“Yes, Mama, she is the lady who gave us Netherfield,” Elizabeth verified.
“Correct, and we will return to the topic of Netherfield later in our discussion,” Fanny confirmed. “You know Uncle Freddy was married to Priscilla and his father the King forced them to divorce for a political alliance with Prussia.” Elizabeth and William both nodded.
“What has that to do with why we are here, Mama?” Elizabeth asked cautiously.
“It has everything to do with it,Princess,” Fanny used the now rarely used term of endearment. “My friend was weak; she had a broken heart. She knew Uncle Freddy had no choice in the matter of their divorce and he had to do as the King commanded. Priscilla’s family name before marrying was De Melville. She was the eldest daughter of the Earl and Countess of Jersey. Even though the divorce was through no fault of her own, they disowned Priscilla and cut all ties with her. I believe it was their callous action that completely destroyed Priscilla’s will to live.”
“How can anyone do that to their own child?” William asked indignantly.
“That is a question we have all asked many times over, William,” his father agreed.
“Your father was visiting Uncle Paul and Aunt Edith when both Priscilla and I entered our final confinements. As I have told you, she died from complications of the birth; all of that is true. What was not true was what we told everyone the sex of the baby we each bore was,” Fanny said the last slowly.
William was quick to apprehend what Aunt Fanny had just said. His father placed his hand on his arm to stay any words from his son. “Mama, what are you telling me?” Elizabeth asked. The shock was sketched clearly on her face. She understood what was being said but she wanted to hear her mother say the words. She felt anger bubble under the surface for a reason she could not yet comprehend.
“You are too intelligent not to understand what I am telling you, my Lizzy,” Fanny told her second daughter. “Here is a portrait of your birthmother.” Fanny handed the portrait of Priscilla to her daughter.
Elizabeth was about to protest it was a portrait of herself, one she did not remember sitting for and where she looked older, until she noticed the date: 1798.
“I had an artist paint that of my beloved wife shortly after we married,” the Prince stated softly.
“If Uncle Freddy is my father, why did I live with you and not him? Did he not want me?” Elizabeth asked in alarm. She was doing all she could to regulate the anger that wanted to burst forth.
“That could not be further from the truth, Lizzy,” the Prince told her firmly.
“Lizzy, your birthmother wrote a letter to you, one I swore to her on her deathbed I would give you when you were ready. She suggested eighteen, but we all feel you are ready now,” Fanny told her daughter.
“Who else knew about my true parents?” Elizabeth asked with some asperity showing.
“Do you remember in 1795 when we went to Holder Heights after Uncle Edward’s wedding, and you asked why Aunt Anne was staring at you?” Fanny reminded her and Elizabeth nodded. “Until then, beside Mrs. Nichols who was at your birth, I was the only one who knew the truth. Your birthmother’s letter will explain her reasoning for asking what she did.
“When Aunt Elaine saw you she, like Aunt Anne, recognised your birthmother in you. The Darcys and Fitzwilliams were unmoved in their belief that I needed to tell your father, and I did when we returned to Netherfield Park. It was only then your birthfather was informed he had a daughter, and after reading the letter from his Cilla, he agreed to allow us to continue to raise you, but he wanted to be part of your life, and he is, though as your Uncle Freddy.”
“Here is the letter from your mother; we will all sit here while you read it. We will answer any questions you have when you are finished.” Fanny handed her daughter the letter from Priscilla.
“Before I read, I saw William’s face, he was as shocked as I was. He did not know, did he?” Elizabeth wanted to know.
“No Lizzy, I knew nothing,” William confirmed.
27 February 1790
To my dear son or daughter,
If you are reading this, then you have been raised by Fanny and Thomas Bennet as the worst has come to pass; I have been called home by God. I implore you not to be angry with your adoptive parents. If Fanny has shared the truth of your birth with Thomas—as I suspect she has—before you are eighteen or whatever age my sister Fanny decides to disclose all to you, remember that you are loved.
If you are a daughter, I will name you Elizabeth Sarah. Elizabeth is for my late maternal grandmother Beth, and Sarah for my mother. Before you say it, yes, their breaking with me has cut me to the quick, but she is still my mother. If you are a son, then you are named for your father—who I love more than there are words to describe—and your grandfather, my father for the same reasons as I would use your grandmother’s name if you were a girl. If you are a boy your name will be Frederick Cyril.
“I will not bear the name of the woman who rejected my mother,” Elizabeth told no one in particular. “I want my middle names to be Priscilla Francine andnotSarah!” The anger she had been feeling was now directed at the grandparents who had hurt her birthmother so badly.
“Then it will be so, Lizzy,” Fanny said softly, almost overcome with her being so included as she had long feared her daughter’s reaction and if she would be forgiven.
Elizabeth continued to read.
So, you understand my reasons that I will swear Fanny to years of secrecy—yes even from you my child—they are as follows…
Priscilla told her child how her father and his siblings had been raised in a royal household, and how she would never want the same for her child. She made sure that Elizabeth knew her father had not rejected her, but for the reasons she enumerated as well as not wanting to pain him more than he had been by being forced to divorce her, he was not aware of her existence.
I hope you understand that what has been done has been done to protect you, my child. It is my firm belief that more than blood, what defines family—a parent—is love. Before you become angry with your mother and father, ask yourself this: Have they loved you as well as the rest of their children? It was a pleasure for me to have met your sister Jane and I am sure Fanny will provide you with more siblings, so again I ask you—have your adoptive parents ever treated you less than their other child or children?
