Captain Marlowe raised his glass. “What is your guess, Miss Bingley? Have you solved the mystery?”
She looked at Elizabeth. “I could not presume. But whoever she is, she certainly has an eye for detail. And an ear for weakness.”
And a nose for snakes, apparently.
Elizabeth’s smile did not change. “Though I must say, some entries feel oddly mismatched. As if someoneelsetook up the pen halfway through.”
“Oh?” Miss Bingley arched a brow. “I had not noticed any inconsistency.”
“Nor I,” said Hardy. “There’s a clear voice throughout. Bold, pointed, dry as dust. I daresay the lady saw it printed just as she intended.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth said, still staring at Miss Bingley. “Still, tone can be rather difficult to preserve when passed between hands.”
Captain Marlowe laughed. “I should think a woman clever enough to write it was clever enough to keep control of it.”
Miss Bingley glanced at Elizabeth again. “And clever enough, I am sure, to know what she risked.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the rim of her glass. “Or perhaps she simply trusted the wrong people.”
The conversation stilled—briefly. Just a breath of silence, sharp at the edges.
“Come now,” said Bingley, “is this the part where we all pretend we did not beg for scandal last Season, just to stay awake through dinner?”
He laughed, the sound bright enough to jostle the mood. “Honestly, if someone had taken up a pen then, we might have all survived Lady Chilstone’s tableaux with our sanity intact.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the group. Miss Bingley tilted her head in amusement. Elizabeth smiled, narrowly.
“I maintain,” said Mr. Hardy, gesturing with his glass, “that nothing in print can rival the performance of Lady Chilstone as Helen of Troy.”
Miss Grafton shuddered. “A crown of tulips and a net made of hair ribbon.”
“She did mean it to be mythic,” said Miss Dunsmore.
“It was certainly unforgettable,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“Unforgivable,” murmured Jane.
More laughter.
“Perhaps someone should have written that up for publication,” said Marlowe.
“Oh, but they would have had to disguise it better,” said Hardy. “I suppose Lady Chilstone might not have noticed—but the rest of us would have.”
Miss Bingley’s smile sharpened. “You are very optimistic about society’s ability to miss its own reflection.”
“Especially when the mirror flatters,” Elizabeth said.
A few nods. Someone murmured agreement.
“Which brings us back,” said Mr. Hardy, “to our elusive author. If not Lady Cheltenham, then who? Who else is tart enough to write such things?”
Miss Bingley turned her glass slightly in her hand. “Whoever she is, I imagine she is quite young. A little too pleased with her own wit. And perhaps… not entirely accustomed to being listened to.”
Elizabeth met her gaze. "Indeed. Though, as I mentioned, the tone varies so much, it suggests more than one contributor."
Miss Bingley tilted her head. "Perhaps. Or perhaps the author simply has a wide range." She turned to Captain Marlowe. "What do you think, Captain? Could one person be responsible for such diverse commentary?"
He beamed, all too pleased to be consulted. “Oh, certainly. A sharp mind can wear many hats. It is quite the talent, really—one moment witty, the next a touch wicked. That variety is what makes the thing so entertaining.”
