The duke fixed his eyes on the ground, trying vainly to control his pain.
How was it possible to be married for two hours? Darcy’s silent question was reflected in his face. But the duke was too far away, and Darcy feared he would never know the whole truth.
He was not an emotional man—at least not before Elizabeth. It was she who opened the door to feelings he had long denied. And now, he suffered along with the man in front of him who, thirty years ago, lost his wife. He thought he knew all the threats that might arisebeforemarriage, but he suddenly discovered that some dangers had the power to destroy itafterwards.
Darcy sat and then stood again, moving to the duke’s armchair. He wanted to give him the letters but, overwhelmed by sorrow and compassion, put his hand on the duke’s shoulder. The duke looked up at him and caressed the helping hand, receiving the younger man’s comfort with an open heart. Darcy gently placed the letters in the duke’s lap and returned to his chair. He was profoundly touched as he could not remember a moment in his life being so close to a person. Elizabeth was the exception, but in the duke’s library, there was another kind of communion he never had with his father.
George Darcy had been a good-natured man. They had spent countless hours together in long rides or endless conversations. They shared a brandy each evening from the moment Darcy became an adult. However, they did not show their feelings or acknowledge many emotional states. Even on his deathbed, his father retained his composure and only gave his son advice on administering the estate. Ultimately, he said, “You have been a good son.” That was all, and minutes later, he was gone. But in Blandford’s presence, Darcy felt much more: a human sorrow that could be shared, the need for compassion, and gratitude for his concern.
After a few moments, he took his concerned eyes off the duke and absently admired the library. Elegant but alsounpretentious, it was arranged to provide peace and comfort—a place to study and read for enjoyment. There were books everywhere, some with silver bookmarks indicating various interests. Darcy grew calmer, enjoying the atmosphere, but suddenly, he felt something was wrong. And indeed, Blandford was as white as snow, breathing unsteadily and struggling for air. Darcy jumped from his chair while the duke tried to loosen his neckcloth.
He wanted to help, but Blandford said in a thin, barely audible voice. “I am well—do not worry…”
Then he pointed to the letter on the ground, likely responsible for his dizziness.
“May I, sir?” Darcy asked, still apprehensive.
“Yes…”
As Darcy picked it up, he saw this was not a letter but a larger sheet of paper. At the top was written ‘Watford Parish.’
Darcy had to sit as he began to understand the meaning of the document.
It was from a marriage registry, hurriedly cut with a sharp knife. The page contained three registrations: three couples who had married. The third, Darcy read, was ‘Husband: William Fitzroy, Marquess of Brimpsfield, son of the Duke and Duchess of Blandford, Wife: Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Matlock,’ followed by the witnesses and the minister: John Somerville.
Darcy was stunned, his heart pounding while his hands trembled in torment. He had imagined all sorts of stories surrounding his mother and Blandford the last two days, but he never had the audacity to go that far.
“I do not understand, sir,” he said in a low voice, not daring to allow his mind to accept the obvious.
“Nor do I,” the duke said. “I thought my father had destroyed this after cutting it from the book.”
And once again, the library became the past, nothing more than a scene in which Darcy could see events unfolding from the powerful words the duke uttered. Blandford unveiled his soul, yet Darcy was not prepared to think of his mother as the duke’s wife, so he closed his eyes and imagined witnessing a story about Will and Anne, two strangers…
The plan grew in Fitzroy’s mind as he left his house after the conversation with his father.
The two nights he spent in the hunting cottage made him understand he had to find a way to be with Anne—not a stolen night in someone else’s house but a life together. In the past, he had never thought of marriage. He regarded his father’s plans to marry him to an heiress as an illusion his father held. But since the ball, his life completely changed. Anne was his woman; he sensed this truth with his heart and body. There was no other way to have her but to get married. He wanted his father to be on his side, but the 5th Duke of Blandford clarified his position. His son had to marry the German heiress and not the earl’s daughter, who could never supply the honours his father desired.
He had to wed hastily and secretly. And most of all, he needed everything to be legitimate, leaving no possibility of an annulment. He knew from the past—not from direct experience but still first-hand information—that his father was a dreadful enemy. He had every protection one needed from the king and an army of servants ready to please their master.
The licence was the first important step to be taken. But, as Anne was only nineteen, he needed Lord Matlock’s consent. The same day, he headed again for St Albans. Strangely, he relied on something his father said during their conversation. Lord Matlock might be interested in marrying one of his daughters to the son of a duke as powerful as his father was.Fitzroy only hoped that he would not ask too many questions. He prepared himself with answers—some lies, some truths—a combination that would eventually convince Anne’s father.
The family was at dinner, and he was placed next to Lord Matlock. He was not hungry, although he did not eat much at breakfast while in his father’s company. In the morning, he had been nervous but hopeful that his father would renounce his plans; in the evening, he was angry and determined to marry his love. Anne looked at him with her sweet smile as they no longer hid their feelings. His arrival at that hour meant only one thing: he had come for her. She laughed and spoke happily, and seeing her so delighted, Fitzroy forgot about his father. The image that had tortured him all the way from London had been dissipated by Lady Anne’s joyful disposition. He looked at her neck, knowing his ring hung on the delicate gold chain, hidden from view. As dinner ended, he whispered a few words to Lord Matlock. He asked permission to talk to Anne for ten minutes and then asked for a private discussion with him, only the two of them.
Lord Matlock stood and ordered everybody to retire to the music room.
“Not you, Anne!” he said. “The marquess will lead you to the library, and when you finish your discussion, I shall be waiting in the parlour for him—only for him!” emphasised her father.
But Anne was no longer listening. She was hastening to the library, and the second the door was shut, she threw herself into his arms. They did not think clearly when they held each other. An irresistible power swept them away from the rest of the world.
That night was the last time they were together.
In the library, she asked, still in his arms, “Why have you come?”
“Will you marry me?” he said and looked at her as she smiled and showed him the ring hidden at her bosom.
“I have already said yes…have you forgotten so soon?” She was teasing him, and he did not have the heart to tell her the horrible truth, but he had to.
“My father has refused his consent to our marriage,” he said and watched as the happiness drained from her face.
