A Peculiar Connection (16 page)

“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. If she could be out in the glens and dales or even on the moors, 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! Not any of us were in Derbyshire when it happened. I had moved my mother and two sisters to London before we learned of Elizabeth’s condition. When my father died the year before, I had become 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, nor my youngest sister, nor I ever saw her again.”

He stared into the bottom of his glass as though he could see the event taking place all over again. When he spoke at last, his voice had lowered to such a degree 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 was 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, and my belongings because of you! My other sister could not make a suitable match with such a pitiable 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 me. “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 proceeded 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 such a measure that 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 he returned to his seat, my uncle asked him whether Sir Linton had given him any further information. He sighed and looked out the window before answering but one word.

“Yes.”

Chapter Nine

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 fallen so low that I no longer had the energy to pose a question. That is not to say my mind was at rest, for it was beset not only with numerous queries but with the pain of humiliation as well.

Why had Sir Linton treated me with such cruelty? And if my birth was hidden, why should the event have caused his family’s fortunes to fail? I could not understand the connection, and yet, he cast the fault and subsequent shame for a noble family’s downfall upon my shoulders. 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 far from London, out into the countryside, away from houses or people, 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. 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 whether I behaved unseemly; I could no longer bear the company of others. I needed to walk alone and silence the noises swirling about in my head.

I had rounded the first bend in the path that shielded 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 before others, for I ran even faster when I heard him cry out my name. I felt my bonnet loosen and fall to the ground, but I paid it little notice. 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 beating 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 here 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, 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 such 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 consumption of spirits 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 profligate libertine and has been all his life. He blames others for his own trespasses, and he heaps most of his abuse on those he believes unable to defend themselves. Elizabeth, you have not brought shame on anyone.” His voice softened. “It is not in your nature.”

“But the circumstances of my birth—are they not cause for disgrace?”

“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 family, 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?”

“We have found your mother.”

“And we know my father. What more is there to solve?”

He sat down beside me. “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 made 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. And from what I remember, my father was the most excellent of men—prudent, discerning, cautious, and moral. I cannot grasp 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 brought grief to Mr. Darcy. Oh, why had my parents not considered the possible consequences when they engaged in such unacceptable behaviour?

I turned back to face him. “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 connection, 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 whether he knew the name of your natural father.”

I held my breath.
Why would he ask that question? Do 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-blooded type who would call me out, and I am no longer fit to fight a duel.’ Then, he changed the subject and once again asked whether 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 wretched scoundrel! He spoke ill of his own grandmother—your great-grandmother. When he could not persuade her to move to Town and agree to send your mother away, he left them little on which to live. From then on, Lady Margaret lived a solitary life. She must have cut off all communication with surrounding society, or at least I assume she did. As I told you, sometime during my childhood my parents no longer called upon her, and Lady Margaret ceased attending either church on Sundays or any social gathering.”

“Do you believe my birth caused her to become a recluse?”

He turned his eyes to meet mine. “Whether it did or not, the breach between my parents and Bridesgate must have happened once Lady Margaret 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 an affair fraught with peril?” He rose and slapped his hat against the shrubs of holly lining the path. “I must speak with someone in my father’s family. I know that somehow I can find the answers.”

“But who? Is not your uncle deceased?”

“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?”

Mr. Darcy stared into the distance before answering. “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—”

He lowered his eyes to the ground. “It is not something of which our family speaks.”

I rose, and we began to walk down the path side by side. We happened upon my discarded bonnet, and after Mr. Darcy retrieved it, he handed it to me. Even today, I recall that 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 account Mrs. Reynolds had given 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 wood. 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 at Cambridge, Siobhan had evidently laid aside funds in the event Peter wished to depart England and sail for Ireland without his older brother’s knowledge. There, he could practice his faith without causing his family to suffer. Once he made his choice, all connection with his family at Pemberley 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.