“I am quite in awe of you,” William said without thinking. It was to be an easy thing to do in her presence, and he was astonished that it seemed to please her.
When they had satisfied their own sense of mischief in speculating upon the budding attachment of Richard and Miss Bennet, who received her cousin’s attentions with serenity, William drew Miss Elizabeth’s attention to poor Bingley.
The dowager countess dozed in her chair by the fire, still wearing the smug smile of satisfaction that had graced her noble envisage as her son dutifully paid court to the heiress of Rosings. With Richard completely absorbed in recommending himself to Miss Bennet, Bingley had been left to the dubious company of the Fitzwilliam sisters.
“They are an odd pairing, do you not think? I have always pitied Lady Rose and Lady Rebecca for being such a great distance in age – I believe it is seven or eight years. Jane and I are separated only by two years, and of course by the disparity in our dispositions. But we are not half so different as my two cousins – I wonder what they ever talk of – assuming they are not actually in a constant state of quarreling, as Lady Rebecca claims.”
Miss Elizabeth tapped her chin thoughtfully as she observed them, her eyes narrowed as if studying them for secrets. She turned and gave William a playful look. “I fear your friend may be in want of rescue.”
While Lady Rose flirted and fluttered at Bingley’s side, Lady Rebecca’s lips twisted in such a way that though William could not hear what she was saying, he had little doubt that it was far too satirical for Bingley. Fortunately, his friend had drunk enough wine at dinner to be past any awkwardness, and thus William was spared any sense of obligation to rescue him.
Instead, he was more agreeably engaged than he had ever been, and though he knew it was no small thing, he remained at Elizabeth Bennet’s side for the rest of the evening, not for a moment in want of any other amusement.
Chapter Three
Elizabeth retired that evening with a sense of euphoria, and Lady Rebecca was ready to tease her for it. “Well, Lizzy! You have made short work of your first conquest. I was not prepared to lose you so soon!”
Rebecca flounced down onto the bed; Elizabeth finished brushing out her hair and then joined her cousin. “You are an odd creature. Whatever do you mean, losing me?”
“You will have your head full of Will Darcy until Lady Catherine drags you back to the country next month.” Rebecca gave a dramatic roll of her eyes before turning onto her stomach to retrieve a bottle of whiskey from under her bed, and then she flailed wildly when her night rail tangled about her as she tried to right herself.
Elizabeth playfully snatched away the half-empty bottle and laughed. “You are losing your mind, Rebecca!”
When Rebecca had recovered her dignity, she leaned back against the pillows and shook her head in a mocking display of consternation. “I ought to have known you would fancy him at once – you have been obsessed with Lady Anne since you met her.”
“But what has she to do with….” Elizabeth fidgeted with the bottle in her hands as she cozied up beside her favorite cousin. “Surely you mean to tell me. What was all that mysterious business in the parlor this afternoon? There is something about her lost son….”
“Yes, Mother has long been curious about Richard’s friend. Last winter she mentioned it to me, asking a great many questions that neither I nor my brother could answer.Hethinks our suspicions are fanciful and irritating, that there is nothing in it, and I suppose there is not.”
Elizabeth tensed. She liked Mr. Darcy very well – as she had fully expected to. She had no wish to hear anything of him that may alter her favorable impression. And yet, she must satisfy her curiosity. “What suspicions?”
“Lord, do you really not know? Lady Anne’s first child, her son Fitzwilliam… when she says he was lost, she does not mean that he died. He waslost; we all believe he was taken.”
“Taken? Do you mean he was kidnapped?” Elizabeth trembled a little at the notion; no wonder Lady Anne had always possessed such an air of tragedy about her, especially in Elizabeth’s younger years.
Rebecca seized the bottle of whiskey and took an indecorous swig before assuming an animated pose as she elaborated on her tale.
“There was no ransom ever asked. His governess took him out in his perambulator one morning, and simply never returned. They found her a week later and she claimed shecould not remember what had befallen her in the interval. My late uncle Darcy expected there would be kidnappers making demands of him, but they heard nothing. They began to comb through the newspapers, searching for notices of foundlings, he and my father and even Sir Lewis all searched the local orphanages – but they found nothing. My mother and grandfather privately posted a notice offering a reward, but after interviewing dozens of pretenders seeking financial gain, they ended their search. It pained them, but they at least spared the Darcys the grief of being exposed to so much false hope.”
“Lady Anne never knew of the pretenders?”
“No, and you are never to tell her.” Rebecca wagged a finger at Elizabeth, who nodded in emphatic agreement.
“Our poor aunt! How devastated she must have been!” Elizabeth blinked back tears and took a sip of the whiskey. She cringed as it burned its way down her throat. “But wait,” she rasped. “Do you think Mr. Darcy could be connected to all this? He did say that he was adopted.”
Lady Rebecca raised her brows. “Did he? Richard has asked me to cease my speculation; he has told me every particular he knows, and I suppose he is right, it is not possible.”
“You are being coy,” Elizabeth accused with a grin.
“If you must know, I thought it odd, when first they met. It happened very near Pemberley; Mr. Darcy was traveling with friends, and visited the manor along his journey. I imagined some devious motive in trying to claim a connection to the place, but Richard insisted that it was quite the reverse, that Mr. Darcy was from a French family of the same name, but had settled in Surrey. At any rate, if he completed university seven years ago, he must be more than a year older than my lost cousin would be.”
Elizabeth felt her shoulders sag; how perfect it would have been, if the handsome and intelligent Mr. Darcy whose company she could have enjoyed for hours more should prove to be Lady Anne’s lost son. “He has dark, curly hair like Lady Anne.”
“So do you, Lizzy, and you share no blood with her. Besides, my uncle George was pale and fair, just like Georgie, and the stillborn just before her. And Lady Anne and Georgie are both so diminutive – Mr. Darcy is so tall!”
“Yes, he is tall and quite broad.” Elizabeth gave an appreciative sigh as she conjured him up in her mind’s eye.
“You like him, and this is why I fear I shall lose you, either to Lady Catherine carrying you off, or God forbid, to that ghastly institution of matrimony.”
