made it cold.

When they returned to Pemberley, Charles accompanied Jane upstairs to remove her bonnet, and Caroline went to her own room. Elizabeth remained in the hall with Mr. Darcy.

“May I ask you something about Anna?”

He had been turning toward the library. He stopped with his hand upon the door.

“Certainly.”

“Did you know her mother?”

“Very well.” He looked down before continuing. “She was well loved throughout the estate. She did not survive long after the birth. The Hargreaves cared for her during her confinement, and they have taken care of Anna ever since.”

“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said.

He bowed his head. For a moment she wished she had not asked. Whatever his conduct had been, he had felt the loss.

“And you have undertaken to provide for the child?”

“Of course.” He answered more sharply, then paused. “The Hargreaves shall have whatever they require for her care.”

Charles came downstairs in time to hear the assurance.

“You may depend upon Darcy for that, Lizzy. He never neglects anyone who depends upon him.”

Mr. Darcy released the door handle and stepped aside for his friend. Elizabeth had no answer ready. Charles spoke with such affection and confidence that she felt ashamed of what she suspected, though his praise did nothing to remove it.

Anna’s mother was dead. There would be no further visits to her, no woman waiting elsewhere upon the estate. But Mr. Darcy’s sorrow did not tell Elizabeth what had passed between them while she lived.