The Deception At Lyme m&mdm-6 Read online

  Elizabeth gave up trying to subdue her excitement. She instead gave it full rein. Lieutenant Fitzwilliam’s diary had said that Captain Tourner had frequently entertained three gentlemen passengers from the Montego. “Did Mr. Clay, by chance, also accompany your husband to Jamaica?”

  “No—he had no reason to go, and every reason to stay. Someone needed to keep an eye on his wife.” Mrs. Smith cast a glance at Mrs. Wentworth, who was almost upon them, and lowered her voice. “Perhaps it is in poor taste to speak ill of the dead so soon after they have departed this world, but Mrs. Clay was not a faithful spouse. The only thing modest about her life was the size of Mr. Clay’s fortune, which she considered too small. She coveted finer things, and solicited the attention of men who would give them to her. She had a particular fondness for naval officers flush with newly won prize money. They would spend it on her, then sail off to their next port, leaving her to enjoy their gifts with no obligation or troublesome entanglements.”

  “Poor Mr. Clay,” Elizabeth said. “Did he know?”

  “You have a kind heart, Mrs. Darcy. Do not, however, waste too much of your pity on Mr. Clay. He himself died in flagrante delicto. And not with his wife—with Mr. Elliot’s.”

  Twenty-One

  “There is always something offensive in the details of cunning.”

  —Anne Elliot, Persuasion

  Darcy had not been long in conversation with Captain Wentworth when Mr. Elliot interrupted them.

  “Mr. Darcy—a word, if you will?”

  “Certainly.” Darcy’s conversations and conjectures with Elizabeth regarding Mrs. Clay had left him wanting to speak with Mr. Elliot again, and he was glad for the opportunity to do so at the other gentleman’s initiative.

  “Shall I withdraw?” Wentworth asked.

  “No, my good captain,” Mr. Elliot said. “Do stay. I am merely wondering how little Master Elliot gets on, and you might be as well able as Mr. Darcy to satisfy my curiosity.”

  Probably better, if either Darcy or Captain Wentworth were inclined to divulge any information about the infant to Mr. Elliot—which Darcy was not. Nor was Wentworth, judging from the coolness that overtook his demeanor at Elliot’s address.

  “He appears to thrive.” Darcy offered nothing more.

  “I am glad to hear it. I have been concerned for his welfare—poor, motherless child—and Sir Walter has not been forthcoming in response to my notes of enquiry. I was relieved to receive an invitation to this celebration, where I could observe him directly.”

  “Does your concern derive from a particular cause?” Captain Wentworth asked.

  “Not beyond Sir Walter’s general state of affairs, with which I am sure you are well acquainted, now that you have joined the family.”

  Captain Wentworth did not respond, only regarded Mr. Elliot with an expression that Darcy imagined could wordlessly bring an entire ship’s crew into line.

  Mr. Elliot, however, proceeded undaunted. “I am afraid Sir Walter’s heir will inherit nothing but a title, as the present baronet has spent the estate nearly into bankruptcy. That Kellynch Hall is being leased out while Sir Walter retrenches in Bath is an embarrassment to the Elliot name, even if his tenant does happen to be Admiral Croft. At one time I had hoped to exert the influence of a son-in-law to bring what remained of his fortune under better regulation and preserve something of it for future generations, but now that you have taken on that role—not to mention that of godfather to the heir—I wish you luck. You will need it.”

  “How very magnanimous of you. Perhaps now that Sir Walter’s fortune no longer need absorb your attention, you could turn it toward Mrs. Smith’s.” He gestured in the widow’s direction.

  “Is that she?” Mr. Elliot peered toward the corner for a long minute, studying the woman in tête-à-tête with Elizabeth. “I must say, she has not aged well. She appears much older than thirty—in fact, she hardly looks herself.”

  “Is that she?” Captain Wentworth repeated incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me that in three years, you have not once called upon her in person to discuss her husband’s estate?”

  “I see no purpose in such a discussion.”

  “Fortunately for her, she now has a friend who does,” Wentworth said, “and since you have not been forthcoming in response to my notes of enquiry regarding Mr. Smith’s West Indian property, I have dispatched letters to both London and Spanish Town. Your cooperation, however, could save us all considerable time and trouble, and expedite the settlement of his estate—a matter too long unresolved. That poor good lady—”

  “That ‘good lady’ is a harpy who cannot accept the fact that her husband mismanaged their affairs,” he said sharply. “She must blame someone, and so she blames me. I was Smith’s friend, not his solicitor nor his steward. I offered him counsel when he asked for it, but he was a grown man responsible for his own choices. He spent beyond their income and jeopardized his estate as a result—a sad truth, but London’s clubs are filled with gentlemen who have done so. Your wife has certainly borne witness to the tragedy of a prosperous estate gradually squandered to ruin.”

  “I take this to mean that I should not expect any information from you regarding the present legal status of the property?”

  “There is nothing to be said about it. There is nothing to be done about it—by me, by you, by anybody. If you truly wish to act as a friend to Mrs. Smith, leave the matter rest. Your time and effort are better spent encouraging her to look ahead, not back, and in devising some other provision for her maintenance rather than allowing her to continue to pin her hopes on recovering foreign income that will never materialize.”

  “Thank you for your counsel, Mr. Elliot.” Despite the closeness of the room, the air immediately surrounding Captain Wentworth held a chill. “Depend upon it, I shall act in Mrs. Smith’s best interest.”

  * * *

  Distress shadowed Georgiana’s face as she and the Ashfords talked with Sir Walter and Miss Elliot.

  Rather, Sir Walter and his daughter talked, commandeering the conversation away from Georgiana and directing it almost exclusively toward Sir Laurence. Miss Ashford was granted the indulgence of an occasional interjection.

  “… three godparents of name—the same number as the Prince Regent—and five in all,” Sir Walter said.

  The older baronet’s painfully evident attempt to impress received polite acknowledgment from the bemused Sir Laurence. “Doubtless, Alfred will benefit from such ample sponsorship.”

  “How many godparents have you, Sir Laurence?” Miss Elliot asked.

  “Only three,” he replied. “The Duke of Manchester, and the Earl and Countess of Sommerfeld.”

  “The godson of a duke!” Though the exclamation was Miss Elliot’s, both she and her father were euphoric at the news. Oblivious to the fact that their lofty connexions had been utterly trumped, they exalted in Sir Laurence’s as if they were their own. “Are you on intimate terms with His Grace?”

  “Not particularly, since he lives so far away.”

  “My brother did, however, visit him several years ago,” Miss Ashford added.

  “He is a valuable connexion,” Sir Walter said reverently. “You should strive to maintain it.”

  Sir Laurence accepted Sir Walter’s social advice with great civility, though it was neither needed nor wanted.

  “And you enjoy the patronage of Lord Sommerfeld, as well.” Miss Elliot regarded Sir Laurence as if he were the heir to the throne.

  “My godfather was an earl,” Georgiana ventured.

  Considering the interest Sir Walter and Miss Elliot took in anybody’s connexions, Georgiana’s announcement ought to have generated the same excitement as Sir Laurence’s had. Miss Elliot, however, looked at Georgiana as if she very much wished Miss Darcy would find some other christening to attend, preferably in Derbyshire, and returned her attention to Sir Laurence. “Have you met our future baronet?”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure. He was rather beside himse
lf when we arrived.”

  “Oh, do not let his earlier behavior color your impression of him. He is calm now.” She smiled. “Come, I shall introduce you and Miss Ashford.”

  “That is not necessary. We can wait for another occasion—”

  “Why wait? He is such a sweet child—I simply adore him. You must allow me to present my new brother to you—a future baronet to a current one.” She turned to her father. “Sir, you should come, too—three baronets.”

  “An excellent idea,” said Sir Walter.

  Without waiting for a reply from Sir Laurence, Miss Elliot and her father began walking. After a few steps, she turned to see whether Sir Laurence and his sister followed.

  Sir Laurence had no choice. To refuse would embarrass both his hosts and himself. He looked at Georgiana apologetically. “Will you come with us, Miss Darcy?”

  Though stunned by Miss Elliot’s maneuver, Georgiana had enough presence of mind to decline Sir Laurence’s attempt to include her. She harbored no desire to provoke a rival that she had not, until this hour, realized she had. “Thank you, but I think I will get more lemonade instead.”

  “I will look for you later, then.”

  She nodded. Sir Laurence took his sister’s arm, and Georgiana watched them walk off. Miss Elliot smiled victoriously as they joined her.

  “It is not worth your trouble,” said a male voice behind Georgiana.

  She turned round to discover Lieutenant St. Clair. He was in civilian clothes today, as he had been when she had first seen him. He stood near a wooden column, one of six that dotted the room at regular intervals to uphold the ceiling.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The lemonade.” He had a glass in his hand, but stepped forward to set it on a nearby table. “It is too warm to provide refreshment.”

  “I know.” Despite having no interest in her own half-empty glass, Georgiana sipped from it and glanced back at Sir Laurence. Miss Elliot had not gone directly to Mrs. Wentworth, who held Alfred; she had instead paused halfway across the room, and the party was now in conversation again. Georgiana watched them, her expression apprehensive.

  “For the record,” St. Clair said, “I do not have a single titled godparent.”

  His statement drew her attention back to him. “It is a wonder, then, that you were admitted to this grandiose affair.”

  “I keep the fact a closely guarded secret.” His mouth quirked, and his eyes held irreverent liveliness. “Pray, do not expose me to Miss Elliot, or I might be shown the door.”

  His entreaty elicited the beginning of a smile. “I assure you, Lieutenant, your confidence is safely entrusted.”

  He offered to fetch her more lemonade if she truly wanted it. She declined, setting her unwanted glass beside his. “I would much rather hear how you managed to survive all these years with such shockingly ordinary connexions.”

  “I am terribly ill equipped, am I not? But my godparents are a most beloved aunt and uncle—two of many. In assorted relations, I am plentifully endowed.”

  “Have you numerous siblings, as well?” she asked.

  “What would you consider ‘numerous’?”

  “Having grown up with only a single brother, I would deem three abundant.”

  “I have seven.”

  Her eyes widened. “Seven! All brothers?”

  “Three sisters. The eldest is married and lives in London; the other two are still at home.”

  “I have often wished I had more siblings. But seven! Have you also a generous number of nieces and nephews?”

  “Not quite a full dozen—at least, at last count,” he said with a fond look in his eyes. “Incidentally, I am godfather to two of them. We shall have to hope they grow up none the worse for the connexion.”

  As they spoke, the sun’s angle shifted just enough that now its rays lanced the window and raised the temperature in the room still more. Georgiana withdrew a fan from her reticule and waved it slowly. “Whatever is it like, being part of such a large family?”

  “When we are all together, rather noisy.” He paused, his expression becoming wistful. “But in the best of ways.”

  “You missed them, while you were so long overseas.” It was not a question; she could read the truth in his countenance.

  “Very much. I have missed my parents, as well. They all write often, as do I, but it is not the same as being in their houses, enjoying spontaneous conversation and mirth and even the occasional disagreement.”

  “Have you visited any of your family since returning to England?”

  “No, I—there are other matters to which I must attend first.”

  “You are fortunate to have your parents still alive. You should visit them while you are able.”

  “Yours, I take it, are not?”

  “My father died eight years ago, and my mother…” The fan stopped, and her voice grew softer. “Giving birth to me.”

  “Oh, Miss Darcy!” His expression was one of genuine sympathy. “Forgive me. Had I known the circumstances of your mother’s death, I never would have brought up so painful a subject.”

  “You could not have realized. And I have had nineteen years to make my peace with it. Still, I often wonder how it would have been to grow up under her influence, to have her with me even now.”

  “Have you spoken with your brother of these feelings?”

  “We speak of our mother, but I do not speak of her loss. As much as I regret that I never knew her, he did, and I feel responsible for having taken her from him.”

  His brows drew together. “Surely he does not blame you?”

  “Oh, heavens no. I keep silent because he is such a conscientious brother that it would grieve him to know I have such thoughts.”

  “It grieves me to know them, and I have only just met you.”

  A flush crept into her cheeks as self-consciousness overtook her. “Forgive me for having burdened you with such a confidence. I—I do not know what possessed me to reveal it to so new an acquaintance.”

  “I am not burdened,” he said in all sincerity. “And I assure you, Miss Darcy, it is safely entrusted.”

  “Nevertheless—”

  Lieutenant St. Clair’s gaze suddenly shifted to a spot behind her shoulder. Georgiana turned to see her brother approaching. He reached them in a few strides and looked from one to the other.

  “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

  St. Clair greeted Darcy amiably while Georgiana composed herself.

  “I am glad to have spotted you over here,” Darcy said to his sister. “I lost sight of you for a while.” Again, he glanced between them, wondering what he had interrupted. Georgiana’s flustered demeanor suggested that the lieutenant had been speaking in an inappropriate manner. “Is all well?”

  “Oh! Yes—quite,” Georgiana said. “The rest of my party abandoned me, but Lieutenant St. Clair has been so good as to ensure I was not left entirely alone.”

  “We were just discussing the subject of godparents,” St. Clair said.

  “I see.” Darcy, in fact, did not see at all how such an innocuous topic could unsettle his sister, and again presumed the lieutenant’s manner must be at fault. “Well, thank you, Lieutenant. I can attend my sister now.”

  The sea officer knew a dismissal when he heard one. Lieutenant St. Clair looked at Georgiana once more. “I enjoyed our conversation, Miss Darcy.”

  When the officer was out of hearing, Darcy turned to her. “Was he troubling you?”

  She opened her fan. “Not at all. He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “You appear upset.”

  She watched St. Clair blend into the crowd and shook her head. “Only warm. It is too close in this room.” Her fan moved rapidly. “Come, let us find more lemonade.”

  Twenty-Two

  “The manæuvres of selfishness and duplicity must ever be revolting, but I have heard nothing which really surprises me.”

  —Anne Elliot, Persuasion

  Mrs. Smith’s history of her acquai
ntance with Mrs. Clay was interrupted by the arrival of Anne Wentworth and Alfred. The exhausted heir had fallen asleep in Mrs. Wentworth’s arms, and now dozed peacefully. Elizabeth helped Anne settle into the chair she had been compelled to abandon earlier.

  As the new godmother smoothed the infant’s robe, Mrs. Smith observed her with approval. “Look how content he is at last, Anne. You are a natural with him.”

  “Do you truly think so?”

  “He could be in no better arms. You are doing very well by him.”

  For whatever her opinion was worth, Elizabeth agreed. Of all Alfred’s blood relations and godparents, the Wentworths seemed the most genuinely interested in his welfare, and Anne the most attuned to his needs.

  Mrs. Wentworth had but little time to enjoy the hard-won tranquility of a sleeping baby before Mary Musgrove appeared and sank into a chair beside her sister.

  “Well, here you are, Anne—I had wondered where you were hiding yourself. I declare, I am exhausted—making conversation with all of these people, having to explain that I am only Alfred’s aunt, not one of his godmothers, since of course they assume I would have been asked. I would much prefer to sit here at leisure, like you, than perform the social duties incumbent upon us as Elliots.”

  “I am happy to circulate among the guests if you would care to hold Alfred.”

  “No, thank you. He might wake and start wailing again, and I have been suffering the headache all day. My headaches, you know, are always worse than anybody’s. It is all I can do just to sit here talking to you.”

  “Perhaps you should try seabathing while you are in Lyme,” Mrs. Smith suggested. “I have found it beneficial.”

  “I said that very thing to my husband, but he thinks seabathing ridiculous, with the machines and dippers and all. I went only the once, all the while we were here last November. I did not care for it, but I bathed in Charmouth, not Lyme. I quite imagine that the bathing in Lyme is superior to Charmouth. It must be pleasurable, for so many people go regularly. Even our father seabathes. Have you been, Mrs. Darcy?”