Elizabeth tried to reassure her husband, but had no ready explanation. “I am afraid I do not know. I have, several times, attempted to educe what troubles her, but delicacy prevented my pressing her further—or worse, compounding her misery through ignorance. I can offer only surmises: without a doubt, Georgiana has found the relentless pace of travel a severe trial. Our brief stay in Paris was so taken up with the safe transport of our belongings and planning our onward journey, that I fear it was no respite at all for her. And, although the Comte was the very picture of courtesy, and an immeasurable source of comfort to us in your absence, it was to be expected that she would find the experience of seeing him again unsettling, after their awkward parting. Our journey from Geneva to Dijon was fraught indeed with her anticipation of their reunion—although, I hasten to add, she insisted she had no further apprehension on that score. With her increasing anxiousness, and a corresponding depression of spirits, it does not require a great sagacity to comprehend that something grievous troubles her; possibly Georgiana found her sensibilities completely overset by her expectations of the meeting. In opposition to this idea, since our meeting with the Comte, and receiving his disinterested and generous assistance, she has been a little quieter, but this change has produced a sombre effect—instead of relief to a troubled mind—the closer we were come to home. It is beyond my power to explain why she should be less happy to be coming hither. In retrospect, her unhappiness grew worse as we travelled away from home, and still further to increasing misery as we travelled en route homeward. I am mortified to admit to you, Husband, that I am able to produce only these pitiful conundrums and conjectures. I know with a certainty that she is suffering under a dreadful affliction, and one that has not been relieved by our return home. But, as she will not venture what troubles her, I cannot honourably demand to hear what she does not wish to tell.”

“There is no possibility, then, of an union between the Comte and herself? I had considered that a second meeting might convince her of his worth. I do not comprehend her continued rejection of his suit, and he has since written to me, assuring me of your safe return to Paris, giving not a few hints in the letter than his wishes remain unchanged. Is it impossible to surmise that her distress is a realisation that she did love him, and wishes herself back in Paris?”