“Of course, none of us saw the fire,” Mrs. Bingley said with a nervous flicker of her eyes at Charles. “It was put out quite successfully.”
Elizabeth noticed the subtle inconsistency immediately. Put out successfully? Yet, reportedly claiming three lives?
“With Rose being such a close friend of yours,” Elizabeth changed tactics, “Were you often at Rose Cottage?”
“Only occasionally,” Mrs. Bingley replied vaguely. “Business matters frequently brought my husband to Pemberley, and I sometimes accompanied him. Rose was always a gracious hostess.”
“What sort of business engaged Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth pressed.
Mrs. Bingley’s eyes flickered briefly to Darcy. “Textile manufacturing, primarily. Benjamin owned mills in Yorkshire, and the Darcy estates produced significant wool. It was a natural partnership, though not without its… complexities.”
“However, after Mr. John Darcy passed,” Elizabeth commented casually, “wouldn’t you say your husband’s loyalty went to Mr. William?”
Mrs. Bingley waved a dismissive hand, flashing her jeweled rings. “My husband was a devoted friend of both Darcy brothers. Mr. William was never quite the same after his brother’s death. Lady Anne and I lost Rose’s cheerful companionship, too.”
“However, was there no mention of their baby? That everyone was sure she had died?”
Mrs. Bingley’s eyes darted around the table like a trapped creature. “Mrs. Wickham, the baby’s nurse, testified that she had died, but as you are aware, she has now recanted her testimony. When Caroline wrote me that you had been found, imagine my excitement at beholding my dear friend’s daughter. You, darling, resemble her in so many ways.”
The endearment sounded hollow, almost rehearsed—a social performance rather than genuine affection. Elizabeth resisted the urge to challenge it directly.
“While the resemblance is indeed striking,” Darcy interjected, “Miss Bennet’s claims have not been legally substantiated. Unless, Mrs. Bingley, you are willing to provide sworn testimony regarding her identity?”
The challenge hung in the air. Mrs. Bingley’s smile remained fixed, but Elizabeth detected an uneasiness in her eyes.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly claim any certainty after so many years,” Mrs. Bingley replied with a delicate laugh. “I am merely repeating what dear Mrs. Wickham has told us all. One does hope it’s true, of course, for everyone’s sake.”
Her gaze lingered meaningfully on Charles before returning to Elizabeth. “Family connections are so important, don’t you agree, Miss Bennet?”
Elizabeth understood the implication perfectly. Mrs. Bingley would support her claim—for a price. That price was an alliance with Charles that would procure Pemberley for the Bingleys.
She picked up her wine glass and stared into it. “Interesting, as Mrs. Wickham offers the same strategem. Have you two perhaps been in conference?”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Mrs. Bingley said. “Only that Charles and Caroline were ever so excited that you had turned up at Hertfordshire, of all locations.”
“One wouldn’t expect to find a heiress in such a provincial locale. Interesting how Netherfield Park was leased around the same time Mr. Wickham joined the militia at Meryton.”
The question hung like a thrown gauntlet. Darcy’s eyebrows rose fractionally, while Charles nearly choked on his wine. Mrs. Bingley’s composure, however, remained intact as she spooned her soup.
Caroline Bingley, sensing danger, swooped in. “The Wickhams! Really, Miss Eliza, we have no connection to such people. My mother merely wishes to celebrate the discovery of Rose Darcy’s daughter—such a romantic story, don’t you agree?”
“I fail to see how the deaths of her dear friends would be romantic,” Elizabeth said.
“Ah, but, dear Miss Eliza.” Caroline leaned forward conspiratorially. “Your accomplishments would do credit to any family. Such refined manners, such musical talent. You simply must join Charles for a duet at the All Hallows’ Eve Assembly. He’s been practicing a particularly lovely piece that would suit your voice perfectly.”
“How thoughtful, though I wonder how Charles knows which pieces suit my voice, as he has never heard me sing,” Elizabeth replied, unable to resist the pointed observation.
“Oh, but Lizzy sings divinely.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered with maternal pride. “And plays with such expression. My other girls are accomplished, of course—but Lizzy has always had a particular talent. She also reads a great deal—though I’ve often told her gentlemen don’t like overly educated wives—and writes a beautiful hand. Why, her needlework is the finest in all of Hertfordshire.”
“And she can draw too,” Lydia added with a dramatic sigh, “though she never draws anything interesting. Just trees and old buildings when she could be sketching officers in their regimentals.”
Elizabeth caught Darcy’s eye across the table. The corner of his mouth twitched, and she felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to laugh despite—or perhaps because of—her mortification.
After dinner, the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their port. Mrs. Bingley immediately sought out Elizabeth while her daughters distracted Mrs. Bennet and Lydia with effusive praise of Elizabeth.
“Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Bingley said, skillfully maneuvering Elizabeth toward a small settee somewhat removed from the others, “I have been most eager to speak with you privately. Such an extraordinary situation you find yourself in.”
“Indeed. Life has taken an unexpected turn these past weeks.”
