Page 70

The countess's expression grew sorrowful. "Prince Friedrich died after falling from an upper terrace at Falkenried. He had been preparing for marriage, and his death was a dreadful shock. Albrecht, his younger brother, inherited the family's responsibilities. Wilhelmine was distraught. Then came the report of her carriage accident and her disappearance. I remember little more with certainty; the news reached England only by degrees."

"Albrecht," Elizabeth repeated. "My mother had a brother named Albrecht?"

"Two brothers," the countess said. "Friedrich was the eldest. Albrecht was nearer to her in age and temperament. They were very close."

The knowledge struck Elizabeth with unexpected force. Minna had not been a lonely woman without a past, as Elizabeth had sometimes imagined. She had possessed brothers who might have searched for her, rooms she had known since childhood, a mother whose face had hung about her neck. Somewhere a man might still be living who remembered her voice.

"Is Albrecht alive?" she asked.

"So far as I know, yes. He is married and has children. I believe he has never ceased to mourn his brother and sister."

Elizabeth covered her mouth with one hand. Lady Matlock moved closer, and Darcy knelt beside her chair.

"You need not decide anything tonight," he said. "We shall learn what can be established."

"But if he is alive," Elizabeth answered, "then there is someone who might tell me what Mama was like when she was young."

Her voice broke upon the last word. For all the talk of princes and fortunes, the hope was terribly simple. There might be someone who knew the songs Minna had sung before she became a wife and mother, someone who could describe the place she had once called home.

"We shall proceed carefully," Matlock said. "I will consult trustworthy people familiar with German family records. We have Henry's letters, the marriage entry, and the evidence of the locket. We may be able to find others who knew Wilhelmine."

"And I can write to acquaintances who remember the family," the countess offered. "I must caution you that communication is not easy at present. Nevertheless, a matter of this consequence deserves every effort."

Lady Matlock embraced Elizabeth. "Whatever the answer proves to be, you are not to carry it alone."

Elizabeth nodded, scarcely trusting herself to speak. Darcy rose and stood close enough that she could reach for him. She did so instinctively.

After several minutes, when Elizabeth had recovered her composure, Lady Matlock asked whether she wished to return to the company. Elizabeth looked toward the closed door.

"I do not think I could bear a dozen inquiries," she admitted. "Would it be very rude to plead a headache?"

"I have used that excuse for twenty years," the countess said briskly, recovering something of her ordinary manner. "It is among the most useful accomplishments of society."

Elizabeth laughed shakily. The sound reassured Darcy more than any declaration could have done.

Saye was waiting discreetly in the passage. He had noticed the disturbance and arranged for the guests to be entertained without allowing curiosity to run wild. Richard stood farther along the corridor, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"Are you well?" Saye asked as Elizabeth emerged.

"I think so," she answered. "Something extraordinary may have happened."

"Then you shall tell us when you are ready."

Richard took a step forward. "You have the look of a person who has been handed an unexpected examination. If the subject is German, I surrender at once."

Elizabeth smiled at him, but her eyes filled again. Richard abandoned the jest and opened his arms. She embraced him briefly, then accepted Saye’s offer to accompany her to the small family sitting room, where Lady Matlock had gone ahead.

In the family sitting room, Lady Matlock drew Elizabeth to a chair. Darcy joined them at the countess’s invitation and remained near the hearth while she spoke.

"Your uncle has begun making inquiries," Lady Matlock said. "There is nothing more to be done until we have reliable information."

"I know." Elizabeth closed the locket. "I am not at all certain a princess’s title could descend to me, Aunt, and I should hardly know what to do with it if it did. Richard would certainly never permit me to forget it."

Darcy smiled. "He would be unbearable."

"He is unbearable already," Lady Matlock answered. "A title would add very little."

Elizabeth turned toward Darcy. "If it is true, Fitzwilliam, will it trouble you?"