“You were not raised by this Matilda person?”
“No.” Elizabeth didn’t elaborate. She was feeling a bit impudent, she supposed, but she felt it was warranted. If she’d had any hopes of being welcomed by her father’s family with open arms, she shouldn’t have, she realized.
“So, you have never spoken to her about her claims that you are the daughter of a duke.”
“She never told me that,” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, she did not? So, why is it that you think that?”
“I found letters she had written that spoke of it,” said Elizabeth.
“Well, that proves nothing,” said the dowager duchess. “Even so, we shall settle something on you. I shall speak to someone about it, and they will deliver it to you in the form of a promissory note.” She smoothed out her skirts and nodded at Elizabeth’s carriage. “Well, then. Off with you.”
Elizabeth did not move. “I don’t want money.”
“You will take it, of course,” said the duchess, gazing at her. For one moment, the woman’s severe expression softened. “You should have it.” She tilted her head to one side. “And I understand there will be some more public wedding ceremony when your husband returns. He is one of Matlock’s sons, yes? I should like an invitation, to see you married.” She swallowed and looked away. “Well, then. We are done.”
Elizabeth was quite confused. What had that break been, the softening? Why did the duchess want an invitation to her wedding? She licked her lips. “You do believe I am… your granddaughter. That is why you wish to come to my wedding.”
“I didn’t have any girls,” said the duchess, looking off into the distance. “I had two boys, and it is lovely, having sons, quite lovely, and I wouldn’t trade it, but you do miss things that you would have with girls.”
“What did Larilane say to you?” said Elizabeth.
“Who?”
“Oh, the Frenchman you spoke of, I think it must be the Vicomte de Larilane, who was associated with my mother. The letters I found spoke of her anger that he would reveal that she was having a child to the duke, or to his family, so it must have been about his speaking to you. But I don’t understand why shewould give up her son and not give me up. I don’t understand why—”
“Yes, well, there are a number of things I don’t understand either,” said the duchess. “Your questions will have to wait. Off with you.”
Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Do you think the servants were paid to lie to you and say that they saw a dead body? Why would my mother do that? It doesn’t make sense, to fake her death and then know that her name is on a marriage certificate and that anyone who wished could trace her with that name. She had property under that name, property she left to me, and if the duke had wished, he could have claimed it—”
“Yes, but she was dead,” said the duchess. “So there was no need to go looking for her, was there? And I never bothered to know her name.”
Elizabeth stiffened.
“I see that pains you,” said the duchess. “But this is entirely why it’s best not to ask each other questions. There won’t be tender feelings on either side, I’m sure. My son, your father, was a difficult sort of person in a number of ways. But I loved him and took care of him until he died, and I would do all of it again.” She gestured for Elizabeth to go back to the carriage.
Elizabeth did not.
“If you do not get into the carriage,” said the duchess, “then I shall. It will bear me home, and you will have to walk back to Barralds.”
Elizabeth let out a sigh. This woman was infuriating. She gathered her skirts and made her way back to the carriage.
It took her back to Barralds, where breakfast was set out in the dining room, where her sister Jane was sitting radiantly next to her husband-to-be.
It felt to Elizabeth as if she now had everything she had wished to know confirmed, but that it was still strangely hollow.She had thought it would feel a certain way to know for certain who her father was, but she felt the same as ever, perhaps even worse for wear in some ways.
“MR. DARCY!” CRIEDMr. Houseman. He waved as the other man walked by. Houseman was trapped against a hedgerow, Caroline Bingley blocking any way of escape. “Do come and speak to us.”
Caroline glanced at Mr. Darcy. “Oh, it’s just fine, Mr. Darcy. We are having a lovely conversation, I think. Mr. Houseman is telling me all about how he runs his businesses, and he is ever so brilliant. He has such ideas. I am all astonishment, I tell you.”
Houseman’s expression was pleading for intervention, and—as it happened—Darcy wished to speak to him. So, Darcy made his way over to join the two of them.
Caroline glared at him. “I can’t think you’d find this discussion all that interesting, Mr. Darcy.”
“I don’t know,” said Darcy, eyeing Mr. Houseman. “Perhaps I would. After all, Mr. Houseman, I understand you are ever so brilliant. It’s always delightful to discover someone’s brilliance, I think.”
Houseman rubbed his forehead. “Miss Bingley seems to think everything I say is brilliant, but I assure you, I am an average sort of person.”
