It was the beginning of her return, and the entire household could feel the shift. The few housemaids in residence even smiled kindly at Elizabeth when they passed in the halls.
Elizabeth still scrubbed and laundered and swept. Her hands were raw more often than not, and her back ached by midday. But her heart was lighter. Darcy’s quiet glances in the evenings grew warmer. There was a rhythm now to their lives. A shared purpose.
And Elizabeth was grateful for the work. Keeping busy meant she could forget just how much she missed her family.Poor Jane—I do hope the plan she and Mrs. Collins came up with is proceeding smoothly.
So, when Mrs. Reynolds asked Elizabeth to help carry coal buckets to the upper bedrooms one morning, Elizabeth nodded and began rolling up her sleeves.
But a soft voice from the stairs interrupted them.
“Mrs. Reynolds?”
The housekeeper and Elizabeth turned in unison, gaping at their mistress, who had never before come downstairs into the servants’ area on her own accord.
“Yes, Mrs. Wickham?” Mrs. Reynolds instantly moved to the young girls’ side. “How might I be of assistance?”
“I should like Beth to remain with me today. In the sitting room. If… if she is willing.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and the new scullery maid gasped, though she was quickly hushed by Mrs. Wells. Mrs. Reynoldslooked as though someone had suggested feeding the silver to the pigs.
“Beth is a maid, Mrs. Wickham, employed in the scullery,” she said slowly. “It would not be appropriate for her to act as your companion.”
“But my father was a gentleman,” Georgiana said, chin lifting slightly. “And hers was as well.”
The words landed like a dropped tray.
Mrs. Reynolds turned to Elizabeth with eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is this true? You are the daughter of a gentleman?” The skepticism in her voice was clear.
Elizabeth curtsied. “Yes, ma’am. My father was a country gentleman. But I am no longer in that station. I serve where I am needed, and I do not object to the work.”
That seemed to soothe the worst of Mrs. Reynolds’ concerns, though her brow remained furrowed.
“Even so, the household runs short-handed,” the housekeeper told Elizabeth. “I cannot spare your time for idle chatter.”
Georgiana blinked quickly. “It is not idle to me. Please, Mrs. Reynolds. There is… there is no one else to talk to. Am… am I not the mistress of this house?”
This last sentence was spoken quickly, and Georgiana immediately shrank back, as if expecting a blow to come from in response to her defiance.
There was a long pause. Mrs. Reynolds looked from one to the other—at Georgiana’s pale, imploring face and Elizabeth’s respectful calm—and sighed.
“Perhaps,” she said at last, “we might strike a compromise, Mrs. Wickham. I truly meant it when I said that rely on Beth to keep this house running. She does more work than three of the other maids put together.”
Georgiana’s shoulders sank with relief.
“Beth may sit with you for an hour each morning after helping you dress for the day. After that, she will return to her duties. I cannot afford to lose her entirely.”
A ghost of a smile bloomed on Georgiana’s face. “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. That is more than fair.”
Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
The older woman gave them one final look—half suspicious, half resigned—then turned and walked back down the corridor.
Elizabeth glanced at Georgiana, who was still standing at the foot of the stairs.
“Shall we?” she asked gently.
Georgiana took her arm. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Please.”
And together, they stepped into the drawing room. The fire was low, but Elizabeth stoked it. When she turned back, Georgiana was already seated, hands folded in her lap.
