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“I am sorry to hear it,” Elizabeth said. “It must have been painful to lose such close friends due to circumstances you could not control.”
“In ways you ca
“How long ago did you lose your husband?”
“It is approaching three years. I have a miniature of him in this locket—would you like to see it?”
Elizabeth indulged her. Mr. Smith had been a pleasant-looking man, with a kind face, though his hair was rather red for Elizabeth’s taste. “He was very handsome.”
“His Jamaican plantation proved the death of him—he traveled there on business that he thought best handled in person, and returned so ill and weak that he died within a se’
“Your husband traveled to the West Indies?” Elizabeth repeated. “And Mr. Elliot accompanied him?” Elizabeth would not allow herself to become too hopeful about what she was hearing. Smith was a common name—as common as they came. Surely it was mere coincidence that this woman’s late husband shared that name with the plantation owner who had been a passenger on one of the merchant ships under escort by the Magna Carta.
The plantation owner who had been traveling with a future baronet.
She now wished she had not sent Darcy off, so that he could hear this intelligence himself. She looked for him in the room, and saw that the receiving line had finally dispersed. He was now in conversation with Captain Wentworth, while Mrs. Wentworth, Alfred still in arms, was headed back toward Elizabeth and Mrs. Smith. Apparently, neither Sir Walter nor any of the other dignitaries had demonstrated any interest in relieving A
Sir Walter, in fact, along with Miss Elliot, was presently engaged in conversation with Georgiana and the Ashfords. Elizabeth could not imagine what had drawn such an unlikely party together, until she observed that Miss Elliot paid particular notice to Sir Laurence, attending the baronet’s discourse with keen interest, and smiling more than Elizabeth had witnessed in all the time spent in Miss Elliot’s company heretofore.
Aha.
She recognized what Miss Elliot was about, but could do nothing for Georgiana at the moment. She needed to give Mrs. Smith her full concentration.
“Yes, my husband and Mr. Elliot traveled to Jamaica together,” Mrs. Smith replied. “Mr. Smith was not in heart or mind a man of business, and lived too long under the notion that money came as easily as it was spent. Though he never said as much to me, I suspect the financial difficulties that now sequester the plantation had already begun, and Mr. Elliot accompanied him as an advisor. Mr. Elliot studied law at Oxford, and my husband was often guided by him—to our misfortune, as Mr. Elliot encouraged us to live as extravagantly as he. Mr. Clay, too, followed Mr. Elliot’s lead. I believe he possessed even less business acumen than my husband did.”
“Is the West Indian property a sugar plantation?”
“It is, indeed, and it produces the finest sugar you can imagine. Oh, how spoiled I was! We had a French pastry cook who made the most exquisite cakes and confections—our di
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 cu
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.”