A Peculiar Connection (17 page)

“Is that why you spoke privately with the priest on the day you took Georgiana and me to the chapel?”

“It is. He receives letters from another priest who lives near the Irish village where Peter Darcy resides. He told me my uncle is in poor health and may not live to see another spring.”

“Do you think he knows of the events surrounding my birth? Did he leave for Ireland before it happened, or was he still in residence at Pemberley?”

“I do not know. As a child, I recall my father’s anger when he learned Peter had gone away without a word to any of us, but I am unaware of the order of events. It was a period of tumult in our house, for Henry was frequently found in some disgraceful scrape or other misbehaviour. I think he joined the Navy that same year. I do remember how I missed both of my uncles and how much quieter and lonelier the house grew when they left, but as to when it happened, I cannot say. It all runs together in memories of my childhood.”

We walked in silence for some time, and I was much engaged in reflecting over all that Mr. Darcy had told me when he spoke again.

“Elizabeth, I would caution you once more not to tell anyone of Peter Darcy other than your uncle and aunt.”

“You do not need to remind me, sir. I would not reveal your family’s secrets to anyone. If you prefer, I need not mention it to my aunt and uncle.”

“I trust Mr. Gardiner. He has proven himself a man of discretion, and I have no quarrel with his knowing the truth. As you said earlier, Peter Darcy is your uncle as well as mine, and if you care to confide in Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, you have my permission.”

I smiled at him. How lovely that he shared my good opinion of my favourite relations. “Since you still have questions, might you write to your uncle in Ireland and make inquiries? Perchance he could provide the answers.”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. We had returned to Gracechurch Street by that time, and we halted to allow the carriages to pass. “I cannot ask a man I have not seen since I was a boy to discuss such serious matters in a letter.”

He took my arm and guided me across the street to the steps of the house. There, he stopped and turned to face me. “I have made plans to visit Henry Darcy’s widow.”

“Indeed? When might you go?”

“As soon as I can travel to Kent and fetch Georgiana. I cannot leave her under Lady Catherine’s oppression any longer. Elizabeth, will you go with me to Bath?”

My eyes widened at the thought, and I felt my pulse begin to quicken. “I…I do not think that a good idea, sir.”

I turned away and hurried up the steps. He followed close behind and opened the door for me. We stepped into the vestibule, and Mr. Darcy handed his hat to the waiting servant. He informed us that Mr. Gardiner had gone above stairs to greet his wife but would be down shortly. I walked toward the parlour and asked the servant to bring tea for Mr. Darcy and myself.

I settled myself upon the sofa and straightened my skirt, all the while averting my face. Oh, how I wished my aunt or uncle would soon join us or at least that the gentleman would refrain from any more discussion of his trip to Bath. Instead, he seated himself in the chair nearest me and leaned forward, forcing me to look directly at him.

“Why not, Elizabeth? I shall take Mrs. Annesley with my sister. Why should you not accompany us?”

“I do not see the need, sir. You are well acquainted with your aunt. I would find myself ill at ease meeting yet another relation with whom I must explain my birth. Besides, you are the one with questions…not me.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Sir?”

“You cannot be satisfied with today’s resolution. Surely, you want to know why your mother and my father ever—” He broke off and placed his hand to his mouth in a movement I had witnessed oft times when Mr. Darcy was troubled. “Their involvement is simply insupportable! There must be more to the story, and I cannot believe you are not as curious as I.”

“Believe it! I want no more details of this unfortunate affair. I have no desire to claim either the name Willoughby or Darcy.”

“You are content to remain a Bennet?”

“I am not a Bennet, am I? That is the truth. I am…no one. I am just Elizabeth, and I do not know where I belong or to whom.” I fought the bleakness welling up within me, but I could not hide my sorrow from him.

Mr. Darcy rose to sit beside me, taking both my hands in his. I turned my face away, but he commanded me to look at him. “You belong to me, Elizabeth”—my heart turned over—“and to Georgiana. We are your family. Why must you continue to fight it? We want you near us. You will always be welcome at Pemberley. You may come for long visits whenever my sister is home, and wherever you choose to live, I will protect you, provide for you. I will care for you.”

I finally turned and met his eyes. “The way you did at the Whitbys’ ball?”

He stiffened and released my hands. Rising, he took a step toward the window and then turned back. “Elizabeth, that will never happen again. I promise you.”

“I believe you made a similar promise in the church at Longbourn, sir. I believed you then, but you did not keep your word.”

“I behaved badly, I know. It was the brandy.”

“And what will keep you from returning to the comfort of drink?”

Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room, and our private conversation ended. Mr. Darcy remained but a short while and soon made his departure. Later, my aunt gently questioned me about the day’s events. Evidently, Mr. Gardiner had warned her of my fragile emotions, and when I began to hesitate, she tempered her inquiries and encouraged me to retire to my chamber.

Above stairs, I fell upon the soft bed and buried my face in the pillows.

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A week later, Jane persuaded me to return to Mr. Bingley’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square. She had visited Gracechurch Street often during my stay with the Gardiners, but I had refrained from calling upon her. Now, she insisted I spend the remainder of my time in Town in her company.

“I shall miss you when you return to Longbourn, Lizzy. You must grant me this request, and if you do, I shall tell you a very great secret.” She would not say another word or give me the slightest hint until I agreed to pack my trunk.

Once I had settled into my former chamber and directed the maid as to my belongings, I joined my sister in her favourite sitting room, where she told me she was with child. The news filled me with joy as nothing else had since Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane. She bloomed with radiant happiness and informed me that Charles was over the moon at the news. Thus far, she had not been plagued with sickness of any kind, and her appetite had soared.

“I shall burst the seams of my gowns if I continue to eat in this manner!” she declared.

We laughed together at the thought, and I assured her she could order as many larger frocks as she desired. It was so good to laugh together, to direct my thoughts toward a thrilling, happy event. We spent no little time planning the nursery, wondering whether it would be a boy or girl, and pondering the choice of names.

“If it is a girl, I hope Charles will allow me to name her Frances Elizabeth after you and Mamá.”

“I would imagine Charles will allow you to call her by any name you like, for if it is possible, he appears more besotted with you upon each occasion we meet. Oh, my dearest Jane, your news has made me so happy!”

This relief from my own troubles lasted but a few days, however, for by the end of the week, Jane informed me they were having guests for dinner on Wednesday next: Miss Bingley, who had just returned from Rosings, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. I cautioned her not to strain herself, but she assured me she was quite well enough to preside over her table.

The night of the event, I attempted to come down with a headache as best I could, but I unfortunately remained in excellent health. There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and join my sister’s guests. I fussed with my hair and studied my choice of gowns in the wardrobe for some time, but at length, I could no longer find an excuse to remain in my chamber. With great reluctance, I abandoned my sanctuary and made my way to the drawing room.

Mrs. Hurst was the first to greet me with her insincere smile and veiled slights. Miss Bingley, likewise, looked me up and down as though I had walked in from the streets. Mr. Hurst’s affair with the bottle had progressed nicely, and he hardly noticed my entrance. Mr. Bingley, however, crossed the room and escorted me to Jane’s side. I loved Charles, for he was truly dear. I avoided glancing in Mr. Darcy’s direction as long as possible, but, eventually, when Charles included him in the conversation, I was forced to raise my eyes to his and acknowledge his presence.

“Miss Bennet,” he said with the briefest of bows. “I trust you are well.”

“Perfectly,” I said with a sigh, curtsied, and immediately turned away to ask Jane a question about the selection of flowers she had chosen for the table.

The evening progressed in much the same manner throughout dinner. With the absence of the men afterwards, Miss Bingley regaled us with how she had flattered and charmed Lady Catherine during her visit to Rosings. She seemed to take particular pleasure in stressing how she also took great pains to cultivate a friendship with Miss de Bourgh, although she feared that the poor woman would not live a long life because of her ill health.

“I would not be at all surprised if, when she weds, it will be a marriage of short duration, for I doubt—God forbid—that she would survive childbirth.”

“Is Miss de Bourgh engaged to be married?” Jane asked.

“Not officially, but Lady Catherine says it will not be long before an announcement shall be made.” She fixed a stare in my direction, smugness conspicuous upon her face. “Throughout the Easter holiday, she has worked behind the scenes to secure the alliance. And I have assured Lady Catherine that I have done all in my power to assist her and shall continue my efforts since I am intimately acquainted with the gentleman in question and his family. I promised her that I would keep my eyes and ears open. Thus, I have every hope of becoming as essential to the de Bourgh family as a daughter. I cannot fail to see how advantageous our connection might prove in the future.”

I considered Miss Bingley’s words decidedly distasteful, and I was relieved when, shortly thereafter, we were reunited with the gentlemen in the music room. Mrs. Hurst entertained us on the pianoforte longer than necessary, and once she rose from the bench, Miss Bingley took her place. She persuaded Mr. Darcy to turn the pages of the music for her and took every opportunity to flatter his command of the art.

For pity’s sake,
I thought,
any simpleton can turn pages.

When the Bingley sisters’ performance concluded at last, Mr. Hurst insisted they join the whist table. I had picked up my book and tried to lose myself therein when Caroline Bingley announced they simply must hear me sing and play. I protested strongly, but she would not have it. Signalling her sister to join the chorus, they both pushed and prodded until I could do nothing more than rise and walk reluctantly toward the instrument. I knew full well the cause of their persistence. They both possessed superior talent to mine and took great delight in exhibiting my ineptitude, all the while declaring their fervent desire to hear my efforts.

I sighed as I reached the pianoforte and rifled through a stack of music. What could I possibly find to play without making a fool of myself?

“Sing the song you performed the first time you visited Pemberley,” Mr. Darcy said in a low voice.

I startled, unaware that he stood close behind me. I had last seen him near the card table and assumed he would join the players.

“I shall never forget the clarity of your soprano. It rivalled any I had ever heard before.”

“Surely, you jest, sir.”

“I do not. I pray you will sing it again, Elizabeth…for me.” He spoke the last words so quietly that I had to strain to hear him.

I looked up to meet his eyes and saw no sign of mockery. He made the request in all earnestness. I fumbled through the music, mumbling that I did not know the song by heart. He took the stack from my hands, pulled out the required piece, and bade me be seated. My hands trembled as I spread open the pages.

“Oh!” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “I have drawn the most impossible hand. Will you not come and advise me, Mr. Darcy?”

He waited a moment or two before answering and then looked up with a serious expression. “Forgive me. I must remain constant at my appointed task. After all, I am the accomplished page turner in the room, am I not?”

I could not hide the smile that lit up my face, especially when I saw an expression of dismay pull Miss Bingley’s mouth down at the corners. With sudden confidence, I played the first notes and began to sing. Oh, I misfingered many of the chords, but I sang out with all that was in me, and at the conclusion, I was rewarded with extraordinary applause from at least three people in the room and beaming approval on Mr. Darcy’s face.

We took a turn about the room thereafter, and I was grateful that he kept the conversation light and pleasant. Mr. Darcy told me that, instead of returning to Kent to retrieve his sister, he had sent a trusted manservant in his place. His sister had endured Lady Catherine’s company longer than necessary. Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley were en route from Kent to the Earl of Matlock’s residence on the edge of London, where he planned to join them the following week. He told me of the earl’s fondness for his niece and how she would be spoilt from the moment she arrived. We agreed that Georgiana possessed such an agreeable, loving nature that no amount of attention would ever ruin her. Our young sister was one subject on which we remained in perfect agreement.

Later that evening, however, Mr. Darcy took me aside privately once again to attempt to persuade me to accompany Georgiana, her companion, and him to Bath to visit Mr. Henry Darcy’s widow. Although he uttered many favourable arguments, I remained implacable in my refusal. Consequently, we parted much less positively than we spent the earlier portion of the evening.

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