“No, what of him?”
I dropped a finger on the man’s name in my peerage journal. “He was a close associate of Sir William Chambers and helped found the Academy of the Arts in 1768.”
“Oh.” Lord Matlock sounded bored. “Why mention him?”
“He is Thomas Bennet’s maternal grandfather.”
“Well, what of that? You think that is where Bennet obtained his collection?”
I frowned and shook my head. “Possibly. But there was something else about him... I am trying to recall. You are not familiar with his name?”
“Only vaguely. I knew Chambers in my youth, but not well.”
I frowned and went back a few pages, tracing the history a bit further, but nothing triggered my memory. “I believe I will look in at the Archives. I know I recall something about Elroy.”
“Some other time, Darcy. I need you back in Hertfordshire before Lady Catherine’s emissary. Richard’s letter said the man was nearly packed off in the dead of night, and he should arrive on the morrow, or possibly even by today.”
“So soon! What do you wish me to do? Shall I try to outbid Lady Catherine?”
My uncle shook his head. “While I know you could afford it, that would not be my first choice. I was summoned to Carlton House yesterday, you must know.”
I blinked. “You had a private audience with His Royal Highness?”
“I did. Apparently, he is quite set on gathering these pieces himself so that he might have the honor of donating them to the national collection once Parliament gets off their thumbs about Elgin. He has already purchased my Hercules—quite generous, he was. But if Lady Catherine gets hold of Bennet’s statue, she would not sell, no matter what means the Prince employed.”
“He prefers to deal with Bennet himself, then? I do not see why he would be less happy to deal with me.”
“Because he had a letter from Bennet, that is why. While I do not know the contents, His Highness has got it in his royal head that the satisfaction of dealing directly with Bennet is to be unrivaled. Probably feels it would make him look magnanimous, stooping to bestow a fortune on a mere country squire or some nonsense. So, you see, Darcy, all I want you to do is act on His Highness’s behalf and delay matters until the Prince himself can attend them.”
I nodded slowly. “That should not be too hard. I am sure someone of Mr. Bennet’s station in life would leap at the opportunity to sell his sculpture to the future king over a baronet’s widow.”
My uncle harrumphed in satisfaction. “You will go back tomorrow, will you not, Darcy?”
“Yes.” I stroked my upper lip in thought. “Tomorrow.”
But what sort of reception would I find? Well… perhaps I could find a way to speak with Mr. Bennet alone without alerting his perplexing, exhilarating daughter.
Ten
Elizabeth
WilliamCollinslookedaspompous as his letters sounded. He was tall—not so tall as a certain other fellow I had just met, but what Collins lacked in sheer bulk, he made up for with awkwardness. His shoe caught on the hall rug twice, he insisted I had been introduced as Mary and that Lydia had been presented to him as Jane, and he commented at least four times on how “quaint” and “not over-pretentious” the drawing room was. That was all before he had even sat down.
“I have been most fortunate in my patroness,” he announced as Mrs. Hill brought the tea. “Why, I cannot imagine being treated with greater deference. Her ladyship has placed in my care all matters of import with the estate, save, of course, those which are best attended only by her noble self. Her Ladyship taught me all the particulars of her ways, down to the very minutest detail of how large of a joint my cook should purchase for the Sunday meal and the exact spacing of the shelves in my closets for the best storage. I declare, nothing is too small for her notice, so patronizing is she. And so she has taught me to be, such that she now entrusts me with the business dearest to her heart.”
“Oh, how marvelous!” my mother praised him. “Do you hear that, Lizzy? He is well-thought-of. A man with responsibilities! Very respectable, sir, very fine.”
I gave my mother a thin smile. “I am sure it is, Mama.”
“Tell me,” Papa said, “is it not passing rare that a parson ought to concern himself with matters beyond his parish? Feeding souls is one thing, but how flattering that you should also now oversee joints and shelves at her ladyship’s pleasure.”
Collins nodded and set his teacup on the cart. Or he tried to, but it was only by Hill pushing the cart under his hand at the last second he did not drop the thing on the floor.
“I am honored, indeed. And now, Mr. Bennet, it is my very great pleasure to act on Lady Catherine’s behalf in this most vital of matters. Why, it was only last week when she summoned me to her private sitting room—I am the only outsider permitted to call on her there—and besought my counsel on the matter at hand. ‘Mr. Collins,’ she said, ‘do you make haste to put down all you know about Mr. Bennet, his family, and his prospects. Bring them to me by the morrow, and I shall send you to him with my offer.’ That was what she said, and, my dear Mr. Bennet, here I am.”
My father slid his gaze to me, his expression dry. “I am flattered that this distinguished person could take such an interest in someone so inconsequential as myself. What do I know of ladyships and shelves and joints? Truly, sir, I am humbled by her condescension.”
Mr. Collins bowed his head, beaming proudly. “Her ladyship does us both honor. And now, my good sir, might I be so bold as to request the pleasure of seeing this masterpiece in your possession?”
