“Do you?” Reginald stroked his lip in thought. “And what is her part in all this? Shallshebe as family tous?”
“I beg your pardon? If you still imply deceit—”
“No, but I wonder if our young American quite understands her position. It is not as if she married a tradesman.”
“She is no fool. I imagine she will rise to whatever occasion is needed.”
“Well,” Reginald said with a wry laugh, “we are about to find out. What do you think? How will this new sister of mine present to my mother?”
“Better than most, I imagine, though not so well as some. She knows nothing of refined culture but is not so ignorant that she will grasp my aunt’s hand and give it a good shake.”
“The countess did when they first met! But no, I speak of her spirits. My mother is… formidable.”
“I think you will discover that Elizabeth is a match for her ladyship.”
Reginald looked up with a raised brow. “Yes, I trust thatMrs Fitzwilliamwill hold her own, if you say she will.”
Chapter 18
“So.Thisisthecreature my son unearthed from the wild frontier.”
The dowager countess sat enshrined at the far end of the massive drawing-room, so any supplicants would be required to tread the long path of meekness under her scrutiny. One hand rested on the glass handle of her cane, while the other stroked a ridiculous creature in her lap that was more feather duster than dog.
Elizabeth hoped her smile looked less nervous and artificial than it felt as she curtseyed before the great lady. “My name is Elizabeth Fitzwilliam, Your Ladyship, and this is my sister, Miss Jane Bennet. I believe you are already familiar with my cousin—”
“Speak when you are spoken to, girl,” the dowager commanded.
Elizabeth froze halfway out of her curtsey, her eyes still locked on the floor, and her ears burning. Ought she to answer with a respectful “Yes, my lady,” or keep entirely silent before the termagant?
Billy and Jane were flanking her, and each had gone dead still. Elizabeth would have instinctively sought a friendly face in such a moment—either to reassure her that the dowager was not really so fearsome as she seemed, or at least to share an amused roll of the eyes—but everyone was standing somewhere behind her. They, too, were quiet before the ageing noblewoman. There seemed nothing to do but to keep her eyes low and wait…
Except Elizabeth had never been skilled at genuflection and humility. Somehow, her defiant gaze lifted, and rather than fixing on that remarkable rug under her feet, she was now studying the withered countenance of the woman before her. Rheumy blue eyes, a large aquiline nose, and a thin mouth all conspired to give the woman the look of an old sorceress rather than a lady of dignity.
Yet, if one continued to search, there was something lurking behind those eyes that spoke not so much of cunning, but apprehension. Terror for old ways that were rapidly dying, perhaps, and Elizabeth herself must represent the harbinger of this dread. She was… fascinating to look upon.
“You are very free with your expressions, girl,” the dowager observed. “Are you not afraid of me?”
“I cannot think why I would be, my lady,” she answered with more tartness than she truly meant.
Beside her, Jane gasped, and Billy was pleading, “No, no, no!” under his breath. The dowager, however, did not appear immediately offended.
“Explain yourself, child,” she snapped.
“I mean only that I fear no harm you could do to me. If your desire is to impress me with the grandeur of your station, I am properly affected, but I am afraid you cannot inspire me with envy or excessive obeisance. I do, however, seek to do you honour as the mother of the man I married, and I am grateful to be received so warmly into his family—particularly in a time of uncertainty.”
Sometime during this little speech of hers, Elizabeth had heard a muttered oath from the young earl and perhaps even a whispered prayer of intercession from the countess, but she lacked the timidity—or perhaps the wisdom—to cut her words off before she had spoken them all. She was already repentant, but she could only wait for the insulted dowager to unleash her wrath and wonder how badly it would sting when it struck.
One blue eye quivered, and the wrinkled lips pursed and worked in thought. “Darcy…”
Mr Darcy was already standing near, much to Elizabeth’s surprise. When had he woven his way to her side, with his shoulder just before Jane as if he were deflecting the dowager’s fury to himself?
“Yes, Aunt,” Mr Darcy answered with a ready bow.
“Is she always so forward and impudent?”
Mr Darcy hesitated, with a faint glance at Elizabeth before that silly moustache of his twitched. “Frequently more so.”
“You are very foolhardy, Mrs Fitzwilliam,” the lady intoned. “One might think it your intent to give offence.”
