“I was raised as the daughter of a gentleman. I would never.” Elizabeth held her gaze steady until Lady Montrose looked away.
Stepping to Elizabeth’s side and touching her arm with subtle assurance, Darcy said, “I have remained silent until now, but you will not insult Elizabeth further.”
“I never imagined a Darcy would take part in such a deception,” Lady Montrose replied with cold detachment. “Your father and I were acquaintances, though I have never metyou. What would he say if his son sullied the family name by putting forward little upstarts?”
Though the words were cutting, Elizabeth glimpsed something beneath the surface—an undercurrent of emotion—the barest shred of hope. Still, her heart ached from the insult, and she longed to leave.
“Enough.” She placed a hand against Darcy’s chest. “I do not require her approval to be happy. I haveyou, my love.” She gathered her shawl, but as she adjusted it, the brooch slipped into view—directly within Lady Montrose’s line of sight.
“Wait,” the lady said as Elizabeth turned to go. “Where did you get that?”
“My adoptive parents saved it for me. I was clutching it in my hand when I was found.” Elizabeth placed a hand over the brooch as if to protect it.
Lady Montrose gasped. She fumbled with the bottle from her reticule, uncapped it, and dabbed a little on her hands. The scent wafted toward Elizabeth—and with it, a memory surfaced.
“Citrus, jasmine, rose,” she murmured. “I once soaked a handkerchief in it. Mama was livid and scolded me endlessly, but I kept it under my pillow…so I could remember you when you were away.”
Elizabeth blinked rapidly, her vision blurring, then fixed her gaze on her grandmother. Lady Montrose had risen, the bottle still in hand, her reticule falling to the floor. “May I?” she asked, gesturing to the brooch. Elizabeth nodded and unpinned, the brooch, placing it into the lady’s outstretched hand.
“I gave it to Amelia,” she said, voice thick with memory. “On the birth of her son. Our line felt secure when Harry was born.” She handed the bottle of oil to Jameson and then reached into the cluster of necklaces at her throat, selecting one. “I never take this off,” she murmured, fastening her fingers around it. “So that I may always remember my family.”
Suspended from the end of the chain was what appeared to be a key. Its top bore the intricate design typical of such, but the bottom resembled a pin. Notches marked it in odd places, and another memory stirred in Elizabeth’s mind.
“A locket,” she murmured. “It is a locket. And I could never open it because I left the chain with the key in Mama’s room.”
Without hesitation, Lady Montrose lifted the chain from her neck and handed it to Elizabeth. She took it and promptly fitted the pin into the small hole at the top of the brooch. Pressingdown gently, she felt it click. The front of the brooch sprang open, revealing two finely painted miniatures. On the left were a man and a woman; on the right, a little girl cradling a baby.
“My dear Elizabeth!” Lady Montrose cried. “Oh, my darling girl!” She pulled Elizabeth into her arms, and the two clung together, tears falling freely.
“You must come to my home at once! I shall not rest until you do. Please, say that you will.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “May I suggest we rejoin the rest of my party after the performance? If we remain in our boxes until the crowd has dispersed, it may help prevent gossip before we are prepared to address it.”
“And what part have you in this, Mr. Darcy?” Lady Montrose asked, arching a brow.
“Charles Bingley is my closest friend. I was with him in Hertfordshire.”
Lady Montrose frowned. “Do not think I failed to notice the familiar way in which you held my granddaughter.”
“He is my betrothed, your ladyship,” Elizabeth said hurriedly.
“None of that.Your ladyshipindeed,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand. “I am yourgrandmother, orgrandmama. As for you, Darcy, I shall not say I am entirely pleased to know Elizabeth’s heart is already spoken for, though I ought to have known. She is a rare beauty.”
Her features softened. “Still, it is a comfort to learn Marston Hall lies but twenty miles from Pemberley. We shall settle the particulars later. Jameson! Open the curtain!”
Elizabeth and her grandmother spoke through the last hour of the play. Darcy departed long enough to inform those in his box of what had transpired and how they ought to proceed, then returned promptly to his betrothed’s side.
When the theater had emptied but for a few stragglers, Bingley and the Bennets came to Lady Montrose’s box. Bingley lingered at the threshold, uncertain—fearing another reprimand. To his astonishment, Lady Montrose came directly to him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Thank you,” she said fervently. “I am in your debt.”
“It was Darcy who put the pieces together,” Bingley mumbled. Then he brightened. “I am so relieved, your ladyship. When the curtain of your box opened following the intermission, and I observed you and Elizabeth speaking so warmly, I could scarcely contain myself.”
“And who is this?” Lady Montrose turned to Jane. “Oh, you are a pretty girl!”
“This is my sister, Jane,” Elizabeth said. “She is betrothed to Mr. Bingley. And here are my mama and my papa. They saved me.”
Mrs. Bennet stepped forward, her nervousness evident as she curtsied and twisted her handkerchief in her hands. “Your ladyship,” she murmured.
Lady Montrose took her hand. “I cannot thank you enough,” she whispered with great emotion. “You are truly the best of women and mothers. I do not know it all, but my Elizabeth assures me you and Mr. Bennet raised her as your own. I shall not forget that.”
