Page 72

Richard placed the volumes upon the desk. "I have been dismissed by superior authority. A painful reminder of my place in the household."

"A second son's place," Elizabeth said, "is wherever he may be spared."

"A cruel observation from someone I have defended for years." He bowed over her hand more tenderly than his words suggested and withdrew.

Lady Matlock poured chocolate and waited until Elizabeth had taken a little toast. Only then did she glance at the locket.

"Do you wish us to proceed?" she asked.

Elizabeth looked up. "How could I wish otherwise?"

"You might wish to leave your mother's past where it has rested. You are entitled to that choice. We shall not make it on your behalf."

"I would like to know who she was," Elizabeth said. "But if her brother lives, I would like him to know that she did not die alone by the roadside. She had a husband who adored her. She had a daughter who loved her."

Lady Matlock set her cup aside. "Then we shall begin with what we can prove. Your uncle has sent for Mr. Hale. He kept copies of your father's papers after Mr. Bennet died."

There had been a time when a solicitor's name pronounced over the breakfast table would have made Elizabeth think of an entail and a clergyman's proposal. Today it offered a chance of learning what Henry had done to protect his wife. She was ashamed to discover that she knew more about the manner of her father's death than the circumstances of his marriage.

"May I attend the conversation?" she asked.

"I should be shocked if you did not insist upon it," Lady Matlock answered.

By eleven, the Earl's study had acquired the appearance of a council chamber. Lord Saye sat near the window with a notebook; Darcy stood beside a table covered in papers; Mr. Hale, a dry gentleman whose respect for Lord Matlock had survived several difficult conveyances, had brought a leather portfolio. Richard occupied an armchair from which he announced himself prepared to detect any fraud whatsoever, provided the fraud observed a reasonable hour for luncheon.

The Earl kissed Elizabeth's forehead when she entered. "We have assembled your formidable defenders. Shall we attempt a little useful work?"

"I hope it will be useful," she said. "Otherwise Richard will claim we deprived him of his morning for nothing."

"He makes that claim whenever he is asked to open a letter," Saye said.

Mr. Hale opened his portfolio. The contents were less romantic than Elizabeth had imagined: an inventory of Henry's modest effects, a copy of his will, an account of securities that had provided for Minna during his absences at sea, and a marriage certificate carefully folded between sheets of heavier paper.

"The marriage was solemnized in England in 1790," Mr. Hale said. "Your father gave his proper name. The bride was entered as Minna Reuter."

Elizabeth frowned. "Reuter?"

"The name of the physician who sheltered her when she was found," the Earl answered. "Your father explained the circumstance in a letter to his brother. She could not remember a surname. The clergyman was made aware that Reuter was the name by which she was known, not one anyone believed to be her birth name."

"That will invite questions," Darcy said.

"It should," Elizabeth answered before she could restrain herself. "If we are asking strangers to accept that my mother was someone else, we must not pretend the first record says more than it does."

Mr. Hale inclined his head. "A very sound distinction, Miss Bennet. The document proves that Henry married the woman known as Minna Reuter. It does not independently prove that she was Princess Wilhelmine."

A small silence followed. Elizabeth had imagined a name appearing in ink might settle everything. Instead it had become the beginning of a harder question.

Saye drew the miniature closer to the light. "Countess von Altenfeld said she saw this piece commissioned. Would her testimony carry weight?"

"It would establish that she recognized an object with which she was familiar," Mr. Hale said. "We must also establish how the object came into Mrs. Henry Bennet's possession, and whether there was any reasonable possibility of confusion. I should advise collecting evidence before we speak of rights."

"What of the inscription?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth removed the locket and laid it in his hand. He opened it carefully, mindful of the worn hinge. Beneath the miniature sat an almost invisible seam in the setting. They had discovered it the previous night only when the countess traced it with a fingernail.

"No one is to pry at that with a penknife," Lady Matlock said as Richard leaned forward.

"I had not suggested one."