Sleep deserted me that night. I crawled between the sheets with an uneasy mind, for thoughts of Mr. Darcy's dark mood nagged at me. From Colonel Fitzwilliam's expression and behaviour, the earlier disagreement between the two men had appeared resolved, and, yet, what demon prodded Mr. Darcy to drink such a prodigious amount of brandy? I had not seen him in dark spirits like that since I happened upon him beside the stream at Longbourn.
I wrestled with the dilemma for some time, but, at last, I closed my eyes and vowed to banish all thoughts from my mind. Immediately, I felt his arms around me as we rode his great horse. Back and forth our bodies swayed in unison to the natural rhythm of the stallion's gait. I grew warm at the memory and threw off the blanket from my shoulder.
"Do not do this, Lizzy!" I said aloud. I would not allow myself to enter the pleasure of that remembrance, for I knew it to be forbidden. Would I never be free of the former affection in which I held Mr. Darcy? Obviously, he had kept his resolution to think of me as his sibling. Could I not be strong enough to feel naught but a sister's love for him? I hated my weakness! I gritted my teeth, hoping to drive away thoughts that insisted upon having their way.
A good read will distract me, I thought.
I rose from the bed and lit a candle. As I scanned several novels in my collection, I sighed, for I had read half of a new book but could not find it in the stack. Then I recalled I had it last in the drawing room. The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter-hour past one. Would Mr. Darcy and the colonel have retired by now? Surely. I slipped a shawl over my shoulders, gathered it close about myself, picked up the candle, and stepped out into the hall.
Descending the stairs, I rounded the corner toward the drawing room when I saw lights emanate from within and heard the sound of male voices. I shrank back into the shadows and blew out my candle. Sufficient illumination remained in the hall sconces to show the way. I had tiptoed lightly, my slippers making little sound on the walnut floor. I turned to retrace my steps, when I realized the argument ensuing between the men would drown out any muffled sounds I might make.
"But you do not care for dancing, Darcy. Thus, I see no valid reason why I should not have secured Miss Bennet's hand for the first two dances."
"She is pretty enough. Plenty of men will seek her favour. You need not claim her attentions for the entire first hour."
"But she knows no one in Derbyshire. I fail to see why my invitation rouses your temper."
"Do not concern yourself with my temper; it is within check. And you are mistaken. Several neighbours have called since her arrival, and we have returned the visits. Elizabeth is acquainted with enough local gentlemen to attract an adequate number of partners."
"Then why in heaven's name are you in such a humour? I have not seen you drink this amount since we left Rosings last Easter. What is wrong with you, man?"
I could not hear a response and quickly scurried across the hall until I stood right outside the door. I wished to hear Mr. Darcy's answer more than I feared detection.
"The whole affair is worrisome," he said, his voice sounding defeated. "Elizabeth's connection with my family is obscure, to say the least. I would not draw undue attention upon her or raise questions that might cause talk."
"I do not understand your reasoning."
He sighed deeply. "I wonder just what my neighbours think of her. I cannot recall when the Whitbys moved here. Surely, there are others among my friends whose families lived here when it all happened."
"When what happened? Out with it, Darce, of what do you speak?"
"What?" Mr. Darcy sounded as though he had been awakened from a private reverie and somehow been caught revealing more than he should.
"You said you wondered how many of your neighbours lived here 'when it all happened.' I do not understand to what you refer. Is Miss Bennet's birth the result of some sort of scandal?"
"Of course not, Fitzwilliam!" Silence followed, except I could hear someone begin to pace back and forth within the room. "It is just that her parents were killed in an unfortunate accident right after her birth, and she was left an orphan. To have been taken in by a family other than her own kindred may give rise to gossip, and I will not have talk about her!" His voice grew insistent. "Do you hear me? I will not tolerate it!"
"Calm yourself. I cannot help but hear you. I still fail to see cause for concern. According to Lady Catherine, your family lost contact with Miss Bennet's parents long ago, before the time of her birth. As you said, the connection between them was remote. It is most likely that no one even knew to bring her to your father's house. I think you have imbibed far too much tonight, and drink is deluding your brain."
"Did your father know about Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam? What did he say when Lady Catherine descended upon Eden Park?"
"He did not know. He was surprised. We all were, naturally. Of course, the earl never totally approved of your father or his family, but he is devoted to you, Darce."
"Because of my mother."
"Yes, he loved his sister, but also because he genuinely loves you. He and Lady Catherine both do. Surely you acknowledge that fact. With your father it was...well, you know...his Irish connections and the Papist church he allowed to be erected in the woods of Pemberley."
"My grandfather authorized that building, Fitzwilliam, not my father."
"And my father knows why - because your grandmother never truly renounced her religion. Neither her husband nor her son forbade the church."
"How could they? They loved my grandmother, and that was her faith. I would not have denied her the right, either."
"My father says you allow the congregation to continue to meet on your property. Is that true?"
"It is. Only a handful of parishioners exist, and I see no reason to forbid it."
The conversation ceased at that point amid the sounds of tinkling crystal. The gentlemen, or at least one of them, refilled his glass. I heard the fire crackle and spit as though one man stirred the logs. And then, the colonel spoke in such a low tone I could not distinguish the words. There was no mistaking Mr. Darcy's response, however. He was angry and lashed out, telling the colonel how much he drank was none of his business. I felt ashamed for Mr. Darcy and turned away, determined to return to my chamber. I had no business eavesdropping, especially when he was in such a state. I took only a step when I halted, struck by what I heard.
"Just what are your intentions toward Elizabeth?" Mr. Darcy slurred the words.
"My intentions?"
"Every time I look up, you either sit beside her, walk beside her, or remain by her side in some manner. You practically declare yourself if you are to claim her attentions for two dances."
The colonel's only response was a chuckle.
"I asked you a question, Fitzwilliam. What are your intentions?"
"You are drunk, Cousin. Come, let us retire for the night."
"No! I do not want to go to bed. I want an answer. I demand you answer my question."
"Very well, but I doubt you shall remember this conversation in the morning. I find Elizabeth Bennet a handsome woman. She is lively, entertaining, and, but for the fact I am a younger son, I would pursue her in earnest. I am not in love with her, but I believe she possesses sufficient charms to tempt me into the state. You possess the means to help my quest."
"Help you? Why should I?"
"She must marry someone. Why not keep her in the family? Darcy, if you would convince her to accept a sizeable dowry, the impediment would no longer exist."
My heart sank to the floor. I did not wait one moment more to return to my room. I could not climb the staircase quickly enough. Upon reaching the landing, I fled to my chamber and closed the door behind me. Marry the colonel? I had thought of it only in passing when visiting Kent last spring. Upon meeting him, I acknowledged his pleasant conversation and agreeable manners, but he soon dashed any contemplation of a possible match by informing me of his position, of his need to secure a financially advantageous alliance. I had never entertained the thought again. And now, at the mere suggestion, gooseflesh crawled up my arms.
I kept to my chamber most of the next day, pleading a headache. Georgiana checked on me and satisfied herself that my complaint was minor. She agreed to make my excuses to her brother and cousin, and, thus, I avoided facing them. I feared that knowledge of the conversation I had overheard the night before might reflect in my expression, and I needed time to conceal my apprehension.
By late afternoon, however, I tired of my surroundings and stole quietly from my room. I climbed the staircase to the great gallery wherein the paintings of Darcys and their ancestors hung. Once again, my grandmother's portrait drew my attention. I searched her face, wishing she could speak to me, that she could enlighten me on the mystery of my birth. Hers was the only personage with whom I felt a kinship - why, I do not know.
At length, I walked on down the hall and stopped to gaze upon the portrait of Siobhan Darcy's three young sons. Their faces shone with innocence, and I wondered if my grandmother had lived long enough to know of her oldest son's transgression. I made note to ask Mr. Darcy in what year she died, to see if it occurred before the year of my birth. I walked back to the portrait of my father. I still could not find myself hidden within his features. Above his painting and to the left hung a portrait of a man in a naval uniform. I glanced from the man's face to that of one of the three young boys. Yes, I could see it was Henry Darcy, the youngest son. At even a young age, he had a mischievous gleam in his eye, as though he longed for adventure. It caused my heart to warm, and I smiled in return. There was something about him...
Someone cleared her throat. I startled somewhat, for I had been preoccupied and failed to notice Mrs. Reynolds' arrival. "I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to surprise you."
"No, no, I just did not see you, Mrs. Reynolds."
"I trust you are feeling better. Will you join the family at dinner?"
"No, please have a tray brought to my room. I confess I only left my chamber because of boredom and not because my headache has lifted."
"Very well, Miss Bennet." She turned to leave, but I stopped her with a question.
"Did you not tell me you have been at Pemberley since Mr. Darcy was a boy?"
"Yes, Miss Bennet, since he was four years old."
"Did you know either of his uncles, Messrs. Peter or Henry Darcy?"
"I did, ma'am. Captain Henry had not yet joined the Navy."
"I see his portrait."
"It is very fine, is it not, ma'am?"
I nodded. "And which of these men is Mr. Peter Darcy? I confess I do not recognize him as an adult."
She cleared her throat before answering. "That gentleman's portrait was removed as I recall, ma'am, when the disgrace occurred."
"Disgrace?"
She lowered her eyes to the floor and pressed her lips together.
"You do not wish to tell me, I take it."
"Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, it is not my place to do so."
"Well, goodness, what could he have done to cause his memory to be erased from the family portraits? Even Mr. Wickham's likeness remains in the cabinet below stairs."
"Yes, ma'am, that is because Mr. Wickham was a favourite of Mr. George Darcy."
"But his own brother's likeness is banished? Come now, Mrs. Reynolds, did he turn into a brigand?"
"Oh, no, Miss Bennet, 'twas nothing like that." She stepped closer and spoke in a whisper. "You must not let anyone know I told you this. Mr. Peter Darcy emigrated to Ireland."
"To Ireland? Surely, that cannot be so shameful. Why, his own mother was born there."
"True, but 'twas the manner in which he left. Mr. Peter Darcy just disappeared."
"Disappeared?"
She nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight little grimace. "He up and vanished without a word to anyone. The family did not know his whereabouts for a long time. It caused Mr. George Darcy and my lady much anguish. Years later, they finally learned the news, but he has never set foot on Pemberley since that time."
I turned back to the portrait of the young brothers. How sad to lose one's place in a family, to simply give it up as though it did not matter. What had that done to his mother, I wondered. I determined to ask Mr. Darcy the particulars. I would not discuss the family further with the housekeeper, but I found it all quite curious and provocative.
The date of the Whitbys' ball coincided with Pemberley's first crocus blooms. I know because I spent no little time awaiting their arrival in the gardens. Scattered throughout the vast beds, hidden between the hyacinth and daffodil bulbs, they emerged from the dark soil like soft, delicate treasures of pink, white, and lavender. The gardeners had planted them in abundance in the more prominent plots of ground, but I had discovered a hidden trove secured within a small alcove behind a brick wall at the rear of the house. It became my place of refuge.
Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam's suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to evade his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings, errands, and tasks for which she might employ her cousin. Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father's youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his brooding silence and avoided me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons ensued; no further forays into Pemberley's attics were suggested. In truth, he barely said more than was absolutely necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming his entire attention.
I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening's alcohol consumption diminished his enjoyment of the morning light. We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.
"Will you not accept one paltry gown from me?" he demanded.
"Shall I shame you in the gown I wore to the Netherfield ball last year?"
"Of course not. You were lovely...but would you not like something new? It has been my experience that most women do."
"I do not."
We stared at each other as though waiting to see who would give in. "Very well. Wear the frock you have on, for all I care."
He turned and stalked from the room. I felt as though he had slapped me.
And so, I spent a great amount of each day in that hidden alcove awaiting the crocuses. A stone bench sat in the shade, and it proved an agreeable haven in which to read and to think. I could not account for the change in Mr. Darcy. I knew an excess of strong drink produced adverse effects on a person's behaviour, but what had precipitated this new habit? I had known him well over a year now and had never before seen him imbibe extravagantly. I could not rid myself of the fear that I was somehow to blame, that I had caused his aberrant conduct.
Only one other instance provided any sort of clue to the mystery. Three days before the ball, Georgiana and I walked into the hall from our morning social calls to hear an uproar coming from Mr. Darcy's study. Unmistakably, the colonel and his cousin disagreed once again. I quickly asked Georgiana to fetch a piece of music from a large stack of songs in the music room so that I might memorize the words for that evening's entertainment. A worried frown clouded her countenance, but she hastened to do my bidding.
I stood in the hallway where I could hear the argument without obvious eavesdropping. Indeed, the servants passing by were privy to the raised voices, reason enough to pardon my actions in my mind.
"I have told you, Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth will not accept a dowry from me. Why can you not let go of the matter? You must marry for money, and she has none!"
"You could settle her dowry on me privately at the time of the marriage. She need never know."
"Never know? You would ask me to go behind her back, against her explicit wishes?"
"It could be a gentleman's agreement. Wives leave matters of money to their husbands. I am sure with a bit of gentle persuasion, I could win her hand."
"Do you think her daft? She knows you have little fortune. You made it clear to her last year at Rosings. Do you now believe she has lost her memory? It is insupportable. I will discuss it no further."
"You will regret this, Darcy. She will marry some pretty boy who worms his way into her heart, and he will take her God knows where. They may settle in Scotland, for all you know, and you and Georgiana will never see her again."
"Oh, I will see her. No matter where she goes or whom she marries, I shall always be her cousin, and she will not be lost to me. Not ever."
"Indulge your foolish fancies, but you do not have a right to deny mine. I shall at least ask Miss Bennet if she will be my wife."
"Without a suitable dowry?"
"If she says yes, I know you will not let her live in need. You cannot. It is written all over your face. You care too much for her, and you will provide for her one way or the other."
I felt a hand on my arm. "Elizabeth?"
I looked up to see Georgiana holding the requested music. I took it quickly and asked her to accompany me to my sitting room where we might memorize the words together. I feared she had overheard too much of the conversation between her brother and cousin, but, if so, she did not mention it.
After that, time passed quickly, and the date of the ball soon arrived. I had little opportunity for a thorough inspection of the crocus beds on said day, but I was pleased to snatch a few moments and note their emergence in my journal before my maid claimed me for the obligatory perfumed ablutions, the donning of my gown, and tedious but expert attention to my coiffure. Georgiana glowed in a pale pink gown of moir&$233 silk, and, suddenly, I had a moment of regret that I had not graciously accepted Mr. Darcy's offer, for my ivory gown felt somewhat shabby next to hers.
Oh well, 'tis too late, now, I told myself as I joined her in the hall.
We descended the staircase together, whereupon Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and offered an arm to each of us. He escorted us toward the open door, through which I could see Mr. Darcy's large carriage standing ready.
"With two such lovely ladies in tow, I shall be the envy of every man at the ball tonight."
"Oh, Richard, are you certain I look acceptable?"
We both assured Georgiana of her loveliness as we walked across the wide hallway. The servants stood at attention, smiles on the maids' faces, and Mrs. Reynolds bade us a pleasant evening. I looked around, wondering at Mr. Darcy's absence, when he stepped out of the shadows just outside the door. He bowed slightly, but remained silent as Georgiana and I climbed into the carriage. The colonel entered next and sat beside me. Mr. Darcy's expression appeared as grim as ever, and I hoped he had not already made liberal use of his newfound companionate bottle of brandy. He continued to remain mute unless directly addressed. I felt uncomfortable, as though the carriage had diminished in size. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to sit far too close beside me, and, even though I shrank into the corner, I felt smothered. I was greatly relieved when the ride ended, and we disembarked at the Whitbys' front door.
Lights bedecked the house, and music and gaiety signalled that the festivities had already commenced within. Mr. Whitby introduced me to Admiral and Mrs. Denison, and they, in turn, brought forth their children: Andrew, Maurice, Marianne, and Fanny. Maurice was by far the more handsome of the two brothers, but it was Andrew who asked me to dance.
"Miss Bennet will be glad to honour you with her company, I am sure," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "but she has promised the first two dances to me."
I smiled as Mr. Denison, with an understanding glance, bowed and turned away while the colonel took my hand and led me to the floor. I had hoped at least to make my way among the crowd and acknowledge those Derbyshire folk of my acquaintance before joining the dancers, but the colonel had other plans. The first piece was a stately tune, and the colonel proved an engaging partner, maintaining a steady patter of conversation. By the end of the first set, I found myself at ease and actually enjoying the ball. I had always loved dancing, and, although my partner was not as expert at the art as one I recalled, he did prove agreeable.
At completion of the first hour, I allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to escort me to the punch bowl where Miss Denison and her elder brother soon joined us. Marianne was a lovely girl with an animated spirit. I thought we might easily become friends, for she possessed that ability to not only poke gentle fun at her brother, but to laugh at herself as well. I wished to know her better, but the colonel hovered about, frequently interrupting our conversation. I had never seen him so determined to put himself forward. When the music began for the next set, I welcomed Mr. Andrew Denison's hand as he led me to the line of dancers.
"So, you are a cousin of Mr. Darcy and his sister. Is that correct?" he asked as we circled the couple next to us.
"In truth, I dare not call myself a cousin, sir. It is a somewhat complicated interrelation, but family ties oft times are, would you not agree?"
"Ah, yes. I have cousins I have never seen and probably never shall, unless someone dies and leaves a great inheritance. Greed has a way of uniting long-lost relatives, if only until the will is read."
"I would not have you think I visit Pemberley for that cause, sir. I am a poor relation and shall remain so."
"Indeed? I would think Darcy would right that wrong."
"Mr. Darcy is all kindness and generosity."
He raised his eyebrows at my remark, and we danced several steps without further conversation. I hoped to change the subject, as his questions made me irritable. Must every man I meet inquire as to my fortune or lack thereof? Of course, silly girl! What is the purpose of a ball other than to pair up possible marriage partners?
"Have you enjoyed successful sport since your move to Derbyshire, Mr. Denison?"
He held my hand as we joined the promenade. "I confess I have had little time. My father has assigned me the onerous task of supervising the removal of rubbish from the attics. You would not believe the collection of personal mementos left by the Willoughby family. Deciding what to keep or discard has driven me to distraction. I am tempted to direct the servants to throw out the entire lot, but my father insists I retain any item that might be valuable, if only for sentimentality, until Sir Linton Willoughby arrives next week."
"Shall you have time to complete your chore before the owner visits Bridesgate?"
"Only if I devote myself to the assignment. You see before you a harried man, Miss Bennet. That is why you must honour me with another dance this evening. 'Tis the only pleasant activity I have enjoyed since arriving in the county."
I laughed at his exaggeration, but agreed to be his partner later in the evening. With the musicians' final note, I felt flushed from the exercise, but not without pleasure. Mr. Denison led me from the floor, bowed, and assured me he would return to claim his dance. I looked around, hoping to find Miss Denison. With surprise - no, astonishment - I watched Mr. Darcy escort her to the head of the host of dancers. He must have found her exceedingly charming to ask her to dance, for I knew he had not honoured any other lady the entirety of the evening. I watched as he took her hand, stepped close, and inclined his head. Evidently, he did not find conversation with her as trying as he had with me last year at Netherfield. Growing uncomfortably warm, I wished I had brought a fan. The Whitbys' fires were entirely too well tended this late in the year. I thought of having another cup of punch, but, for some reason, I could not tear my eyes from the dancers and one couple in particular.
"Miss Bennet?"
I startled, as though someone had read my thoughts, and looked up to find Colonel Fitzwilliam at my side extending a refreshing cup toward me. I acknowledged his gift with gratitude, and, when he suggested we step out on the balcony for a bit of air, I agreed.
"Your colour is high. I fear you have danced too close to the fireplace."
"The night breeze is a welcome change."
We stood next to the balustrade whereupon he leaned forward and rested his forearms. "It is a beautiful night."
I agreed and lifted my head to gaze at the multitude of stars littering the heavens.
"You are quite beautiful in that position, Miss Bennet. The fairness of your throat is luminous in the starlight. That and the turn of your countenance prove a heady combination."
I immediately lowered my gaze and protested his remarks.
"No, I am serious. You are a lovely woman. Surely, you have been told that by numerous suitors."
"I do not collect suitors, sir. With my lack of fortune, they hardly stand in line."
"Young Mr. Denison appears smitten."
"He simply asked me to dance."
"Has he not requested your hand a second time?"
"That does not signify anything of consequence. You danced with me twice."
"I did, indeed, and I shall ask for your hand a third time. Now, tell me, does that signify something of consequence?"
My heart beat faster, and I was grateful for the cool air, for I could feel my cheeks burn. What was the colonel suggesting? Surely, he would not ask for my hand that night. I turned toward the French doors, anxious to return to the safety of the throng within. "I am sufficiently refreshed. I think we should return to the ball, sir."
He caught my hand before I could reach the door. "Will you do me the honour of being my partner for the last dance, Elizabeth?"
"I...do not think..." I could not conjure up a reason to refuse him. "Yes...if it is your desire, sir. Thank you."
"It is most assuredly my desire," he murmured as he brought my hand to his lips. The look in his eyes filled me with dread, and I quickly excused myself and hurried into the ballroom.
I sat between Marianne and Andrew Denison at dinner. Mr. Darcy sat on Marianne's left, and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat directly across from me. I was relieved that he did not act with any peculiarity or pay particular attention to me during the meal. There were no stares or long, meaningful looks into my eyes. One would never guess we had engaged in a significant moment earlier in the evening. He proved an engaging guest and entertained Mrs. Whitby with tales of his military exploits. From the vacant stare in her eyes, I doubt she knew much of the exotic places he mentioned, but he spoke with such animation that he amused everyone at the table within hearing.
Mr. Whitby asked Georgiana to play for us near the close of the meal, and, although she was nervous, she agreed and performed in an excellent manner. After Marianne performed and two sisters played a duet, Mr. Whitby extended the invitation for me to play and sing, but I demurred. Obviously, I did not possess the talent already exhibited. I would not think of shaming myself or the Darcys as my sister, Mary, had done at the Netherfield Ball.
Mr. Darcy said little during the entirety of the feast, but I noted he kept the waiter busy refilling his wine glass. Without a doubt, I thought, he would not imbibe more than he could handle. I had never seen him out of control in a public assembly and could not fathom why he took such chances that evening.
Mr. Andrew Denison requested the first dance after dinner, during which he said our discussion of the Bridesgate attics caused him to recall a certain painting. He asked if he might call upon me the following day and bring the picture, for he thought I would find it of great interest. I agreed, of course, but when I asked why, he refused to reveal his reasons.
"You must wait and see for yourself, Miss Bennet," he said with a sly smile. His blue eyes twinkled, and I decided that although he might not be as handsome as his brother, Maurice, I did not find his appearance unappealing by any means.
After that, I danced with several other gentlemen; indeed, I seldom sat the entire evening. Once I did find myself without a partner, I witnessed Mr. Darcy ask Marianne to dance a second time. I decided I had made a mistake earlier, thinking she and I might be friends. Of a sudden, I decided that she smiled too much. It became clear we would not suit each other at all.
As the evening drew to a close, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived to claim the last dance. Andrew Denison accompanied him and reminded me that he would call on the morrow. We had just concluded our conversation, and he had turned to leave, when I saw Mr. Darcy approach.
"The last dance, is it not?" he said. "Will you do me the honour, Elizabeth?"
"Darcy!" Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed in a low voice. "Miss Bennet has already promised me."
"You have presumed upon her time more than enough this night. Elizabeth?"
He brushed past the colonel and took my hand firmly in his, steering me toward the dance floor without a backward glance.
"Sir...it is not done!" I whispered. "I...I beg you, do not make a scene."
He drew closer and spoke in my ear. "It is not I who would make the scene, Elizabeth. No one but you and I know our true connection. Will it not appear unnatural if I do not ask my cousin to dance at least once? Take your place in line."
The first notes sounded, and I recognized the song as a newer romantic air that called for greater contact among partners than any previous dance of the evening. I held my breath as Mr. Darcy stepped forward and encircled my waist with his arm. The position thrust our faces close, and he met my gaze with a dark, piercing stare. Was it my imagination, or did his hand linger longer than necessary about my body? Did he step nearer than he should when we clasped hands and danced forward? And why did my hand tremble so when I placed it upon his shoulder?
I cleared my throat and attempted to lighten the mood with conversation. His only response to my remark was a steady perusal of my face. I saw his eyes travel down to my mouth, and I found myself blushing. Frantically, I searched for something innocuous of which to speak.
"Are not the musicians talented? I have rarely heard such able completion of ..."
"Elizabeth." He twirled me around and stepped away.
I took Mr. Whitby's hand and bowed in time to the rhythm before turning back to face Mr. Darcy. "Sir?"
"In your lifetime, have you ever, just once, danced without speaking?"
I glared at him as we clasped hands and stepped down the line. "Naturally. I simply..."
"Then, I pray you, bestow that favour upon me. Let us do nothing more than dance."
We circled the last couple in line and faced each other. Oh! The man was impossible! Very well. I would not tell him if the house caught fire. I gritted my teeth and determined to complete the set, but only because I refused to call attention to myself by leaving the floor precipitously. But I would not enjoy it. Oh, no, I would not enjoy one moment.
And then, Mr. Darcy took my hands and whirled me around and around. I inhaled sharply as the tempo increased, but I matched him step for step. He stared into my eyes with a ferocity I recalled from our first dance together at Netherfield. I refused to cower, but met his gaze fully. But why...why must he incline his head so near? The scent of his skin intoxicated me. And he must not allow his hands to caress my shoulders when we clasped each other to descend the line. Was it my imagination? No, I knew his hands lingered longer, much longer, than needed.
This would never do. The melody enchanted me, and I felt myself caught up in the fascination of dancing with him. All those feelings I had earlier confessed to God now flooded my heart, and I knew I was lost...I had not forgotten the spell he could weave over me. In spite of all my declarations and determination, I had not overcome the delight I experienced at his slightest touch. I loved him, but not with a sister's love. And I never wanted our dance to end.
That night, I did not close my eyes. Before dawn, I determined to leave Pemberley post-haste and return to Longbourn. I knew I could no longer stay in the same house with Mr. Darcy.
Author's note: I took the liberty of basing the dance between Darcy and Elizabeth on the choreography in the movie Emma starring Gwyneth Paltrow.
The post rumbled along the road outside Lambton with such jarring jolts that it set my teeth on edge. The driver seemed to possess innate knowledge of where each stone lay in our path, and I wondered if he took mischievous delight in bouncing us up and down. How quickly I had accustomed myself to the comfort of Mr. Darcy's carriage! The public conveyance possessed neither the luxurious padding nor spaciousness of his vehicle. Three fellow passengers, a woman and two older men, shared the coach, forcing an intimacy I found stifling. One of them, evidently, had not bathed for some time, and I kept my nose as close to the open window as permissible. The dark, gloomy, overcast skies without matched the grimness of the interior, as well as my frame of mind.
I had slipped out of the house without notice in the pre-dawn darkness. Knowing that the family would rise late because of the previous evening's ball, I hoped the servants were too busy to observe my departure. They had orders not to awaken any of us early, so, I felt assured I might make my escape without detection. The five-mile trek to Lambton proved much more arduous than I expected, for the countryside possessed numerous inclines. I had packed my essentials in one small, light valise, but it grew heavy before I reached the town. I had left a brief note on my bed, addressed to Mr. Darcy and Georgiana, in which I told them that I missed my family and Longbourn too much to remain at Pemberley.
Awaiting the arrival of the post in Lambton, I could not sit still. Fortunately, it ran on an early schedule that day, so we departed before ten in the morning. My head pounded by the time the horses worked themselves into a good speed. I took a deep breath and leaned back on the seat, realizing for the first time that I had clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. My nerves felt ready to crumble, and I struggled not to weep. It would not do to expose myself in public, for I needed no offers of assistance that would, naturally, involve questions.
Misery consumed me. Why had I ever entertained the thought that I might visit Pemberley? It had all been a mistake, an impossible endeavour, a foolish, foolish dream. I could never think of Mr. Darcy as my brother. Dancing one dance with him had crushed that illusion. I knew I must return to Longbourn and avoid ever seeing him again. I would never be Miss Darcy - I had no right. I would never have a place at my true father's table. I would be forced to make a new life with someone else and in some other home.
Although my friend, Charlotte, had in the past accused me of being romantic, I did possess a practical side. I acknowledged that I must marry, and since I could never marry the man I loved, I would return home and make myself agreeable to any man I could respect. As long as he proved honourable and kind, I would endure the union. Why had I not remained at Pemberley, then, and allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to propose? I closed my eyes at the thought. Yes, he possessed excellent qualifications, but there was his connection with Mr. Darcy. I could not bear to think I would be compelled into a marriage where I was sure to be thrown into his company. The idea was intolerable. 'Twould be better to marry even a farmer, and, after all, was that not a more suitable match for one born on the wrong side of the blanket?
My girlish dreams had dissolved much like the mist now falling outside the coach. I leaned my head against the side of the carriage and closed my eyes, hoping I might sleep and never waken.
I know not how long I slept, but I did awaken with abruptness. Amid shouts from without, the coach halted quickly.
"What's happenin'?" The woman beside me grabbed her basket and clutched it to her chest. "It's not highwaymen, is it? Oh, pray, don't let it be highwaymen!"
Our two male companions rose and peered outside each window of the coach. I drew back from the man nearest me, for my nose identified him as the person who needed to bathe. Within moments, we heard the driver shout again and the distinct tone of a gentleman contradict him. I closed my eyes in dismay, for I could not fail to recognize the voice.
"I tell you she is my cousin," Mr. Darcy said. "Whether she purchased her ticket under the name Bennet is immaterial. The lady is a guest at Pemberley, and I would never allow her to travel unattended in a public coach. I demand you release her to my oversight without delay."
"She never said she was from Pemberley, sir," the coachman responded. He opened the door and pushed back the man who hung halfway out the window. I shrank back when he offered his hand to assist me. "Come on, Miss. Your cousin's here to take you home."
"No, I shall not go with him. I bought a ticket for Hertfordshire. It is paid for, and I have the right to travel on this coach."
He looked back at Mr. Darcy, who dismounted and strode toward the carriage with a determined step. "Come, Elizabeth. Do not delay this good man's schedule."
"I shall not. I am returning to Longbourn. Let me go."
"Sir," the driver said, "if she don't want to go with you, perhaps it's best to let her be. I'll see she gets to her destination safely."
Mr. Darcy's brows knit together into a single, fierce line as he turned upon the driver and informed him what he could do to his coach, his career, and his freedom if he persisted in abducting his cousin.
"Abduction? Sir, I ain't about nothing like that. The lady paid her money."
"If you do not release her to my care, I shall see you charged with abduction. My cousin is under my protection, and I have not relinquished it to you or anyone else."
The man crumbled under Mr. Darcy's severity and drew back while my companions looked aghast. I knew no one would take my side. He held out his hand, but, instead of taking it, I shoved my valise at him. I then climbed out of the coach without his assistance, flinging myself away when he reached out to me.
"Do you want us to wait, Miss?" the coachman asked.
"I told you she is under my protection." Mr. Darcy's tone was rigid and insistent.
"But the mist, sir. I fear the weather's 'bout to turn nasty."
"I shall see to her. Be on your way."
With a last hesitant look in my direction, the driver slammed the passenger door shut and climbed aboard his perch. Within moments, I watched my only means of escape lumber down the road.
I turned and glared at Mr. Darcy. "I hope you are satisfied." Seizing my valise, I gripped it close to my chest like a shield and whirled around, taking resolute steps to follow the post.
"Do you propose to walk to Hertfordshire, Elizabeth?"
"You leave me no other choice."
"I have a horse, or are you so blind with anger you cannot see it?"
"I am no horsewoman, and you know it, and do not suggest I ride with you because I refuse."
"Very well, you ride. I shall walk and lead the horse."
I shook my head and continued on, taking pains to lengthen my stride.
"You are behaving like a child."
"Am I? Does that entitle you to assert yourself like a father? Never have I been so publicly shamed. I shall not forgive you."
"Publicly? In front of those common folk?" He snorted his disgust. "And if we speak of shame, how do you think I looked in front of the servants at Pemberley, much less my cousin and sister, when I was told you had run off in the night?"
I stopped and faced him. "I did not run off in the night. It was morning. Am I not a free woman? Do I not possess control over my own person? Am I not permitted to come and go as I please? Evidently, not in your house, sir. I would never have travelled to Pemberley with you if I had known I would be held there against my will!"
"I am not holding you against your will."
"Come now, Mr. Darcy, any fool can see you have just removed me from the only means I possessed to return home. If that is not holding me against my will, what is?"
"Travelling by post is not the only means you possess to return to Longbourn. It is a foolhardy, dangerous choice. You are well aware that young ladies of breeding do not travel alone. All you had to do was tell me you wished to leave. My carriage would be at your disposal. If you had thought through this indefensible decision, you would see that I carry the point."
Thunder rumbled close by, and the mist suddenly increased into full-blown raindrops. I glanced at the sky, lowered my head, and left him standing in the road. I had not gone a few steps before the rain grew even heavier and began to pelt my head and shoulders.
"Elizabeth, you cannot walk to the next town. Let me put you on the horse, for we must take cover from this storm."
"No." I refused to slow my pace or look back at him. I knew my actions were senseless, but I no longer cared. I only wished to rid myself of his presence.
A flash of lightning bolted across the sky, and thunder boomed so loudly that I jumped. Rain increased without pity, and I felt water trickle down inside my gown. Another lightning strike proved near enough that I cried out with fear.
"Come, we must find shelter," Mr. Darcy commanded. He placed both hands on my waist and steered me across the road toward the woods. "Look, there is a bit of a shack ahead."
I could see nothing for the intensity of the storm. Water streamed down my face and blurred my vision. Where was he taking me? We began to run until we reached a ditch already filling with water. Before I knew it, he lifted me into his arms and jumped the ditch, the horse following close behind. He climbed the slight incline and carried me into what appeared to be the remains of a hut. It had but three walls standing. The roof, however, hung over enough to provide a measure of protection.
"This is not adequate, I admit," Mr. Darcy said. Of a sudden, we both seemed aware that he still held me. I was clinging to his neck, and the look that passed between us said more than any words. Immediately, he released me to a standing position, and I averted my face. With one hand, I straightened my gown and pelisse, while still clutching the valise close to my breast. He removed his hat and shook off the water. Looking around, he pulled an old bench forward, dusted it off with his hand, and indicated I should sit.
I shook my head. "I shall stand. The storm cannot last long."
"And then what? Shall you persist in this stubborn design of yours?"
"I have no other option. You have seen to that."
"You can return to Pemberley with me, change into dry clothing before you become ill, and, if you insist, I will take you back to Longbourn first thing on the morrow."
"No."
"No? Is that all you can say? Why must you drive me to distraction with your ill behaviour?"
My ill behaviour? How the man infuriated me! I turned my back on him and walked to the far edge of the shelter, staring out as the wind rose up and stirred the trees. We said nothing more for some time, but I heard him begin to pace back and forth like a wild animal longing to be loosed. I thought of our coupling in the dance the night before and how my senses exhilarated when he touched me. For all his elegance, his upright demeanour, his superior, gentlemanly composure, I knew...I knew there was a primitive, untamed side to Mr. Darcy that he kept hidden from the world. He will unleash it someday, I thought. Chills ran up my spine, and a fire deep within me welled up at the idea.
But not with me. I would never have more than the glimpse I had witnessed last night. He could never reveal that wild, passionate nature to me. It would be reserved for the woman he loved, if not the one he eventually took in marriage. It could not be me. Our father had seen to that. Suddenly, I hated George Darcy. Why? Why had life conspired against us in this unthinkable manner?
"Elizabeth, you are trembling." I felt his hands on my shoulders as he turned me around to face him. I lifted my eyes to his, and I hoped he thought the tears that spilled down my cheeks were nothing more than the remains of the rain. He took off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders. "Come and sit. Pray, do not weep. The storm cannot last long."
I did as he said, while he sat beside me holding my hand. "I want to go home, sir," I said softly.
"First thing tomorrow."
I shook my head. "I want to go today."
"Elizabeth, you cannot go in this condition. Let us return to Pemberley, and I promise I shall take you back in the morning."
"No. I wish to go today...alone."
"I cannot allow you to travel alone. It is not safe for a lady to spend nights on her own at roadside inns."
"Send a maid. Along with your menservants, that will be sufficient."
He lifted my chin so that he might see into my eyes, and I trembled again at the tenderness of his touch. "Why do you not want me to accompany you?"
I met his gaze and allowed my tears to fall. "Pray, do not ask me."
His eyes held mine much longer than they should, and then they travelled down to my lips, and I watched him struggle to conquer the yearning that seemed to possess him. He tore his eyes away, closing them as though he were in pain, and I saw him press his lips together. When he returned his gaze to mine, he appeared haunted. He bowed his head in agreement, released my hand, and rose from the bench.
Within three-quarters of an hour, the storm stilled, and Mr. Darcy's carriage arrived. Upon departing Pemberley, he had ordered his coachmen to follow, but he had raced ahead of them from Lambton once he learned I had boarded the post. He had even thought to bring my maid, and she hastened to cover me with a dry shawl once I climbed into the carriage.
"There has been a change in plans," Mr. Darcy instructed his driver. "Do not return to Pemberley. Take Miss Bennet to her home in Hertfordshire." He went on to give him adequate funds to cover expenses for several days of travel and explicit instructions for my care and protection during the trip. When finished, he directed the maid to withdraw from the coach while he bade me farewell. Sitting on the seat across from me, he leaned forward and took my hands in his once again, smiling slightly.
"All is arranged. John is to be trusted as well as the footmen. You may rely upon them with confidence."
"Thank you."
"Will you write to me?"
I shook my head.
"To Georgiana?"
"Of course, if she wishes."
"You know she will."
I looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes.
"Elizabeth, I..."
"Sir, I pray you say nothing more."
Now, he was the one who turned his eyes to the window, and, in doing so, he sighed deeply. "Then, let us say farewell, and God bless you, Elizabeth." He raised my hands to his lips, and I caught my breath at the touch of his kiss.
"And you, sir," I murmured.
With that, he bounded from the coach, the maid climbed aboard, and we set off. Although I strove not to look back, I could not keep myself from turning and waving to him from the window. He stood in the road, his hat in his hand, but he did not wave in return.
As long as I live and memory survives, that image endures.
Fortunately, I had gained control over my emotions by the time I arrived home. I had wept during much of the first leg of the journey. Upon first observation of my discomfort, my maid asked if she could be of assistance, but when I refused and directed her to let me be, she followed my bidding and allowed me to indulge my grief while she shopped for our necessities at the first town we reached that proved large enough to contain suitable shops. On that first night back at Longbourn, I laid my head upon the pillow on which I had slept most of my life and knew my tears were done. I would no longer cry for what I could never have. I would content myself with the life before me.
As chance would have it, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had returned from their wedding tour only a week before my return. Jane and I clung to each other upon our first visit. Our joyful reunion reminded me how much I missed her and how I longed to confide in my childhood companion and dearest sister. I did not, however. I told no one the true reason I left Pemberley. For that matter, I had never told anyone - not even Jane - that I loved Mr. Darcy. Now that all hope was gone, what reason remained to do so? I would not think of destroying her happiness by letting her know I could never hope for true marital felicity. 'Twas more prudent to keep the greatest sorrows buried.
"And what are your plans now, Jane?" I sat across from her at our dining table upon which Hill, at Mamá's orders, had placed more dishes than we could ever consume.
"Caroline, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst join us next week."
"But after their arrival, we will stay at Netherfield only a short while," Mr. Bingley added before attacking a large helping of roast lamb.
"Oh, no," my mother began to whine. "Why, Mr. Bingley, when you have just returned, do you plan to take my daughter from the county again so soon?"
"We must travel to London for the Season, Mamá."
Jane's words pleased her greatly, and she ceased her complaints to enthuse about the balls and soirees to which they would be invited - the opera, music recitals, plays and art exhibits that were sure to fill their social calendar. "Oh, Mr. Bingley, Jane is so beautiful that I am certain she will capture all of London's attention."
He readily agreed, grinning widely.
"Now, my dear, you must be diligent in returning calls and planning your first dinner party. Oh, I am all aflutter at the vision of your success. Have you ordered new gowns yet? You must allow me to advise you of the best warehouses in Town, for it will not do to purchase less than the finest materials."
Jane assured her that all would be well, and I smiled, thinking that much had altered in our lives, and yet much would never change.
A week or so after the arrival of Mr. Bingley's sisters, we received an invitation to dinner at Netherfield. It was to be Jane's first entertainment over which she would preside as mistress of the great house. My mother and sisters were alive with excitement. Kitty changed her gown three times that evening before making a final selection. Mary collected her best music so that she might play for us on Mr. Bingley's pianoforte. I sighed at the thought of the reaction her performance would elicit from Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. Oh well, I thought, it is Jane's home now, and they might as well accept us, for we have no intention of going away.
The table was lovely, and we doubtless complimented Jane to excess, but she seemed grateful for our remarks. I sensed that a prolonged visit from Mr. Bingley's sisters would not prove easy for my sister to endure. Mr. Bingley, however, remained as attentive to her as he had before they married. I was glad to see that the familiarity of marriage had not dampened his ardour.
After dinner, we suffered through Mary's recital and appreciated Mrs. Hurst's talent as she exhibited herself with a spirited rondo by Haydn. Mr. Hurst woke up once cards were suggested, and my parents joined Mr. Bingley and him at the table.
"Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley called to me as I walked across the room to sit beside Jane, "shall you spend the Season in Town, or do you prefer country solitude? I hear you remained but a short while at Pemberley. I do hope that grand house did not cause you to feel out of place."
"Not at all, Miss Bingley. The family could not have made me more welcome."
"Indeed? Did Mr. Darcy introduce you to Derbyshire society? And what did they make of his recent discovery that you were a distant relative? Were they much intrigued?"
I felt my colour begin to rise and steeled myself to remain calm at her needling. "On the contrary, everyone I met displayed the essence of civility and graciousness. At a neighbour's ball, I believe I danced every dance but one, and I sat down then only because I begged to rest a few moments."
A discontented look caused her nostrils to flare as she pinched her lips together in a tight, false smile. "And shall you join Mr. Darcy at Rosings for Easter?"
"I...have not made plans that far in advance."
"Really? My social calendar already overflows. However, I have made time to answer Lady Catherine's invitation to spend the Easter season with her. Louisa and I furthered our acquaintance with the dear lady the last time she stayed in Town. She dined with us on more than one occasion, and I took every opportunity to please her, for I think her the most elegant, proper lady. And, naturally, my intimate friendship with Mr. Darcy and his sister only endeared me to her ever so much. I do hope dear Georgiana will accompany her brother to Kent, as I so long to spend a fortnight with her."
"No doubt she will," I said. "Jane, shall we take a turn about the room. I fear I am in need of activity after that delicious dinner you served."
Jane joined me, and we walked to the farthest corner.
"Lizzy, why not travel to London with Charles and me?" Jane asked.
"I would not wish to intrude upon your first Season."
"You could never intrude. In truth, I would feel much more confident with you by my side."
"Jane, you do not need me. You will have your husband's support. He will make all the introductions, and I agree with Mamá that you will be a great success."
"Charles is the dearest and best husband, but I would so enjoy your company. Shall you not consider it?"
"I shall think about it."
"Well, do not take too long to make up your mind. We depart at the end of the month."
I assured her I would give the thought my highest consideration. I had little desire to go to Town, but, at least, it would prove diverting, and I would enjoy seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. Even though they lived in a less fashionable part of Town than Mr. Bingley, I knew Jane would welcome them in her house. The only drawback to a visit to London remained the possibility that I might meet with Mr. Darcy.
I steered my sister back around the room where we sat across from Caroline and Mrs. Hurst. "Miss Bingley, is Miss Darcy going to London before she travels to Kent for Easter?" I asked.
"I really do not know, but Mr. Darcy usually brings his sister to Town when he comes for the Season."
"Not always," Mr. Bingley said from the card table. "You cannot depend upon Darcy to attend all the events on your calendar. He dislikes the social scene and sometimes attends only enough to maintain his standing."
"I would think, Miss Bennet, that you were privy to their plans more than we are," Mrs. Hurst added.
"They did not mention it while I was at Pemberley."
"Surely you have heard from Georgiana since then, have you not?" Caroline asked.
"She has," my mother said unexpectedly. "Lizzy, you know a letter came for you from Pemberley in today's post."
"You did not tell me, Mamá."
"Did I not? Well, we were all in uproar preparing for this evening's outing. It must have slipped my mind."
That will never be my seal, I mused.
I closed my eyes at the thought and willed it from my mind. I might as well accept what could not be changed. I could never make public the fact that I was George Darcy's daughter. I would remain Miss Bennet until I agreed to exchange my name for that of the man I would marry.
The thought of Georgiana's reproaches within the unopened letter filled me with dread. What would I reply? What reason could I offer for my sudden flight from Pemberley? I certainly could not tell the truth. I could hardly admit it to myself. I wondered what Mr. Darcy had told his young sister. For that matter, what had he told Colonel Fitzwilliam? He, too, could not reveal the real reason for my unexpected departure.
I thought back to the last time I had seen Mr. Darcy. I saw his hair dripping with water from the rainstorm, I felt the tenderness of his touch, and my heart ached at the haunted sadness in his eyes. Not once had he asked me why I left Pemberley with such haste. Not even once. Why should he when we both knew the answer?
Mamá did not protest my leave-taking in the least. Indeed, she grew excited at the thought I might meet her future son-in-law in Town. "Now, Lizzy, be agreeable when you meet eligible young gentlemen. Smile more. Formerly, you smiled easily and often, but now your countenance has taken on an ill-favoured expression. You are growing more and more like an embittered spinster, and that is no way to catch a husband. Mark my words."
I sighed and shook my head. What could I answer? She would have me carry on like Lydia, if the truth be known. But had I acquired a bitter spirit? I hardly knew.
"Do not mind your mother, Lizzy," Papá said, "for you know her thoughts travel in one direction. But do not stay away too long, for you will be sorely missed, my dear."
I did not reply. Even when he kissed my hair, I did not respond in kind. Resentment toward him had taken hold in my heart, and I could not relinquish it. If only he had told me from the beginning that I was adopted, that I was not truly his daughter, then perchance my heart would not ache as it did today. Perhaps, I would not possess this empty hole within me that I knew could never be filled.
As her sister, I was included in the invitations. With dismay, however, I soon learned that most of London knew of my connection with the Darcy family. Evidently, someone had spread the news that I was a poor relation of the Darcys who had been taken in by Mr. Bennet as an infant. I doubted that Miss Bingley would promote the story, seeing that she already regretted her brother's new connections and would not wish to call attention to them, so perhaps she was not the source. In a society that thrives on gossip, it takes but a word to spread a tale hither and yon. Colonel Fitzwilliam's parents may have shared their knowledge, or it may even have come from the mouth of Sir William Lucas during one of his frequent visits to Town.
And so, although I did not own the honour of bearing the name Bingley or Darcy, and, certainly without a fortune I remained a poor catch, still I enjoyed the affiliation with both families, thus creating measured acceptance mixed with disdain. As in Hertfordshire, my status remained somewhat murky. I often wondered who I was and where I belonged.
I soon tired of the insincerity prevalent among the majority of London society that I met. I also grew weary of the disappointed expression gentlemen exhibited once they learned that my relationship to the Darcys had not afforded me monetary benefits. After Easter, I began refusing to accompany my sister and her husband to most invitations of the ton. I preferred spending time on the other side of Town with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, where things were somewhat duller but much more pleasant.
I had spent a fortnight with my aunt and uncle when their servant announced one morning that I had a gentleman caller. None of Mr. Bingley's friends knew the Gardiners nor was their residence in the fashionable part of Town, so I wondered who my visitor might be. After a questioning glance in my direction, my aunt instructed the servant to show him into the parlour.
"Miss Bennet," the man said in greeting, as he bowed.
"Mr. Denison!" I was overcome with surprise and hastened to introduce my former dancing partner to Mrs. Gardiner, whereupon she bade him be seated. He carried a large, wrapped parcel in his hand and gingerly propped it against the side of the chair before he sat down.
"You are not easy to find," he said. "If I had not met Mrs. Bingley last night and overheard her tell someone that her maiden name was Bennet, I fear I never would have discovered your whereabouts."
"I had no idea you were in search of me, sir."
"You must admit that you departed Derbyshire somewhat abruptly, and no amount of inquiries would elicit your destination from Mr. Darcy. He absolutely refused to share with me where you had gone. I confess the gentleman's conduct appeared strange to say the least."
"Strange?"
"Each time I broached the subject with him, his manner proved so fierce that I confess I sometimes wondered if something dastardly had befallen you."
I laughed lightly in an attempt to put his mind at ease. "Oh, Mr. Darcy's manners can be infuriating at times, but I suppose we must allow that in a man of his standing."
My aunt took that moment to offer tea, an interruption for which I was grateful. She went on to engage Mr. Denison in the usual social chatter, asking how long he had been in Town, how he liked the warm weather, and so on. After a sufficient amount of time had passed for which a proper social call should last, she rose, expressing how much we had enjoyed his visit.
He, of course, stood also, but, looking somewhat hesitant, he picked up the package beside his chair. "Miss Bennet, before I leave, I must ask if you recall that I told you of a discovery I had made while clearing out the attics at Bridesgate Manor?"
"Why, yes, I do."
"I have brought the treasure today, and with your leave, Mrs. Gardiner, I should like to show it to Miss Bennet."
My aunt and I sat down and waited while he removed the paper and string from the large, square shape.
"Now, pray examine this painting, and tell me, do you detect the same remarkable distinction that I do?"
He placed the portrait before me, and I heard my aunt's quick intake of breath. "Why, Lizzy, it looks like you!"
A girl who appeared a few years younger than me sat beneath a huge, spreading chestnut tree. She wore a white gown with a yellow ribbon around her waist and a pale yellow rose tucked in her dark, flowing hair. Her bare toes peeked out from below her skirt, and her lips turned up in an arch smile, much like one I had oft times seen in the mirror.
"She has your hair, your nose, the turn of your countenance," Mrs. Gardiner declared. "Only her eyes are different - otherwise, she could be your twin."
"That was exactly my impression the first time I saw you," Mr. Denison said. "When I met you at the ball, I knew I must show you the painting."
I was so overcome by the likeness that I remained silent, knowing not how to answer.
"The moment you walked into the Whitbys' ballroom, I assumed there must be some connection. You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at Pemberley the next day and found you gone."
"Who...who is the woman?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"I do not know. I would guess that she is either a member of the Willoughby family or a friend. I thought you might tell me."
I shook my head, unable to take my eyes from the girl in the portrait.
"Last month, we expected Sir Linton Willoughby to travel to Bridesgate Manor to collect the items from the attic that my father deemed valuable to the family. Instead, he sent his steward, along with a servant and cart. Therefore, I could not question the gentleman about the portrait. Rather than part with it to his servants, I confess I hid it under my bed."
"Hid it?" Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed. "But why?"
"I wished to share it with Miss Bennet. That is why I pestered Mr. Darcy as to her whereabouts, until he lost all patience with me. At last, I was forced to travel to London with my family, and, giving up on my quest, I resolved to return the painting to Sir Linton. We arrived a fortnight before Easter, and I consider it my great good fortune to have met Mrs. Bingley last night and ascertained your relation. If she had not told me where you were staying, I might never have been able to show you my discovery. Have you any idea what your relation to the woman in the portrait might be?"
"No, sir, I do not. Tell me, did you show the painting to Mr. Darcy?"
"I did."
"And what was his reaction?"
"He wanted to buy it. When I told him it was not mine to sell and refused to give in, we exchanged strong words. We were at loggerheads - I would not part with the painting, and he would not reveal where you lived. Was I wrong to have persisted?"
I picked up the portrait and carried it to the window's light. "It is of no consequence, but I thank you for bringing it to me before taking it to the Willoughby house."
"I suppose you must return it," Mrs. Gardiner said. "Do you not agree, Lizzy?"
"What? Oh, yes, I suppose you must."
Mr. Denison crossed the room and stood beside me. "Does your uncle reside in London? If so, would you and he care to accompany me when I call on Sir Linton?"
"Accompany you?" I could not comprehend his meaning.
"Yes, are you not curious as to the girl's identity and her close resemblance to you? Perhaps she is in residence at the Willoughbys' house."
My aunt answered for me, indicating that there could be any manner of explanation. "I have heard that everyone has a double somewhere in the world. You may have stumbled upon our Lizzy's, Mr. Denison."
"I see. So, you are not interested in going with me?"
"We have never been introduced to Sir Linton Willoughby," I said. "I would feel out of place calling upon him."
"I have a letter of introduction from my father. He was angry when I told him I had held back the painting, and he insists that I face Sir Linton and return it myself. I shall be glad to introduce you."
I glanced at my aunt and shrugged. Truly, my shock at the resemblance of the girl to myself was such that I knew not what I should do.
"Mr. Denison," my aunt began, "would you consider leaving the portrait with us tonight so that we might show it to Mr. Gardiner and seek his counsel? If he feels it is appropriate for Lizzy to go with you, I am certain he will lend his presence."
Andrew Denison agreed to the suggestion, and we made plans to meet the next afternoon.
Mr. Gardiner awaited Mr. Denison's arrival in the parlour while I completed my toilette above stairs. Mrs. Gardiner said I looked lovely and squeezed my hand before I walked out the door of my bedchamber.
"I like Mr. Denison, Lizzy," she said, "and I think he may care for you."
I raised my eyebrows in question. "Aunt, this is a call of necessity. He must return the painting to its owner, and I am simply curious as to the model. I have not seen any undue interest upon the part of the gentleman toward me."
"All the same, smile often, dear, when in his company. It is one of your best features."
I sighed and took my cape and bonnet from the maid on the way to the stairwell. Must my every acquaintance with a gentleman warrant matrimonial speculations? I heard the deep rumble of masculine voices from below and hoped I had not kept my uncle and Mr. Denison waiting long. Midway down the stairs, I stopped short. I saw my uncle standing at the foot of the staircase, but Mr. Denison did not stand beside him. I caught my breath at sight of Mr. Darcy watching my descent.
After greetings were exchanged, my uncle explained that Mr. Darcy would accompany us to Sir Linton Willoughby's house in place of Mr. Denison.
"I do not understand," I said. "I thought you were in Kent, sir, for Easter."
"I was, but now that Easter is past, I am here." His dark eyes searched mine as though he questioned his welcome.
"Mr. Darcy called on Admiral Denison this morning," Mr. Gardiner said, "and, learning that you held the painting belonging to the Willoughbys, he requested and was granted leave to replace young Mr. Denison in this morning's call."
"Why would you do that, sir?"
"I am slightly acquainted with Sir Linton, and both the Admiral and I thought it would be simpler than Andrew Denison having to obtain an audience with the man through a letter of introduction." Mr. Darcy went on to explain that he had met up with the Denisons in Town through a mutual acquaintance at a party the night before. Jane and Mr. Bingley attended the same function, and she had told Mr. Darcy that I was in London staying with the Gardiners.
My, Jane has been busy, I thought. First, she tells Mr. Andrew Denison of my whereabouts and then proceeds to inform Mr. Darcy.
"I do not see that you need to concern yourself in this matter," I said. "After all, Mr. Denison is the one who kept back the piece of art, and, as his father said, is it not his place to return it?"
"Perhaps, but the Admiral was only too pleased to have me intervene. Sir Linton is...not an easy man with whom to deal."
"Of what deal do we speak? I thought we were simply returning the property to its owner."
"If so, Miss Bennet, then why must you attend?" Mr. Darcy raised one eyebrow and pressed his lips together.
"Because of the subject of the painting, naturally. One would have to be blind not to see the resemblance."
"Indeed, quite blind. I find the work fascinating and hope to make Sir Linton an offer for its purchase. That is my purpose for travel to Town. Once I heard in Kent from Miss Bingley that the Denisons were in residence here, I hoped to discover what they had done with the painting so that I might further my quest to own the work."
"I did not know that Caroline Bingley was acquainted with Mr. Denison."
"Before Easter, they met at a ball here in Town."
"Lizzy," my uncle added, drawing near so that our words would not be heard by the servants, "I have informed Mr. Darcy that your aunt and I know the truth about your relationship with each other. I think it perfectly natural and fitting that he accompany us to Sir Linton's residence."
The carriage stood ready at the front door, and my uncle indicated that we should leave. I did not find the ride comfortable, for, while I sat beside Mr. Gardiner, Mr. Darcy sat directly across from me, and I felt the burden of his constant gaze. As we drew near the house, he warned us not to expect accommodations customary to those of a baronet.
"The Willoughby fortune is greatly diminished, and they have been forced to retrench several times over," my uncle added. I was surprised that he knew of their circumstances until he explained that he had transacted business with their steward through the years. "Sir Linton has sold off more than just his family's land. I have come across their paintings, china, silver and even draperies often enough. From my limited viewpoint, I would say the gentleman manages his family's assets poorly."
"To say the least," Mr. Darcy added.
I soon discovered the truth of those statements when we entered the house. Although a large, spacious, old townhouse obviously beautiful at one time, it now reeked of disrepair and neglect. From the shabby livery worn by the servant to the lack of lighting in the hall, the dark, gloomy place possessed an abandoned air. We were shown into a drawing room bereft of furniture save an old settee, a small table, and two worn, faded chairs. Mr. Gardiner indicated that I should be seated, but I preferred to stand beside him. Mr. Darcy walked to the window and stared at the overgrown garden without.
Some time later, our host finally appeared. He was tall and gaunt, both his silver hair and beard in need of a trim. He wore a faded suit of clothing bearing food stains spilled down the front of his vest. A strong smell of alcohol announced his coming.
"Gardiner," he said, "what brings you here?"
My uncle acknowledged him and turned to indicate Mr. Darcy at the window. Sir Linton knit his brows together, squinting at the light streaming in from outside. "Darcy? What business do you have with me?"
Mr. Darcy advanced toward the man and bowed slightly. "May I introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"
For the first time his eyes fell upon me, and he blinked, seeming almost dazed. "Miss who?" he demanded.
"Miss Bennet," Mr. Gardiner said. "She is my niece."
I curtseyed, never taking my eyes from the man. It was obvious he did not like what he saw. He did not bow or greet me in any manner.
"State your business," he said.
"Admiral Denison asked me to return a painting discovered in the attics of Bridesgate Manor," Mr. Darcy said.
"Another painting. What use are they? Is this one worth anything, Gardiner?"
"See for yourself," my uncle replied, as he handed him the wrapped parcel.
Sir Linton grumbled as he clumsily tore off the paper and threw it on the floor. "Do not see why it took all three of you to return my property."
"Perhaps you will when you examine it," Mr. Darcy said quietly.
The baronet held it up, shook his head slightly as though he could not focus his eyes, and uttered an oath. "Cannot see what it is in this dim room. Why is no candle lit?"
"There is sufficient light by the window," Mr. Darcy said, leading him across the bare expanse of the room. "Now, sir, do you not find it of interest?"
Sir Linton stretched out his arms full length and held the painting aloft. Consternation crept across his countenance, and he uttered another oath. "I do not want this rubbish. You have come on a fool's errand to bring this to me. I will not have it in the house!"
He threw it on the floor and staggered back. Mr. Darcy immediately retrieved the painting and held it up before him once more. "Take another look, sir. Does not this painting bear a striking resemblance to one in this room?"
Sir Linton wiped his hand across his mouth in disgust, but recognition dawned in his eyes as he eyed the painting and then turned his gaze upon me.
I walked toward him so that he might see my face more clearly. "May I ask, sir, who posed for the work?"
Again, he stared back and forth between the art and myself. "I shall tell you who she is. I shall tell you, all right. One who is dead to me and to this family."
"She may be deceased, but Miss Bennet and I have a great interest in knowing her identity."
"You do not need to know, Darcy, and neither does she." Sir Linton walked away from the window and slumped down in one of the chairs, but Mr. Darcy followed close behind him.
"I think we do, sir. I will make it worth your while to give us the information."
His eyes opened wide at the suggestion, and he sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
"You know perfectly well what I mean. Not only will I pay to know the identity of the girl, but I should like to buy the painting."
He clambered to his feet. "How much?"
"More than adequate, I assure you. First, tell us who she is."
Sir Linton swore once again, walked to the cold fireplace, and leaned his head against the mantel. "The girl was my sister. Elizabeth Willoughby. She is dead. Lost to my family and lost to this world."
My heart jumped into my throat, and I began to tremble. "How...how did she die, Sir Linton?"
He turned a withering eye upon me, and I trembled even more at the hatred I saw therein. "In childbirth."
"If you have lost your sister, do you not want the painting?" Mr. Gardiner asked. "I would think you would value it for its memories."
"I want no memories of her!" Sir Linton began to pace back and forth. "She is dead to me, I tell you. She betrayed her family, and I will not have her likeness in my house."
"Pray, sir, will you tell me...when she died?" I asked, my voice shaking.
He stopped and turned his fierce glare upon me. "Most likely you know the date well - the sixth of December, 1791. From the looks of you, you could pass for her brat."
I reached out for my uncle's arm, and he immediately led me to the settee. Mr. Darcy crossed the room to my side. "Are you ill, Elizabeth?"
I shook my head slightly, but my heart had jumped into my throat, and I felt my head begin to throb. Mr Gardiner exchanged looks with Mr. Darcy and then returned his attention to Sir Linton. "The date of your sister's death is the birth date of my niece. She was born in Derbyshire to a woman named Elizabeth and then taken to a distant county - Hertfordshire - whereupon, my brother and sister took her in and raised her as their own. Could that make her your niece as well, sir?"
Sir Linton rose and swore again. "I am not saying it could, and nothing you say will force me to do so. I am saying I want nothing to do with Miss Bennet. If you think you are coming here to claim kinship with a noble family, think again. I shall never name you as a Willoughby, and there is no inheritance to share. So, forget any thoughts of getting rich off me, girl!"
"Sir!" Mr. Darcy drew himself up and roared with such anger that he may as well have struck the man. "I will not tolerate any further boorish behaviour toward Miss Bennet."
The baronet seemed taken aback and actually sank back onto his chair.
"Miss Bennet came here seeking knowledge of the girl in the painting. She makes no claims upon your name or your fortune."
Sir Linton muttered something under his breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand once again. Suddenly, he yelled out a man's name, and, when the servant who had admitted us appeared, he barked orders for a bottle of whiskey. Almost immediately, the servant returned with a tarnished brass tray containing a bottle and glass. Before he could pour the drink, Sir Linton grabbed the glass and bottle from him, told the servant to be off, and downed the contents of a full glass.
"I have nothing more to say about Elizabeth Willoughby. She is dead and buried along with the past. Let it remain that way."
"But sir," I said softly, "will you not tell me something about her? I would be grateful for any information you might share."
He poured another glass and drained it before raising his eyes toward me. "I have nothing good to say about her. So, what would you have me tell you?"
"What was her age when she died?"
"Age? Huh, could not have been more than seventeen. Just a slip of a girl...but wild at heart, always wild."
"What do you mean, wild?" I stood and took a step closer so that I might hear him more clearly.
"Always running about the countryside, climbing trees, wading in the streams after she was long past the age for such things. She never cared for parlours or sitting rooms - give her the glens and dales or even out on the moors, and she was content. My mother despaired of settling her down, said she was like something untamed. My father did not care and said let her be. He spoilt her - him and my grandmother - you can blame them for petting her and allowing her to come to ruin."
"Were you there...the night I was born?"
"No! None of us were in Derbyshire when it happened. I had moved my mother and sisters to London before we learned of Elizabeth's condition. When my father died the year before, I became head of the family. My grandmother was a stubborn old woman. She refused to leave the county, and insisted on remaining behind. Three months later, when my mother discovered that my sister was with child, the plan was to send her to a house in Dorsett so we could avoid questions and gossip, but my grandmother would not have it. She refused to let us hide Elizabeth with strangers and insisted that the girl stay with her. I returned my sister to Bridesgate Manor, and neither my mother, my youngest sister, nor I ever saw her again."
He stared into the bottom of his glass as though he could see the event take place all over again. When he spoke at last, his voice had lowered to such an extent that I strained to hear him. "My grandmother wrote us about Elizabeth's death. Not long after that, she died herself."
Tears welled up in my eyes. Not only was I rejected, but my mother as well. She had been abandoned with naught but a grandmother to love her.
Suddenly, Sir Linton rose from his chair and thrust his face close to mine. "If you are her child, your birth cursed us! From that day on, our fortunes reversed. I was forced to sell off my land, my holdings, my belongings because of you! My other sister could not make a suitable match with such a paltry dowry. My wife left me childless. My mother died a bitter old woman. It is all because of you...you, the secret that brought ruin on our entire house!"
Mr. Darcy stepped between Sir Linton and myself. "Mr. Gardiner, please take Elizabeth to the carriage."
Tears streamed down my cheeks, and it is with difficulty to this day that I even recall my uncle leading me from that terrible house. We waited in the carriage for some time before Mr. Darcy emerged from the baronet's house, carrying the portrait.
Immediately upon boarding the carriage, he sat down and leaned forward, taking my hand in his. "Elizabeth, are you well?"
I nodded. Misery possessed me to the extent I was unable to speak.
"I can see you are not."
He stepped outside the coach and directed the driver to hasten back to Mr. Gardiner's house immediately. After we got underway, my uncle asked him if Sir Linton had given him any further information. He sighed and looked out the window before answering but one word, "Yes."
Mr. Darcy did not speak again during the return carriage ride to Gracechurch Street. His silence reigned with such authority that neither my uncle nor I dared question it. My spirits had sunk low enough that I no longer possessed energy to pose a question. That is not to say my mind was at rest, for it was beset with queries too numerous to count.
Why had Sir Linton treated me with such cruelty? And why should my birth have caused his family's fortunes to fail? I could not understand the connection, and yet I bore the shame and responsibility for a noble family's downfall. How could that be?
By the time Mr. Darcy's carriage pulled up in front of Mr. Gardiner's house, I felt as though I could no longer breathe. I longed to run from London, out into the countryside, away from houses or people or towns, so that I might fill my lungs with air and conquer the suffocation that threatened me. As my uncle assisted me down from the conveyance, I caught sight of the park across the street, and, with only a brief word, I stepped from the walk and darted through the passing carriages. Once safely on the other side, I hurried into the leafy arbour without a backward glance. I cared not if I behaved unseemly; I could no longer bear the company of others. I needed to walk alone and calm the noises swirling about my head.
I had rounded the first bend in the path shielding me from view of the street when I heard rapid footsteps overtaking me. A scant glance over my shoulder revealed Mr. Darcy's long legs covering the distance in half the time it had taken me. I began to run. Thankfully, the park was deserted, and I did not make a spectacle of myself, for I ran even faster when I heard him cry out my name, losing my bonnet in doing so. Erelong, however, I felt his hand catch mine, and, even though I struggled, he would not release it.
"Elizabeth!" He pulled me into his embrace and sheltered my head against his warm, heaving chest. I could hear his heart beat wildly in my ear, and we both gasped to catch our breath. "Hush now, be still," he murmured, stroking my hair.
At the tenderness in his voice, my heart melted, and tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked. I allowed him to hold me thus for some moments.
If only I could stay there the rest of my life, I thought, safe and protected within his arms.
Perhaps I could. Had I not seen him hold Georgiana in a similar manner? Perhaps I protested his brotherly love in vain. Perhaps this was how a brother comforted a sister. Perhaps...
And then he stepped back and with one hand lifted my face to meet his. As I raised my eyes, I felt naked and exposed, my need for him laid bare. His eyes searched mine, and the line between his brows increased in an expression of deep concern. I turned my face away, knowing I must conceal my feelings. I could not reveal the love I felt for him. I must not let him know how desperately I needed him.
He led me toward a stone bench a few feet away. There, he gently eased me down and sat close beside me, never letting go of my hand. "You have wept enough, now speak to me."
"I feel great shame."
"Never! You have done nothing of which to be ashamed."
"My birth caused the ruin of the Willoughby family."
"Insupportable nonsense! Sir Linton's excessive alcohol consumption and dissipated lifestyle ruined his family's fortunes. It had nothing to do with you."
"But he said..."
"He did not speak the truth. The man is a wastrel and has been all his life. He blames others for his own sins and especially those he believes unable to defend themselves. Elizabeth, you have not brought shame on anyone." His voice softened. "You never could."
"The circumstances of my birth, sir. Are they not cause for shame?"
"And I suppose you selected those circumstances? Out of the entire world, you chose to be the offspring of an unmarried girl and a reckless gentleman? Come now, I know you better than that. Your judgment is much more prudent than to make a choice so unseemly."
I looked up at his mocking tone and could not help but smile slightly at his raised eyebrows. "No, I should have chosen a wise, caring set of parents who provided well for their children. And, while I am handpicking my forebears, I might as well have made them wealthy."
He shrugged. "Might as well. Why not select the best?"
"If only..."
"Yes, if only." He rose and walked back and forth several times, and then, stopping abruptly, he turned and faced me. "Elizabeth, it seems we have solved part of the mystery of your birth."
"Part of the mystery?"
"By all accounts, we have found your mother."
"And we know my father. What else is there to solve?"
He sat down beside me once more. "I want to know why. Why would my father indulge in an act fraught with danger and dishonour and with a mere girl? I have done some calculations since learning Elizabeth Willoughby's age when she died. My father must have been more than ten years her senior."
"Evidently, age did not bring wisdom."
"But from all other accounts, it did. My father was the most excellent of men - prudent, discerning, cautious, and moral. I cannot fathom why he would take such a chance."
"I would hope because he loved Elizabeth Willoughby. Today has proved a bitter, personal disappointment. Leave me with some semblance of faith that I was conceived in love."
"If I do, that destroys my belief in his devotion to my mother."
We both looked away at that moment. I closed my eyes, saddened that my only consolation caused Mr. Darcy grief. Oh, why had my parents not considered the possible consequences when they engaged in such unacceptable behaviour?
"I must ask you, did Sir Linton enlighten you any further about my mother and father's relationship?"
Mr. Darcy sighed. "He professed to know little about it. Said by the time he learned of the relationship, the deed was done. He blustered about, declaring he did everything in his power to protect his sister, even so far as locking her in her room." He shook his head, uttering a brief, disgusted sigh. "I have no idea why I did this, but I asked Sir Linton if he knew the name of your natural father."
I held my breath. Why would he ask that question? Did we not know? "What...what did he say?"
"Something like, 'You know the answer to that, Darcy, as well as I do! If I were younger and in better health, I would tell you exactly what I think of him, but you are the hot-headed type who would call me out, and I am no longer fit to fight a duel.' Then, he changed the subject and asked if you were a fortune hunter preying upon my family. Do not be alarmed, for I was quick to rid him of that impression."
"Did you tell him you remembered a break between the Willoughbys and your family when you were a child, and that your father instructed you to stay away from Bridesgate Manor?"
"I did. Sir Linton is a cad and a scoundrel. He spoke ill of his grandmother - your great-grandmother. When he could not persuade her to move to Town and agree to send your mother away, he left them with little to live on. Lady Willoughby evidently became a recluse. She must have cut off all communication with surrounding society, or at least I assume she did. As I told you previously, my parents no longer called upon her, and I do not recall seeing her at any social outing."
"How old were you when that occurred?"
"I am not sure, about eight or so years of age."
"And is not that the age you were when I was born?"
He turned his eyes upon mine. "It is. The breach must have happened once Lady Willoughby learned of my father's part in her granddaughter's predicament. Elizabeth, there are so many unanswered questions. I long to know what truly happened."
"I believe we know what happened, sir. What more is there to discover?"
"I cannot rid myself of this desire to know more. Why would my father do this? What would make him forsake my mother and enter a liaison fraught with peril?" He rose once more and began to pace. "I must speak with someone in my father's family. Surely, somehow I can find the answers."
"You mean your uncle? Is he not deceased?"
"My Uncle Henry is, but his widow lives.
"In Bath?"
He nodded. "She might have knowledge of the incident. My uncle may have told her of it."
"And your other uncle...Peter, is it?"
"He would be harder to find, but it is possible. Anything is possible if one searches long enough."
"You said you would tell me about him, but..."
"No, well, it is not something our family speaks of."
I rose, and we began to walk down the path side by side. Even today, I remember the scent of jasmine lay heavy in the air. Numerous vines wove their way through the shrubs, lighting the greenery with their delicate, yellow blossoms.
"Shall you tell me now? After all, Peter Darcy is my uncle as well."
He smiled slightly. "True, I do not know why I had not considered that. I shall tell you, but it is not something the family wants commonly known."
In the space of a half-hour, Mr. Darcy laid forth the story that corresponded with the one Mrs. Reynolds had told me. Peter, the quietest of my grandparents' three sons, had always been his mother's favourite. I could imagine Siobhan Darcy's indulgent coddling of her little boy. Even when grown, he remained close to his mother, so close that he accompanied her to her clandestine worship services at the Papist church hidden in Pemberley's woods. Unknown to his father, young Peter's faith in the Catholic religion grew until he wished to join the church. His desires remained a secret between his mother and him until after her husband's death. A few years thereafter, by the time he was of age, Siobhan had made the necessary plans for him to depart for Ireland without his older brother's knowledge. There, he could practice his faith without causing his family to suffer. All connection with his family in England was severed. Eventually, however, George Darcy and, subsequently, Mr. Darcy himself kept apprised of his general location through the priest at the church in the wood.
"Is that why you spoke privately with the priest on the day you took Georgiana and me to the chapel?"
"It is. He corresponds with another priest near the village where Peter Darcy lives. He told me my uncle is in poor health and may not live to see another spring."
"Do you think he knows anything of the events surrounding my birth? Did he leave for Ireland before it happened, or was he still in residence at Pemberley?"
"I do not know. As a child, I recall my father's anger when he learned Peter had gone away without a word to any of us, but I am unaware of the time frame. It was a time of tumult in our house, for Henry was frequently found in some disgraceful scrape or other misbehaviour. I think he joined the Navy that same year. I do remember how I missed both of my uncles and how much quieter and lonelier the house grew when they left, but as to when it happened, I cannot say. It all runs together in childhood memories."
We walked in silence for some time, and I was much engaged in reflecting over all that Mr. Darcy had told me, when he spoke again.
"Elizabeth, I would caution you once more not to tell anyone of Peter Darcy other than your uncle and aunt."
"You do not need to remind me, sir. I would not reveal your family's secrets to anyone. If you prefer, I need not mention it to my aunt and uncle."
"No, I trust Mr. Gardiner. He has proven himself a man of discretion, and I have no quarrel with his knowing the truth. As you said earlier, Peter Darcy is your uncle as well as mine, and if you care to confide in Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, you have my permission."
I smiled at him. How lovely that he shared my good opinion of my favourite relatives. "Since you still have questions, might you write to your uncle in Ireland and make inquiries? Perchance, he could provide the answers."
Mr. Darcy shook his head. We had returned to Gracechurch Street by that time, and we halted to allow the carriages to pass. "I cannot ask a man I have not seen since I was a boy to discuss such serious matters in a letter."
He took my arm and guided me across the street to the steps of the house. There, he stopped and turned to face me. "I have made plans to visit Henry Darcy's widow."
"Indeed? When might you go?"
"As soon as I can travel to Kent and fetch Georgiana. I cannot leave her under Lady Catherine's oppression any longer. Elizabeth, will you go with me to Bath?"
My eyes widened at the thought, and I felt my pulse begin to quicken. "I...I do not think that a good idea, sir."
I turned away and hurried up the steps. He followed close behind and opened the door for me. We stepped into the vestibule, and Mr. Darcy handed his hat to the waiting servant. He informed us that Mr. Gardiner had gone above stairs to greet his wife, but would be down shortly. I walked toward the parlour and asked the servant to bring tea for Mr. Darcy and myself. I settled myself upon the sofa and straightened my skirt, all the while averting my face. Oh, how I wished my aunt or uncle would soon join us or at least that the gentleman would refrain from any more questions. Instead, he seated himself in the chair nearest me and leaned forward, forcing me to look directly at him.
"Why, Elizabeth? I shall take Mrs. Annesley with my sister. Why should you not accompany us?"
"I do not see the need, sir. You know your aunt. I would find myself ill at ease meeting yet another relation with whom I must explain my birth. Besides, you are the one with questions...not me."
"I do not believe you."
"Sir?"
"You cannot be satisfied with today's outcome. Surely, you want to know why your mother and my father ever... It is simply incongruous. There must be more to the story, and I cannot believe you are not as curious as I."
"Believe it! I want no more details of this unfortunate affair. I have no desire to claim either the name Willoughby or Darcy."
"You are content to remain a Bennet?"
"I am not a Bennet, am I? That is the truth. I am...no one. I am just Elizabeth, and I do not know where I belong or to whom." I fought the tears with everything in me, but I could not prevent them from welling up in my eyes.
Mr. Darcy rose and sat beside me, taking both my hands in his. I turned my face away, even though he commanded me to look at him. "You belong to me, Elizabeth..." my heart turned over "...and to Georgiana. We are your family. Why must you fight it? We want you near us. You will always be welcome at Pemberley. You may come for long visits whenever my sister is home, and wherever you choose to live, I will protect you, provide for you...I will care for you."
I turned and met his eyes. "The way you did at the Whitby's ball?"
He stiffened and released my hands. Standing, he took a step toward the window and then turned back. "Elizabeth, that will never happen again. I promise."
"I believe you made a similar promise in the church at Longbourn, sir. I believed you then, but you did not keep your word."
"I behaved badly, I know. It was the brandy."
"And what will keep you from returning to that comfort?"
Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room, and our private conversation ended. Mr. Darcy remained but a short while and soon made his departure. My aunt gently questioned me about the day's events. Evidently, Mr. Gardiner had warned her of my fragile emotions, and, when I began to hesitate, she took the cue and encouraged me to retire to my chamber.
Above stairs, I fell upon the soft bed and buried my face in the pillows.
A week later, Jane persuaded me to return to Mr. Bingley's townhouse in Grosvenor Square. She had visited Gracechurch Street often during my stay with the Gardiners, but I had refrained from calling upon her. Now, she insisted I spend the remainder of my time in Town with her.
"I shall miss you too much when you return to Longbourn, Lizzy. You must grant me this request, and, if you do, I shall tell you a very great secret." She would not say another word or give me the slightest hint until I agreed to pack my bags.
Once I had settled into my former bedchamber and directed the maid as to my belongings, I joined my sister in her favourite sitting room where she told me she was with child. The news filled me with joy as nothing else had done since Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane. She bloomed with radiant happiness and informed me that Charles was over the moon at the news. So far, she had not been plagued with sickness of any kind, and her appetite had soared.
"I shall burst the seams of my gowns if I continue to eat in this manner!" she declared.
We laughed together at the thought, and I assured her she could order as many larger dresses as she desired. It was so good to laugh together, to redirect my thoughts toward a thrilling, happy event. We spent no little time planning the baby's layette, wondering if it would be a boy or girl, and mulling over choice of names.
"If it is a girl, I hope Charles will allow me to name her Frances Elizabeth for you and Mamá."
"I would imagine Charles will allow you to call her by any name you like, for if it is possible, he appears more besotted with love for you upon each occasion we meet. Oh, my dearest Jane, your news has made me so happy!"
This respite from my own troubles lasted but a few days, however, for, by the end of the week, Jane informed me they were having guests for dinner that evening - Miss Bingley, who had just returned from Rosings, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. I cautioned her not to overtax herself, but she assured me she was quite up to presiding over her table.
The night of the event, I attempted to come down with a headache as best I could, but to no avail. There was nothing to it but to grit my teeth and join my sister's guests. I fussed with my hair and studied my choice of gowns in the wardrobe for some time, but, at length, I could no longer find an excuse to remain in my chamber. With great reluctance, I emerged from my sanctuary and made my way to the drawing room. Mrs. Hurst was the first to greet me with her insincere smile and veiled insults. Miss Bingley, likewise, looked me up and down as though I had walked in from the streets. Mr. Hurst's affair with the bottle had progressed nicely, and he hardly noticed my entrance. Mr. Bingley, however, crossed the room and ushered me to Jane's side. I loved Charles, for he was truly dear. I avoided glancing in Mr. Darcy's direction as long as possible, but, eventually, when Charles included him in the conversation, I was forced to raise my eyes to him and acknowledge his presence.
"Miss Bennet," he said with the briefest of bows. "I trust you are well."
I curtsied and immediately turned away, asking Jane a question about the flowers for the table. The evening progressed in much the same manner throughout dinner. With the absence of the men afterwards, Miss Bingley regaled us with how she had flattered and charmed Lady Catherine during her visit to Rosings. She seemed to take particular pleasure in stressing how she also took great pains to cultivate a friendship with Miss de Bourgh, although she feared that the poor woman would not live a long life because of her ill health.
"I would not be at all surprised if, when she weds, it will be a marriage of short duration, for I doubt, God forbid, that she would survive childbirth."
"Is Miss de Bourgh engaged to be married?" Jane asked.
"Not officially, but Lady Catherine says it will not be long before an announcement shall be proclaimed." She fixed a stare in my direction, smugness blatant upon her face. "Throughout the Easter holiday, she has worked behind the scenes to insure the alliance. And I have assured Lady Catherine that I have done all in my power to assist her and shall continue my efforts, since I am intimately acquainted with the gentleman in question and his family. I promised her that I would keep my eyes and ears open. Thus, I have every hope of becoming as essential to the de Bourgh family as a daughter. I cannot fail to see how advantageous our connection might prove in the future."
I considered Miss Bingley's words decidedly distasteful, and I was relieved when, shortly thereafter, we were reunited with the gentlemen in the music room. Mrs. Hurst entertained us on the pianoforte longer than necessary, and once she rose from the bench, Miss Bingley took her place. She persuaded Mr. Darcy to turn the pages of the music for her and took every opportunity to flatter his expertise in the art. For pity's sake, I thought, any simpleton can turn pages.
When the Bingley sisters' performance concluded at last, Mr. Hurst insisted they join the Whist table. I had picked up my book and tried to lose myself therein when Caroline Bingley announced they must hear me sing and play. I protested vehemently, but she would not have it. Signalling her sister to join the chorus, they both pushed and prodded until I could do nothing more than walk reluctantly toward the instrument. I knew full well the cause of their persistence - they both possessed superior talent to mine and took great delight in exhibiting my ineptness, all the while declaring their fervent desire to hear my efforts.
I sighed as I reached the pianoforte and rifled through a stack of music. What could I possibly find to play without making a fool of myself?
"Sing the song you performed the first time you visited Pemberley," Mr. Darcy said in a low voice.
I startled, unaware that he stood close behind me. I had last seen him near the card table and assumed he would join the players.
"I shall never forget the clarity of your soprano. It rivalled any I had ever heard before."
"Surely you jest, sir."
"I do not. I pray you will sing it again, Elizabeth, for me." He spoke the last words so quietly that I had to strain to hear him.
I looked up to meet his eyes and saw no sign of mockery. He made the request with all earnestness. I fumbled through the music, mumbling that I did not know the song by heart. He took the stack from my hands, pulled out the required piece, and bade me be seated. My hands trembled as I spread open the pages.
"Oh," Miss Bingley exclaimed, "Mr. Hurst plays all before me. Will you not come and advise me, Mr. Darcy?"
He waited a moment or two before answering and then looked up with a serious expression. "Forgive me. I must remain constant at my appointed task. After all, I am the expert page turner in the room, am I not?"
I could not hide the smile that lit up my face, especially when I saw an expression of consternation pull Miss Bingley's mouth down at the corners. With sudden confidence, I played the first notes and began to sing. Oh, I fudged and slurred my way through many of the chords, but I sang out with all that was in me, and, at the conclusion, I was rewarded with extraordinary applause from at least three people in the room and beaming approval on Mr. Darcy's face.
We took a turn about the room thereafter, and I was grateful that he kept the conversation light and pleasant. He told me that, instead of returning to Kent to retrieve his sister, Mr. Darcy had sent a trusted man-servant in his place. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were en route from Kent to the Earl of Matlock's residence on the outskirts of London, where he planned to join them the following week. She had endured Lady Catherine's company longer than necessary. He told me of the earl's fondness for his niece and how she would be spoilt from the moment she arrived. We agreed that Georgiana possessed such an agreeable, loving nature that no amount of attention would ever ruin her. Our little sister was one subject on which we remained in perfect agreement.
Later that evening, however, Mr. Darcy took me aside privately once again to attempt to persuade me to accompany Georgiana, her companion, and him to Bath to visit Mr. Henry Darcy's widow. Although he uttered many favourable arguments, I remained adamant in my refusal. Consequently, we parted much less positively than we spent the earlier portion of the evening.
On Thursday next, Charles and Jane left the house to call upon friends, and I found myself alone at last. I selected my favourite novel, had the maid fetch me a cup of tea, and proceeded to curl up in a comfortable chair beside the window in the library. It afforded me excellent light to read by, and I looked forward to a long, quiet afternoon in my own company.
Unfortunately, I had read less than a chapter when the servant announced I had a visitor. A visitor? Who could it be - Aunt Gardiner? Surely not Mr. Darcy - I knew I had displeased him when last we spoke and hoped he had gone to join Georgiana at Eden Park by then.
"Miss Eleanor Willoughby," the servant said.
Willoughby!
I rose, smoothed my skirt, and composed myself. A few moments later, a woman entered, and I curtsied. Tall and thin with a pinched look about her mouth, I judged her to be in her mid-thirties. Her dress was perfectly adequate but lacked the finery associated with the aristocracy. Her hair was already streaked with grey, and it was evident her complexion had lost its bloom some time ago.
"Elizabeth, is it?" she asked, her tone soft and undemanding.
"Yes, Miss Willoughby, Elizabeth Bennet."
She advanced into the room and examined me with great interest, her eyes poring over my face as though she searched for something or someone lost.
"You look so much like my sister," she said at last.
I bade her be seated in a chair close to mine and rang for more tea.
"You are her child - Elizabeth's child - no matter what my brother says. The evidence is shockingly apparent."
I coloured, and neither of us spoke for several moments. At last, I said, "Will you tell me about her? I long to know anything you are willing to share."
The servant entered with the tea service, and Miss Willoughby waited to speak while I poured a cup for her. As I picked it up to give to her, she reached out and held onto my hand. "Your fingers are like hers, your hair, your countenance, especially your mouth. The only difference is in your eyes. They came from your father."
I bowed my head, suddenly ashamed of the circumstances of my birth all over again. Would she now denounce me as her brother had done? When she said nothing more, I ventured to meet her gaze and found a tenderness about her mouth, causing it to appear less severe, almost pleasant.
"I regret...very much that my birth caused the downfall of your family's fortunes."
Miss Willoughby sighed and rolled her eyes. "Is that what Linton told you? Pay it no mind, my dear. He simply seeks someone other than himself on whom to pin the blame. It is true, Elizabeth was all set to make a fortuitous marriage, or rather my mother and Linton had arranged that she would, when they learned that my sister had chosen another path. But let me assure you, our family's fortunes were already in great disarray due to my brother's gambling obsession and his fondness for the bottle."
"He said my birth kept you from making a successful alliance as well."
"I? I was but eleven years old when you were born - hardly of an age to be sold to the highest bidder - no, by the time I reached the brink of courtship, Linton had long spent our fortune and blackened our name so that any man of consequence would never think of asking for my hand. You had nothing to do with it."
I felt as though a heavy sack of bricks had been lifted from my shoulders, and I breathed a great sigh. "You do not know with what relief I hear your words, Miss Willoughby."
"Will you not call me Eleanor? I am your aunt, after all."
"I...I could not be that familiar."
"May I hope that someday you will feel differently?" When my only response was to lower my eyes to the floor, she continued, "Tell me what you wish to know about your mother."
"Everything!"
She laughed lightly, rose and walked to the window, fingering the lace shielding us from the sunshine. "You must remember that I was but a child when she died, so my memories are hazy. Sometimes, I am not certain whether things happened as I recall, or whether I dreamed them."
"If you were eleven when I was born, you must be old enough to have known her quite well."
"Oh yes, I knew her. I loved her. She was the dearest person on earth to me, and I would have done anything for her. It broke my heart when my mother and brother forced me to remain in London with the governess while they returned Elizabeth to Derbyshire and left her at Bridesgate with our grandmother. I remember how I cried and begged my governess to tell me where my sister had gone. Once she did, I demanded that she take me to Bridesgate as well, but she would not give over, for she had her orders." Her voice had grown soft and husky, and I feared she might weep. I determined to steer the conversation to a more cheerful subject.
"Well, tell me what she loved to do. Was my mother musical or artistic? Did she like to read or sew?"
Lady Willoughby laughed. "Read? Yes, at night when it was dark and she was forced to remain indoors. Her sewing was hopeless, even worse than mine, and remember I was but a child. I do not recall her spending much time at the pianoforte or at the easel, thus I suppose she was not particularly proficient at either art. What Elizabeth loved was nature - the woods and forest, trees and streams, anywhere outdoors where she could breathe. She often complained that she could not catch her breath inside. And she was beautiful, of course. In truth, she possessed all the beauty in the family. If Linton was ever handsome, I do not remember it, and you can see for yourself, the gods did not bother to bless me in that regard."
I offered to refill her cup, and she returned to her place across from me. "Was she...Sir Linton said my mother was...wild. Is that true?"
She raised her eyebrows as she lifted the cup to her mouth. "I could not say. I did not consider her wild - I thought her wonderful. She and I ran through the woods, climbed trees together, waded in the pond, and she discovered the most exciting places to hide. I considered it all a great lark, and, even though she was six years my senior, I felt blessed to have her attention. That is why I kept her secret."
I looked up from my cup. "Her secret?"
"When he began coming around, and they spent more and more time together, she made me swear I would not tell. I was flattered that she confided in me and, naturally, would not have told on her if my life depended upon it."
"I assume that you refer to my father. So you knew him."
"Not truly. When they began to meet, it was always deep in the woods between our house and Pemberley. At the beginning, they simply laughed and talked, and they allowed me to tag along. Later, I served as lookout to warn them if anyone approached. I, of course, was innocent and knew nothing of the deep bond between them or that it would possibly end in my sister's death. All I knew was that she loved him, and, in my childish eyes, he loved her. Elizabeth, I truly believe your parents cared deeply for each other."
Now it was my turn to rise. I had to turn my back to keep her from seeing the depth of emotion her words stirred within me. I thought my heart might burst from the need to weep. Several moments passed before I could speak, during which I walked to the fireplace and ran my fingers across the edge of the mantle. At last, I took a deep breath and faced her.
"Did you ever hear his name spoken, Miss Willoughby?" The words that tumbled from my mouth shocked me! Did I - did Mr. Darcy, for that matter - still entertain the foolish hope that someone would announce that I was not the daughter of George Darcy?
She shook her head. "She simply called him Darcy."
"But surely you knew who he was. The Darcys were acquainted with your family. Did you not see him when they called upon your grandmother or mother?"
"I must have, but because I was a child, adults were unimportant to me. I cannot say I ever recall seeing him but for his meetings with Elizabeth in the wood."
She rose then and indicated she must take her leave. I expressed my pleasure for her call and asked that she call again. "I dare not visit you...Sir Linton..."
She nodded, reached out, and took my hand. "He was not always that way, my dear. Although he is many years my senior, I recall the affectionate brother he was before his vices and greed took over his life. I understand your reluctance to call, however, and, if I am able, I will visit you again with pleasure. Next time, you must do the talking and tell me all about yourself."
We parted with a smile, and I returned to my former perch. The novel that had attracted me earlier could not begin to claim my attention now, for I had a treasure load of things to think about and feelings to sort.
Suddenly, I had a great desire to see Mr. Darcy and tell him all that I had learned.
Two weeks later, I received yet another letter from my father. He took me to task for my failure to respond to his last two missives. I could not help but smirk - this from a man who prided himself upon tardy replies to correspondence. I cannot say why I had not responded other than I could not think of anything to say. 'Twas sad that, in my mind, the bond between us had weakened until only the most tenuous thread held it together. In truth, I remained angry with him for not revealing the circumstances of my birth sooner. All reason rang out with arguments in favour of his charity, yet I clung stubbornly to the hurt and pain I suffered when first I learned the truth.
But now, I knew I must write to him. Reading further down the letter, however, saved me from the task. He would travel to London on business within two days and call upon us as soon as he reached Town. He hoped to persuade me to return to Longbourn upon conclusion of his business.
I have not heard two words of sense spok