A Peculiar Connection (2 page)

I stopped short. My colour was high but not as florid as hers. “And how might you exercise this power of prevention upon either your nephew or myself?”

She reached inside her reticule and pulled forth a folded square of paper, creased and yellowed by time. “I hoped to avoid this, but you leave me no choice. You cannot marry my nephew. It would not only be despicable in my eyes and that of the world, but it would be a sin against Heaven itself!”

“A sin against Heaven?” I could not help but laugh. “Surely, even you cannot give voice to that claim. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. I am a gentleman’s daughter. So far, we are equal.”

“You speak the truth. You are the daughter of a gentleman, but not the gentleman in whose house you have been reared.”

I blinked.
Has she lost her senses? Of what is she speaking?

“You are not Elizabeth Bennet. In truth, you possess only your Christian name. You are the natural daughter of George Darcy. You and my nephew are brother and sister.”

My knees gave way, and I reached out to the nearby stone wall. A loud racket buzzed in my head, and I could not comprehend her conversation. She must have led me back to the bench, but I do not remember it. Evidently, several moments passed before my faintness subsided and I understood her words once more.

“Shall I call for a servant? Your countenance is uncommonly pale.”

I shook my head and attempted to focus my eyes. At last, the trees ceased to whirl in their contorted dance. Lady Catherine sat beside me, and I became aware that she held my hand. I stiffened and withdrew from her touch.

“No, do not call anyone. I am well.”

We said nothing for a moment or two while I tried to make sense of her statement. “I do not believe you,” I said at last.

“Whether you believe me or not does not change the truth of the matter.”

“How? How can I be the daughter of George Darcy? Do my parents know?”

“I have no idea what knowledge Mr. and Mrs. Bennet possess other than the fact that you were not born to them.”

“What…what proof do you have to make such a claim?”

She handed me the parchment, but I could not read the words, for they would not remain still. Instead, they leaped up and down like demons around a witch’s cauldron.

“My father…I must speak to my father.”

“Miss Bennet—”

I heard Lady Catherine’s voice, but I forgot all manners. Rising from the bench, I ran from the park, across the wide expanse of green yard, and back to the house where I burst into my father’s study. “Papá!”

He looked over his glasses and placed a marker in his book. “Lizzy, child, what ails you? All colour is drained from your countenance.”

“I have told her the truth.” I heard Lady Catherine’s voice behind me and watched my father rise from the chair, a frown covering his face.

“I beg your pardon,” he said.

“I have told this young woman that you are not her natural father, sir. I assume you are the man who fostered her.”

His face paled as he rounded the desk and took hold of my hands. “Lizzy, will you grant me the favour of an introduction to this lady.”

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Lady Catherine continued. “I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park, aunt to Fitzwilliam Darcy, the son of my late sister. I know George Darcy fathered a girl child and that you raised her as your own. I insisted my husband tell me the truth of the matter before he died, and I have confirmed it with Fawcett. I would never have revealed the scandal but for the fact that this girl believes herself entitled to marry my nephew. She has drawn him in with her arts and allurements, but I shall not allow this travesty to occur.”

“Lizzy, are you engaged to Mr. Darcy?”

“No, Father, but what Lady Catherine says… Is it true? Tell me, I pray you, am I not your daughter?”

By that time, my mother and Jane had heard the uproar and entered the room, hearing only my last query. Mamá gasped and began to wave her hands about.

“I knew this would happen. Did I not warn you time and again, Mr. Bennet, that this day would come?”

My father signalled for Jane to close the door to his study. “Calm yourself, Mrs. Bennet.”

“What does she mean, Papá?” I demanded. “I must have the whole of it.”

“Sit down, Lizzy. Jane, ring for some tea,” my father answered.

“I do not want tea. I want to know who my real father is!”

He winced at my words but turned to our visitor. “Madam, might I prevail upon you to grant us privacy?”

“Yes, I see you have a significant explanation before you. Very well. I shall be on my way, but be assured, sir, the pretence is over. The girl must know who and what she is.” She stalked toward the door, which Jane immediately opened for her. “Do not dare to entertain the foolish fancy of destroying that letter. It is merely a copy made many years ago. My barrister has the original safely locked away. If you wish to discuss this further, I shall be in residence at the home of my nephew’s friend, Mr. Bingley.”

Upon her leave-taking, Mamá resumed her hysterics while Jane attempted to quiet her. Papá took the wrinkled paper from my hand and sank down upon a chair. The line between his brows deepened the longer he read.

“Did you know about that note, Papá?”

“No, my dear.”

“Is it true? You must tell me.”

He kept his head lowered, raised his hand to his forehead, and began to rub the furrow back and forth as though he might somehow erase the ugly revelation.

“Tell her,” my mother cried. “Tell her once and for all.”

My breathing grew shallow, and a knot rose up in my throat until I could scarce draw breath at all.

“Lizzy,” Papá began, his voice sounding defeated.

“If you do not, I will,” Mamá declared. “But first, you must explain why Lady Catherine was here. Is Lizzy of possible kin to that great house?”

Of a sudden, a new fear gripped me. If my mother suspected I had connections with aristocracy, she would not wait to spread the news. Frantically, I searched my mind for some disclosure that would satisfy her. Fortunately, my father spoke for me.

“Of course not, Fanny.”

“Then what was the purpose of her visit?”

“If you would grant me a moment, Mrs. Bennet, I shall explain. And pray, quiet yourself. There is no need for Mary and Kitty to hear, much less the servants.” He rose and paced back and forth as though he were purchasing time to think up a plausible explanation for Lady Catherine’s revelation.

“It all happened so long ago. Lizzy, your mother and I—we never—I never thought it necessary to tell you. You have always been our daughter. I believe I almost forgot your mother did not give birth to you.”

“I never forgot,” Mamá cried. “I told you from the beginning someone would find out someday, but no, you would not listen, and now it appears we have a fine mess on our hands and all of it your creation.”

I began to cry quietly. I had never felt as close to my mother as I did my father, and now I knew why. She did not consider me her daughter, and, in truth, she was right. Immediately, I felt Jane’s arms around me as she sat down on the settee and pulled my head onto her breast.

“Lizzy,” Papá said. “You must believe me when I tell you I never knew the name of your parents until this day. I simply knew you were orphaned and in need of a good home.”

“And now you know the identity of Lizzy’s parents? Then out with it, Mr. Bennet, even though I am quite certain they are long dead. Do not keep us in suspense any longer,” Mamá cried.

“It…seems our Elizabeth is a distant relation of the Darcys.” 

Distant relation?
My eyes grew wide in wonder at my father’s falsehood.

“The Darcys?” Mamá grabbed her throat and sank down upon a chair. “Well! But why should Lady Catherine come to tell us that? Why did not Mr. Darcy come?”

“Mamá,” I began, sitting up and pulling away from Jane.

“What else did Lady Catherine say? How close is the connection?”

“Not close,” Papá said quickly, “not close at all. In truth, my dear, she was born to Mr. Darcy’s poorest relations. The lady has only recently become privy to the knowledge, and she came to warn Elizabeth not to prevail upon it.”

My mother frowned as did Jane. “But, Papá,” my sister asked, “why should she think Lizzy would do such a thing?”

“Hmph! Lizzy has no use for Mr. Darcy and makes no bones about it,” Mamá said. “As for Lady Catherine… Now, Lizzy, it might be wise if you were to cultivate a friendship with her. Curb your saucy manners, and flatter the great lady. If you are admitted into her inner circle, think of the advantages she might offer.”

I sighed deeply. “That is highly improbable. If you had heard our conversation, you would know Lady Catherine has not the slightest interest in any future entertainment of my company.”

“And, my dear,” my father added, “if you listened closely, you might recall that I said the connection is with the Darcys, not the de Bourghs.”

Just then, Hill entered the room with a tea tray and placed it on the desk. My mother refused the tea, calling for her salts instead. She left the room with Hill, declaring she must lie down, for she had much to think about, a statement that filled me with dread. She called for Jane to assist her, and although I wished my sister might stay, my father dismissed her with a nod. The moment they closed the door, I rose and whirled around to face him.

“How could you tell such a tale? You know Mamá will take delight in spreading what she believes a fortunate turn of events throughout the community.”

“I thought it the lesser of two evils.”

“Do you think Lady Catherine will rejoice when news reaches her that I am Mr. Darcy’s poor relation?”

“She will prefer my story to the fact that you are Mr. Darcy’s illegitimate sister. According to a letter I received from Mr. Collins this morning, she plans for Mr. Darcy to marry her daughter.”

The word
illegitimate
slammed into me like a hard fist in the pit of my stomach. Once again, I was forced to sit down to keep from falling. “Oh, Papá, why did you not tell me the circumstances of my birth long ago? How could you let me grow up thinking I was your daughter?”

“You are my daughter.” 

“And Mr. Darcy… Even after he came to Hertfordshire, you still did not think it necessary that I know he is my—” My voice broke, for I could not utter the word.

“I did not know. Lizzy, believe me. Until moments ago, I did not know the name of your natural father.”

He rose and walked to the window, his shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he appeared old, his vigour and liveliness dimmed. At length, he returned to sit across from me, leaned forward, and took my hand in his. “Lizzy, allow me to tell you how it happened.”

He then laid out the entire sordid tale. One night, almost one and twenty years earlier, the vicar of Longbourn Church had sent a messenger requesting Mr. Bennet’s presence. The hour was late. The knock at the door sounded just as my father had picked up the candle in his office and headed for the stairs. The message urgently requested his assistance, and so he complied without delay. Some months earlier, Mrs. Bennet had taken Jane, who was but a toddler, to London to visit her brother and his new wife, so there was no one else at home save the servants.

At the vicarage, the parson met him with a worried look. A well-dressed gentleman stood within the parlour, but no introductions were made, a curious occurrence made even stranger when Mr. Bennet heard the faint cries of an infant. Within moments, the gentleman made his departure.

“What is all this, Mr. Fawcett?” Mr. Bennet asked.

Closing the door behind the gentleman, the vicar drew close and spoke in a low voice. “I am beset with a strange task, Mr. Bennet. I call upon you as squire of the village for guidance.”

He led him toward a basket from whence the soft sounds emanated. There, wrapped in blankets, lay a tiny dark-haired baby.

“She was the prettiest little thing I had seen next to my Janey,” my father said. “Where my own babe had golden curls, this little one had a mass of dark tresses and the sweetest pout of a tiny pink mouth.”

The clergyman explained that the child was the natural daughter of a gentleman from the North Country. Her mother had died giving birth two days earlier, and she had been brought to him because of an old friendship from earlier times. It would cause a scandal for the gentleman’s family unless the child was raised in a distant county. He would provide funds for her upbringing but wanted all other contact with her severed. She was never to know his name.

“Which family in the village shall I call upon to take her, sir?” the vicar asked.

Mr. Bennet shook his head sadly. How could a man turn his back on such a child? She was beautiful and appeared to possess a good constitution. He searched his mind for a suitable house, and the two men discussed several families who might be prevailed upon to take in the baby. They, at last, settled upon the Pratt household. The mother had lost an infant to the fever the year before, and she might look favourably upon the substitution. It was determined that the vicar would call upon them with the morning light, and he would awaken his housekeeper to tend the infant through the night.

Mr. Bennet took one last look at the little bundle; the baby had ceased whimpering. He pushed the blanket back and softly caressed the tiny pink cheek. Instinctively, the baby girl’s little fingers curled around his large forefinger and held on for dear life. Her dark eyes sparkled, and a diminutive smile flashed across her sweet countenance for a second. At that moment, she not only snatched hold of Mr. Bennet’s finger but his heart as well.

“I could not let you go, Lizzy.” He covered my hand with both of his. “From that moment, you were my child, my daughter. I never looked back. I never again thought of you belonging to another man. Oh, I had some convincing to do when your mother returned a few days later, but for all her bluster, she took to you as one of her own. The vicar and I agreed we would never reveal your parentage. Your mother’s visit had been lengthy because of her sister Gardiner’s difficult confinement that resulted in a stillbirth. When Fanny returned, we told everyone she, too, had given birth while in Town. Your mother was of a sweeter, more compliant nature at the time and, with a little persuasion, willing to keep the secret even though it went against her better judgment. No one questioned us, and I never thought it necessary to say otherwise. The servants were bribed and sworn to secrecy, and, in fact, Hill is the only one remaining from that time.”