Mrs. Hobart drew herself up. Her eyes flickered to Darcy. She saw that he watched her, and that he had no intention of looking away.
“In my experience,” she said, “though my charges were the youngest boys, ladies are instructed in the ceremony of the court, the history of the royal house, the forms observed at public festivals. They learn to sit and to stand in processions. They appear at theirgrandfather‘s side on days of general rejoicing. They receive petitions, though they do not presume to decide them. They are, in short, taught to be ornaments of their country.”
“You speak as if you had been near such persons,” Darcy said. “You must have seen a great deal.”
Mrs. Hobart fluttered her handkerchief.
“I have had opportunities,” she said. “I was brought up among persons of consequence.”
Miss Bennet leaned forward, eyes bright.
“Can you tell me something of my grandmother? Is she stern, or kind? Does my grandfather laugh? Does my father’s portrait hang in any gallery?”
Darcy heard the longing in Miss Bennet’s voice, recognised it in his own yearning for his parents, and somehowknew, deep in his heart, that whatever performance was occurring, she was not complicit.
Mrs. Hobart was pleased to answer. “Your grandmother is all that is gracious. The people love her. Your grandfather is a serious and just man. When he smiles, the whole court feels it. As for your father, he was beloved by all who knew him. His portrait hangs in more than one place.”
She broke off, pressing her handkerchief to the corners of her eyes, though Darcy did not see that they needed drying.
Miss Bennet drank in every word.
“And my uncles?” she asked. “How many are there? I know of one from Sir Reginald’s account, but that cannot be all. What sort of men are they? And my cousins, if there are any.”
Mrs. Hobart quickly composed herself. “The king has four sons. The eldest, who will in due course succeed him.” She glanced at Miss Bennet. “The youngest of whom I need not speak. The middle two have been much employed in foreign service. As for your cousins, you have more than you could reasonably require.”
Miss Bennet smiled, though the smile wavered a little. “I have four much younger ones. I believe I can bear a few more.”
Mrs. Hobart began to enumerate.
“In your generation, there is Prince Adrian, who remains unmarried and has been in England for some time. Then Prince Edgar, who is bookish, and Prince Robert, who is fond of horses. Their sons are princes Maximillian, Charles, James, David, and Frederick, who is the youngest of them all, and much indulged.”
Darcy sat quite still. Snow slid past the window. The coach rocked. Mrs. Hobart’s voice went on. Miss Bennet listening to every word.
Frederick. Youngest of them all.
In London more than a year ago, Adrian had come to dinner at the Matlock’s home, where he had spoken cheerfully of his brothers’ nurseries, enlarged again. Two new princes within a twelvemonth, the pride of their parents and the delight of the court. The company had toasted the infants, and Lady Matlock had asked when Prince Adrian would be setting up his own nursery. He had said something clever and charming that Fitzwilliam had agreed with, and together they had deflected any further inquiries of that nature.
Darcy had little interest in the domestic concerns of a foreign house, yet the talk had stayed with him. Perhaps because Adrian so seldom spoke of home, perhaps because there had been some jest about the difficulty of keeping count of all the royal boys.
Mrs. Hobart had named the older sons. But she had stopped with a boy of four or five and proclaimed him the youngest.
Two more boys had been born since Frederick. She had neglected to mention them.
Miss Bennet repeated one cousin’s name under her breath. “Maximilliam,” she said, and smiled. “And do any of them resemble my father? I should like to know whether I may look for his features in their faces.”
Mrs. Hobart hesitated for a heartbeat, then lifted her chin.
“They all resemble their grandfather,” she said, with emphasis. “It is quite remarkable. Anyone may see the royal blood in them. Your father was much the same. There can be no mistake about the house.”
Darcy thought of Adrian’s narrow, sardonic face, and the miniatures he carried of his family. He and his father both resembled the queen’s family. But he did not accuse. He merely set this new piece beside the others in his mind.
The impression that began to form was that Mrs. Hobart had been interested in Thurnia and had gathered what information she could. However, her knowledge was both incomplete and stale. How much of what she poured into Miss Bennet’s ears was exact, and how much was coloured by her own vanity, he could not tell. He knew only that Miss Bennet’s imagination fed upon it as upon cool water after a long march.
It was in this way that they passed the day. They stopped to rest the horses, ate something at one of the better inns before they travelled into Cambridgeshire.
At last, just as the light was fading, the coach began to lose speed. The motion altered. The noise of the wheels changed as the ground beneath them smoothed.
Darcy looked out. The road opened into a broad yard, well-kept. Lanterns hung under a neat archway. A large brick front rose beyond, the windows large, the light within clear. Smoke rose from wide chimneys. Ostlers came running, stableboys called to one another as they prepared to receive new arrivals.