Elizabeth must have dozed off there at the chair, as she was woken up by Jane sometime in the afternoon. "Lizzy, why don't you go to bed and sleep?"

Elizabeth raised her head off her arm, confused and stiff. Dr. Taylor had left the room. She looked at Collins in the waning afternoon light. Still, he breathed. His chest rose and fell slowly.

"He's still with us," Jane said quietly. "Dr. Taylor has gone home to change and will return shortly. You should rest."

Elizabeth nodded and wiped her eyes. "The breakfast?"

Jane smiled softly. "Is long over. Mama managed to crow to Lady Lucas that she had the first daughter married, which I think was the point. Can I fix you a plate?"

E"I've no appetite."

"But you must eat."

Elizabeth shook her head again. She saw Jane's eyes studying her, tears filling her eyes. "Lizzy…"

"No, Jane," Elizabeth stood up swiftly. "No tears for me," she whispered fiercely. But Jane pulled her sister to her and hugged her tightly.

Elizabeth wanted to fall against her sister, but she knew she could not. She pulled away. "Jane, I am…" she searched for a word that was not a lie, but none came. "I am well."

Jane held Elizabeth's shoulders. "This was not…as things should be, but it is not your fault. Mama, even Papa allowed it to happen. You are not to blame."

Elizabeth stared into Jane's clear eyes. "Jane, I made a mockery of the vows of marriage. I deserve to be a lonely widow. I deserve much worse."

"No, Lizzy. This is an unfortunate event."

Elizabeth shook her head. Her sister might soften the blow, but she knew the truth. "Jane, you are too good for the world."

The Bingleys' traveling party were not yet even five miles from Netherfield–about a sixth of the way to London–when they stopped at a posting inn to change horses. Charles Bingley joined Fitzwilliam Darcy at the rough-hewn wooden table for a pint.

"Not bad roads, eh, Darcy? And at least it is a fine, clear day."

Darcy nodded tersely. He was in an exceptionally dour mood. "Any other delightful details you wish to note?" Darcy asked. He was already tired of the road and they had only just begun.

Bingley smiled at his friend and shook his head. "Nose out of joint already? We've only just begun. I expect you to be irritated by subsequent days of travel, but do we not get one day of grace at the beginning?"

"Afraid not," Darcy replied and took a long draught of his pint. "So sorry to disappoint." He knew he did not appear sorry.

But Bingley was not put off. "How about this? I will not list any more advantages of the journey if you give no more complaints."

Darcy considered this for a moment. "I am not certain I can keep up my end of the bargain."

"Well, then we should wager on it. You know how much I like winning your money."

Darcy took another long sip. "The problem is it becomes self-fulfilling. You will become pleased as you win coin, while I shall become increasingly desolate as I lose."

Bingley laughed. "By God, you're right, Darcy. But would we not end up there at any rate? Here, I will share a complaint to upend the equilibrium. I'm damned sorry to be leaving Hertfordshire, and each mile to London is a sort of torture."

Darcy sighed. "I know. You've said so three times this morning alone." He glanced around at the only other patron, an older gentleman with silver hair, who seemed nearly asleep at his seat.

"Do not inform my sisters, but I so enjoyed Netherfield, and am very sorry to lose the new connections we have made on this trip."

Darcy bit the inside of his mouth so he would not respond. Of course, Bingley felt thus. That was why they were traveling earlier than expected. To remove Bingley from Miss Jane Bennet's orbit.

"Have another drink and perhaps it will not seem so bad," Darcy said finally. "Do I collect when you complain?"

"No, that was not the bargain we struck. We are still nil-nil." Bingley said and sighed self indulgently.

Darcy decided to attempt a different tact. "Well, I feel as though every mile toward London is one closer to home, and therefore lighter. Isn't it good to shake ourselves free of the country's rustics and their sheltered notions?"

"Gads, you sound like Caroline. I do not find the people here as tiresome as you, but then, I am less particular."

"Truer words…." Darcy muttered.

"I am pleased to be free of my sisters' company for the moment. Those two are very chicken-like when cooped up together. They peck and scratch at each other mercilessly."

"Yes," Darcy agreed. "Sometimes it's advantageous to be separated by sex."

"That depends. I cannot imagine Miss Jane Bennet ever being so fatiguing. I heard not a word of gossip out of her mouth the entire time she was sick at Netherfield, did you?"

"No, but I was not listening." Darcy wished he had wagered that Bingley could not bring up Miss Bennet on this journey, for he surely would have won a pocketful by then.

"She did not. She was quite well-mannered."

"Perhaps she is not a true Bennet after all."

"Darcy, do not malign her family. The Bennets were mostly very charming."

Darcy decided his one good deed for the day would be to not respond to Bingley's comment. He allotted himself one noble turn per day, and this was his.

The barkeeper came back behind the bar and refreshed their ales.

"Good man," Bingley said to him and set an excessive number of shillings on the bar.

"You speak of the Bennets of Longbourn? Just got word of tragedy there."

Bingley set down his pint and sat up straighter. "What has occurred?"

The barkeep glanced around to make sure no one heard him. "Mr. Bennet's cousin, Collins, caught sickness and passed, but only after marrying one of the Miss Bennets. Married and widowed within a day. Can you imagine?"

Darcy felt the shock go through his body. It couldn't be true. Bingley glanced forlornly at him.

"Which Miss Bennet, if you please?" Darcy asked and added coin to the pile.

The keep shook his head. "Don't rightly know. One of the older ones, I think."

Impossible, Darcy nearly said but stopped himself. And why should he care? The Bennets were none of his affair. He sat very still and on his seat while Bingley squirmed next to him.

"Darcy, we must turn around! We must offer them our service in their time of need. It could not be Miss Jane Bennet, could it? This is terrible!"

He waited for the barkeep to move to the back room before he answered. "There is nothing we can do that would not smack of impropriety. We barely know the Bennets. Besides, it may very well have been one of the other sisters."

"But Miss Jane! Or Miss Elizabeth! It is too terrible to imagine either of them married to that man. And then widowed." Bingley scowled.

Darcy sighed wearily. "As distasteful as it seems, perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps the marriage was designed to allow them to stay at Longbourn."

"That either of them was forced to marry him is so dire. Are you certain we should not turn back?"

Darcy downed half his pint in a long sip. "Unless you are prepared to propose to one of the remaining ones, you cannot."

Bingley inhaled quickly to respond, but Darcy cut him off.

"If Miss Jane is Collins' widow, you absolutely cannot. Think of how your sisters would revolt. Bingley, there is nothing to be done. If it makes you feel better, I will make discreet inquiries when we arrive in London. Then you may think of what to do."

Bingley slumped dejectedly. "If you're sure no more can be done, but, yes, make all the inquiries you can. Regardless of which Miss Bennet it is, you also cannot be happy at the idea of either marrying that foolish man?"

Darcy had begun to sweat across his brow. He itched to return to the road and put more distance between himself and the Bennets. He wanted to be somewhere he could think. "We should return to the road. I will remain on horseback. Give you more room in the carriage," he said and finished his pint. "As for the Bennets, I believe none of it is my affair. Nor yours either."

Widow.

The word caught in Elizabeth's throat.

She never imagined she would find herself in this position, but here on the bed before her was the dark crepe dress she was to don for six months. Six long months. Only then she could switch to dark colors like gray or brown.

She swallowed and allowed the maid to lift the dress over her head and pull it down her body.

She had never favored herself in black, but now she had no choice. The maid clasped a shiny black onyx brooch to her neck; the one piece of jewelry she could wear. Except for her wedding ring. She eyed her reflection in the looking glass. She looked at least a decade older already. It would be a long winter.

Out the window, snow swirled in the air and the skies had turned leaden and cold overnight. Elizabeth sat at the vanity as the maid pinned her hair up. What did it matter how she looked? She couldn't go anywhere. Any social obligations were frowned upon for a widow.

Her mother bustled into her room and stopped to take in her daughter in mourning. "Lizzy, how plain you look. Do you still wish to attend the funeral?" She knew her mother thought it unwise to do so.

"Yes, I should attend. It is my duty."

Behind her mother, Lydia stood. "You know it's fashionable not to attend. No one would think anything of it," she said,

"Fashion is currently the least of Elizabeth's concerns," Mrs. Bennet said.

Elizabeth nodded. "Though it was not a love match. I must honor him."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Must you really wear black for a whole year? I'd simply die than stop wearing color. I look detestable in black," Lydia said. "And it is not as though you are truly mourning. In London, fashionable widows are said to be wearing scarlet capes and shoes. Lizzy, you must get a scarlet mantle."

"I do not wish for a scarlet mantle," Elizabeth said. "Or shoes."

Elizabeth rose and left her room, while her mother and sisters followed her. Her father was nowhere to be found. Since Collin's death, he had taken to hiding in his library. Elizabeth glanced outside as she passed a window.

"I should like to take a walk," she said.

Her mother gasped. "Lizzy, you cannot. Besides, it is quite cold."

"It is not shameful for a widow to take in some air and exercise."

"No, you sit here and wait for any callers. I daresay the Lucases will call."

"If they do, they will want to see you. I must have some air." Elizabeth grabbed her pelisse and cast it over her shoulders and left the house. She desperately needed some solitude. She heard her mother call her name as she walked quickly from the house.

The ground was hard and frozen, which she felt through her thin boots. Movement felt good, and she welcomed the distraction and brisk air as she walked. She walked a familiar path along a field that abutted a copse of trees, for a brief while forgetting her status of newly married widow. At least until she looked down and saw the black skirt under her coat. Finally, after more than an hour, she reluctantly returned to Longbourn.

Her Mama frowned as she returned to the drawing room. "The Lucases did call exactly as I predicted. I had to tell them you were lying down with a headache. I do not appreciate being put in a position to lie to dear friends." Her mother sounded quite cross.

"You could have told them I was on a walk. They have known me all my life and would not judge me for that."

Her mouth twisted unhappily. "And how would that seem for a newly widowed bride to be on a meandering nature hike so soon after her husband's death? We would be the talk of Meryton." She sniffed. "Also your father wishes to talk with you."

Elizabeth sighed to herself and walked down the hall to her father's study. She knocked on the closed door.

"Papa, it is Lizzy. Mama says you wish to speak to me."

"Do come in."

Her father's eyes swept over her black attire and he frowned. "Although I do hate to see you in mourning, I am always happy to see you. I have received a letter concerning you this morning."

Elizabeth closed the door behind her, wondering what he meant, and took a seat across from his somewhat cluttered desk.

"Who has sent it?"

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She is, ah, was Mr. Collins patroness."

"I remember him mentioning her several times," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, Collins was vicar at her parsonage. She received the letter I wrote just after he passed. She wishes that his remains be interred at the parsonage at Rosings instead of the family mausoleum."

"Oh," Elizabeth said. "I suppose she can claim a final obligation on him even in death."

Mr. Bennet studied the letter in front of him. "And she wishes that you, as his widow, personally collect his personal items that you wish to keep."

Elizabeth stopped. "But there are no possessions of his I wish to have."

"I know that, but I think you must still travel there and be seen taking a few items."

Elizabeth's heart sped up. She was not familiar with Rosings or Kent, and visiting Collin's overbearing patroness was the last thing she wanted to do.

"Must I go?"

Her father smiled at her fondly. "I'm afraid so. It would be unseemingly to ignore her request. You need only be there a few weeks. What if you take Charlotte Lucas? She will make a lively travel companion. Jane, of course, will be traveling with the Gardiners this spring."

Elizabeth sat still. Of course, she had to go. She tried to recall what Collins had said about Lady Catherine and only remembered that he had mentioned her renovations at Rosings Park had been costly.