“Well, come here,” she snapped.
He obeyed at once, halting a few feet from her chair.
“You bear the likeness of your father,” she remarked. “I can see the resemblance, despite having met but once. I have a good eye for faces.”
“You honor me, ma’am,” he said, bowing in response.
“State your business then.” She did not invite him to sit.
He hesitated. “I scarcely know how to begin. I have taken a lease in Hertfordshire, and whilst residing there, I believe I discovered your granddaughter.”
Of a sudden, her countenance hardened, cold and immovable. Slowly, she rose. Lady Montrose was not tall, but looked every inch the formidable woman, and were he a lesser man, Bingley might well have quaked beneath her commanding presence.
“Enough. I shall not endure another word. Where is this woman? Was she too cowardly to come herself? I am weary of charlatans and fortune hunters. Tell me, have you squandered your inheritance and now seek to wring coin from an old woman’s sentiments? Are you so dishonorable?”
“No! I swear to you, your ladyship, I have found Elizabeth. The proof is undeniable!”
“Then why has my granddaughter not contacted me herself? My Elizabeth wrote every week.”
She faltered slightly, and Bingley thought he saw her lip quiver. He pressed on. “She suffered a head injury. She has no memories from…before.”
“And why, then, should I believe this woman is my granddaughter if there is no evidence?”
“There is! She has—”
“No! I shall not hear it—not one more false claim. Jameson! Milton!” Two liveried footmen appeared at the door. “Remove this man. I shall not endure another disappointment.” She sank into her chair, her face hidden in her hands as her servants moved to either side of Bingley. He allowed himself to be guided from the room, his limbs leaden.
Dejected, Bingley took his hat and his coat. “But she has the brooch,” he murmured as the door opened.
“Sir! What did you say?” asked Jameson, stepping forward.
“The brooch—with Mr. Montrose’s personal crest. I recognized it. And she is the very image of Aunt Amelia.”
Jameson’s brow furrowed. “I shall do what I can, sir. Her ladyship places her trust in me, though I can promise nothing. Might I have your direction, sir?”
Bingley withdrew a card from his pocketbook and handed it over without delay. “Why did she cast me out without a proper hearing?” he asked quietly.
“Lady Montrose has been inundated with pretenders,” he revealed. “She is weary of the charade. I do not doubt she is,even now, penning letters to have her granddaughter declared dead.”
“But she is not!” Bingley’s breath caught. This could not be happening—not after everything. He had promised!
“I shall do my best to forestall any rash actions. Watch for a note. I shall advise you how to proceed.”
Bingley donned his hat, and turning to face the servant directly, asked “Why are you helping me?” he asked.
Jameson stilled. “Because my mistress has suffered enough sorrow. I wish only to see her smile again.”
Satisfied, Bingley gave him a solemn nod and took his leave, fervently hoping Jameson would send word soon. He could not conceal this encounter from the interested parties for long.
Chapter Twenty-Six
January 1812
Bloomsbury Street, London
Winters Winters
“Come,”Winterscalled.Hisman entered. Jarvis’s cunning and stealth were unmatched and impossible to replicate. He bowed to his master.