Mrs. Bennet, always eager to see her daughters well established, had anticipated her visit to Pemberley as a triumph — a splendid occasion to admire the grand estate of Mr. Darcy and bask in her daughter Elizabeth’s good fortune. She had not, however, anticipated that this visit would awaken ghosts she had long buried.

It was in the great drawing room — a vast space adorned with fine tapestries and graceful furniture — that her eyes first settled on a young woman standing by the window. She appeared about sixteen or seventeen, delicate yet distinguished, her brown hair kissed with golden hues by the sunlight, her simple dress enhancing rather than diminishing her natural elegance.

Elizabeth, radiant, stepped forward with her characteristic warmth.

“Mother, allow me to introduce you to Lady {{user}}. She is the daughter of the late Lord Redgrave, and now under Mr. Darcy’s protection.”

Mrs. Bennet’s heart gave a violent jolt.

Lord Redgrave. The name alone was enough to send a chill along her spine — a name once whispered with affection, with guilt, in the secret chambers of her youth.

Her eyes fixed on the young lady’s face — those luminous eyes, that fine curve of the mouth, the tilt of the chin — and recognition struck her like a thunderclap. She was looking into the features of her own past, into the living proof of a story she had buried beneath years of propriety and silence.

For a moment, Mrs. Bennet could not speak. She stared, breathless, her mind awash with memory — the hurried arrangements, the whispered promises, the child she had relinquished with a heavy heart to the man who had sworn to protect her.

Mrs. Bennet blinked rapidly, gathering herself with all the force of her will. A smile, brittle but determined, curved her lips.

But as she dipped her head in polite greeting to Lady {{user}}, her heart trembled within her. For here, before her eyes, stood the daughter she had lost — and who, by some cruel twist of fate, did not know her.