He blamed himself for their deaths. There—it was admitted. Foolish though it might be to shoulder the guilt, he could not cast it off. Had he arrived earlier, he might have interrupted the tragedy. Perhaps he would have stopped Elizabeth before she wandered away.
Bingley could only hope that, once all was settled, he might at last be free of the irrational shame that had followed him for half of his life.
Elizabeth
Three nights later, Bingley’s carriage conveyed him, Caroline, and Sir James to the theater, where Darcy and the Bennets awaited them just inside the entrance.
After exchanging greetings, they made their way to the Darcy box. “We must not allow her to see Elizabeth too soon,” Darcy explained. “She may cry foul and depart.”
Elizabeth took the seat beside Darcy, with Jane on her other side and Bingley beyond her. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were seated just behind them in the second row.
“Elizabeth, take these.” Darcy handed her a pair of lorgnettes. “I know you. You will be more interested in the stage than in the audience.”
“Why ever would I be interested inthem?”she asked with a touch of incredulity.
He chuckled and leaned in to murmur. “Because people come to the theater to see and be seen. Though you have never been of their ilk.”
“Much Ado About Nothingis one of my favorite plays by the Bard. I do not intendto miss a moment of it.”
A signal was given, and the performance began. Elizabeth watched, wholly absorbed until Darcy nudged her gently. He gestured toward a box slightly behind and to the left of theirs. “That is Lady Montrose,” he murmured.
Elizabeth raised the lorgnettes to her eyes to examine the lady more closely. “She is very elegant,” she whispered. Lady Montrose’s hair was white—had it once been blond? She appeared only a little older than Mr. Bennet, who still had color in his locks. Faint lines marked her face, and an unmistakable air of sadness and resignation clung to her. She lowered the lorgnettes, her eyes stinging with sudden emotion.
Do I belong to your family?she asked the lady in her mind. Some part of her longed to cry out, I only wish to know who I am!Yet shedidknow. She was Elizabeth Bennet, the second daughter of Thomas and Fanny Bennet of Longbourn. She had a loving family and an idyllic childhood. Truly, she had no cause to repine. Still, until the mystery of her past was resolved, she could never feel fully at peace. There would always be a gaping void in her heart—and in her thoughts—where memories ought to dwell.
The intermission arrived far too soon. Darcy rose without hesitation, intent on accompanying her. “You will be more likely to gain entrance if you go in my stead,” he advised. Bingley remained in the box.
Jameson met them outside. The man stared openly at Elizabeth. “He was not exaggerating,” he murmured, astonished. “Where is Mr. Bingley?”
“We thought it wiser that I escort Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy answered smoothly, his tone both courteous and firm. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, to see Lady Montrose.”
At the name, Jameson straightened and nodded with eager approval. “Come, I shall escort you, sir. Miss.”
They stepped into the corridor, and Elizabeth remained close behind Darcy, irrational fear thrumming through her veins. In mere moments, she would know—without a doubt—whether the lady would receive her.
“Mr. Darcy to see you, ma’am.”
“Darcy? George Darcy’s boy? Well, I suppose I ought to greet him. Show him in, Jameson.”
At the servant’s bidding, Darcy stepped forward, drawing Elizabeth with him. They parted the curtain, and there she was.
Lady Montrose did not rise, nor did she turn; she waited for them to approach. As they neared her seat, a delicate fragrance reached Elizabeth’s senses—citrus, jasmine, and rose. She gasped as pain exploded in her head. Clutching her scar, she cried out—then everything went black.
When she came to, she found herself in Darcy’s arms. Her hair had come loose from its pins, and she drew in a sharp breath as she attempted to sit up. Jameson had drawn the curtain to afford them privacy.
“Easy, Elizabeth. You suffered a fall.”
Blinking, she touched her temple. “What…?”
“You bear a striking resemblance to my late daughter-in-law”, came Lady Montrose’s calm observation. “None of the others looked even remotely like her.” Elizabeth turned and met her gaze. The lady sat in a chair now positioned to face the spot where she had fallen.
Elizabeth made another attempt to rise, and this time, Darcy allowed it. Her shawl lay crumpled on the floor, and she bent to retrieve it.
“Who hired you?” the Dowager Countess asked bluntly.
“I shall not be called a liar, madam,” Elizabeth replied sharply. “I came to you with good intentions, hoping to solve the mystery of my past. If, in so doing, I might ease your sorrow, then so much the better.”
“You are a very good actress. Have you considered the stage?” Lady Montrose pulled her reticule open and drew out a small bottle. She began removing her gloves, one finger at a time, her eyes remaining fixed on Elizabeth.
