Page 6 of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Exile

“I find it hard to believe that the name Darcy is completely unknown on the continent,” Richard scoffed.

Darcy was too ashamed to admit what he had done. The truth would come out as it always did, but there must be a way to make Richard understand why he had done it before he revealed his secret.

There was only one person in England who might expect him—the same man who had penned the letter Darcy carried in his pocket. They were not far from Lincoln’s Inn Fields, a quarter of an hour on foot, so that was where Darcy directed his step, still accompanied by his cousin.

The ostentatious elegance of Mayfair soon yielded place to red-brick terraced buildings. Men in black coats and white bands hastened between chambers; clerks toiled under heavy bundles of legal documents. Gentlemen walked with purpose.

Darcy followed the line of houses, listening to Richard and reading the engraved bronze plates mounted on black doors until he saw the name he sought: BOFFIN, WILFER, REYNOLDS & ASSOCIATES, SOLICITORS.

A clerk rose from his desk, turning the page of a large, open ledger and dipping his pen into the inkwell as he greeted them.

Darcy pulled a card out of the silver case in his pocket. “I am here to consult with Mr. Reynolds. If you would be so kind as to present him with my card, I will wait for his reply.”

The clerk took the card, running his finger over the copper-plate engraved letters raised on the thick, silky paper. He bowed, his manner more deferential than before. “If you will follow me, please?”

He led Darcy and Richard to a waiting room. Three portraits, the senior partners of the firm, hung directly in front, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined with leather-bound tomes. A Turkish carpet padded their steps.

After an offer of refreshment, which Darcy politely refused, the young man departed.

“Reynolds has done well for himself,” Richard observed.

Darcy’s father believed that a good education was the key to a young man’s development, that the future of the nation lay in the hands of those dedicated young men who would apply themselves to put their hard-earned knowledge to use. He had taken an interest in Reynolds’s prospects, and Reynolds had clearly not wasted the favor granted to him.

They had not waited long when a familiar voice behind them called, “Robbie?”

CHAPTER 3

“Robbie?” Richard repeated, staring at his cousin with mouth agape.

Turning, Darcy recognized his old friend from the portrait he had been admiring—a man of medium build, thinning hair, and the warm brown eyes of his mother. A smile slowly spread over Reynolds’s face as he gazed at Darcy’s altered countenance. “Is it really you?”

A bark-like laugh escaped Richard as he finally understood. “You, Darcy? Of course! Robinson! How did I not know it sooner?”

Darcy greeted Reynolds with a back-patting embrace.

“It is you! Mother will be overjoyed to see you after all this time.” Reynolds stepped away. “You are taller than I remember. I hardly would have recognized you.”

“Richard did not recognize me.”

“Perhaps I might have, had I been looking for a Robinson instead of a Darcy. Did you really do it? Assume a different name?” Richard shook his head, his jaw still open wide. “I never would have believed you so bold.”

Darcy clasped his hands together and looked at the floor. What had seemed so clever and courageous as a boy now felt like the height of foolishness.

Reynolds turned to the door. “Come with me to my study. We have a great deal to discuss.” He led them out to the reception hall and up a flight of stairs into a grand room. A mahogany desk sat in front of windows overlooking the square on one side, and two Windsor chairs faced a fireplace on the other. Reynolds gestured for them to sit by the fire while he retrieved another chair, a decanter, and three tumblers.

“When did you arrive?” he asked.

“This morning.” Darcy reached his hands closer to the flames, only then realizing how cold he had been when his fingers prickled and burned.

Reynolds handed him a drink and sat beside him. “I am terribly sorry, Darcy⁠—”

“Pray, do call me Robbie. I have not gone by my given name for so long, it sounds strange to me.”

Reynolds nodded. “Robbie, then. I sent that letter with no real expectation it would reach you in time, or that it would reach you at all. But Mother insisted I try. She said if anyone could find a way home, you would.”

The housekeeper’s faith in him stirred his heart, and Darcy found it necessary to close his eyes until he could collect himself.

“How did you even know to look for Robinson?” Richard asked, leaning forward.