The warmth of him in her arms, the soft weight of him nestled close—it was more healing than anything she had felt since yesterday. His snuggles, his gummy kisses against her cheek—it reminded her of life, of gentleness, of hope.
She carried him downstairs into the parlor. A maid informed her that Mrs. Bennet had taken Lydia and Kitty into Meryton to “pay calls”—which Elizabeth could only interpret as sharing the tale of her daughter’s trauma in as many drawing rooms as possible. Mary was tucked away in the music room, practicing a particularly moody section of Beethoven.
Elizabeth did not mind the solitude. The quiet allowed her to breathe.
She was bouncing Benjamin gently on her lap when Mr. Hill entered the room carrying Jane in his arms. Her sister’s smile wavered as soon as she saw Elizabeth.
“Oh, Lizzy.” Jane held out her arms, and Elizabeth went to her at once, carefully shifting Benjamin to one hip so she could lean into the embrace.
“I am all right,” Elizabeth whispered.
“I did not know what to think. I heard only bits and pieces before they brought me down.” Jane’s eyes filled with tears. “To think that you—oh, Lizzy, someone was murdered.”
Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. “I know.”
Jane shook her head slowly. “I cannot fathom it. Surely no person in their right mind could do such a thing. Perhaps—perhaps it was an accident. A scuffle that went too far. And they ran, in fear and shock.”
Elizabeth said nothing. She returned to her seat, holding Benjamin closer and kissing the top of his dark curls. Smithson’s words swirled in her mind:Tell the raven… it was the crow.
She would not worry Jane with them. Not yet. After all, they made no sense.
Footsteps echoed in the entry hall, followed by the murmur of voices.
“Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Hill announced from the doorway.
Elizabeth turned, startled. Darcy entered first, followed by a man with a warm smile and easy gait—Colonel Fitzwilliam, she presumed. He bore a striking resemblance to Darcy, but his manner was far more jovial.
“My mother is out,” Elizabeth said as she rose, “but you are most welcome.”
Darcy bowed. “Miss Elizabeth, allow me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.”
The colonel bowed over her hand with practiced ease. “It is a pleasure to meet the heroine I have heard so much about.”
Jane, from her seat, smiled brightly. “Do sit down. I will ring for some tea.”
Bingley was already beside her, asking in hushed tones how she was faring and adjusting her cushions.
Elizabeth led the gentlemen to the settee, settling Benjamin in her lap once more. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam took the seats beside her, and for a moment, there was a comfortable hush in the room.
And then Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to her, still smiling—but with a new kind of sharpness in his eyes.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said lightly, “tell me about this delightful child in your arms. A nephew, perhaps?”
Elizabeth raised her chin, adopting a haughty pose, and adjusted Benjamin slightly so he was in a sitting position. “Allow me to introduce you properly, Colonel. This is Mr. Benjamin Bennet, resident philosopher, connoisseur of soft blankets, and our current ruler by popular acclamation.”
She gave a small bow of her head. “Benjamin, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
The colonel chuckled. “A charming introduction. Please to meet your acquaintance, young Master Bennet. With his surname, is he perhaps your…brother?”
“No.” Elizabeth’s tone was light, but her grip on Benjamin tightened slightly. “He’s been adopted into the family since the fire in London. We had to call him something.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brows lifted. “Adopted? So… his parents—?”
Elizabeth’s expression sobered. “We found him just after the fire. There was a girl—Meg—” she paused, then corrected herself, “—a woman of the night. She had the baby with her and said she was watching him for her neighbor. That neighbor had left him alone in the apartment at one point.”
“She left the child alone?” he said with a low whistle. “What kind of—?” He stopped himself.
“She did not come back,” Elizabeth continued. “I carried him to Hyde Park, and Meg followed until she was found by a man. She said she was still trying to find Deena to return the baby, but theman—her keeper, I suppose?— said Deena had perished in the fire.”
