Could he defend against such arguments? It was true—he would be a bachelor gentleman, never to marry, hiding away from society. Georgiana needed to mingle with like spirits, such as Felicity, who truly was a delight. What could he provide that Lady Matlock could not?
It was time to end this farce; time to approach the bench and let Matlock, the devil take him, have his way. Georgiana turned away, tears in her eyes. She knew he was defeated, succumbing to his doubts and his guilt. Oh, she would stay with him to the end. But both of them needed to let go their dream of Elizabeth being the solution to their cares and worries—a delusion, a chimera.
Suddenly, a great hullabaloo from the street; the clatter of iron-shod hooves on flagstones. Startled, Darcy looked to the open doors of the courthouse.
Only a few paces from the building, a shining black landau came to a shrieking halt, the coachman pulling determinedly on the leather brake. Six matched horses—two on the nearside held firmly by postilions—were snorting and stamping their hooves, expressing raw displeasure at being driven hard and then pulled up so peremptorily. Two footmen sprang from the rear platform. One opened the side door of the carriage, and the other assisted an exceedingly elegant lady to the pavement. She wore a dress of delicate blue cambric muslin, her demi train held gracefully in her gloved hand. Diamond pins sparkled in the sun, a cabochon sapphire set on a delicate necklace of interleaved pearls and diamonds adorned her bare neck. Her hat of azure blue satin was turned up in front and low on each side, complemented by her understated drop sapphire earrings. Chestnut curls framed the most beautiful countenance Darcy had ever seen.
The lady stepped into the courthouse, looking directlyforward, neither glancing left nor right—as if she owned the place. A wigged footman in full livery walked ahead; the crowd, who had come to see an earl, hurriedly parted as the lady—a marchioness, a duchess?—never wavered in her direct traverse through the hall. She came up to the floor where Darcy and Bent were standing.
“Mr. Darcy,” she curtseyed, then turned to the bench. “Lord Rushton, how fares your wife and child?”
***
A great silence descended. Who possessed the temerity to interrupt the court’s proceedings so impudently? Who spoke to a presiding judge with such insouciance?
“Ah, you arethatMrs. Darcy. They are well, ma’am, very well indeed.”
Elizabeth turned to look at Darcy. His face was furrowed, gaunt, but his countenance was now alive with a beaming smile, which spread from dimple to handsome dimple—oh, how she had missed him. She wished to run to him, fall into his arms… safe.
“What is this, this theatre?” Mr. Bent’s outrage broke the silence; the crowd in the gallery and in the hall began to whisper amongst themselves, a whisper that rose to a roar. This was the best entertainment on the King’s Birthday they had ever known.
The judge stood, beckoning to the bailiff to quiet the throng. Soon, the whispers ceased, and order was reestablished in the court.
“Mr. Bent, you wish to speak?”
“Indeed, my lord. This woman, this… actress,” Darcy growled. No one demeaned his Lizzie so. Bent sniggered, “…this person—who is she? We know Mr. Darcy is unmarried, but now there is a woman none have seen before who claims to be his wife—you ask forfacts, my lord, but all we have been presented with is charlatanry!”
Hear, hear! Darcy heard Matlock pounding the rail at the front of the gallery.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Lord Rushton spoke benevolently but firmly. “Perchance, please stand by the witness box, for the court and many others wish to understand what all thisbrouhahais about.”
Elizabeth’s smile was as though the sun had burst through the windows, illuminating the hall, the galleries, the tables, and benches without being dimmed by the dust, the cobwebs, and the dull, coloured glass of the saints and kings. She stepped gracefully to the podium.
“Oh, dear, Mr. Bent. Do you not recognise me? She who cared for, and nurtured your children during that long, long seven month journey from England to New South Wales. Who cared for your Eliza, Mrs. Bent, when both she and you succumbed to illness from Rio de Janeiro to the Cape? Surely you remember the dinner at Woolloomooloo given by the Commissary General, Mr. Palmer, when my dear Darcy announced our courtship, and the celebration at Government House for our official engagement? ‘Tis a pity that you had already left the colony when Mr. Darcy and I took our vows in St. Phillip’s Church—where three hundred people joined us, where His Excellency, the Governor-in-Chief, Colonel—now General—Macquarie, and his wife witnessed the ceremony?”
Bent spluttered. “Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”
“Indeed, sir, but I am Mrs. Darcy these past four years.” She nodded to a liveried footman who stepped up and passed her a parchment. She turned to the judge.
“I have here, my lord, a deposition by Governor Macquarie that Mr. Darcy and I were legally married under the laws of New South Wales on the 15th day of May in the year ‘10.” She passed the document to Mr. Bent. Taking it, he carefullyperused the wording, noting the Royal Seal, the signatures of Macquarie, Mrs. Macquarie, Captain Antill, and other officers of the colony. He then passed it to the judge who, without even glancing at it, passed it to his clerk for copying. Bent looked to Lord Matlock. He shook his head—there was nothing to be done. Miss Bennet, as was, now Darcy’s lawful wife.
Elizabeth felt her trembles begin. She had awoken, oh so early, stealing out of Lord Rushton’s house and onto the road from Buxton to Pemberley. She clutched the rail of the witness box for support.
“My story, my lord, is not unusual, but there are some elements worth noting.” Elizabeth summarised her journey to India and then the voyage of theGrosvenordown the Madagascar coast to southern Africa.
She laughed ruefully. “Perhaps, in my eagerness to reach England, I should not have let a great wave sweep me and a young girl of eight years, the Honourable Miss Eleanor Needham, into the maelstrom.” She looked to her dear Darcy; he was gazing at her, tears in his eyes. “But we were not drowned, but swept onto the wild African coast.”
She had the attention of the whole court.
“Perhaps our journey down that Caliban shore would have been easier, but I had been carrying for seven months. The whole took some four months to reach an English settlement. During this time, I birthed Mr. Darcy’s child, our sweet Bennet.”
“Alone, Mrs. Darcy, in the wilderness?” The judge looked at her with bewilderment and compassion. What strength of will.
“Oh, Eleanor and Bumper, my dog, accompanied me,” said she carelessly, “so I was not entirely alone.”
Bent threw caution to the wind, risking censure from the judge, but Matlock was becoming increasingly angry that Darcy had kept his marriage a secret, made him look the fool.
“My lord, while we accept that Mrs. Darcy is wed, the birthof the child comes just nine months after Mr. Darcy departed Sydney—so very convenient.”
