I can deny it no longer. I never thought, when I married my beloved Darcy, that I would return home a few months after my wedding, alone, but I can see no other choice. I cannot live with him and be with him when he constantly rejects me. I don’t know what I will tell Papa, and with Mama it will be even worse. I believe that being the mistress of Pemberley is my only claim to her affection, and without it, I fear she will not welcome me home. I dread her constant admonishments, but with you, dear Jane, I know there will be solace. I shall visit you at Netherfield everyday. Or, at least, not everyday, I shall give you and Bingley some time alone. How wonderful it must be to be loved by your husband! Write to me, Jane, I have not had a letter since leaving England, and although it might not find me as I travel home, what bliss if it does. To hear the sound of your voice, even in a letter, will be a comfort to me. And I need comfort, I fear. How am I to live without him? And will I even be allowed to try? It is scandalous for a married woman to leave her husband, and yet to live with him is beyond my strength. I am in need of love and comfort and sound advice and I am longing to be at home, where you and my Aunt Gardiner will help me.
Your loving sister,
Elizabeth
When she had finished the letter, she handed it to Annie, saying, ‘Give it to one of the footmen at once, I want to make sure it goes to the post today.’
‘Very good,’ said Annie.
Elizabeth looked out of the window and saw that the weather had improved. The sky had lightened and the storm had blown over. From the window came a fresh breeze, luring her out of doors. There was a collection of people by the door, laughing and talking, but further along the house, by the French window leading out of the morning room, there was no one. Being disinclined for company, she decided to make her way out of the villa through this route.
As she entered the morning room its opulence both attracted and repelled her. The gilded mirrors, marble-topped tables, and damasked chairs were beautiful but soulless. They were perfect, with no signs of age or wear, unlike the furniture at Longbourn which was scuffed and worn with years of family living. There was something unnatural about the villa, as though it had been artificially preserved, caught in time and unable to age. It was like a museum, not a living, breathing home.
There was a soft footfall behind her and Elizabeth’s heart leapt, but it was only the Prince. His closeness startled her, for she had not known he was there. Even though she was standing by a mirror, which gave her a clear view of the door, she had not seen his reflection.
She turned round to see him bowing before her. Although he was handsome and courteous and dressed in the finest clothes, she had a longing for friends and family, people she had known all her life, for what did she know of the Prince, after all?
‘You have not been well, I hear?’ he said in concern. ‘I am sorry for it. So much beauty should never be distressed. You have everything you need, I hope?’
‘Yes, thank you, I have.’
‘And you are feeling better?’ He looked at her searchingly. ‘Forgive me, but you still seem very pale.’
‘I am much better, thank you.’
‘It is this heat; it is beautiful, certainly, but it is overpowering sometimes. There is a cool breeze in the garden. I think it will do you good. Will you walk with me there? We will not go in the sunshine but will walk along the shady paths and rest, if you will, in the summer house.’
She was still feeling somewhat unsteady on her legs and she thought she might have need of his arm, and so she said, ‘Yes. Thank you.’
They went through the French doors and into the garden. They were soon walking down an avenue at the back of the house where the shadow of the tall trees made the way pleasant, and the breeze was as refreshing as she had hoped it would be. The Prince seemed to sense her mood for he was not demanding company. He talked to her gently of the