“I think not,” said Louisa in a dull voice.
Elizabeth did find it cozy. She made sure to apologize to Mrs. Birch, and to tell her how grateful she was for all the work that Mrs. Birch had surely done to ready the place for them, how she knew that all of them would be an imposition.
Mrs. Birch only said that she must do as she was bid, that she was here to serve, but Elizabeth could tell that she had been grateful to have some acknowledgment of her efforts. Elizabeth resolved to cultivate at least one good connection in the house. If Mrs. Birch liked her, that would bode well.
LOUISA AND CAROLINEkept up their litany of complaint through dinner that night, finding fault with the potatoes (not soft enough), the green beans (overcooked), the meat (too stringy) and the wine (too strong).
They all retired for the evening, and Elizabeth fell asleep immediately, for she was still rather tired each day, though she had heard that when she got into the fourth month of carrying the child, she might have more energy, and this was rather just around the corner. She was likely due to deliver the babe in late February or early March. It was not obvious that she was increasing now, though she thought that she could tell at least some difference when she looked at herself without her clothes on.
She slept late the next morning, and Louisa and Caroline had already breakfasted. In fact, Caroline was not even there. Louisa sat on a couch in the sitting room, using a book to balance her paper on as she attempted to write a letter. She had to reach over to the small table near the couches to get to her quill. “Caroline has gone out.”
“On her own?” said Elizabeth, thinking of the way she had been scolded for going out on her own after Jane by these two women.
“Well, I could not accompany her in my delicate condition because I am exhausted,” said Louisa.
“It is early for calling upon anyone,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, indeed,” said Louisa, a lilt to her voice that told Elizabeth she had conveyed this to her sister already.
Elizabeth sat down and looked around for something that might be a better use of a desk for Louisa, for writing a letter balancing a book on one’s lap was not ideal. But she saw nothing. “Who are you writing to?”
Louisa gave her a look that said she would rather not be interrupted. “My husband.”
“Apologies,” said Elizabeth, who could now see that Louisa was not a bit grateful to her for this, not at all. Louisa had been pulled into this scheme by a sister who wished to win the attention of Mr. Darcy and a husband who wished to have something to erase his inability to sire children on her, and she would have been happy enough not to have dealt with any of it at all.
It was quiet.
A while later, Louisa began to fold up the letter. “If he truly wanted a child, I could have borne one. There ways to inseminate women, you know, rather like livestock.”
Elizabeth furrowed her brow. “Are there?”
“Oh, I forget you’re not married and likely so very innocent,” said Louisa. Then, realizing, “Well, no, you are with child, so you do know how it works. At any rate, I could have been inseminated with one of his brother’s seed, and I could have carried the babe myself, and that would have been a much better solution, if he had been interested in solutions.”
Elizabeth nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see why you would say that. You are not at all pleased with this situation, I suppose. I am sorry to be a bother for you.”
“It is not your fault,” said Louisa, sealing the letter perfunctorily. “But I must say, for a woman being rescued from ignominy, you are not the least bit grateful.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth, sitting up straight, for she realized how she must seem to Louisa. “I am grateful, of course.”
“You had a similar scheme you preferred, I suppose, until my sister interfered.”
“I don’t know if I did prefer it,” said Elizabeth, though she supposed she had, only because it did not involve Caroline Bingley. “I might have been easier with my aunt, because she is family, that is all.”
Louisa looked her over. “You objected, then, to the time with us, not to the outcome.”
“Well, I would rather not give up my babe at all, of course, but I must think of what is best for him or her, not what I want. I must give my child the best life I can give it, and that is not to grow up as illegitimate.”
“Of course,” said Louisa. “But you do not object to the child being with my husband and myself because you think yourself so much better than us?”
“How could you have that impression?” said Elizabeth.
Louise shrugged. “Oh, indeed, how could I have that impression of you? You, who would not join our card games and adhered to your book, who only spoke up to sneer at whatever conversation we were having, who—indeed—did not trust us enough with your precious sister that you must come and oversee our care of her whilst she had a cold.”
Elizabeth swallowed. So, that was what Louisa Hurst thought of her.
“Did he truly trick you into it?” said Louisa. “Did he put laudanum in your drink and do it when you were sleeping?”
Elizabeth did not answer, but her lower lip trembled.
