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“Truly? He must have learned that I eloped with George and then run from you as though you had the plague … which is another injustice to lay at my feet. Do you wish to hear something ironic? Just before he left Meryton, Mr. Darcy tried to warn Papa against letting us near George. When telling me about it just before I travelled to Brighton with Mrs. Forster, Papa laughed. He said Mr. Darcy was merely jealous of Wickham’s luck with the ladies. Unfortunately, I was foolish enough to agree with him.”

Not wishing to acknowledge that she had once been of the same mind, Elizabeth kept silent.

Suddenly, an older woman walked into the room carrying a basket containing an infant. Setting the basket on the bed, she said cheerily, “I believe Miss Emma is hungry.”

Lydia laid aside her work and took the baby. “Thank you for watching her, Mary.”

“As usual, she weren’t no trouble.” The woman nodded and smiled at Elizabeth before exiting the room and closing the door.

Without any thoughts of modesty, Lydia unfastened the bodice of her gown, exposing a breast for Emma to suckle. As the baby began to nurse, she covered herself and the child with a small blanket and began to rock.

“Lady Clara mentioned that you spoke of giving Emma away.”

“Only because I do not want her to lack for anything. I had rather she be brought up by a loving couple who cannot have children than to be raised as a waif with no father and no future.”

Elizabeth walked over to sit on the edge of the bed nearest the baby. She leaned close to uncover the child’s head and ran a finger over the fine, dark hair peeking out. “Do not fret for her. I shall help you raise Emma.”

“I cannot let you do that, Lizzy. I deserve whatever punishment comes my way, but you ought to have the chance to become someone’s wife, with children of your own. Moreover, if you never receive an offer and are left to support yourself, you should keep whatever money you earn … not spend it on me.”

“But Emma is innocent and deserves better. Please, just hear me out.”

While Lydia grew silent, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to a conversation she had had with their aunt last week. Madeline Gardiner had mentioned that her cousin in Lambton, Agnes Potter, was soon to retire and wanted to sell Potter’s Bakery; however, Elizabeth did not want to mention that to Lydia until after she spoke to Mrs. Potter.

“Lady Clara mentioned that you have a gift for baking, so there is that. Just allow me time to think of how your skills could benefit us both.”

“I had rather you think of your future, not mine.”

Elizabeth ignored her statement and instead picked up the item Lydia had been embroidering. “I have never seen needlework so exquisite; I know I could find a market for items like this as well.”

Lydia shrugged. “I discovered that I enjoy embroidering; it calms my nerves.” Suddenly, she smiled wryly. “Do not dare say that I sound just like Mama.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I would never do that.”

“Lady Clara sells my embroidery in the charity’s store, and except for repaying her for the linens and threads I use, I am allowed to keep all the profits. I have saved every penny I made thus far, for I wish to support myself once I leave here.”

“You see! We have a similar goal. I have been saving most of my salary, too, for I do not intend to be a servant all my life. If we join forces, I feel confident that we can provide a future for ourselves and Emma.”

“Papa was right to favour you, Lizzy. You are the most ingenious of us all.”

After learning the details of Lydia’s story and of Elizabeth’s plan to help her, Lady Cargile had begun to pass along some pieces of jewellery she no longer wore to her companion, with the understanding that Elizabeth could do with them as she pleased—even if it meant selling them to raise money to start a bakery. To cover the gifts thus far—a cameo pendant and a string of pearls—she charged her solicitor with writing a letter that was duly signed and witnessed, to ensure that Elizabeth could not be charged with stealing the jewellery if something were to happen to her.

Lady Cargile’s Townhouse

Days Later

As Elizabeth hurried into Lady Cargile’s townhouse through the servants’ entry, she ran straight into the white-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Grant. That elderly woman’s pale blue eyes always seemed to take pity on her and today was no exception.

“Her Ladyship has been asking for you. I reminded her that you always arrive later on the mornings after your off day. Moreover, I pointed out that it had begun to rain, which might also affect your arrival.” Looking Elizabeth over from top to bottom, she added, “That gown will not do; I suggest that you hurry and change into another.”

Elizabeth looked down at her only decent day gown. It was soaked. “I had hoped to ride with one of the suppliers instead of walking all the way from the charity house, but I was not that fortunate.”

“Thank goodness I pressed your other gown early this morning and hung it on your dressing room door.”

“You are too kind. I will change straightaway.”

Mrs. Grant knew Elizabeth had been visiting a home for fallen women run by a former order of nuns that had discarded their titles and black cloaks during Cromwell’s purge of Catholics, so that they might continue helping those in need. Moreover, she had no qualms about voicing reservations concerning Elizabeth’s interest.

“I do not mind saying that I think your station in life will not improve if you are seen frequenting that place,” the housekeeper stated. “In fact, I cannot imagine why Lady Cargile allows it, for some may think you resided there before the countess hired you.”