Free Mr. Darcy's Daughters by Elizabeth Aston Page A

of view of scholarship.”
    “Oh, scholarship! Well, if you are to talk of scholarship—I know nothing of such matters. It is hardly a suitable subject for a woman.”
    There was a long pause, and one of those coincidental silences fell over the room, as the twins left off playing to search for another piece of music, and Fanny’s conversation with Henrietta Rowan and Letitia reached a lull. Lady Warren’s voice held the stage.
    “Are not you and your sisters particularly acquainted with Mr. Busby? It is so remarkable, this news of his return to the living, and of his marriage. It is all over town. They say he was engaged to an English young lady, that he preferred oblivion to such a marriage and that this talk of his losing his memory is all a ruse. People say he has all his wits, and knew quite well what he was about.”
    Despite herself, Camilla turned to look at Letty, while Belle gave a whoop of laughter and Georgina exclaimed, “Oh! You must not say that, it is all quite untrue, for Tom Busby had no idea what he was about.”
    Fanny had gone quite pale, and the colour had drained from Letty’s face, leaving only a flash of brightness on her cheeks. She had stiffened, but was still controlling herself admirably. Thank God, Camilla said inwardly; she could hear footsteps, masculine voices, laughter. Here were the men come to join them at last.
    They entered the room, bringing energetic conversation and a waft of port with them. Mr. Fitzwilliam was deep in conversation with Mr. Grandville, while Mr. Portal’s shrewd eyes flickered to the sofa and the rigid figure of Letitia. Lord Warren exchanged knowing glances with his wife, and Captain Allington looked imposingly vacant.
    Sir Sidney, with a quick look at Lady Warren and a mocking glance in the direction of the giggling twins, made his way to Letitia’s side, begged leave to sit beside her, and began to talk about the weather in Derbyshire.
    This had only been an opening skirmish for Lady Warren, who was by no means done with the subject of Tom Busby.
    “The young man we were just now speaking of came from your part of the world, I believe, Miss Camilla? Is he not from Derbyshire?”
    “The Busbys are near neighbours of ours.”
    “Why then,” cried Lady Warren with an affected laugh, “you are the very person to tell us more. My love,” she said, addressing herself to her husband, who was leaning on the pianoforte and ogling the twins, “we may now hear all about the Busbys. How I feel for Mrs. Busby! How distracted she must be, how delighted to have her son restored to her.”
    “Devil of a shock,” said Lord Warren. “Especially when he comes tripping up to the door with a foreign wife on his arm; nobody seems to know who this count is, or what the girl’s fortune may be. If she has any fortune at all, which is doubtful, not after old Boney’s rampages across the Continent. Many an old family has suffered irretrievable losses.” He looked pleased at this notion. “Yes, there are many over there who do not hold their heads quite so high these days. Not that they ever did, not according to our way of things. A foreign title is not to be compared with an English one.”
    “There’s no knowing what kind of a family this girl is from,” said Lady Warren with a flick of her eyes to where Letitia was still resolutely discussing how often the frost prevented hunting in her native county. “She may be anyone, a merchant’s daughter, some jumped-up cit who took a title during the Bonapartist confusion.”
    Mr. Fitzwilliam had caught the sense of unease in the room. “Count de Broise’s title is an ancient one, Lady Warren, going back to the days of the Holy Roman Empire. No, no, the Busbys need not blush for such a match.”
    Lady Warren would not contradict her host. “I most sincerely pity the young lady he left behind, however; so lowering to lose your future husband in the war and then have him return with a wife to his name!”
    “Oh, as to