Read Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 for Free Online

don't we wait outside for you? There's a field over there." She gestured across the lane. "Thomas and Jack can play at running races until you've finished your call."
    It was very nice of her--and so I told her, and asked if she was sure she didn't mind. To which Kitty made a face and said, "Mind? I can tell just by looking at the place that I'd as soon find a horse in the middle of the ocean as anyone worth talking to in there." By which of course, she meant any young men. She waved her hand at me to go. "You go on and enjoy your stuffy visit, I'll be much happier out here."
    So it turned out that I was alone when I knocked at Miss Granger's front door.
    Miss Granger's--Ruth, she insists I call her now that I'm no longer her pupil--health has improved very much in the last few years. She still grows tired on a long walk and can't lift anything terribly heavy. But she's well enough that she can take in a few day-pupils from the town for French and music lessons--not that she needs the income, but she says she likes the diversion teaching provides. And she doesn't look an invalid anymore at all.
    She was frowning a little when she opened the door, but the look cleared when she saw me. "Why, Georgiana! What a nice surprise! I thought you might be old Mrs. Prouty from up the road, come to tell me my dog had been digging in her flower beds again." The dog she'd spoken of--a big, shaggy-coated sheep dog she calls Pilot--was behind her, pressing against her skirts and whining trying to see who was at the door. "But this is much nicer. Come in, please."
    Ruth's cottage has only the two rooms downstairs: a kind of kitchen/dining room at the back, and the sitting room/parlour at the front. And everything inside is the same as out--simple and clean and as unadorned as a place can be without feeling stark or barren. The only incongruous note is Pilot, who sprawls untidily on the hearth and sheds hair on the furniture. Though I know Ruth doesn't mind; she loves all dogs. I am sure she would keep more, if her cottage weren't so small.
    She offered me tea, but I only shook my head, knowing that I was staring at her, and yet not being quite able to help myself. I was thinking how you can know someone for years--and yet suddenly discover that obviously you haven't really known them at all.
    Ruth is tall and slender, with curly, russet-red hair and grey eyes. She's quite lovely, really--though she looks a good deal like her cottage: very plain and sensible and unadorned. Today, for example, she was wearing a gown of dark-brown muslin with a high collar and long, straight sleeves, and her only jewellery was a small silver locket at her throat.
    She asked after Elizabeth, and I told her the news--or rather, lack of it--that the baby hadn't come yet, but was expected any day. And then I reached into the lining of my muff, where I'd put the folded-up letter. "I have to confess that this isn't entirely a social call. I came to return something of yours. Something we found this morning in the nursery. And I thought ... I thought you might like to have it back."
    Ruth's eyebrows lifted in surprise. But then she caught sight of the letter in my hand--and just like that, the colour drained from her face, leaving her almost chalk-white to the lips.
    I started to get up, afraid I'd brought on an attack of illness--and Pilot, as though sensing something was wrong, came and thrust his nose under her hand, whining anxiously high in his throat. Ruth swallowed visibly, then gave Pilot's shaggy head a mechanical pat and shook her head. "No, it's all right. There now, hush Pilot, you big, silly oaf." She swallowed again. "It's all right, Georgiana, I'm not going to faint. I'm just--" She took the letter from me. Gingerly, as though she were afraid to touch it. "I'm just ... surprised to see this again."
    She glanced down at the scrawl of words across the page, then quickly back up at me again, as though she didn't want to recall what the letter said--or maybe