A Peculiar Connection (8 page)

“I do hope we shall like them,” Georgiana said. “Perhaps they have a daughter near my age and sons to court Elizabeth. Would it not be lovely if she were to marry and live nearby? Then, we would not have to travel to Hertfordshire to visit her.”

I swallowed at the thought. “Georgiana…”

“Do not speak nonsense,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Is that not one reason we invited Elizabeth to Pemberley—to find her a husband?”

“I am in no hurry to find a husband.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “And I know little of the family other than Mr. Denison is a retired admiral in the King’s Navy. They certainly do not dwell on Lady Margaret’s level.”

“Even though they shall now dwell in her house,” I murmured.

“You may scoff, but the Willoughby family was the reigning aristocracy in the neighbourhood when I was a lad. I recall my parents often dined at the old lady’s table. ’Tis a pity her grandson has not taken better care of the place.”

He turned and drove the horse up the long path leading to the house. Brambles wound through the wild bushes that lined the drive. The beautiful old trees appeared almost bent under the weight of vines grown unchecked for years. It would take a prodigious amount of work to clean the grounds. One could only hope the inside of the house had been better preserved.

“Shall we walk for a bit?” Mr. Darcy asked. When Georgiana and I agreed, he stepped down and assisted us from the carriage. I missed the warmth of his body next to mine and shivered slightly as the wind came up.

We began to walk about the property, the paths covered in snow, and I could see the estate compared poorly to Pemberley. The house was about the size of Netherfield, but due to lack of maintenance, it appeared sad and bleak.

“A door is open here on the side,” Mr. Darcy announced, having walked on ahead of us. “Do you wish to see inside?”

Georgiana and I readily followed him into the entrance that opened upon a great hall. It smelled musty and dank, but it did provide relief from the cold.

“Evidently, neither the workmen nor servants have arrived as of yet,” Mr. Darcy said. “I should think Denison would have ordered preparations to commence long before now.”

“Look where the portraits were removed.” Georgiana pointed up to the wall lining the staircase. “The house is in sore need of fresh paint.”

“And soap and water,” I added as we followed Mr. Darcy above stairs.

The draperies in the drawing room were still hanging, and what furniture remained was covered in dust cloths. Georgiana spied the shape of a pianoforte beneath the coverings and pushed them back so that she might run her fingers over the keys.

“How sad. It is out of tune.” She sat down on the stool and began to amuse herself with chords and scales. Mr. Darcy indicated that I follow him into the dining room, where a grand table and chairs were still in place.

“When did anyone last dwell in the house?” I asked.

“The family moved away from these parts when I was but a child. I could not have been more than seven or eight years. That is, all but the grandmother, Lady Margaret Willoughby.”

“Do you mean she stayed here alone?”

“The grandson moved his mother and sisters to London, but his grandmother refused to accompany them. I still remember the night my father returned from a visit and told us, ‘Lady Margaret said she came to Bridesgate as a bride, and she would not leave until she died.’ Her family could not persuade her otherwise.”

“And did she live out her declaration?”

“She did. If I am not mistaken, I believe she died that same year or soon thereafter. I recall my father attended her funeral although there had been some kind of break between her and my family. I do not know the particulars. I just recall my father ordered me to stay away from the place. ’Twas a command I found hard to obey. For some reason, the old house has always drawn me in as though some spirit called to me—a silly notion for a lad.”

“How sad,” I murmured, “to die all alone in this great old house.”

“It was her choice.”

“Perhaps…but then, she might have felt this was the only place she belonged.”

“When her family sought her company in Town? My father said they did all they could to persuade Lady Margaret to move to London when they did.”

I walked down the length of the table and gazed up at the massive stone fireplace on the far wall. “It was her home. She lived here almost all of her life. It is important to feel one belongs…to know where
you
belong.”

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Darcy had crossed the room and stood close behind me. “Do we still speak of Lady Margaret, Elizabeth?”

The nearness of his presence startled me. I blinked and shook my head slightly. “What? I…of course.” I turned my face toward his, and the tenderness reflected in his eyes touched my heart. I could feel my defences slipping away, and I knew tears would prove my undoing.

Just then, Georgiana skipped into the room and exclaimed that the candelabra still held the remains of burnt candles. She claimed Mr. Darcy’s attention, which allowed me the opportunity once again to swallow my emotion. We soon quit the house and climbed back into the phaeton, bent on driving around the next turn in the road.

I was surprised to see another great house built not far from Bridesgate, a structure much more modern. Mr. Darcy explained that none of the Willoughbys ever returned to live at the estate, and Lady Margaret’s grandson had consistently sold off the land surrounding the old family home until the domain was now reduced to a fraction of its former glory. A family named Whitby had purchased some of the property and built the newer house.

“They have two suitable sons, Elizabeth,” Georgiana announced. “I am sure one of them will please you.”

I did not even bother to protest, for her brother growled enough for both of us. It did little to temper the young girl. She entreated Mr. Darcy to drive by the home of yet another family of young men in the area. He, instead, turned off the main road and onto a country lane that led us directly through the woods. When Georgiana questioned him as to our destination, he cautioned her to practice patience.

We rode for some time, allowing my mood to lighten. It proved insupportable to remain melancholy on such a beautiful day, in the company of a cheerful, chattering girl and nestled snugly against the warmth of the body next to mine.

“Here we are,” Mr. Darcy announced as he pulled off the lane onto a narrow drive. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw a small, well-kept church hidden well back within a shady glen. No sign indicated its name without, but a solitary cross adorned the steeple.

“What church is this, Wills? I do not recall ever visiting here.”

“It is not one of our persuasion.”

“What do you mean?” Georgiana held out her arms for him to lift her down from our high perch.

“It is a Papist church, is it not?” I said, climbing out the other side, unaided.

“Papist? Here in Derbyshire?”

“The religion is not outlawed, Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Certainly not prevalent, though. We know no one of that faith, do we, Wills?”

His eyes met mine. Evidently, he had not shared the secret of our grandmother with his young sister.

I was surprised when we found the door unlocked. Inside, we were greeted by the smells of incense mingled with lemon oil and old wood. One would never guess the beauty of the interior from the simple stone structure without. Georgiana marvelled in awe at the statues of the Madonna and Child and another saint, whom I did not recognize. As she and I crept silently about the sanctuary, Mr. Darcy disappeared through a side door at the front of the room. It seemed such a reverent place that both Georgiana and I spoke in whispers.

“Is not the altar magnificent?”

I agreed as we approached the table covered with a lace cloth and containing various religious emblems, among which I saw the Celtic cross.

“Is it true they worship idols?” she asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “But I am not acquainted with their rituals other than I believe they confess their sins to the priest.”

“All their sins?” Her eyes grew wide.

“Do you find that shocking?”

“I do. I should not like that to be a requirement of my faith.”

I smiled. “I am certain you are a sick and wicked person.”

Her lip trembled, and tears formed in her lovely eyes.

“Oh, Georgiana, I did not mean it. I am simply teasing you. Forgive me.”

“You might be surprised to learn how wicked I have been. I fear you would no longer think highly of me if I were forced to confess it.”

I assured her that nothing she did would ever lessen her reputation in my eyes, but I could see it did little to comfort her. Mr. Wickham’s escapade with her had robbed her of her innocence. I put my arm around her and led her into the pews to sit beside me.

“Georgiana, I know what happened at Ramsgate.” A look of horror covered her face. “It was not your fault. I know Mr. Wickham; he married my youngest sister, and he is a man who deserves to be branded wicked, but not you.”

“I should never have entered into the alliance. I was such a fool.”

“You were young. You are still young, much too young to recognize the man is a scoundrel.”

“Your poor sister! How will she manage in a marriage to such a man?”

I looked away, a cloud descending over my expression. “It is sad, but there was nothing to be done. Her name would have been ruined had she not married him. Thank goodness he was made to do the right thing, and it is all due to the generous nature of your brother.”

“Wills is a good man.”

“I know.”

We said nothing more for a while and simply sat back on the pew, absorbing the stillness of the place. A curious peace settled upon me. Although the religion was not mine, I found it satisfying to know my grandmother had been granted this lovely setting in which to practice her faith.

We were startled from our reverie when the door opened and Mr. Darcy reappeared. A priest robed in black stood within the doorway. They exchanged words we could not hear, and shortly thereafter, the older man disappeared behind the closed door. Mr. Darcy motioned for us to accompany him, and within moments, we were once again seated in the phaeton.

Mr. Darcy folded Georgiana’s hand around his right arm and then tucked my hand around his left.

“Hold tight. We shall make haste and return to Pemberley before dusk.”

With a jerk forward, we once again flew through the snow. Georgiana squealed with excitement, but I was content to hang on to Mr. Darcy’s arm.

Chapter Five

I had spent little more than a month at Pemberley when an unexpected guest joined us: Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was a cousin of the Darcys on their mother’s side of the family whom I had met in Kent the previous Easter. I was delighted to renew our acquaintance, for I thought well of the gentleman. His manner and general amiability made him an agreeable addition to our table.

I was surprised, however, to learn that the colonel already had knowledge of the altered version of my past. He explained that Lady Catherine had erupted in anger when she heard I had accepted Mr. Darcy’s invitation to visit Pemberley. The great lady had travelled posthaste to Eden Park, the home of her brother who was the colonel’s father. There, she spent no little time casting disparagement upon my character although, evidently, she did not tell the earl that I was sister to Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. She despaired of her nephew and declared he had lost his senses to offer me—a distant poor relation of no consequence—a portion of his inheritance.

“She insisted I visit you, Darcy,” the colonel said with a twinkle in his eye, “and—let me recall precisely how she put it—oh yes, ‘restore you to your former good sense.’ According to my aunt, Miss Bennet is quite the little fortune hunter.”

Mr. Darcy threw his napkin onto the table and immediately rose from his chair. “That is preposterous! Surely, you, of all people, do not believe such twaddle.”

“Of course, I do not believe it. Sit down, Cousin.”

“Wills and I invited Elizabeth to visit Pemberley,” Georgiana said. “Since we are related, we wished to know her better.”

“And Elizabeth has refused any offer of assistance, even so far as the thought of establishing a dowry for her,” Mr. Darcy added.

The colonel reclined back in his chair, turned his face to the side, and looked me up and down with a bantering air.

“Come now, Miss Bennet, you must at least allow your cousin to provide you a dowry, for I have it on good authority that he has plenty to spare. ’Twill greatly increase your chances in the marriage market. Added to your green eyes and lovely smile, it shall prove you irresistible.”

“Must you make love to my cousin at the dinner table, Fitzwilliam?” Darcy snapped.

I was embarrassed to be the centre of attention. “You forget, sir, that the remoteness of my connection to Mr. Darcy and my subsequent fostering by Mr. Bennet would never render me irresistible, whatever dowry I possess, so there is little reason for me to accept it.”

“You are mistaken, my dear,” the colonel responded. “A fortune can make one overlook a great number of things.”

“Then I shall surely forego the gift, for I prefer a man who does not seek my hand for material gain.”

By that time, Mr. Darcy’s obvious annoyance had heightened, and he signalled the colonel to join him in his library for their after-dinner libations. Georgiana and I retired to the drawing room, where I took up my attempt at needlework and she returned to the novel she was reading. A short time later, the gentlemen joined us, whereupon the colonel persuaded me to play and sing. He insisted upon standing by my side and turning the pages of music. The only blight upon the evening was that Mr. Darcy’s mood had turned dour, and neither my songs nor Georgiana’s proved sufficient to lighten it.

During the following two weeks, I found Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company diverting. He was always game for any activity that Georgiana or I suggested, and he often accompanied me on my turns about the park. The snow had melted at last, and the wind lifted on most days. Whenever the sun favoured us, I hurried outdoors, for I loved to walk, and Pemberley possessed a blissful provision of paths that turned and twisted enough even to please me.