The Deception At Lyme

“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 himself 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