“Lady Montrose.” He bowed deeply. “It has been many years since we last spoke.”
“That fool Winters sent you. Speak quickly, that I may disabuse you of whatever notion you carry and send you on your way.”
“Yes, Mr. Winters did send me. These are the expenses and reports he says you requested.” Mr. Bingley placed a sheaf of papers in her hand. “It is a favor for a friend. I have sold my shares to Winters and invested elsewhere.”
Lady Montrose blinked. “You are no longer in business with Mr. Winters?” she asked. “Why?”
“My reasons are my own, madam,” Mr. Bingley said stiffly, refusing to meet her eye. “Be that as it may, I believe this is the best course of action for my family. We have removed from Yorkshire and are presently bound for Bedfordshire. My wife has family there who will receive us whilst I seek lodgings in town.”
She nodded slowly. Curiosity urged her to press for answers, but she held her peace. “I wish you the very best, then,” she murmured. “Henry always spoke fondly of you.”
“I thank you, your ladyship.” He bowed again. “For what it is worth, I support your efforts to search for your granddaughter. She is of an age with my own child, and they played together often. Caroline misses her.”
With that, Mr. Bingley departed, leaving Lady Montrose to her thoughts. “Jameson!” she called, summoning her faithful servant to her side. “Has there been any news?”
Jameson bowed low and took a seat next to his mistress. “I received a note from the Runners this morning, madam,” he said quietly. “They advise it is foolish to continue searching after so many years. They think all hope is lost.”
“No.” She slapped her hand against the arms of her chair. “Elizabeth is out there somewhere. I must find her.”
“Mistress.” Jameson took her hand. She allowed the familiarity in honor of his dedication to her and her son. “If she is still alive, it is likely that she is in an orphanage or has gone into service somewhere. How can we find her?”
Pulling away from his touch, she buried her face in her hands. “I cannot simply give up,” she said, sobbing. “How could I betray Henry’s memory?”
“I shall never give up, my lady,” he replied. “There is one Runner still willing to search. His name is Marks. You might hire him away from the Bow Street Runners.”
“See it done.” Wiping her tears on a hastily procured handkerchief, she dismissed him, wishing only for solitude. Today, the fourteenth of March, was Elizabeth’s birthday. The gloomy spring day perfectly matched Lady Montrose’s mood.
Feeling unequal to life at the moment, she retreated to her chambers. In two weeks, she would travel to town where her husband awaited her. The old fool was one-and-ninety now and resided in town year round. He left her to her own devices, but required her to come to his side for the second half of the season.
How he managed to live so long baffled her. His lifestyle, whilst not dissolute, was hardly conducive to a long life. Lord Montrose ate rich, sumptuous meals and lived indolently. Their son, thirty-seven years of age, had taken over his father’s duties in the House of Lords years ago. Despite his age, Lord Montrose still had all his faculties. Even so, he had happily ceded parliamentary responsibilities to Viscount Marston.
Before she could depart for London, an express rider arrived, bearing a letter edged in black. Her heart clenched with anxiety as she broke the seal.
Mother,
Father is dead. I shall see you at Marston Hall within a week. His will demanded he be interred there.
Marston
“He is gone,” she murmured to the empty room. She did not know what to do with the information. Her husband had commanded her life for so long…
Well, one thing was certain. Her searches for her granddaughter no longer needed to be clandestine. Lord Montrose had decreed that his second son be cut off for sullying the family name. His edicts had not ceased when he learned that Henry had died.
“Who cares about the girl?” he had said, scowling. “Her mother is nothing but the daughter of a tradesman. Leave her to her fate.” She recalled his cold demeanor when she had seen him in town that year. Furious, she had feigned obedience whilst continuing the search for her granddaughter behind her husband’s back.
And now he is gone. He can do nothing to stop me.Her dowry had remained largely untouched for many years, for she did not have cause to venture into town for longer than her husband required her. The fifty thousand pounds had grown significantly, and now she was free to do with it as she wished.
I shall find Elizabeth,she vowed.
Marston—now Lord Montrose—arrived before the week’s end, his father’s body following in a wagon behind his carriage. They interred him in the family crypt with little ceremony. Most of Lord Montrose’s friends had died long ago, and the only family he had left were his son and his wife. “What will you do now, Mother?” Harold asked as they ate a quiet dinner following the funeral.
“I believe I shall go to London,” she mused. “This is your home now.”And I shall never grow used to knowing you as anything other than Viscount Marston.
“I would never cast you out,” he protested. “Marston Hall has a fine dower house if you wish to vacate the manor.”
“Harold,” she said calmly, “I mean to find Elizabeth.”
Her son fell silent. She continued speaking when he did not reply.
