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Darcy in that light was humbling. She was suddenly grateful to be at his house instead of a lonely, cold inn.
    Although she could not forgive him for his interference with Jane, she could at least repay him for his hospitality by attempting civility. After all, if it were not for all this sorry business with Lydia, he would not tolerate my presence. It was some consolation that her low esteem for him was equally met by his towards her. Humph! At least in that we are equals!
    She wondered at Mr. Wickham’s contrary description of Miss Darcy; he had said she was much like her brother — exceedingly proud. Elizabeth did not see that at all. She had been spirited when she greeted her brother and cousin, and she only became excruciatingly shy upon realizing the presence of guests. Elizabeth could easily see that. Despite her own grief, she felt sorry for the girl. Why would Mr. Wickham paint her as proud when it was obvious she was merely timid?
    Elizabeth held her breath and sank below the water. She was determined to think no more of the Darcy family. Instead, she thought of Jane, somewhat alone at home without the comfort of her favorite sister. Oh, how she longed to be with her! Her lungs burned as she continued to hold her breath. Her loneliness felt oppressive. She squeezed her eyes tighter and felt relief; the blackness was soothing, inviting.
    Suddenly, she felt herself pulled out of the tub. Gasping for breath, Elizabeth allowed Mrs. Carroll to wrap a warm robe around her.
    “Come now, miss,” she said tenderly.
    Elizabeth could not hold back any longer in the face of such sympathy, and she fell against the woman in searing sobs. Mrs. Carroll assisted her into bed still wrapped in her robe where she curled up on her side facing away from the kind woman. Mrs. Carroll began to dry her hair.
    “You do not have to do that, Mrs. Carroll,” she murmured after several long, silent minutes. She was mortified to have been found so broken and weeping with little dignity in front of the household staff.
    “Hush, child. Master says you are to be taken care of; I intend to see you are. Do not worry yourself now.”
    “He told you, did he not?” She ought to be upset that Mr. Darcy had not kept her troubles private but then could not find the strength. He was certainly solicitous of her comfort.
    “Yes, dear. I am sorry for your loss.” She was quiet for a moment and then added, “It will get better.”
    But Elizabeth could not believe the housekeeper’s words. Just as she seemed to come to terms with her grief, she would feel it all over again. It was not as if she was so very close to Lydia. In fact, they had rarely understood each other. But she loved her. And she knew her family was suffering, and she could do nothing to ease it.
    She closed her heavy eyes. Mrs. Carroll continued her ministrations, drying her hair with soothing strokes of the cloth. Before she knew it, Elizabeth drifted off into the first sleep since learning of Lydia’s death.
    Mrs. Carroll finished with Elizabeth’s hair, stoked the fire and prepared to leave the room. From the doorway, she looked back at the girl. She knew her loss well, for her own dear sister was gone those twenty years. She puzzled at the behavior of her master towards this young miss. He was always a generous, kind master, especially towards those in need. But the happy glint in his eyes when he entered Darcy House with Miss Bennet on his arm had not gone unnoticed. His nervous energy was suspicious, too, in the way he looked for the young lady’s approval of his home. She had also seen his satisfaction at Miss Bennet’s admiration.
    Mrs. Carroll smiled knowingly to herself as she exited the room, securing the door quietly behind her. Perhaps, this is not some ordinary visitor , she thought. Motioning to the footman stationed in that wing of the house, she ordered that Miss Bennet not be disturbed and that she was to be called personally if the lady needed anything. With