“Darcy, this is so unlike you. Is it Georgiana, for I knew you were away whenFrederick was killed? Or losing her father?”
“‘Tis not Georgie, though she feels my pain and sorrow. There was a woman, Bingley; she and I were very close, so much so we were to spend our lives together. But she is lost to me, irretrievably. I would give anything, any part of my fortune, for just one more day in her company. I left this woman to return to England, thinking we should soon be reunited—but it was not to be. So foolish, foolish.”
He turned to gaze out the window, afraid to let his friend see the tears that ran down his cheeks.
“Bingley, take any horse from my stable—no, ask for Jonas to accompany you. Ride like the wind; the quickest route is by way of Derby, Northampton, and Dunstable, and thence to Meryton. There are Darcy horses stationed every ten miles at the posting inns. Jonas is known and will assist you in changing horses. Leave now, and you can be betrothed on the morrow.”
“But I came in the coach with Caroline.”
“She must return without you. I will lend her a maid to sit with her own and a footman. She cannot stay here, for she is not Georgiana’s guest and cannot be mine. If that is rude, then so be it. I am tired enough of being imposed upon, and, well you know, I cannot abide your sister’s fawning, let alone having her believe I would offer for her.”
Caroline was outraged, but Bingley saw her tantrum as the sham it was—all along, she had only connived to stay at Pemberley. Determined, he sent her off to their aunt in Scarborough. Her maid, with help from Pemberley’s staff, quickly repacked her clothing; the trunks and travelling desk were hurriedly closed up and placed in the boot of the carriage.
As he and the groom, Jonas, sped in the opposite direction, towards the post-inn at Matlock, Bingley realised he had never told Darcy of Meryton being the town closest to Longbourn. And why would Darcy have horses postedalong the route? That Jane’s sister, Elizabeth, had gone off to New South Wales to escape marriage to the heir presumptive. That Darcy had returned from there only the previous year. But he had come alone. And no word had been received from Elizabeth for eighteen months.
Could it be that she was the woman Darcy had lost? Jane had said Elizabeth had spoken of Darcy in her letters, that she had been hostess at Government House in Sydney—where Darcy was lieutenant governor. Bingley recalled the torment he had seen in Darcy’s face and the tears his friend had so desperately tried to hide. Poor, poor man, if it were truly so.
***
Georgiana stepped between her brother and the door to the drawing-room. “Please, William. You are in no mood to confront them. Ride with me; we could go to the library…please, anything, for this will end very badly.”
Darcy smiled gently, for she was now the dearest person in his life. But the emptiness, those growing doubts, were consuming him. He was no longer concerned with the polite manners of society. What more could his uncle, the earl, do that hadn’t already been done? The great whirlpool, which had sucked up Elizabeth, was now drowning him as well.
Carefully stepping around his sister, he opened the door. Reluctantly, she followed. The decor should have been calming—unchanged since Lady Anne had planned the decoration; restrained, elegant, reflecting the harmony of man and nature; tall windows linking the interior to the gardens and nature beyond.
“Darcy, where have you been? We are your guests; we expect better of you.”
He grimaced. “You are not my guest, Lady Catherine. You arrived unannounced, imposed on Mrs. Reynolds mostdiscourteously, sit drinking my tea and eating my biscuits, and then have the temerity to scold me! If you do not care for the company, you are free to leave. I believe I would welcome it.”
“Take care, Darcy. She is my sister and your aunt; I will not have you speak so disrespectfully.” Lord Matlock stood and glared at his nephew, an expression of outrage spread across his countenance; Lady Matlock gasped, her mouth inelegantly left open, like a fish out of water; Anne, sitting beside her mother, shrank further into the cushions; Felicity looked to Georgiana, who shook her head—there was naught she could do.
“Enjoying my Madeira, Uncle? No, silly me, that is a fine Bordeaux placed in my cellar before the embargo, perhaps a half dozen bottles remaining—drunk all of yours, I assume.” The room became deadly still.
“Lady Matlock, Lady Felicity, welcome to Pemberley. I apologise for the delay. My friend Bingley is just off to Hertfordshire, and his sister to Scarborough. Please, have some refreshment. Has Mrs. Reynolds seen to your rooms? Of course she has. What would we Darcys do without her? Uncle, do not stand on my account. After all, you are an earl, and I, like your sister, am a mere commoner.”
“Are you drunk? Whatever can you mean by such disgraceful behaviour? In front of Felicity, Georgiana, and Anne, no less. I suggest you retire and return once you are civil.”
“No, my lord, I think not. I find this room very relaxing, the present company notwithstanding. It was Lady Anne’s favourite; mayhap, mine as well.” Darcy sat on an elegant settee, upholstered in a fine jacquard fabric. Its position lent him a good view of the shocked expressions of the others. Georgiana came to sit beside him. “Oh, come to the point, uncle. Both Georgie and I are out of mourning, though by custom, we were allowed a year.”
“No, Darcy,” Lady Catherine interrupted, fearing she would lose control of the conversation, “we are here because you are to marry Anne. Your conscience should have told you why we’ve come.”
“You are mistaken, ma’am. For I’ve said often enough, I will not offer for Cousin Anne.”
“And why is that? She has inherited a great estate and is a gentlewoman, perhaps even above you, the granddaughter of an earl and daughter of a baronet.”
Darcy turned to his uncle, now seated, who shifted uncomfortably. “So, uncle, I assume you’ve not spoken to Anne, as I suggested in February, some three months ago.”
“Of what do you speak? Why should Reginald speak to her?”
Should he break the family? Should he send Georgiana and Felicity out of the room; should Anne also be dismissed? The dark, bottomless pit of doubt tried to swallow him. From somewhere, the decision was made—whether it was right or wrong, he could no longer tell.
“Lady Catherine, have you told your daughter the cause of her illness? Why, since a babe, she has suffered—her breathing difficult, her heart weak?”
“No! Anne, you must leave at once! Darcy, keep your foul words to yourself.”
Anne looked to her mother, to Darcy who was staring intently at her. She had never before thought of her infirmity. It was always there, just her cross to bear. Now, she was mistress of Rosings, had come into her inheritance; she would hear what Darcy had to say.
“No, Mother, I wish to hear this.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, but surprisingly clear. “There seems to be a deep secret to which I am not privy, but which concerns me greatly.William, pray continue.”
