Darcy opened the garden door, and together, Elizabeth and Lady Sophia stepped into the small walled garden nestled between two grand houses. It was enclosed on three sides, with gravel paths, a sundial, and flowerbeds just beginning to bloom. Her cane tapping the gravel, Lady Sophia led Elizabeth on a stroll, Nettle darting from bush to stone bench and back around their skirts, her nose eagerly exploring the new scents.
“Miss Bennet,” Lady Sophia said, stopping at the bench near the sundial and sitting. “I have shown you your library, the music room, and this garden. Now I should like to show you my hand, as you have been searching for it since you arrived. I see no point in making you search for what I can lay before you plainly.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught. “I was not?—”
“You were, and you should have been. Your father raised a clever girl. I shall give him credit for that, whatever else he may deserve credit or blame for.” Lady Sophia turned her penetrating brown eyes on Elizabeth.
“I have given you everything I own, Miss Bennet. The house, the fortune, the investments, and the country estate. All of it. I have kept nothing for myself except the clothes on my back, my dowry, and the books I cannot bear to part with, which is, I concede, rather a lot of books. And I have done this for reasons that are my own, which I ask you to trust are not malicious, however mysterious they may appear.”
“That is a great deal of trust to ask of a stranger.”
“It is, granting my sources are trustworthy.” Her voice was steady. “But I am not foolish, and while I might gamble, I know your character enough to be confident you will grant my humble request.”
Elizabeth studied her. There was no mockery, only an accurate appraisal.
“And here is what I ask in return.” Lady Sophia’s tone remained level, but Elizabeth heard the slightest tremor of a woman who, for all her self-sufficiency, had taken a risk. “I should like to remain here in this house. As your godmother and your companion. Whatever you will have me be. I have no other home and no children. I have outlived most of my friends and all of my patience for beginning again. This house has been mine for over forty years, and I have given it to you freely, but I should like—very much—not to leave it.”
Her breath caught on those last words, and Elizabeth felt the full weight of her vulnerability. What sort of woman parted with her entire livelihood first, without preconditions, and then trusted the charity of the recipient? Elizabeth’s suspicions shifted, although they did not entirely recede. She would very much like to know the reasons, but if Lady Sophia trusted her with her well-being, and she had shown herself both generous and perceptive—perhaps Elizabeth could relax and trust her good fortune, one that exceeded her wildest dreams.
“Lady Sophia,” she said. “This is your home, and it will remain your home for as long as you wish it. That is not a condition I accept—it is a condition I insist upon.”
“And should you intend to live elsewhere? Bellwood Park is also yours,” Lady Sophia mentioned, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.
“Then you shall be welcome there, too, even if I return to Longbourn or make my home elsewhere.” Elizabeth shocked herself with such an open-ended commitment. “I do not forget those who have been kind to me.”
Lady Sophia nodded, as if she knew Elizabeth would do as she’d requested, but when she placed her hand over Elizabeth’s, the slight change in her balance showed her more about the cost of this gamble than any legal document ever could.
“Now.” The briskness returned to Lady Sophia’s voice. “To practical matters. Your fortune requires management. The investments must be reviewed quarterly, the estate accounts audited, and the tenants at Bellwood Park attended to. I managed these affairs for many years, but I am sixty-three, my eyesight is not what it was, and I confess that columns of figures now give me a headache that no amount of Madeira will cure.”
“I intend to learn to manage them myself,” Elizabeth said.
“And so you shall. But in the interim, you will require guidance, and I have taken the liberty of ensuring you have the most competent guidance available.” Lady Sophia’s tone was light, conversational, almost an afterthought—which was precisely how Elizabeth knew it was nothing of the sort. “Mr. Darcy has managed my affairs—your affairs, now—for the past ten years. He is meticulous, scrupulously honest, and quite incapable of cheating you, which is more than can be said for most men in London. He has agreed to continue in this capacity. I suggest you meet with him twice a week. Mondays and Thursdays.”
“Mondays and Thursdays,” Elizabeth repeated. Her voice was admirably steady, and her teeth were admirably clenched. “How very convenient.”
“I thought so.” Lady Sophia stood and tucked Elizabeth’s arm through hers, leading her back toward the house with the assurance of a hostess whose evenings always ended precisely as she had arranged.
CHAPTER SIX
NO APOLOGY FOR CHEAPSIDE
Wakingup in a bedchamber on Grosvenor Street was an entirely different experience from her drafty bedroom in Longbourn. The bedsheets were so smooth they might have been spun by fairies, and the counterpane felt too grand to sleep beneath. The pillowcases wore lace, and the blankets embraced her with a softness that, for one disconcerting moment, made Elizabeth almost pinch herself. Even the London birds were more muted than their country cousins. And Nettle lacked a certain eagerness for her morning walk. A footman had let her out and had brushed her fur to a sheen, picked out any burrs, and cleaned her paws.
Elizabeth pulled back the curtain and made her resolution. Before the dress shops, before the trustee meetings with their columns of figures and even more careful Mr. Darcy, before Lady Sophia began scheduling calls and visits and social obligations and the tedious business of being-seen, before any of it—she would take her sisters to Gracechurch Street.
Jane had spent Christmas with their uncle, aunt, and four cousins after suffering what their father termed a vexation of the heart when Darcy’s friend, Mr. Bingley, had quit Netherfield and departed without calling to say farewell.
Grosvenor Street also came with a lady’s maid who fussed over every button and pin as if Elizabeth might fall apart without them. After her hair and dress were deemed presentable, Elizabeth made her way downstairs to find Jane standing before a portrait of Lady Sophia in her youth. Mary hovered nearby, brow furrowed, clearly lost in the wilderness of too many rooms.
“Jane, stop smoothing your gloves. You look like an angel who has lost her way and wandered into Mayfair by mistake,” Elizabeth teased gently. Then, turning to her other sister, she said, “And Mary, dear, perhaps we should request a map from Mrs. Alford.”
Jane laughed, a sound like a silver bell in the hushed, cavernous hall. “I cannot help it, Lizzy. I feel as though if I breathe too deeply, the Portland stone will vanish, and we shall find ourselves back in the breakfast room at Longbourn with Mamma’s smelling salts.”
“Let it vanish tomorrow, then,” Elizabeth declared, gesturing to the surrounding splendor. “Today, we have a carriage with a crest, a matched pair of grays, and our very own coachman. We shall visit Aunt and Uncle Gardiner before it all turns into a pumpkin and mice.”
“I would love to see them.” Jane clasped her hands together. “The children will be so delighted to see us in a fancy carriage.”
“Nettle must come with us,” Mary added. “She can play ball with Samuel or let Rose dress her in dolly clothes.”
