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“The presumption we all made was that the old Baron was taken in by a gold-digger. The Earl’s lawyer knows Lawrence, and his father before him, who have looked after the Baron’s affairs for decades. He was surprised that Lawrence had allowed this to take place or to stand. This surprising acceptance has me thinking she is not as mercenary as we have all supposed. From idle questioning in Bath it is clear that she never visited there socially. She had been spotted in Bristol with the exact same destination, the bookseller. She mourned the Baron properly, both in full and half mourning, not even the most malicious of our acquaintance can argue against that, and her only travels were to bookshops. She is completely unknown, and has not made any effort to join society until now.”

Lady Jersey was a gossip, and a noted one at that, but this gave her pause.

“I am glad I visited you before I made any comment. The word of the knocker being up will be around town by the end of the week, but I am going to keep my powder dry. There will be many who will ascribe mercenary traits with no evidence to support it. Your comment about Lawrence is well made. His father was the lawyer to the Baron before him. It is a relationship of at least 30 years, maybe double that. There is no way he would allow Napier’s legacy to be tarnished in this manner.”

“How do you think she will approach society? She cannot be known, how is she to affect introductions?”

They sat in silence for close to half a minute thinking on this. Wise to the ways of society, their list was close to that of Elizabeth herself. A companion with a clear voice would allow her to be known to those that mattered. But like Elizabeth they did not know how to actually broach the issue of introductions. There had to be someone who knew the Baroness to introduce her to others.

“Remind me, what was the old Baron worth?”

“The consensus was between £2,000 and £3,000 a year. You know how men tend to shade things to the upside so the lower number is thought to be more accurate.”

Little did they know that Elizabeth’s income was closing in on £20,000 a year.

“Even at the lower number that is £50,000 in her reticule.”

Neither of them said anything else, but both knew that the Countess of Matlock was thinking of her younger son. A young widow, a rich young widow, such women did not come along very often. There were first sons, heirs to impoverished estates, that would give her countenance. She saw her younger friend off to her next visit and then returned to her seat by the fire. After only a few minutes she went to find her husband. He was dealing with his correspondence in his study, his usual routine in the morning.

“My dear, is there something the matter?”

“Not at all. I wish to share some news and to get your counsel.”

Intrigued, the Earl stepped away from his desk and invited his wife to sit opposite him, in front of the fire.

“Lady Jersey visited me this morning. The most interesting piece of news was that the knocker is up on Napier House.”

The Earl knew how the game was played. Between the lady being spotted in Bath, and the intelligence from his own lawyer, he was less inclined to think of her as a successful mercenary miss.

“Richard? Or Andrew?”

“I had thought of Richard, a good sized estate, at least £2,000 a year. Would you consider the same for your heir?”

“Peter Napier was friends with my father, good friends, even if he outlived him by 20 years. I have a memory of father commenting that Napier was a sly one. He and his wife only had the one daughter and he was determined to protect her from fortune hunters. Now it all came to naught as he lost wife, daughter and grandchild within a few years of each other. I would not be surprised if it was discovered that his income was richer than most believed. He was never in town. From what I can recall he tried to drink himself to death in the decade following all the deaths. But for the last 20 years he has not had any known vices.”

Left unsaid was the lack of a need to provide dowries or allowances. Always a drain upon the family’s purse. The Countess contemplated all she had been told.

“The reason I intruded this morning was to ask your thoughts on my visiting Lady Napier. Given what you have explained, I think there is a distinct advantage to the family being at the forefront of those acknowledging her.”

The Earl nodded slowly.

“Give me a couple of days please. I will get my man to investigate the wedding. If it was at St. George’s then it should be easy to view the registry, all it takes is a sizeable donation. Let us make sure there is not a skeleton in the closet.”

--

The Baron and his lawyer had dealt with this eventuality.

“Elizabeth my dear, come and join me. I have something distasteful to discuss with you.”

Elizabeth sat opposite Peter Napier wondering at the use of the word distasteful.

“You were married as Elizabeth Harris, baptised in the church at Waltham Abbey. Your family moved away intending to emigrate to Canada.”

He looked at her as she nodded, this was old ground.

“We have a birth story, all traces of Bennet gone, but we also need a story between this putative trip to Canada and you innocently walking down Harley Street. The distasteful part is this.”

He handed over a copy of a newspaper. Elizabeth looked at the title, The Hoddesdon and Broxbourne Mercury. She glanced at her husband. This was the most provincial and obscure of newspapers.