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My Dearest Elizabeth,

For dearest you have become to me in these short months I have come to know you. I write to you now with the knowledge I will have passed on as you read this. Be well, my Dear, do not despair, for I have seen what no other has yet to, and I am here to help you, even if no longer in person.

I know you are Elizabeth Bennet. I saw you once, over a year ago, in Lambton with your Uncle Edward and Aunt Madeline Gardiner, nee Walker.

Mrs. Doris Walker was one of my dearest friends and her daughter Madeline is dear to me as well. We were to meet that summer, did you know? I suspect not, since you did not recognise my name when we met. It was several months before I recognised you for who you were. Madeline had often written to me about her two favourite nieces, Jane and Elizabeth Bennet. The day we first spoke of my illness under the great elm was the day I recognised you for who you really were.

Later, I recognised something much more serious about you: I know you carry an unborn child. I know that whatever has come between you and your baby’s father has not been resolved, and I fear it may never be. Can you not tell him? I seem unable to help you in this, but I will not dwell on it. The two of you are grown adults, and you must make your peace as you see fit. However, your babe cannot. I see your spirit waning daily as you fret over what is to become of you and my resolve is set. I am sorry to give you pain, but I must be frank with you, as you were most often with me.

You cannot keep this child without a great deal of deception. I am sorry that it is the way of the world, but it is so. You cannot be an unmarried woman with a child and have any hope to live in peace.

I have therefore undertaken to find you a suitable husband. A suitable, deceased husband, of course. You must be his widow, and no one must ever be able to trace your history. Therefore, I am pleased to inform you, that you are the widow of a Mr. William James Cartwright, a soldier in the regulars, who was stricken and died of influenza while serving his majesty’s army in Spain. He was a real person who was known to me, an orphan with no family to trace. His dear new “cousin” has left his widow, Elizabeth Cartwright, six thousand pounds and a small cottage in the south of Derbyshire, in the town of Brampton. The money was my dowry, and the cottage belonged to my family. My husband’s great niece will inherit Fairhaven and its fortune, but my legacy I pass happily onto you. I have written a letter which can be sent to the vicar there instructing him to welcome my cousin’s wife and the child she is soon to have. It is up to you to direct my solicitors to do so.

I know you do not like to have anything forced upon you, Elizabeth. I know you will be at first furious with me for making so many presumptions and taking on tasks which might seem mortifying to a lady. Please believe me when I say to take the opportunity I lay before you. My good name and your new relationship to me will serve you well, my Dear. Your respectability will remain intact, and you will have the financial independence to do with both your lives as you want.

I cannot tell you the pleasure it gives me to think you might do this. I envy you your freedom if you do; I hope you can see this as just that. To know you and your child could be happy and healthy living in the country, growing up under your excellent tutelage, truly puts me at peace with my fate.

Consider carefully, my dearest friend, and do what is best for you both. If you truly cannot reconcile with the father, then do what is right for yourself and your child. All you have to do is tell those two toady attorneys of mine your real name is Elizabeth Cartwright…

“My late husband … was a slight acquaintance of Mrs. Thurgood’s. He left for Spain just before I went to work for her. I never met him. She was kind enough to honour me with his very deceased hand, adopting him in the process thereby making me, and subsequently William, her legal heirs. She then set us up in a lovely country town, where I have been respectably keeping my widow’s cottage these past three and a half years. It was all her doing. I knew none of it, until after her death. She cared for me even after she left me. I will never forget her kindness. William knows to whom we owe our good fortune; I make sure he knows who gives of themselves and their hearts.”

“You were never married, then? Oh, this is somewhat disturbing news. But Lizzy!” she exclaimed. Finally understanding the full weight of what her sister had revealed, she ventured, “You loved him, you are in love - with Mr. Darcy?”

“Of course,” she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I could no more stop loving him then stop breathing.” However, seeing her sister’s beautiful face now brimming with tears she tried to lighten the mood. “I would not be Elizabeth Bennet if I were not doomed to love a man who hates me”

“Hates you? Oh no, I am sure he does not hate you.”

“You did not see him, Jane, you did not see his eyes, and you did not hear his voice. We hurt one another so much, our tempers raged at their fullest, and we each inflicted our worst. No, he will never forgive me. I know this. Once his good opinion is lost….” She suddenly hesitated, cringing at using his words.

“It would not change, he could never change,” she quickly ended. “So you see, Mr. Darcy and I are not the best of friends.” She said, trying to brush off light-heartedly that which plagued her every day of her life. Several moments of silence past, before Lizzy became serious again.

“He has my heart, but I have lost any share of his. That is my penance; my burden is to know I have cut off and flung from me the only man I have loved, and the only man with whom I could have been happy. Lydia’s foolishness, next to my own, pales. She had dreams; I never allowed them for either of us.”

“But why? Why did you leave him? Why did you turn his offer down in Kent if you loved him?”

“You know the reason I refused him then; I did not love him, only after, when I read his letter, when I saw the pain of what I had said to him; how unjust I had been. How I had so easily thought ill of him because he had wounded my vanity. I never knew myself until then, and I never knew the man I had refused. I had acted despicably to another human being and I felt the bitterness of my shame. And justly so. I began to read his letter, over and over, truly searching out the man I knew not. Slowly it came unto me: who he really was, and what I felt. I did not know my own heart until we met again at Pemberley the summer Lydia eloped. However, what began there, ended in London. I ended it. I alone was at fault.

“When we met in London… I cannot tell you all of it; it would not reflect well on either of us. After… after Lydia…” Small tears, a regretful trickle started down her face. She knew she had already shed enough tears for her loss, but there still seemed to be a few determined reminders of her folly.

“Forgive me, I have never spoken about this before,” She wanted to confess this; she knew she needed to make sure someone knew what had happened.

“About nine months after Wickham and Lydia eloped, while I was living on my own in London, I met him one night, and I… I made a decision.” She paused, thinking over how much she should reveal of her plots, intrigues and shame. Deciding nothing would be served by confessing to Jane all that she had done, just how low she had sunk, she chose a highly edited version, though still grave in its outcome.

“I gave him myself of my own free will; he never coerced me. I wanted him, and I swear I did not know then how much I would hurt him. I only knew I was meant to be with him and I did not wish to stop and think of why I was making the choice. What will you think of me, Jane? Please do not be disgusted, but I do not regret what we shared that night. I cannot regret such love and passion, such a night! I wished to have such a memory to secretly keep with me forever, to make up for the empty years I knew would be ahead of me.” She sighed, not sadly, but resignedly. “But it was not to remain secret; unbeknownst to us, we had made my beloved William.

“I had dishonoured myself, and I knew I could not live with him, knowing what he would think of me. I refused his hand, yet allowed him to….” She shook her head.

“I had fallen from grace and from his esteem forever. Therefore, I left, meaning to never see him again, and determined to make sure he would never try to find me. I could not bring my shame and the shame of our family to him, so I ensured that he would hate me. I said words I knew would seal our fate, not knowing what the future had in store for me. It mattered not; all I ever wanted was to secure the safety and futures of those I loved.”

“He has not married, Lizzy, surely he must still be in love with you. Else would he not marry and start a family?”

“But I am not the same. I am no longer respectable and worthy of marriage. I would never marry him and bring upon him the humiliation of being connected to me. If he takes a bride, I will never begrudge him his happiness. I want him to find it; I pray for it. I am bound to him dearest, I cannot help it, but he can never be bound to me.”

“Then why not tell him? Why not give him his son? Or let him at least share in him? “Jane cried.

“My dearest sister!” she exclaimed heartily. “How strong you have become!” She hugged Jane to her. “I could not be prouder!”

“Do not put me off,” Jane whispered, her anger rising, her face flushed. She pushed Elizabeth back slightly, setting her back to her place, to make her finish.

“No, Jane,” she said sadly shaking her head. “For you, only the whole truth. That is not the end of it, of course.” She dropped her hands absently in her lap and stared steadily at her motionless fingers.

“He alone can hurt me above all others. Fitzwilliam is also the only man I have ever been afraid of. The only man who ever stood up to me, the only man to best me, the only man I have ever loved. It also makes him the most dangerous man in the world to me. He alone has the power to destroy that which is most dear to me.

“I am not speaking of merely taking my son from me, but from the world. Can you understand? William is not here just for me to love or Darcy to raise. I cannot be so selfish. His mind, Jane! He has a mind that only comes along once in a generation. Like Mozart or Aristotle, he thinks even now so far beyond me, I am humbled and tremble at the responsibility I have to the world to give him every chance to contribute. I know it seems impossible, but I assure you, I am not alone in this assessment. We have been to see many men; they all agree with me.”

Jane slowly shook her head, trying to comprehend an idea so far removed from Longbourn, Netherfield, or her life with Bingley.

“But I see you do not understand why I cannot let his father know him. It is really very simple. I cannot take the chance that William might become Master of Pemberley. I cannot let him idle his life away on something as worthless as society. I could never risk the chance of him growing up spoiled, thinking the rest of the world is beneath him in any way. He might never be humble, he might never be benevolent, or do anything for the greater good of humanity. He would always have to think first of his family, his property, his place in society. These encumbrances would hinder him so much. In the end, he would become a portrait in the gallery of Pemberley: William Darcy, the twenty-second master of Pemberley, with ten more masters on either of his sides. How could I waste him so? Do you not see? Truly?”

Jane shook her head. “No, Lizzy, I do not! He has a father who has a right to see his son. It cannot be right!”

Lizzy’s eyes filled once again with tears, new tears, born from this new idea, a new hurt, that she did not like to dwell upon.

“I do not know if I can ever involve his father in his life. As painful as it will be to Mr. Darcy, and as hurtful as it may be someday to William, I must take the chance of making the two people I love most in the world hate me forever. I hope and pray it is the right thing to do and for all the right reasons. But please know, dearest, that in my heart, in my heart as his wife, I do want Fitzwilliam to know and love his son someday.” Lizzy wept silently to herself, Jane gave her some privacy while she cleared the tea things unto the tray. When she had at last composed herself, she explained her reason for visiting Jane.

“I came to ask something of you. I want you to tell Papa you saw me and you know I am well. I want you to tell him not to worry anymore, and most importantly, I want you to tell him to stop looking for me. I know he does this, and I cannot tell you how, only that he must stop. I want to ease his pain and his heart, and reconcile him to realising that, while I will always love him, I can no longer be his daughter.”

“But you are respectable Lizzy; you have your husband and your story.”

“No, father is no fool and can count numbers and look up dates as well as the next man. I will not add injury and insult to his pain. I love him too much. When William finishes his studies this year, we are going away. We must find the best there is for his education, and that is in on the continent. I think we will be gone a very long while. And I am certain…” Elizabeth choked on the words as they left her mouth, “…I will never see Papa again.

“I want him to remember me as I was: when I had not a care in the world past the next bend in the footpath. That is the Lizzy he loves. He deserves to keep that Lizzy with him. Not me. Will you do this for me; will you assure him in every way possible, without revealing William or my situation?”

“But what have you told me, Lizzy? I know not where you live, where you will go, or how to write to you if anyone needed you?”

Elizabeth smiled slightly, “Dear Jane, I was never needed. Lady Catherine de Bourgh once told me if my mother did not need me then my father could spare me; daughters can always be spared, and it is true. I can be spared; I only wish to not be a burden as well. I must go where I am needed, and my son needs me most.

“I will write, but not often; perhaps on William’s seventy-seven three hundred and sixty fifth’s birthday every year. It will be the anniversary of our lovely afternoon together, and I would always wish to mark it.”

“You are leaving? Oh no! Please say you will come again, please do not leave me again!” Jane was sobbing now, and poor Elizabeth could not hide her emotions, though she tried hard.

Through her tears she said, “I left four years ago, remember? I left you all to find your lives, your loves and your dreams, and now that you have found it, it makes my own happiness complete. I love you dearest sister, nothing will ever change that.”

“Lizzy, wait! Please do not leave yet. I have something, something I was told to give you, should you ever come to me. Will you wait while I fetch it?” Elizabeth agreed and soon Jane returned with a large envelope in her hands.

“I know this will come as a surprise to you, and perhaps it will not be pleasant, but Lizzy, Father gave this to me many years ago. He hoped that one day it would find its way into your hands. I do not know what it contains, but he did not deliver it in anger. Indeed, I believe he offered it in the most tender of regards to be passed on to you. Will you accept it? I know it would be of great relief to him, and perhaps, when I speak to him of your desire for him to give up his search, he would be more likely to agree.”

Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed with more tears. To know that her father had not abandoned her completely, gave her great comfort.

“Yes, Jane. I will accept it,” she whispered, “Tell father, no matter what it contains, I am glad to have it.”

They hugged each other tightly again. Finally, after many minutes they both had calmed down, and with their arms around each other, Jane called the maid to get William and his nurse.

As William came to his mother’s side, Lizzy whispered to Jane “I am sure you will see him again Jane, I feel it in my heart and it warms me to know he will know you throughout his life.”

William gave his Lady Angel a lovely kiss on each cheek and held her face for several moments, as if trying to commit it to memory. Then, after thanking her quite sweetly, ran off with his nurse to the door.

Jane smiled and frowned questioningly at Elizabeth.

“He sees things as we see a painting,” she said. “When he wishes to see you again, he will merely close his eyes, and the picture of you in every detail will come into his mind: every curl, the lace on your collar, your beautiful smile, they are all there directly in front of him, for his asking. It is an amazing gift and I envy him it. He is very selective in his ‘picture making’ as we call it. He says he will live to be very old, so he should not waste the canvases.”

Then she and William left.

Jane stood in the garden as a light breeze blew softly thru her hair. She knew she should feel alone, but something crept upon her countenance. Turning around suddenly, she saw the drapery in Charles’ study silently floating upwards and twirling around in a lazy dance upon the breeze. Sitting stoically on the small sofa next to window, Jane saw Fitzwilliam Darcy, the father of her nephew, staring at nothing particular, yet steadily.

“You heard her?” she gasped.

He did not answer, but turned to her slowly, a deep, heavy pain shadowed across his face.

“You heard everything!” she cried, her voice breaking, as she realized the import of the wretched situation, and her sobs returned unabated.

Posted on Friday, 6 January 2006

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jane Bingley’s sudden burst into tears had broken the solitude of shock that he had felt, and instantly plunged Darcy into a rarely felt panic. He had an intense urge to leave the Bingley’s house immediately. However, to abandon Mrs. Bingley sobbing in her garden would be unforgivably rude, especially considering he was, in part, the source of her discomfort. He had just settled next to her outside, attempting to give her relief, when Bingley appeared.

“Good God! What is the matter?” he cried.

“Bingley! Thank heavens you are here. Your wife needs you and I must away.” Jane’s sobs seemed to increase, despite her being gathered into her husband’s arms.

“Darcy, what has happened?”

“There is much to impart, but I cannot stay. I must go. Please ask your wife; she will tell you all.” He answered while attempting to excuse himself. Bingley scowled and his anger began to boil.

“Have you done something to cause my wife’s distress?”

“No, not directly. That is not what…” He heaved a great breath, accepting he must explain something of what had occurred. “Charles, Elizabeth Bennet was just here.”

“Lizzy was here?” He took Jane’s face in his hands. “You saw your sister? She is alive and well?” Jane nodded through her tears.

Darcy continued, “There is so much more, but I can not stay to tell you. Mrs. Bingley, please, I think he deserves to know everything we two learned today. Will you tell him?”

Jane’s bottom lip trembled as she once again nodded her agreement.

“Thank you. I know it will not be easy. I promise you both I will call again tomorrow, but for now, I really must go.” He stormed out after his quick bows.

“Oh, Charles, what wretched chaos this day has been!” Jane cried through her tears as she embraced her husband fiercely.

Darcy strode with determination away from the Bingley‘s house, heedless of anything around him except for the need to escape the prying eyes of those who would look upon him and judge him with their stares.

“Georgie,” he thought. “I must see Georgie.”

His ordered life had not often been disrupted. He relished the control he was afforded by his position both as master of his grand estate and head of his family. His vast knowledge of his world and the success of his endeavours gave him the sense of security he wanted, and one of only two sources of happiness he knew.

Now, in one afternoon, his carefully constructed control and the comfortable world he had built around himself was sifting hopelessly through his large graceful fingers. His tightened fists could do naught to stem the tide.

At last he stood upon the doorstep of his sister’s town-home. The late afternoon sun was setting behind him, encouraging the onslaught of crisp spring night air of April with its impending absence. His great agitation was barely concealed. The butler brought him immediately to Mrs. McNally, who was luckily alone, for as soon as the door to the drawing room closed behind the servant, he fell to his knees at her feet, his shoulders wracked with the sobs he had been forced to hold in as he cried, “Oh, Georgie, I have a son!”

She sat, startled and helpless to assuage his grief, and could think of nothing to do but hold her brother tightly to her as he wept.

Georgiana’s calm in the storm of his woe was a blessing and a necessary part of his attempt to be collected once again. He was aware of her stroking his hair, and whispering endearments to him, just as his mother had once done. The siblings were again supporting one another in whatever way each needed.

At last he began to settle. He knew he could trust his sister’s judgment and sense in advising him what he should do with his situation. Whilst trying to think of the words to begin, Georgiana spoke first.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“I think I am. I apologise for such an outburst.”

“I think it perfectly understandable; considering the circumstances.”

“Thank you, Dearest.”

She leaned over and kissed the top of his crown. “You are most welcome.” They sat embracing while tranquillity began to descend upon the room. Georgie spoke once again.

“Was it the woman you spoke of that night, all those years ago?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry, Brother.”

He nodded silently.

“What do you intend to do?”

He looked up earnestly at his sister. “Georgiana, my head is so full of thoughts right now, I do not think I could draw a straight line with a pen.”

“I think I understand. How can I help you in this?”

“I could use the peace of home at this moment, however, I am uncertain of my ability to convey myself hither.”

“Stay here then; I will make the arrangements, and Patrick and I will accompany you home.”

Her brother’s face instantly darkened.

“I do not keep things from my husband, and as this involves family,” she emphasised the word, “he has every right to know,” she stated firmly. She then clasped her brother’s hand. “Do not fear; Patrick loves you as I do, you know.” He nodded and agreed.

“Darcy, do you wish for us to stay the night here at your town-home? It would be no trouble, and if you have need for counsel from either of us, we would be readily available.”

“Thank you, Patrick. I know there is no finer friend in this world than you, and now that we are brothers it gives me every hope that with your and Georgiana’s excellent advice, I can find a satisfactory solution to my predicament.”

Georgiana had returned from meeting with Darcy’s staff, and informed the men a light repast would be provided in the drawing room a short time later as they took their seats.

“I believe in order to make any sense of what has happened, I need to speak to you of what I have learned,” Darcy began.

“Tell us what you see fit to share with us, Fitzwilliam; we will not press you.”

“I promise you will not regret taking us into your confidence,” Patrick added solemnly. Darcy thanked them for their solicitude and began.

“Her name is Mrs. Elizabeth Cartwright, and our son is William. He is just three years old, and I can tell you a more unique person in the world you would be hard pressed to find.”

“You have met him?”

“I have,” he answered, while a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“What does he look like?” Georgiana asked the obvious.

Darcy rose and went to the wall where some half dozen small portraits hung near the mantle. He lifted one off, and brought it to his sister who smiled tenderly upon seeing the image of her brother as a child.

“He looks exactly like me.”

Several hours later Georgiana and Patrick retired to their rooms, exhausted from having spent such an emotional evening with Darcy.

He had shared everything he could about Elizabeth and William, with the exception of her involvement with Lord Caldhart and her possible involvement in Wickham’s death. However, he knew the unfortunate time had come to finally reveal Elizabeth’s and the Bingley’s connection to Wickham.

He told of meeting Elizabeth at Pemberley with her Aunt and Uncle several years ago, and the subsequent departure she had made that very night. He was none too proud to admit the scheme for their Grand Tour, was actually a ruse to cover his escaping what he thought was another refusal of his affections on her part.

“Unfortunately, in my vain blindness I failed to discover the reason for her family’s expedient departure was of a much graver nature. Her youngest sister, who could not have been more than sixteen years old at the time, had eloped with George Wickham.”

Georgiana paled, and Patrick’s face was one of concern for his wife as he took her hand firmly in his.

“Her youngest sister?” Patrick asked.

“Lydia, Lydia Bennet,” he frowned then grimaced, aware his next words would shock, “Mrs. Cartwright is the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Mrs. Bingley’s lost sister?” Georgiana gasped. Patrick arms were now firmly around her shoulders.

“Darcy, did he, did he…?” Patrick could not ask the unthinkable. Darcy hesitated but an instant to lie to his loved ones, but knew he had little choice, especially as he did not know for certain that Wickham had not married Lydia Bennet.

“They ran off to America and were married on board the ship they sailed.”

“Oh, thank goodness he married the poor girl!” Georgie cried as she let out a held breath. “But why has Mrs. Bennet never mentioned it?”

“The Wickhams are now in America. And I believe she was more interested in the new Mrs. Bingley the day you met her. Bingley is aware of my… dislike of Wickham, and has been kindly keeping his name out of any conversation,” Darcy answered.

“Patrick knows about Mr. Wickham, Fitzwilliam. You do not have to hide it from him.” She gazed to her husband with unabashed affection. He returned her look with one of deep admiration. “Were the Bingleys trying to protect my feelings as well?”

“I believe they may have Georgie; you see, Elizabeth knew of Wickham’s attempt to elope with you.” Georgiana grew flushed.

“I wished to correct the lies he had been spreading to her about us, and I told her everything many years ago. Considering how close she and Mrs. Bingley were then, I suspect she might also have told her sister. I apologise if you feel your privacy has been violated.”

“I understand, Fitzwilliam. I think you may be right. The Bingleys have never mentioned Mr. and Mrs. Wickham to me. I think I am glad to know, and can be thankful I have them watching over me.” She then bit her lip, not wanting to acknowledge what might have been.

Darcy was never prouder than in the moment he watched his sister composedly ask the difficult questions about the Wickham’s elopement, the family’s shame, the tryst with Elizabeth and how he had discovered all today at the Bingley’s home.

Georgiana had already told her husband of her past history with Wickham, yet Darcy had not known it until that evening. He realised he should have sensed the strong bond between them could only have been forged with great honesty towards each other. Patrick was there to support his wife as well as Darcy, and once again he was humbled by the depth of love his sister shared with her husband and was grateful for their willingness to support him as well.

He knew that while Georgiana no longer considered him like a father, the confessions he had made tonight and the sins he had laid before her would lower her and Patrick’s esteem of him. However, if they were going to be able to aid him, he needed for them both to see as much of the harsh reality of truth he dared to divulge.

He lay on his bed in his nightshirt, the fire blazing warmly as he reflected upon all he had heard Elizabeth say. The first thought that came to him was her heart-wrenching confession she loved him and considered him, in her heart, her husband. With that nearly happy thought also came the sadness Elizabeth believed his good opinion of her was lost. Her words came back to haunt him:

“He will never forgive me. I know this.”

Inside his turmoil began. He had never allowed himself to think on her actions, and his feelings regarding them. Was he unforgiving towards her for being with Caldhart? If they had indeed consummated their relationship, would he allow it to lower his opinion of her? Another part of him secretly hoped she had never had to succumb to his Lordship. He knew the man’s death the night of the ball made the possibility she might only have been his very likely. Yet she had told Jane she did not believe he would forgive her. Was it forgiveness for being with another man to which she was alluding?

He thought of his own romantic history in which he had had relationships with women who were not his wife. His stubborn pride argued it simply was not the same for a man as it was for a woman. His conscience however, had other plans.

“Why is it not? Does Elizabeth not answer to the same God as you? Will you not both be accountable for your actions someday? How is it different for a man? Does a woman lack feelings and desires now?

“Do not mistake right and wrong with social acceptability. Most men treat women as little more than playthings or breeding stock. You have spent enough time in society to see that blatantly revealed and you know it.”

He attempted to squash the truths of his own argument.

“Did she know it was you she was with?” he asked himself.

Yes.

“Yet you did not know it was your Elizabeth.”

No.

“So despite the immoral gravity of the activity, she was choosing to be with the man she loved, and you were with a virtual stranger.”

That sat bitterly in his mind.

He claimed to have desired her above all others and yet never hesitated to take Chantal Moreau, another man’s mistress, into his arms. He stood and walked to his mirror; the man who stared back was not one he was proud of.

“You see the scorn in your face, Fitzwilliam Darcy; do not try to deceive yourself. Your pride was hurt. You thought she had chosen him over you. Did you ever stop to think of her situation alone, and not what it had done to you? Her fate had already been cast before she had met you that night.”

Now he could only feel contempt at his foolish emotions. Did it matter whether she gave herself to Lord Caldhart? Could he truly feel respect for Elizabeth for keeping her promise to his Lordship, even if it was to do a sinful thing?

He had thought she had treated him ill, used him, but in reality she had given herself to him, sacrificed her virginity as a precious gift to the man she loved.

Sacrifice.

He thought of the meaning. When had he ever really sacrificed anything? When had he ever acted in a wholly unselfish way? Some might cite his giving his sister her advanced education, but he had ulterior motives; he wished to continue his estate successfully and it gave him a purpose, something to keep himself busy for years.

But Elizabeth was different. Long ago she had nursed her sick sister in a home with people who practically scorned her to her face. Then she had given up everything a woman has and had made a deal with the very devil himself, but had done it to repair the good name and place in society of her family and to allow her sisters to have a future. She had angered him on purpose to drive him away the night of their illicit affair to protect him from whom she had become. She had wished him a wife and family to love.

“What have you done for her?”

He had put his pride before anyone else’s concern and caused Elizabeth’s very fall into damnation. If he had not kept Wickham’s character secret, none of it would have happened. He was as much to blame for her situation as Wickham’s despicable actions. Yet instead of hating Darcy, she loved him, she had told him over and over. He had thought it was only the French seductress encouraging him in his amorous pursuit of her body, when it was Elizabeth confessing her feelings to him; her love. Even now still she loved him and prayed for his happiness.

She thought she was dishonourable, that he would think less of her for committing her person to him as she had her heart. He shook his head at her words and his foolishness.

Never a particularly religious man, he was surprised when his mind suddenly turned to a biblical passage he had often read, ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’

The walls of prejudice which had built up without his even realising it fell to a crumbling heap inside him. He would treat her with the equality of guilt that he himself owned. They were, neither of them, irreproachable.

“You have never fallen from my esteem, Elizabeth,” he whispered to no one, “There is nothing for me to forgive, and I shall not judge you.”

He thought he understood the love his sister and Patrick shared a little better. His love for Elizabeth had little time to grow, as they had rarely spent time together. But deciding to embrace her despite any faults or misdeeds and face the truths of all of it, yet still choose to love her - this was the first step.

He now realised a great a task was set before him. His mind tried desperately to catalogue all he would need to do, but his weariness told him the time for such plans must be put off. He would need days, weeks even, to work. But for now he must rest, and then tomorrow he could start. Tomorrow, he would find her. The last thought in his mind as sleep finally overcame him was a determined wish he meant to fulfil no matter what the difficulty,

“I cannot lose her.”

The morning came earlier than he would have liked, but as soon as the light of dawn broke through the heavy brocade curtains in his room, his mind was instantly alert and flooded with a hundred different thoughts. He repressed most as he prepared for the day, lest he become overwhelmed by them, and instead concentrated on the most important. He decided he should travel to Brampton as soon as possible and by the time he had finished his morning ablutions he had determined he would leave that afternoon.

He made his way to breakfast, slowly treading down the grand staircases of his town-home, when as he made the last turn upon the wide landing, he looked up to see his ancestor sitting upon his stallion, staring blankly back at him.

“He would end up a portrait in the gallery of Pemberley…” He heard Elizabeth’s haunting voice in his head. He stared silently at the painting, unaware Georgiana had come up behind him.

“Does Great-Great Grandfather impart any words of wisdom to you?” Darcy jumped as his sister spoke. He shook his head, and turned to see her amused expression.

He gathered his wits once more, reigning in the strong desire to put his hand to his frantic heart, and answered as calmly as he could, “He is strangely silent this morning. Apparently he is expecting me to find my own wisdom.”

“And what success have you found so far?”

“Very little wisdom, I fear, and more decisions before me than I would have thought possible. Yet, the first has already been made; I must first find out where they live.” She nodded her head. They continued to the dining room where Patrick was already tucking in to a large plate when they entered, and continued their conversation.

“Will you travel to Brampton?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. It is the only source I have to find whether she is living here in London or still in the north.”

“I agree. Do you mean to present yourself to her eventually?”

“I had not thought on it. Do you think I should not?”

“She said she fears you, Brother. Seeing you might cause her to flee again.”

“I agree, Darcy,” Patrick joined in. “You should not risk it this soon without first knowing what her plans are.” Darcy’s face fell.

“I must go to Brampton if I am to find them; they may even be there now. How am I to discover them if I do not go?”

Georgiana glanced to her husband first before directing her speech to her brother.

“Fitzwilliam, it is not a question of your going, it is a question of how you go.”

“I do not understand your meaning.”

Patrick coughed slightly, and spoke up. “Georgie and I spoke last night and we both feel that in order for you to ascertain much of the information you will no doubt try to find, you are going to have to do so under the guise of someone else. You, your name and wealth are far too well known, especially in Derbyshire, to allow you to travel anywhere without stirring up great interest. How would you ever be able to inquire after a simple widow and her son without people talking? Just the sight of the Darcy coach rolling through a village is enough to stir up gossip.”

Darcy sat thoughtfully. His brother in law was correct. He would never be able to be discreet. He groaned.

“Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence,” he weakly protested.

“I know it is, Fitzwilliam. Yet, I see little choice in the matter, for at least what you hope to accomplish in Derbyshire. Your only other option would be to send someone else.”

“No!” He cut her off abruptly. Her mouth snapped shut, surprised at his outburst. “I am sorry, Georgiana, but do you have any idea how much of the tangled web that is my current situation is due to lack of real information, and inaction on my part? I am determined to find out every possible fact of anything of importance in these circumstances. If I fail in future, for once it will not be for lack of trying, or inability to discover the whole truth.

“I am for Brampton. I must see if I can discover her address from her friends in her home village. Then I may keep a watch on them both. It is much easier than searching blindly.”

Suddenly a great commotion was heard in the hallway. A loud voice trying to be appeased by the servant’s mumbles could be heard through the thick doors, when suddenly the occupants clearly heard, “I do not care if he is entertaining the King, I will see him NOW!”

“I believe your son’s uncle has come for a visit, Darcy,” Patrick said quietly. The doors flew open as a man strode determinedly through them.

Bingley had arrived.

Darcy had just enough time to stand, turn and recognise his friend before his world went black.

He next remembered feeling a shooting pain in his left jaw before he felt the cold of the marble floor of his dining room beneath his cheek. Jane and Charles Bingley both stood over him, Jane angrily chiding his ridiculous behaviour to his dearest friend. Bingley was barely listening while his hands were still clenched tightly, a sign his ire was not yet assuaged. Patrick and Georgie were at his side attempting to help him up. Patrick put himself between Bingley and Darcy in obvious defence, when Charles’ tirade began.

“How dare you, Darcy! You Cad! She ran away because of you! All these years her family has suffered. Jane has been tormented not knowing if her Lizzy were alive or dead, and you knew!

“I want to know what kind of man compromises a woman and then abandons her. I want to know what kind of man attends my wedding, eats at the Bennet‘s table, and never tells them he knows what has happened to their beloved daughter.

“Have you seen my father in law? Have you seen the sadness behind his eyes every waking moment? Can you think of how you would feel if your sister had disappeared like that? This was his child, Darcy! You have a son now; try thinking like a father.”

“Charles, please,” Jane hissed. “You are not helping the situation.”

“I am not trying to help. I want satisfaction. And that rake will give it to me before I leave.”

Darcy began to stand, the throbbing in his head increasing with each moment as Jane spoke, “Charles, Elizabeth confessed she did not wish to tell Darcy about their son. She kept his existence and true parentage a secret all these years. And she also admitted,” Jane blushed brightly, “she was not forced.”

He stared, disbelieving at his wife. Then he looked to Darcy, “She agreed?”

Darcy nodded.

“Then you are merely a damnable seducer, not a brute,” he replied in a huff.

“Charles Bingley!” Georgiana’s rarely raised voice sounded over them, already tired of the posturing males. “Remember your claim to being a gentleman and conduct yourself with appropriate manners in this home, Sir.”

He looked around, as if suddenly conscious of where he was and with whom.

“Mr and Mrs. McNally, I must apologise for my outburst.” He bowed slowly, while Jane curtseyed to them. He drew a great calming breath, then turned back to Darcy.

“Now in a rational and calm method, I will ask the bombastic villain who is my nephew’s father to explain himself.”

Jane gasped, while Georgiana bit her lip and stared decidedly at the floor and Patrick used his linen to keep his tea from ruining the fine polish of the cherry-wood table.

“I love her,” Darcy answered simply. “Charles, I know you have no reason to, but I beg you to believe me. I swear I love Elizabeth Bennet with all my heart and always have. I have proposed to her twice and each time she has refused me.”

Bingley’s shocked face was enough to prove Jane had never betrayed her sister’s secret that Darcy had offered Elizabeth marriage.

“I could not tell her family of our relationship, for fear how badly it would reflect upon her, and how it might ruin their reputation should the facts ever become known to the world. But most importantly, the existence of our past relationship did not alter the truth that I had no idea where she was.

“I have searched for these past three years relentlessly. I am convinced the only reason I could not find her was she did not wish to be found. I believe she planned her escape from London to the last detail with the purpose of never being traced. Whether or not the Bennets knew of our assignation had no bearing upon being able to find her. Yesterday was the first day I have seen her since our fateful night together, and the first time I had ever heard we have a son.

“But now I have seen her again, and seen and met our son, I give you my blood oath I am going to do everything in my power to help them both in every way I can.”

Bingley still frowned. He did not acknowledge Darcy’s explanation, but he did remove himself to one of the chairs and sat with some little calm.

“You met William?” Jane asked, surprised.

Darcy smiled. “I did, I went to your library while he was there with his nurse.” He then proceeded to tell her of his encounter with his son, including revealing William now thought that he was Bingley, and apologising for having given the boy two of Bingley’s books.

“And my meeting him has been a boon to us in addition. Your sister was careful not to reveal her situation to you, Mrs. Bingley, but William was not as covert. He told me he and his mother have been living in Brampton, in Derbyshire.”

“Brampton!” Bingley exclaimed. “That cannot be more than 30 miles from Pemberley!”

“But I believe she and William are residing in London, Mr. Darcy,” said Jane.

“Yes, I think you are right, but she still has property in Brampton, and William mentioned she was friends with the vicar. I am sure someone in the village is taking care of her concerns at her home, and reports them to her in London. They will have her direction here in town. To search the whole of London without a clue would prove fruitless otherwise”

“Are you saying Elizabeth is planning on living in secret again?” Charles inquired.

“Yes, it seems she wishes to continue to live incognito. And, unfortunately, she still has no wish to be known to her family or former acquaintance, or me.” All but Jane were surprised. “She wants nothing to do with me; she admitted she was afraid of me, of what I was, and what William, as my only child and heir, might become.”

Jane reached out for his arm and made to soothe his hurt, but he stopped her.

“She did not mince words, Mrs. Bingley. I heard her clearly. She fears nothing more than the chance our son would grow up to be Master of Pemberley, grow up… to be me.”

Jane smiled tremulously, her tears softly flowing down her cheeks. “You have a mountain to move, Brother,” she whispered kindly to him as she squeezed his arm.

“Brother?” he asked.

“Yes, I think the man who is in love with my sister, and with whom my sister is in love, and the father of my nephew, is my brother, do you not?” Darcy smiled kindly at her.

“Thank you.”

“Jane,” she said decidedly.

He smiled. “Only if you will call me Fitzwilliam,” he answered. She nodded her agreement.

“I think you are all being too kind to him. You have not earned my pity, Brother,” Bingley growled.

“You are right, Charles, I do not deserve such tenderness. I deserve rebuke and admonishment. If you wish it, I will give you satisfaction in any way you deem necessary.”

Jane gasped and clenched Darcy’s arm tighter as she hissed, “Charles Bingley, if you make my nephew an orphan, I swear by all that is dear to me, you will rue the day for the rest of your life.”

Three heads turned in great surprise at the outburst they had just witnessed. The tension in the air was so thick, Georgiana thought she might actually swoon.

Jane’s eyes never left her husband, who returned the glare with a strength Darcy had never before witnessed in his friend. His arm was begging to be released from her torturous hold when Bingley’s voice finally broke the stalemate.

“Darcy, it seems you have yet another Bennet to admire and be indebted to.”

The next hours were spent talking of William and his wondrous abilities, and later Jane decided Elizabeth’s history of living on her own, and opening up Johnson’s Cigar Shop for her uncle, should be revealed. The family could hardly believe Elizabeth would agree to dress up day after day as an old woman and wait upon the gentry of London. They listened, rapt, to Jane’s description of her sister’s incredible abilities of taste, and smell. They were impressed at her efforts and success with the cigar shop.

“I have been to the shop. The products are considerably better than any other I have ever found in the city,” Patrick declared.

“I know the shop well, Jane. When I first started looking for Elizabeth, I discovered Mrs. Johnson had also disappeared and wondered if I might find a connection. I went there to find out more about her disappearance and made friends with Mr. Brooks and Toby. Now I understand when they spoke of her nose. They even showed me the book she wrote to guide them after she was gone. If I had but been familiar with Elizabeth’s hand I might have recognised the missive as hers.”

“I do not think it would have helped you find her, Fitzwilliam. I believe you are right in thinking she did not wish to be found. My father and uncle searched for her, but I sometimes heard them speaking and I now think they, too, thought she had planned to leave.”

Georgiana bravely decided to confide to the Bingleys that they need not hold their tongues about Mrs. Bingley’s youngest sister’s marriage to Mr. Wickham. Mr. And Mrs. Bingley replied compassionately, assuring Mrs. McNally that, while they would never say anything to bring her pain, Mrs. Wickham no longer corresponded with her family, and there was simply no news to convey or withhold.

Broaching that subject, however, did allow, Mrs. Bingley to confess the pain and humiliation her family had suffered when they were shunned from society, and, more importantly, how much it affected Elizabeth. Her heartfelt tale could not be listened to by the others without deep emotion. Darcy’s fear the Wickham’s marriage had not been discovered for an extended time was sadly confirmed, along with the suffering his beloved and all her family had endured because of it.

Darcy announced his first priority had to be discovering where Elizabeth and his son were now living. He promised he would do all he could for them, but did not know all that would entail. The business of finding them was paramount.

When the clock struck one, each person was tired to the very marrow of their bones; the emotional upheaval had taken its toll. The assembly broke up with one last promise.

Darcy felt a weight had been lifted from his shoulders on one hand, but the new danger of having so many people aware of his and Elizabeth’s indiscretion gave him worry. He also knew what he ought to do, something he had rarely ever done in his life; he needed to ask for help.

“There is little of my life, nor Elizabeth’s, you do not all know now, I am concerned at having so many people part of this conspiracy. But I must put my trust in all of you. Please take great care with what you all know. I may call upon you in future to help me, to help Elizabeth or to help our son. Are you willing to come to our aid?” Everyone nodded their agreement.

“You are all my family now. I willingly declare before all gathered here, that William Bennet Cartwright Darcy is my natural born son, and heir. You are my son’s aunts and uncles, I charge you all with protecting him, and helping him if ever I cannot.

“I will do all that I have sworn today to take care of him and his mother, but in so doing, I fear the discovery of my involvement could make her run. We all know she can disappear if she wants to. She has shown us her expertise at the skill already. I do not think I could suffer through another four years without her, or without my newly found son.

“I ask each of you to swear to me that none of the information which has passed between us today will ever be shared with another soul. There is more at stake than a matter of family honour, and I feel compelled to ask for your oaths.” All heads stared in concern at his statement, but one by one they swore their oaths of secrecy and help to his loved ones.

When Darcy finally left for Derbyshire that afternoon, he did so with purpose, resolve and anticipation for all that lay ahead of him. Once more the idea which had sent him to sleep the previous night pervaded, with one significant difference: this time as he nodded off to sleep in the corner of his coach he thought,

“I will not lose… them.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The carriage rolled into a small village in Leicestershire, just south of Derbyshire. The driver, Riley, was eager to provide rest for his horses and to procure for himself and his master fresh drinks to soothe their parched throats, now filled with the dust of the road. Darcy entered the inn, paying little attention to anyone else, intent on quenching his thirst and eating his midday meal instead. Later, when he was finally sated and able to clear his head, he heard a conversation outside the doors.

“Them’s some horses, all right. Very fine. And the carriage as well. Who’s is it, do ya say?”

“My master is Mr. Darcy who lives in Derbyshire.”

“Darcy you say? Think I’ve heard o’ him. Tall bloke, yes?”

“Yes,” his driver replied quickly, obviously busy with the team.

“Well, that will give them something to talk about fer the next week at least. We don’t get too many rich folk stopping here. They like the inn up in Merryvale; nicer they say.”

This conversation mirrored one he had heard the day before and was enough to confirm what his relatives had feared: his presence was never going to be discreet if he was to travel as he was now. He spent the next hours on the road, and that evening at another small inn, planning how to remedy the situation.

The next morning he instructed his driver to stop at the posting town, about 10 miles to the north of Brampton, and not more than a few hours ride from Pemberley. “When we arrive there, Riley, we will be taking rooms at the inn, but I wish for you to saddle up one of the team, and ride on to Pemberley. I will have a set of instructions for my staff and they will have a trunk for you to bring back. I also wish for you to return with the gig, and two horses from the stable: Honey and Patches.”

“The Hay Burner and The Bucket?” his surprised driver asked.

Darcy laughed. Honey was over seventeen hands tall, and not a fine horse, rather a worker. His one claim to notoriety however, was no other horse on the property could eat as much as he could. Luckily he was willing to work off all he ate, so was in very good, though worn, condition.

Patches was an older gelding who, although cursed with one of the ugliest coats a poor horse could have, had an excellent disposition. When Darcy and Georgiana were younger, Patches was their choice to use for play and was one of the first full grown horses Georgie ever rode. Darcy remembered when he and Richard were teens, they had backed the docile creature up to a small rise and tied him in place so they could run down the hill and jump onto his back like wild men. They called the game, ’drop in the bucket’ and the horse was ‘The Bucket’ ever since.

Since Patches had seen better days Darcy felt compelled to ask, “Do you think Patches can make the trip back to London?”

“Oh yes, Sir. He’s not too old, just slow. It will do him good to get some miles under his feet.”

“Excellent. I will need Honey first. Please send him along with one of the stable-hands ahead of you, and mind they do not overwork him. I will be doing some riding later today and need him able.”

“Wouldn’t one of your regular mounts be better for you, Sir?”

“Not for what I wish to do, no.”

Riley’s face showed his bewilderment. His master’s stallions were envied throughout the county and a much better ride than Honey, but he knew his employer long and well, and was not going to question him. “The roads are still dry; so we should make the town by eleven. I think Honey could be back to you by four, would that suit?”

“Yes, thank you, Riley. It would be wonderful.” They loaded up the last of their things and headed north.

Mrs. Reynolds had seen her fair share of unusual requests from Mr. Darcy. In fact, after the day she was told the mistress of the house was to be fitted up with fencing pads so that she might learn the sport from her elder brother, she thought she was well prepared for any whimsical orders she might receive. But there it sat in front of her, in very plain black on white, begging to be disbelieved:

Have a footman search my dressing room and prepare the oldest garments he can find. I am thinking specifically of the things I wore at Cambridge, but if anything older can be found, even better. If by some bad luck the clothing is no longer available, ask Barnes if I might have one of his waistcoats and jackets. I will gladly pay for him to have a new set made, but he is the only servant who is my size, and I must have the garments straight away. Please make sure my older worn boots are included in the trunk….

If that wasn’t disturbing enough, her master had further asked her to employ the tailor in Lambton to make him three new complete suits of clothes and a travelling suit and coat. The request alone would not have been too disturbing, but Mr. Darcy had specifically requested the garments be made in the fashion of essentially a tradesman, and not even a well-to-do one. He had specific types of fabrics, as well as instructions on complete lack decoration. She shook her head at it all.

There were also several books requested, reference as well as pleasurable reading, which also took her by surprise as Mr. Darcy’s London home was filled with pleasurable reading materials, while Pemberley’s library was oriented more towards learning and reference. Still, she knew Canterbury Tales and Beowulf were classics and perhaps he simply wished to read them whilst travelling, as she was sure the house in town had copies.

Riley returned to the inn later that evening with the gig, Patches and a large trunk for his master. Darcy was already off riding Honey when he arrived, and discovered his master had procured the room for him and the coachman while he had been at Pemberley. The two men settled in for the night, waiting for their next instructions.

Darcy, in the meanwhile, had been circumnavigating the area around Brampton. The small village had an inn and tavern, a church with a small school attached, a blacksmith and acres of fine woods surrounding it all. He tried to imagine which house might be Elizabeth’s but could only hazard a guess. He wished to have a fair knowledge of the area before he came into it the next day. He dared not show himself in his fine clothes from London, and made a point of never coming too near anyone today, lest they be able to distinguish him on the morrow. Luckily, Honey drew little attention, and he was grateful to have thought of using the workhorse instead of one of his usual mounts.

That night he went through the trunk sent from Pemberley. He was unprepared to find himself sentimental as he looked through his old clothing. He could not help but remember what his life had been like when he wore some of the items. His clothes from Cambridge brought a slightly painful memory, as he had learned of his father’s illness when he had almost completed his studies. He would lose him just two years after graduation.

The next morning he packed a small bag and asked Riley to hitch up the gig with Honey. He then told his driver and coachman he might not return to the inn that night, but they were to stay there until receiving word otherwise, and to keep his room ready each night, in case of his return. He informed them he simply had business in the area, and was not sure where he might be sleeping. If their master’s attire was unusual or alarming, neither Riley, nor the coachman, dared to commented upon it.

Darcy had been worried when he dressed that morning. Two pairs of his breeches proved too tight to fit comfortably. Luckily the third pair fit well enough. In addition his old coat and boots were so perfectly stretched to accommodate his figure and feet, he was consequently more comfortably dressed than he had been in years.

“I should allow my regular clothes to be worn out to this level of comfort,” he mused.

When he entered the village of Brampton, he could not help but think of Elizabeth and William walking the same road he was on. He kept his head down, for fear they might actually be somewhere nearby, and he did not wish to risk their seeing him. His first order of business was to go to the inn and take a room and stable his horse. The many years working with his horses, and the more recent years in which he had taken an active part in his estate, served him well as he unhitched Honey quickly as if he had been doing it his entire life. He wished to gather information, and assumed the tavern below his room was the best place to achieve it.

He sat down at one of the tables near the fire and ordered a mug of cider. There were only two other patrons present, who regarded him curiously at first and then shrugged and went back to their own cups. Darcy frowned. He needed to speak with people, but did not seem to encourage it.

“I should smile,” he suddenly thought. He remembered Elizabeth’s admonishments of how his air often bespoke of disapproval of those around him. He was doing it most unconsciously, but, he knew he was doing it all the same. He shook his head and laughed lightly to himself. With his smile still upon his face he looked up to notice the two other men now looking at him once again. He drew a breath and determined to be more friendly.

“Forgive me, gentlemen. I think I needed to get rid of a bad mood before I was able to be amongst company. Good day to you, Sirs,” he said, raising his mug to the pair in salutations. To his great surprise they both broke out in smiles and raised their mugs back to him.

“Welcome to Brampton, Mr…?” the larger one asked.

His mind quickly engaged and he answered the man, “Sheldon, John Sheldon,” not knowing where the name had come from, but grateful he could think swiftly on his feet. The men introduced themselves, and the three talked for a good deal of the afternoon.

Several hours later, after many mugs of ale had been purchased for his new friends, he had learned the aging vicar was Mr. Awdry, who also taught in the school along with members of the community who helped him with his duties. Mrs. Cartwright had been one of the citizens mentioned as helping in the school but he dared not ask anything specific about her. The school was only open three days a week, today being the last.

He inquired about the general trade and prosperity of the area, until the smaller man he was speaking with commented, “It sounds as if you are thinking of settling around here, Mr. Sheldon.”

He considered the question and the implication he might garner more information of the neighbourhood and, more importantly, the citizens of Brampton, if answered in the positive.

“I am interested in the area and perhaps discovering if there are any potential places to settle,” he replied cautiously. The words had no sooner passed his lips, however, when he realised he would never be able to live here himself, and this particular deception might be hard to continue.

He determined he might be able to say he was looking for another party, acting for their interest with few repercussions, therefore added, “I have a client who is seeking to find a place to settle quietly. I am scouting the area, looking on his behalf.”

The two men nodded. “There might be some properties available, Mr. Sheldon. I would enquire at the vicarage to Mr. Awdry. He acts as many things for us here, including dispute settler, legal advisor and even land agent, if need be. If anyone had thoughts of selling or leasing a property, he would know it.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. I think I shall do just that.”

Darcy headed out into the warm spring air, a lighter feeling to his step, but still kept his head down, lest he be seen by his quarry. His mind was racing, thinking on what the man had just suggested to him. If Elizabeth and William had already settled in London, and if she planned to educate their son on the continent, there would be almost no call for her to return to Brampton for years!

He walked out of the village and into the surrounding fields, lost in his preparations for his conversation with the Vicar. As he made his way back, his thoughts were abruptly stopped when he found himself already past the churchyard. He meant to retrace his steps and collect himself better before speaking to Mr. Awdry when the man himself was nearly bowled over by Darcy’s imposing figure turning.

“Whoa, steady there, young man. I am sure it cannot be so urgent a situation that you must run.”

Darcy looked down to see a gentle face smirking at him. Mr. Awdry was indeed aging. His round clergyman’s hat betrayed mere wisps of white hair peeking out, and his hands shook as he leaned on his cane. His back was very rounded from his advanced age, but his eyes were an amalgam of blue, green and brown, and shone bright and keen.

“I beg your pardon, Sir. I did not mean to knock into you.”

“No harm done. Come to see me, did you?”

Darcy hesitated, he wished for more time to formulate some sort of plan, but could not see anyway around speaking now with the Vicar. “I came to inquire about many things, and, after speaking to some local gentlemen in the tavern, I have learned you are the source to get answers from.”

“Ha!” he snorted. “That would be old Jeffries, I’ll wager. He is really nothing but the town gossip, though you never heard it from me. Well, come in, come in. Let us find some tea and we shall have a nice chat, Mr…?”

“John Sheldon, Sir,” Darcy replied bowing.

“Mr. Everett Awdry, at your service.” The vicar returned the bow and they headed to the vicarage.

The tea service was nearly cleared, and the two men sat chatting amiably about his interest in a property. Darcy could not help but scrutinize the face of the man who was his son’s first tutor. He was very well pleased that such a man would have taken William under his wing. He saw similar traits in their senses of humour, as Mr. Awdry did enjoy laughing over anything, including his own mistakes.

“Did you have a specific size property in mind, Mr. Sheldon?”

“Yes, something on a small scale, suitable for a man living alone, and his cook, housekeeper and a man servant.”

“Is your client a gentleman, then?”

“He is, but a man of moderate means and habits. He desires a place of solitude to do his work in peace, and yet enjoy the simple aspects of country life. The excellent woods surrounding Brampton would be a bonus as well.”

“And would this be for purchase, or lease?”

“Definitely lease. My client is not looking at this time for a permanent situation, but certainly long term, several years if possible.”

Darcy could see the wheels of the vicar’s mind turning. He desperately hoped he was describing Elizabeth’s cottage perfectly. He sat attempting not to look nervous, wishing against all odds the man would think of it. He had no doubt leasing her home would never have occurred to her, considering it would be of small size and not a typical property to be sought after.

“I think there may be a place your client would find suitable, Sir,” the vicar finally replied. “One of our citizens recently vacated their property and is not expected to return for some years. The house is a good-sized cottage, with two bedrooms and rooms for the staff. It has been maintained very well, and might suit your needs.

“However, I know the thought of leasing the place had never occurred to them. Brampton is not known for attracting much attention and a cottage is not a typical property to be sought after. I know the family well, and my recommendation would go far towards securing their agreement. I also know having someone living in their home would bring them great contentment, and the extra income would always come in handy.” Darcy nodded slowly. The man had yet to divulge a name, but everything he described could be Elizabeth’s situation. “Would you care to view the property?”

“You are certain the family is not at home? I should not like to intrude upon their privacy.”

“No, no, they left last Tuesday week for London, I saw them to the post coach myself.”

Darcy’s heart beat faster. “Then by all means, I would appreciate the chance to see it. Does it have a name?”

The vicar cocked his head and smiled. “Now how did you know it had a name?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Just a notion I suppose, I had no idea otherwise.”

He did not answer, but instead smiled again as they gathered their things to walk out. Despite his bowed back and cane, Mr. Awdry could move rather quickly; he was merely a bit tipsy. Darcy felt compelled to attend the man’s elbow more than once on the walk to the cottage, which lay some ten minutes walk away.

He expected to somehow see something different in the home Elizabeth might have kept, yet when it came into view it was simply a typical lovely English cottage, very traditional in all ways. The flowers of spring were blooming in profusion in small tidy beds all around the front path. He spied a swing hanging from a large oak tree near the back, and his heart beat harder once again as he smiled.

The vicar caught where his line of view was directed and laughed. “There was a young child living here and you will see signs of him no doubt. If your client is offended by such objects as swings or playthings, they can be removed and stored with little trouble.”

Darcy flushed when Awdry mentioned the child and then nearly gasped when he said the word ‘him’. Each little clue brought the reality of this house actually being Elizabeth’s closer and made him more excited.

Mr. Awdry produced a key, explaining he was overseeing the house while they were gone. As he unlocked the front door, he turned to Darcy and said with a twinkle, “Welcome to Asile, Mr. Sheldon,” and swung the door open.

“Ah-zeel?” Darcy repeated, trying to recall his French vocabulary.

“Sanctuary, or refuge if you like. Mrs. Cartwright is the widowed owner and gave the house its name. I shall be curious to know later if you agree with her judgement of the place,” the vicar explained.

It had been difficult to hold his emotions in check when he walked into Elizabeth’s home. He felt horribly guilty for being there under somewhat false pretences, though he fully intended to lease her house if she would let him. He was also strangely nervous, feeling that at any moment she might appear in the doorway and expose him for who he really was. It took many minutes before he could calm himself and listen more attentively to the facts the vicar was relating about the property.

“Mrs. Cartwright’s son was an overwhelming presence in this house,” he laughed when espying so many things belonging to the young man. William’s room itself was a contrast; one half clearly brimming with books, papers, and a variety of apparent experiments he had been working on, the other had toys typical of a small child, and seemingly just as worn as their more studious counterparts. “I am sure it would be no trouble to clear away his things and make the home more accommodating for a single gentleman.”

“It would be very much appreciated, Mr. Awdry,” Darcy answered, remembering he was supposed to be representing another. His desire for more information, however, was very strong, and he could not resist asking, “Though I do find the young man’s belongings fascinating. They seem to be a contradiction: books for studying next to amusements meant for a very small child. Are you sure there were not two sons living here?”

Mr. Awdry laughed. “How very accurate a description of my young protégé, Sir. He is quite the contradiction, for you see he is a boy of just three years with a mind of a young man nearly five times as old.”

“How is that possible?” Darcy asked, hoping his open question would encourage the vicar to talk more.

“Oh, my good boy, I could fill your ears with tales of my dear William, but I think first we had best finish our tour, and then tomorrow I can tell you stories of Mrs. Cartwright’s wondrous son. I wish to write to her this afternoon and, if my letter is to make the final post call we should continue here. It would mean an answer much faster for you as well, which I am sure your client would appreciate, would he not?”

Darcy agreed.

Their last stop had been to see the master bedroom. The two men simply stood at the doorway and looked in, aware propriety demanded they treat the room as if the lady were in residence. There were few personal belongings on display, which was understandable as Elizabeth was not expected to return for some time and would have taken most things with her.

But on the small dresser under a window near the side, he saw a series of framed drawings which he instantly recognised as her mother and father and, on the end, her sister Lydia. It struck him as odd that none of her other sisters were represented anywhere in the house, especially her beloved Jane, but Lydia was. Perhaps with Lydia so far away in America, she felt she might never see her sister again, and needed to draw her so as not to forget her face.

As they slowly made their way out of the house he was struck by the manner of her decor. The furnishings were of very good quality but more importantly they were obviously chosen for their comfort. He was enchanted by the additions she had added to many things. Places to sit featured embroidered cushions or pillows, and the sofa featured at least six of them. The draperies were unique as well, for he noticed she had stitched many of them with decorative patterns. Most table- tops featured handmade runners as well. Clearly she had had a great deal of time these past years to add her personal touches to her home. He gently smiled to see the proof of her quest for things that would soothe her and her son.

Overall, he would be hard pressed to say what one thing made the house so restful and inviting. It might be the warm colours she had chosen for the walls, or the sweet smell of the dried flowers she had so liberally placed around the rooms. In the end, he supposed it was all the things that seemed to come together and do their magic upon a visitor.

He stood upon the threshold, looking over the place one last time before leaving, when Mr. Awdry’s voice broke the peaceful solitude. “Do I hear your agreement in your sigh, Mr. Sheldon? Is it truly Asile?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Awdry,” he happily replied.

Darcy left the vicar at the cottage door with a promise to call again on the morrow. He had made a very generous offer for the lease, hoping it would entice Elizabeth all the more. It was not a sum so large as to make them question his genuineness, but it was enough to allow him to feel he would be making a first step towards helping his new family.

Later in the day, Darcy was pacing the floor of his room attempting to design a plan whereby he might see the letter Mr. Awdry would be sending. However, as intrigues and deceptions were so very foreign to him, he was having a difficult time of it. He was furious with himself for not being able to come up with any ideas. It was such a simple task; he needed only to see the front of the thing, yet how to get to it escaped him. He noted the time and realised he had better hurry to intercept the carrier or his own letter to his attorneys in London would not be sent. He was apprising them to expect letters under the direction of one Mr. Sheldon, an agent he had hired to find a lease property on his behalf. They were to forward any correspondence addressed to Mr. Sheldon directly to him.

He spied the man carrying the post and called to him, requesting his letter be included. His frustration was high though his outward demeanour remained calm, the key to his future lie within the grasp of his fingers and he could not think of how to touch it! There was little left to do but send his own letter on.

He was opening his purse to retrieve payment at the same time the carrier opened his leather pouch to insert Darcy’s letter, when the answer he sought came to him. The next moment he almost smiled as he simply spilled his purse over into the pouch and onto the ground, causing the man to drop everything, and the coins and letters to scatter. They spent the next minutes finding all the lost papers and coins, but it was sufficient time for Darcy to spot the vicar’s letter among the few the man carried and, more importantly, clearly read the name and address on the front.

That night Darcy wrote to the Bingleys and McNallys, advising them of Elizabeth’s address in town. If anything should happen to him he wanted his relatives to know where they were. He was no longer willing to take any chances on William‘s, nor Elizabeth’s, well-being and safety.

He fought the urge to simply head straight back to London by reminding himself Mr. Awdry would not have written to Elizabeth if she was due back to Brampton, or if she was planning to leave London anytime soon. The next morning they were scheduled to finalise his offer, ‘Mr. Sheldon’ was to leave his attorney’s address with the vicar for future correspondence and, most importantly, Mr. Awdry had promised to tell him tales of his son.

He took the opportunity to reflect on his first attempts at disguise, shaking his head at his nearly inept methods. Now with the deeds done, he analysed what had worked best. Simplicity seemed to be the most effective. He was not used to living by his wits, and had foolishly been trying to think of some intricate plan to extract information, yet it was listening to those around him that provided him with a method to find it. He could not contrive a way to obtain an address, until a simple distraction of the post carrier allowed him to see the pertinent letter from Mr. Awdry. He would tuck this important lesson of simplicity into the recesses of his mind and use it again if needed.

He now contemplated how he was going to watch their moves in London without her knowledge. He reconsidered presenting himself to her and William, but Patrick’s words warning she might flee brought him true panic. He could not allow her to disappear again.

Once he arrived in London, he could don one of his old sets of clothing and seek out her street. However, what he would do there he was not certain. He could not spend his entire day watching her and be of much use, but he did need someone to do it. He considered whether hiring his private investigator again would be wise, but he feared the man seeing his son and making conclusions he did not wish made at this time. Perhaps at the beginning he could simply pay one of the street urchins to watch her comings and goings. He smiled inwardly when he realised the simplest method was, once again, proving to be the best.

For the first time since leaving the Bingley’s house, he felt he was making some headway. Now he could concentrate on the one thing he had not allowed himself to consider lately: Elizabeth’s involvement in Wickham’s death.

The possibility of her guilt in that event precluded all hopes he had ever dared to have. Her absence these past years had taken the edge off his worry, but now, having seen her and William, the fear of prosecution was brought to the fore. If there was ever to be a future for Elizabeth living as herself, without disguise or false names, her innocence in the matter must be proven. He struggled with how to go about it.

In the end, the only action which made sense was to involve Colonel Fitzwilliam. He would have eventually told his cousin of William’s existence at the very least, and with his announcement would have come the revelation of the Bennet’s connection to Wickham. For now he decided to simply write to explain the recently discovered connection of Wickham and the Bennets and Bingleys, and to ask Richard to look into Wickham’s death more thoroughly, under the pretence of ascertaining whether to tell the Bennets of the man’s demise.

He did not wish to tell his cousin about Elizabeth and William yet, and certainly not in a letter. He ventured that if Colonel Fitzwilliam had no idea of the familial connection to the late Lieutenant, he would be better able to root out information and details as his emotions would not be in play. Later, Darcy would visit the man and deliver his other news in person, preferably after Richard had discovered all the information he could. An hour later a letter to Richard had joined the others.

He rose early the next day and prepared to leave Brampton later, after visiting the vicar. He would take his gig back to Riley and settle his bill at the second inn before finally making the return trip to London with coach, gig, a team of four horses, Honey and Patches. He laughed when thinking of what an odd caravan they would make, but he needed them all to set the stage if he was to disguise himself again in future.

Late that night he crawled into his rented bed on the road to London with daydreams of his dear son in his head. Mr. Awdry had not exaggerated his ability to fill his ears with tales of the boy.

If the vicar had been surprised at his guest’s apparent inexhaustible curiosity in hearing stories of his favourite topic, he did not say. Instead the old man seemed to relish the opportunity to rattle on unopposed in his speech to such an appreciative audience. Darcy only wished he could have stayed in Brampton several more days, and coaxed every story Mr. Awdry had of William out of his head. However, London loomed in just two days time, and the opportunity to perhaps see his boy with his own eyes again was a greater draw.

He fell asleep believing he had won great treasures on this trip. He had Elizabeth’s address, he might be able to lease her house and provide her with extra income and, most precious of all, he had stories of his son told to him by a man who loved the boy and knew him well.

Posted on Wednesday, 11 January 2006

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Though he had travelled the route from Pemberley to London dozens of times, never had the trip seemed as interminably long as this particular ride back. He arrived at his home in the early evening, anxious to share all he had learned with his family. Fortunately, his sister and brother-in-law were of the same mind, for when he entered his drawing room after bathing and changing, they were already there.

Georgiana rushed into his arms, flushed and exhilarated. “I am so glad you have returned. We have such news! We have seen them!”

“You have seen..?”

She cut him off, “William and Elizabeth! Just this afternoon at the park near their home. You were correct, Brother; he looks so much like you! I could barely keep my countenance nor restrain myself from rushing up to embrace him.”

Darcy’s surprise changed to one of worry. “Georgie, you did not risk my precarious position? Surely you must have known that you might scare them?”

“Not at all, Brother,” Patrick reassured him. “My wife and I were not so daft as to take any risk. In fact we made a point of working very hard not to draw attention to ourselves in any way, least of all to your new family.”

Georgiana was keen to tell the tale. “It was quite the adventure! I borrowed a dress from my maid and Patrick wore a set of working clothes he uses on his estates. We knew we would have to wear more appropriate clothing if we were to walk about the neighbourhood without seeming out of place. Of course, as Elizabeth has never met us, we did not need to hide our faces from her or William.

“First we walked far away from our house until we could hire a hackney cab without anyone recognising us. Then we rode to her neighbourhood and sat in the park near her street for what seemed like hours, just waiting. Late this afternoon, we saw a mother and son approach from her street. We made sure to face one another to enable us to keep a constant eye on them. I was so very excited thinking it might be them, especially upon seeing the boy who looked so much like you as a child.” Georgiana’s enthusiasm was making her glow as she spoke, her hands gesturing quickly.

“Then the lad threw the ball he was playing with too far away and started to run after it, when his mother called out his name, and we knew.” Her excited smile matched her husband’s as they looked to Darcy for his reaction.

“I… That is… extraordinary.” He struggled for a few moments, taking in the importance of all she had told him. He felt his sister’s arm upon his, and turning to her, saw her questioning look of concern upon her face.

“No, I am well. This is excellent news, it means the address on Mr. Awdry’s letter was correct.” He stopped and shook his head ruefully. “I have spent the past two days speaking with a man who knew Elizabeth and William intimately, and now you and Patrick have seen them, and my foolish sensibilities are at odds with my common sense. Please forgive me; I cannot help feeling a bit envious of you both.”

Georgie threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, do not be dismayed! If Patrick and I saw them today, I am sure you will see them tomorrow. You can stand watch over the house all day if you like!”

Darcy returned her embraced tightly. “Always the wise woman, Georgie. Of course you are right. Now, tell me what you thought of them.”

“She is a lovely, handsome woman, Darcy. And your son is a copy of you and quite a handful I suspect,” Patrick said with a smile.

“I thought her vivacious,” Georgiana added. “So very different from her sister Jane, of course, and not just in looks. Mrs. Bingley is so composed, while Mrs. Cartwright is so lively. She and William spent so much time merely laughing and enjoying the day. I felt as if I were watching pixies at play.”

Patrick nodded his head. “I quite agree, my Love; a very good likeness, indeed.”

Darcy merely smiled. “Thank you. I cannot help but concur with all of your opinions. Now, shall I tell you what else I have discovered?” They readily assented.

An hour later the three were discussing what would be done if Asile, Elizabeth’s house, were to be let. He petitioned Patrick to inquire if there was anyone who might fit the bill as a gentleman looking to live a retiring life in Derbyshire for a few years. Patrick assured his brother he would make inquiries around to see if anyone might be interested.

“How much are you asking for the lease?” he asked.

“I had not thought to seek recompense, I was merely going to offer it gratis.”

“I would not recommend it, Darcy. Better to have a tenant who has some investment in the place. They will take better care of the property, and you would not be in trouble with Elizabeth in future.”

“Yes, I will set a price. Once again your advice is exactly what I need. Tomorrow I intend to spend the day in her neighbourhood. I have clothing to disguise myself, and I will make a point of not going too near her home, lest she or William spot me. I do not know yet how I will manage to watch them in future, but I have every hope that some way will make itself known to me. For now, I merely wish to see them.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand, and murmured his apologies. Patrick and Georgiana then seemed to notice how tired he truly was. They agreed to meet again soon before the couple departed.

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