Chapter Four #2
Houseman. She found herself scrutinizing the duke’s face, suddenly, because she was realizing why it was the duke looked familiar. He looked like Mr. Houseman. Yes, the resemblance, it was rather striking. They could be brothers. “You and Mr. Houseman—”
“Yes, we’re mirror-images of the other, or so I hear,” said the duke with an easy smile.
“I don’t see it, not entirely, but I have heard many people say we look just alike.
” He spread his hands. “Odd, isn’t it, how two people can just happen to look alike?
‘More things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy’ and all of that? ”
She nodded slowly. “Just an odd coincidence, then, you think?”
“I suppose so,” said Neithern.
“It is odd that he bought this house right next to yours.”
“He had this house built, in fact,” said Neithern, peering up at it. “Would you believe that? It’s only four years old. Have you ever slept in such a new house before now?”
She looked at the house, which didn’t look new to her eyes, she supposed. It had been built in the style of an old manor house, but now that she scrutinized it, she could see that it did not have the wear of the old houses, truly. “He had this built? What an expense.”
“Yes, yes, he’s very rich and very eager to flaunt it,” said Neithern. “But I like him, Houseman, I must say. I like him fine.”
“He seems quite polite and agreeable,” said Elizabeth, who was still looking at the house. “Well, he knew that you lived there, and he built this house butting up against your lands, and you both look alike. And it’s only a coincidence?”
The duke laughed. “I have this theory about the human race, that we are cursed with a capacity to look for meaning positively everywhere, even in places where there is no meaning at all. We look for meaning to ease our pain, but we end up creating meaning instead, and these created meanings cause us more pain.”
“Creating what meaning?” She was confused. She turned back to look at him.
“Well, take for instance the entire idea of the peerage or of wealth, in general.” He gestured. “Did our families, Miss Bennet, yours and mine, deserve this wealth anymore than Houseman did?”
“I…” She furrowed her brow. “No one would think of me as wealthy exactly, Your Grace.”
“No one?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “Your servants would not? The butcher would not?”
She bowed her head. “W-well, I suppose I see what you are saying, but most of it isn’t really mine anyway, and I am not in materially a better position than many. I feel rather precarious almost all of the time, in truth.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And you were asking about whether or not I walked in the mornings? This was not because you wished to throw yourself in my path and attempt to charm me into marrying you?”
She felt herself blushing. “Trust me, Your Grace, I could not marry you.”
“No?” He considered. “Pity that, I think. You intrigue me.”
She turned on him sharply, shaking her head. “No, Your Grace. Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He stepped closer to her. “Explain yourself, Miss Bennet.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t just come out with it, that she was his half-sister.
Even if he believed her, after she’d just said that thing about feeling precarious, about not being wealthy.
He would think she wished his family to give her some kind of dowry, to acknowledge her. “I cannot explain, Your Grace.”
“Why not?”
She swallowed. “There are secrets that I feel that I must not reveal, I suppose. And please do not press me on this.”
“Secrets,” he repeated. “I have secrets, too, Miss Bennet. How about if I reveal something to you and then you will have that to hold over me.”
“No, Your Grace, I don’t think—”
“My father,” he said.
“What about your father?” she said, breathless.
“He was mad,” said Neithern. “He was kept locked away for my whole life, locked up in a tower, the doors padlocked, served only by strong male servants. One would hold him down while the other brought his food and cleaned his chamberpots. They let him out sometimes, for various social functions, when I was young, but he always fouled them up in some way so eventually, they never let him out. And then, he died.”
She was stunned by this. “Mad? Locked up, you say?”
“I don’t have to tell you, Miss Bennet, that if news of this were common knowledge, it would not look good for my family. If it does get out, I shall know it was you who spread the tale. I shan’t be pleased.”
“I would never do that,” she said.
“Well? Why shouldn’t I marry you?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth, ready to tell him the truth, because this secret about their father explained why it was that her mother felt free to live her life without worry that the late duke would come after her.
If she had known her husband was locked away, she would not have feared his reprisal.
Of course, it didn’t explain everything.
Why not marry Larilane, then?
Why not acknowledge Elizabeth as her daughter and the daughter of the duke? Indeed, if the man was locked away, why not be a duchess?
But another voice broke in. “Because she’s already married!
” It was Caroline Bingley with a plate of finger sandwiches cut in small triangles.
She smiled as she pressed in between Elizabeth and Neithern.
She spoke to Neithern but addressed Elizabeth.
“I must say, I leave Eliza here alone for five minutes, and she’s getting another marriage proposal. I think she may be a secret siren.”
Neithern’s voice was hoarse. “What did you hear, Miss Bingley?”
“I heard that you are already in love with Miss Bennet,” said Caroline. “But you should know, she is Mrs. Fitzwilliam, only it’s a secret. Don’t tell anyone.”
“A secret marriage,” said Neithern, glancing over Caroline’s head at Elizabeth. But she could see that he didn’t believe it, that he knew that her reaction had not been about that.
“I am secretly married,” said Elizabeth. “But I told you that in confidence, Caroline.”
“Well, I’m sure His Grace will not carry tales!” said Caroline, very merry.
“I shall not,” said the duke.
“At any rate,” said Elizabeth, “I am certain you are a bit too young to be considering marriage yet, Your Grace.” After all, he would have to be at least a year younger than she if the duke had remarried and gotten another child on another woman.
Of course… how had he done that when he was locked away in a tower? “You must be what? Nineteen?”
“Twenty,” said Neithern. “Yes, I suppose I have some time to consider such things. I could wait another ten or twelve years before I find my duchess.”
He was the same age as she was?
She did not know what to make of that. She considered it as Caroline began to prattle on.
“Your Grace, do try this.” Caroline shoved the plate at the duke.
“Oh, Miss Bingley, really, I could not eat from your plate.”
“I am desirous of your opinion of it, however,” said Caroline, taking a large bite of one of the sandwiches and chewing.
He picked one up and took a bite. “Terrible,” he pronounced, setting the sandwich down on the plate.
Caroline looked down at the other half of the sandwich she had in her hand.
“Do you agree, Miss Bingley?” prompted the duke. “Am I quite entirely correct?”
Caroline narrowed her eyes at him. “Your Grace has seen that I have been eating them, even now, so I must have been enjoying them.”
“Ah, yes, so you have your own opinions on things, is that it? Wonders never cease,” said the duke. He took a step away. “If you’ll excuse me, I think the bowls game may be resuming, and I am going to offer to take someone’s place. Good afternoon to you both.”
Caroline glared into his wake. “I think he did like the sandwich.”
Elizabeth would have found all of that amusing, but she had to admit, she was still trying to understand what she’d just discovered from Neithern.
Caroline rounded on her. “What did you say to him to make him fall in love with you so quickly?”
“He is not in love with me,” said Elizabeth.
“Men seem to fall in love with you and your sister at the drop of a hat,” said Caroline, shaking her head. “Men do not fall in love with me so easily.”
“He was not in love with me,” Elizabeth repeated, nearly sulkily. She was thinking about that stupid idea that she was half-fae. She was not, anyway. Mrs. Exley had mistaken Larilane for a fey prince, and he had been a French vicomte and not even Elizabeth’s father.
Caroline put her hands on her hips. “And now he’s talking to Miss Darcy, isn’t he?”
“The Duke of Neithern is?” said Elizabeth, peering in the direction that Caroline was looking.
Sure enough, the duke and Georgiana were standing at the edge of the bowls court, both smiling.
Elizabeth was not certain she had ever seen Georgiana smile before.
Well, she had barely made the other girl’s acquaintance, she supposed.
And there was no real reason for them to be close now, for she wasn’t marrying Mr. Darcy.
That was a strange thought, wasn’t it?
She had never even wanted to marry Mr. Darcy.
As if summoned by some odd whim of the winds or fate, there he was, galloping up on horseback over the driveway. He had been missing all morning then, and she hadn’t even noticed.
Good, she thought. I shouldn’t be noticing him, anyway.