Chapter 9
They were caught in a mystery—one that felt not only strange but perhaps even dangerous.
“It is a maddening quandary,” Darcy murmured, “No one can tell us the story behind the painting. Perhaps the Duke of Blandford, but I do not have the audacity to ask him why his portrait is hidden in our mother’s parlour.”
“But,” Elizabeth asked, “how did you know its location?”
It was a good question, but Darcy did not respond as he spotted the butler in the doorway. “Parker!”
The man stepped in, apparently averting his eyes from the painting, which was almost impossible as it was in the centre of the wall.
Darcy approached the painting, brushed the frame with a finger, and then showed the finger to Parker.
“No dust! It seems to me this was dusted yesterday!”
Parker was silent.
“Please, Parker—tell me the meaning of this if you know…”
Darcy was so upset that he could hardly find words; he needed answers, yet the butler remained silent.
“If the maids dusted the painting, someone told them to. You are the only one to give orders to the servants, so…?”
Hesitant, a burden on his shoulders, the butler eventually replied, “Her ladyship used to let you see the painting. I did not imagine you had forgotten. I only thought you did not want to speak of it.”
Darcy sank onto the chaise as though struck by lightning. It was true! Suddenly, the past surged back to him, as vividly as it had been yesterday—yet he was certain he had seen that painting only when he was very young, perhaps three or four years old. That alone could explain why he had forgotten.
“Why this painting hangs in Mama’s room?” Georgiana asked, looking from her brother to the butler. “Do you know anything about it?”
“Of course he does!” Darcy shouted, and after a moment, he spoke again, calmer, addressing Parker directly. “I thought there were no secrets between us after all your years in my service. You know all my secrets. I never imagined you had any hidden from me.”
Parker looked devastated by the harsh reproach from the most important person in his life.
“I am sorry, sir. I did not keep personal secrets from you, but this was not my secret. I cannot tell you more unless her ladyship left instructions about the matter.”
At his butler’s words, Darcy remembered the package he received from his solicitor. He had thrown it on the chaise when he entered the room.
Parker was right; he was not permitted to talk even if he knew the whole story, as it was clear to all three that there was a story behind the painting.
“Thank you, Parker,” Darcy said. “You may retire now.”
The butler headed towards the hall, but as he stepped out of the room, he turned and said, “Perhaps you could ask Lady Edwina about the painting.”
Darcy looked at Parker in astonishment. He was right. LadyEdwina was the key to that frightening secret.
Lady Edwina was his mother’s best friend—his and Georgiana’s godmother. It was Lady Edwina who stayed with his mother in her last moments of life and stood by them when their father unexpectedly died. If a person was close to them, it was, no doubt, Lady Edwina.
Parker finally shut the door, leaving the three of them alone. Darcy sat on the chaise, looking at Georgiana, while Elizabeth came to sit beside him.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I need a few moments to calm down.”
Elizabeth took his hand lovingly. Georgiana, who was following their tender gestures, moved to leave, but Darcy stopped her.
“Stay, my dear, please stay. This is about our dear mother, yet you are no longer a child. You can hear the truth—any truth—about her.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to ask whether she should stay. She asked him only with her eyes as they succeeded many times in understanding each other silently. He smiled at her.
“You are soon to be my wife, dearest, and there is a letter from my mother about you and for you,” he said, showing her the package.
