Elizabeth waited until the maid returned, then helped the girl shift to her side and lifted the hem of her gown with as much dignity as she could preserve. No skin had broken, but the marks across her pale skin were already deepening in color.
They would fade soon enough. It was the ones inside—the shame, the confusion, the regret—that would take longer to heal.
Georgiana whimpered once, then stifled it with her fist. “I am sorry,” she whispered when it was done.
“You are welcome,” Elizabeth said. She set the cloth aside and gently helped Georgiana back to rights. “But there is something I need you to understand.”
She sat beside her, then carefully pushed up her sleeve and unwound the cloth around her arm. The neat row of black stitches still wept slightly beneath the linen.
Georgiana gasped.
“This,” Elizabeth said quietly, “was from one moment. One single moment. And I shall carry the scar for the rest of my life. There is no way to fix it. No apology, no tears, no remorse can undo it.”
Georgiana’s face crumpled, her lower lip trembling. “I—I am so sorry—I did not mean to. I—I truly did not—”
“I know,” Elizabeth said. “And I forgive you.”
The girl stared at her, her eyes filling once more. “But why?” she choked. “Why would you be so kind to me after I—I hurt you—truly hurt you?”
Elizabeth’s voice was low. “Because none of us are without sin.”
Georgiana blinked at her, confused.
Hesitating, Elizabeth’s heart thudded in her chest. This was not something she often spoke of aloud—not with such earnestness—but she felt it pressing on her now, unmistakably.
“I have made mistakes I regret. I have spoken cruelly in anger. When I was younger, I hit Kitty hard enough to leave a bruise. I have thrown things, screamed, slammed doors. I have hurt others. I have said things I could never take back.”
Georgiana blinked at her. She seemed to be listening, really listening—her breathing still ragged, but her gaze fixed and clear.
“Some of that is simply a part of growing up, and—just like everyone else in this world—I needed to be taught right from wrong. I had to fall and get back up again, and sometimes I hurt people along the way. That is why I forgive you—not because I am perfect, but because I know what it is to fail.”
Georgiana looked down, twisting her hands in her lap as Elizabeth continued. “It has taken you longer, however, because you were spoiled. You were allowed to do as you pleased, and that taught you that you could never be wrong.”
Georgiana flushed.
“It is not your brother’s fault,” Elizabeth added quickly. “Nor your cousin’s. But they are men. Young, unmarried men with no mother or aunt to guide them. They did their best. But no one really ever taught you how to be a young woman. How to manage the tempers and feelings that come with growing up.”
There was a pause.
“Do you remember,” Elizabeth asked softly, “the story of Jesus’s death?”
Georgiana shook her head, eyes glassy. “Not really.”
“Then I shall remind you.”
Elizabeth folded her hands. “The night before He died, Jesus went to the Garden of Gethsemane. He prayed there and suffered more pain than any man ever has. Pain so great, his sweat was like drops of blood.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened.
“Then soldiers came and arrested Him. He was whipped—whips with barbs on the end that tore through His back again and again. They shoved a crown of thorns on His head. They nailed His hands and feet to a wooden cross and left Him hanging in agony to eventually die. And still, they mocked Him. They offered Him no salve. No comfort. Not even water—just vinegar on a sponge. And He could have stopped it, but He did not.”
“Why?” Georgiana whispered.
“Because He loves us,” Elizabeth said simply. “Because we could not be forgiven on our own. And He wanted to make forgiveness possible. He suffered the pain and torment that meant for us as punishment for our sins. And because He did so, we can be forgiven.”
Georgiana’s eyes shimmered with tears again. Her lip trembled. “But I do not deserve—”
“No one does,” Elizabeth said gently. “That is the beauty of it. The prophet Isaiah knew about this hundreds of years before Christ was even born.”
