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Chapter Twenty-Seven

January 12, 1812 Montrose House Elizabeth

“Y ou sent me this drawing just before…” Lady Montrose trailed off, handing Elizabeth a sheet of paper.

Elizabeth laughed. “Harry said it looked like a donkey—and he was right!” It had been an attempt at a portrait, though when it was finished, it resembled a monster more than a person. “I am sad to report that my drawing skills have not improved over the years.”

“And here is this one.” Grandmother handed her another page. “You pressed a flower and sent it to me.”

“Roses,” she whispered. “They have always been a favorite.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, I have missed so much of your life! It cannot be undone, but believe me when I say I shall support you however I can—even after you marry Darcy.”

“We have not set a date. Jane and Charles are to marry in March. We have long dreamed of sharing our wedding day, but…”

“Do not concern yourself on my account. I shall be there when you marry, and then, after you have had a little time to yourselves, I shall descend upon Pemberley so that I may be near you once more.” Her grandmother reached out and gave Elizabeth’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You will come of age in March, after all.”

“You know my true birthday!” Elizabeth turned eagerly and continued. “We celebrated it on the eighth of March at Longbourn.”

“You were very close. Your birthday is on the fourteenth of March. I remember your father found it rather amusing to have a child born on that day—he had a fondness for mathematics and called you his ‘pi child.’”

Elizabeth laughed. “That is a pet name I shall always hold dear.”

Lady Montrose wasted no time in announcing Elizabeth’s return. Once she notifiedthose who had sought to name another heir and presented the irrefutable evidence of Elizabeth’s identity, they withdrew their claims without protest. One gentleman, who had met Elizabeth’s mother and had seen Elizabeth as a girl, asserted without hesitation that she was the very image of Amelia Montrose.

The Bennets resided three doors down at Darcy House and visited daily. Bingley often brought Caroline and Sir James with him. On one such day, Caroline shared a now fond memory of an encounter she had with Lady Montrose as a child.

“She frightened me to death! I had sneaked a biscuit, and she came up behind me, asking if I had one for her. Naturally, I broke it in half and shared.” Caroline laughed, as shook her head. “I fully expected to be scolded.”

“Every child sneaks biscuits,” Lady Montrose said, smiling. “They always forget to share the spoils.”

Mrs. Bennet grew more at ease in Lady Montrose’s company with each passing day. She came to see that the lady harbored no intention of taking Elizabeth away from the only family she had ever clearly known.

And Elizabeth’s memories were returning. Bit by bit, small recollections resurfaced with the scent of her mother’s perfume…her father’s favorite book. She remembered her little brother breaking her cherished doll and the punishment she received for striking him in return. And she remembered the house.

“It sits empty,” her grandmother told her. “I had all that belonged to your parents moved to Marston Hall, but I never sold the house itself. Now, I think it may be time—only if you wish it.”

The most astonishing revelation of all was that Elizabeth would not be merely Miss Montrose. With the death of her uncle, she had unknowingly become the suo jure Countess of Montrose. At last, and with unfeigned pleasure, her grandmother happily embraced her new role as the Dowager Lady Montrose.

At that moment, Jameson entered the room. “Mr. Silas Winters is downstairs. He says he has come to pay his respects to Lady Montrose.”

The Dowager Countess frowned. “Show him in.” Then, turning to Elizabeth, she added, “That man tried to have you declared dead. He wants your father’s share of the company.”

“I am not averse to selling the shares,” Elizabeth said calmly. “What use have I for them? I possess more than enough and am to marry a wealthy man.”

“Now is not the time to be hasty,” her grandmother warned. “Let us hear what he has to say. I would wager the matter will arise before the call is through.”

A man of advancing years entered the drawing room. His hair was stark white, and though he appeared friendly as he bowed and greeted the ladies, there was an indefinable air about him, one that Elizabeth attributed to certain dissolute habits. Despite his outward cheer, something in his voice caused her heart to stutter painfully. A shiver of dread settled in her limbs, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

“You are the picture of your mother,” he said to Elizabeth. “She would be proud of the lady you have become.”

“I understand you were my father’s business partner.” Elizabeth offered a thin smile, hoping he did not perceive her discomfort.

“Yes. Such a tragedy when…well.” He paused, then added with false solemnity, “Have they ever discovered the miscreant?” Mr. Winters looked curious, but not nearly grieved enough by his partner’s death.

“No, the Runners made no progress,” Lady Montrose replied, reaching out to take Elizabeth’s hand. “It appears to be a crime of passion or a burglary gone awry. I fear we shall never know.”

“I was thrilled when I read the announcement in the papers,” Winters said. “With Miss Montrose as your heir, she will no doubt wish to sell her father’s shares. I stand ready to offer a fair price.”

Mr. Winter’s misuse of her honorific did not go unnoticed. He had clearly not heard the latest.

He named a figure that sounded absurdly low to Elizabeth’s ear. “I thank you for the offer,” she replied with polite composure. “I shall consult my uncle, who is far more versed in such matters, and will contact you in due course.”

“Very good. Your man has my direction.” As he turned to leave, Winters paused at the door. “A shame that Robert Bingley died before you were found. He was never quite the same after it all happened—seemed rather guilty, if you ask me.”

And with that, he left the room, giving neither lady a chance to say another word.

“Do you think it is possible?” she asked her grandmother. “I cannot see it. I do not remember Charlie’s father well, but he was no murderer. Could an evil man have raised two such good-hearted children?” Elizabeth deliberately excluded Mrs. Hurst. She was not at all pleasant.

“I hardly know, Elizabeth. I suppose we never shall have the answers we wish.”

Winters

“I’ve news, sir.” Jarvis entered the room so silently that Winters startled, nearly upsetting his chair.

“Confound it, man! Must you be so…stealthy?” He scowled as he mopped up the brandy he had spilled in his agitation.

“I wouldn’t be ‘alf so good at me job if I weren’t.” Jarvis replied, dropping into a chair and propping his feet on the table with deliberate insolence.

“Out with it.” Winters waved an impatient hand. His books beckoned.

“The brat’s engaged already.”

He froze. No. No, that was not good at all. “Are you certain?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“‘Eard it from a maid who ‘eard it from a maid at Bingley’s ‘ouse. She’s set to marry thatDarcy fella in March, so’s it said.”

“This could ruin everything. Elizabeth Montrose owns her father’s business only so as long as she is Miss Montrose. Once she weds, her husband will have full control of her assets.”

“The Darcy bloke is already flush—wager ‘e’ll give it up rather than deal with the stink of trade.”

Jarvis’s reasoning was sound, but he could not risk it. “We must separate them. Or…”

His man’s face split into a wide grin. “Or finish wot was begun twelve years ago,” he said maliciously.

Winters shuddered. “I would rather not go so far if we can avoid it.” The first time had been an accident, or so he had long told himself. He had not meant to… “No. We will begin with division. The Montrose name is old and respected. Lady Montrose will never allow her granddaughter to marry a man with a sullied reputation. Here is what you will do…”