The girl stood a little behind the man. Her gown, a dull, brown thing covered in a dirty apron, was made of coarse fabric. Her half boots were worn and scuffed, but still seemed to be in decent condition. Her dark brown hair had been pulled into a knot at the back of her head.
Not Elizabeth,she thought.Her hair is all wrong.And it was. Elizabeth had naturally curly hair that strained against her braids. This girl’s hair was straight and contained.
Lady Montrose turned to address the man. “I see you wish to take advantage of a heartbroken woman,” she said sourly. “How very despicable! Did your mother teach you no better?”
“That is hardly fair, your ladyship! We haven’t said a word, have we Eliza?” He turned to the girl. “Tell the lady your story.” Mr. Roland pulled on the girl’s arm and brought her to stand in front of him.
She cleared her throat. “My mother and father and brother were killed. I ran away and went to live at the orphanage ten miles from my home. I’ve been hiding there all this time until Mr. Roland told me that you were looking for me.”
“It all sounds very rehearsed,” Lady Montrose said dismissively, waving her hand. “Those are facts anyone could give. Tell me, what was your mother’s favorite color?”
Eliza gaped. “Um,” she said. “Blue.”
“That is a good guess, but wrong.”Amelia Montrose favored dusty rose colors. “How much did he pay you to come here and pretend to be my niece?” Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Mr. Roland. “How did you even learn what she looked like? I have all the miniatures of my son and his family.”
Mr. Roland’s eyes bulged. “We will just be going now,” he said hastily. “Come on, Eliza. The lady won’t be paying us nothing.”
“He paid me a half a crown,” Eliza burst out. “I didn’t think there would be any ‘arm in it! But even I can see you are distressed. Forgive me, Lady!” Mr. Roland pulled her arm again, and she shook him off.
The girl came forward and knelt next to Lady Montrose’s chair. “I do hope you find your girl, madam,” she whispered. “I have a family, and you should have one, too.” Eliza took Lady Montrose’s hand and kissed the back.
Maude tried not to cringe, understanding as she was of the girl’s sentiment. “I thank you,” she said stiffly. “Pray, do not allow miscreants and malicious men to take advantage of you again.”
The ragged girl stood and curtsied sloppily. She turned and left the room, shoving Mr. Roland’s hand away from her as she walked by.
Jameson showed the pair out before returning to his mistress’s side. “Your ladyship?” he asked quietly.
Maude sat frozen in her chair, the reality of the unfairness of life crashing down upon her. The rings on her fingers dug into her hands as she clasped them together. “What is left, Jameson?” she asked.
“Life, madam.” He sat on the footstool beside her chair without invitation, but she did not care. He had been her faithful attendant for so long, they were past such things.
“How could anyone seek to take advantage of my sorrow? It is in every way cruel and unfeeling.” She swallowed hard, intent on saving her misery for the solitude of her chambers.
“There are many such people in the world, unfortunately. Many take pleasure in other’s pain. Still more look for easy ways to secure a fortune. But we must not give up.”
“Give up?” she repeated, turning to look at him. “I never thought to. But it is very tempting.” So tempting, in fact, that the pull of the idea took root in her chest.
“I believe I shall go to bed now,” she said woodenly.
“Shall I have a tray sent to your room, my lady?” Jameson asked. His voice was laced with concern.
“Yes, a little something would be just the thing. Thank you, Jameson.”
Her bitter thoughts pressed against her consciousness, and she collapsed. As the tears fell, she did not try to slow them. Face damp, she allowed the despair of so many losses to consume her. But still, something in her demanded that she hold on to hope. Elizabeth had to be alive.
The future of the earldom was uncertain. With her son’s death, the title should fall to Elizabeth. But she had been missing for almost twelve years now, and those in power pressured the countess to declare her granddaughter officially dead. She had stubbornly refused. Today, a letter came from the Crown, granting her one year more before the title would be settled on one of her husband’s distant cousins. The man had barely reached his majority and lived in Scotland. His great-great-grandfather had been Lord Montrose's great-uncle.
The last of the papers shriveled in the flames as she watched dispassionately.If I am meant to find Elizabeth, God will have to intervene now,she reasoned.I have done all that I can do.
Hundreds of pounds over the years had gone into the search for the missing Montrose heir. Marks had never wavered, for she paid him handsomely. Eventually, however, he retired and married, settling in a small hamlet outside of London. Jameson, too, had married, but he did not leave. Instead, Lady Montrose asked his wife to be her companion. Mrs. Jameson was pleased to accept the position until the birth of her first child.
The empty house felt oppressive. Resigned to another sleepless night, Lady Montrose readied for bed. As she drifted to sleep with her head resting on goose down pillows, she prayed fervently that her granddaughter would be found.
Bingley
He woke in a cold sweat, gasping and heaving as he rolled out of bed.It was a dream,he thought.Only a dream.No—it had been a memory, one he had long buried. Now it had resurfaced with a vengeance.
Bingley padded to the window. He shivered in the cold but welcomed the rejuvenation it brought. How many years since he last had that dream? “It must be at least eight,” he said aloud, then returned to his thoughts. It was always the same dream.
