Chapter 16

Time moved on, as it always does. Little Jane was now a lively toddler, her blond hair curling around her cherubic face and her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. She had quickly become the light of our lives, her laughter echoing through Longborn.

The Lucas family had grown as well. Sarah and William now had three children: their eldest, Charlotte, a spirited four-year-old, and two younger sons, John and Samuel. Their home, Lucas Lodge, was always bustling with the sounds of young children and the warmth of family life.

I had just returned from Scotland, where I had been with Lady Rachel Campbell, the Marchioness of Kintyre, during her lay-in. Rachel had given birth to a healthy heir, bringing great joy to her husband, Lord John Campbell, and their entire household. Elizabeth had decided to stay an extra month to help Rachel with the new baby and settle into her role as a mother.

On my way back to Longborn, I stopped in Oxford to visit my son, Edward. It was wonderful to see him thriving in his studies, full of enthusiasm and ambition. We shared a lovely visit, catching up on all the news and enjoying each other's company.

When I finally returned to Longborn, I was greeted by Frances, her face a mix of excitement and nerves. She welcomed me with a warm hug, and we settled into the parlor for a quiet moment.

"Mother," Frances began, her voice tinged with both anticipation and uncertainty. "I have something to tell you."

I looked at her with a smile, sensing the importance of her news. "What is it, dear?"

She took a deep breath, her hands resting on her belly. "I think I might be increasing again."

My heart swelled with joy at the prospect of another grandchild. I reached out and took her hands in mine. "Oh, Frances, that's wonderful news! How are you feeling?"

Frances's eyes sparkled with a mix of happiness and apprehension. "A bit tired, but mostly just excited. I can't wait to tell Thomas."

Thomas, who had been in the study, entered the room just then, his eyes lighting up at the sight of us. "What's going on here?" he asked, his tone playful.

Frances stood and walked over to him, taking his hand. "Thomas, I have something to tell you. I think we might be having another baby."

Thomas's face broke into a wide grin, and he scooped Frances into his arms, spinning her around gently. "That's incredible news, Frances! I'm so happy!"

The room filled with laughter and joy as Thomas kissed Frances tenderly, then looked at me with gratitude. "Thank you, Mother, for everything you do for us."

I smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment and pride. "It's my pleasure, Thomas. I'm so happy for both of you."

Things seemed to be going well, and I found myself immersed in the daily joys and challenges of family life. Jane's laughter, the anticipation of another grandchild, and the love that surrounded us at Longborn brought me great comfort.

I hadn't checked the Kindle since John died. Somehow, it hurt too much to think about the past and the future I had once glimpsed. Perhaps that was the reason why I forgot to warn Elizabeth, or maybe it was something else. My heart was heavy with regret when the black-edged letter arrived, delivered by a solemn Mrs. Hill.

She walked into the parlor with a letter on a tray, her expression grave. "An express rider just delivered this."

My heart sank as I saw the black border. Thomas was the first to reach for the letter. His face etched with sorrow as he read the contents. "Mother," he began, his voice breaking, "it's from Scotland. Elizabeth... she died in a carriage accident."

For a moment, there was complete silence. The air seemed to thicken as the gravity of the news settled over us. I watched as Thomas's face transformed from shock to utter devastation. He dropped the letter, his hands trembling, and fell into a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands.

"No, no," he murmured, his voice cracking. "Not Mother. Not like this."

Frances, standing beside him, clutched his shoulder, her own eyes brimming with tears. "Thomas, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

I felt as though the world had stopped spinning. My knees buckled, and I fell into a chair, my hands trembling. Tears blurred my vision, and I couldn't breathe. Elizabeth, my dear friend, my confidante, was gone.

Mary and Andrew, who had come over to visit, were equally stunned. Mary let out a sob and clutched at Andrew, her own grief mingling with the fear of losing another loved one. "No, not Elizabeth," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Rebecca was equally heartbroken. Rebecca's eyes filled with tears as she embraced Frances, offering what comfort she could. "I'm so sorry, dear. Elizabeth was such a wonderful woman."

Sarah and William, who had come over upon hearing the news, stood quietly, their expressions somber. "Elizabeth was a true friend and a remarkable woman," William said softly. "She will be greatly missed."

I felt a deep, wrenching sorrow in my heart. Elizabeth had been more than a friend; she had been like a sister to me. The thought of her never returning, of never seeing her smile or hearing her voice again, was unbearable.

Thomas lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen. "I can't believe she's gone," he said, his voice hollow. "She was supposed to come back. She was supposed to meet her new grandchild."

I reached out, clutching his hand as if it were a lifeline. "She will always be with us, Thomas," I whispered, my voice breaking. "In our hearts and in our memories. She loved you so much."

The grief was overwhelming, but in that moment, surrounded by those I loved, I knew we would get through this. Elizabeth's memory would live on in our hearts, and her legacy of love and strength would guide us through the darkest of days.

The weight of Elizabeth's death hung heavily over Longborn, casting a pall over our once lively home. The grief was a constant presence, a shadow that lingered in every room. Yet, through the darkness, there emerged a glimmer of hope and new life.

Frances's pregnancy had progressed steadily, and as her time approached, the anticipation of welcoming a new baby offered a distraction from our sorrow. Frances, with her radiant strength and grace, had been a source of inspiration to us all during these difficult months.

One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of orange and pink, Frances called for me. I found her in her room, surrounded by the comforting presence of family. Thomas was by her side, his hand gently resting on her shoulder.

"Mother," Frances said, her voice a mixture of excitement and apprehension, "I think it's time."

We moved quickly, the preparations for the birth becoming a flurry of activity. I took my place at Frances's side, ready to assist her through the labor. Thomas stayed close, his face a mask of concern and anticipation.

Hours passed, and the air was thick with tension and hope. Finally, as dawn broke, the cries of a newborn filled the room. I lifted the baby into Frances's arms, and she gazed down at her daughter with tears of joy in her eyes.

"She's beautiful," Frances whispered, her voice filled with awe.

Thomas, his face alight with emotion, leaned down to kiss Frances's forehead. "You did wonderfully, my love."

As I looked at the tiny, perfect face of my new granddaughter, a sense of profound peace washed over me. In that moment, the pain of our loss was softened by the miracle of new life.

Frances looked up at Thomas and me, her expression tender. "Thomas and I have been talking," she said softly. "We want to name her Elizabeth Rose, after your mother, Thomas. To honor her memory and keep her with us always."

Tears welled in my eyes, and I reached out to gently touch the baby's cheek. "It's a perfect name, Frances. Elizabeth would be so proud."

Thomas nodded, his eyes glistening with tears. "She would have loved her," he said quietly.

In the days that followed, the house was filled with a bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. We mourned Elizabeth deeply, but we also celebrated the arrival of Elizabeth Rose. She brought light and hope into our lives, a reminder that even in the darkest times, life goes on and love endures.

Elizabeth Rose grew quickly, her bright eyes and curious nature a testament to the strong women who came before her. As we watched her take her first steps and heard her first words, we felt Elizabeth's presence with us, guiding and comforting us.

The grief of losing Elizabeth would never fully disappear, but with the arrival of Elizabeth Rose, we found a way to move forward. Our family, bound by love and resilience, continued to grow and thrive, carrying the memory of those we lost within our hearts.