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Chapter Four

Posted on Sunday, 12 August 2007

Although I imagined it impossible, Pemberley was as striking in mid-winter as in summer. The snow-draped grounds made a magnificent setting for the huge mansion. With the roof enveloped in white, icicles sparkled and glittered from the eaves like jewelled pendants hang from a woman’s ears. I caught my breath in wonder. Our journey had been long and tiring. The inns at which we had stopped on the way proved adequate, but not memorable. Now, anticipation revived my spirit, and I looked forward with eagerness to entering the Darcys’ beautiful house once again.

Mr. Darcy had written the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, to expect us. He told her we had discovered that I was a distant relation, and thus, he and Georgiana invited me to spend some time with them. I was relieved to find a warm smile upon her face.

“Miss Bennet, I am most pleased to see you again,” she said. Evidently, she believed our story; however, she was but a servant and asked no questions, of course. The test would come when I was introduced to Derbyshire society.

We entered the drawing room to be warmed by a roaring fire and steaming cups of tea. Later, I was ensconced in a lovely bedchamber decorated in soft pastels. The prospect from the windows took my breath away – slivers of the evening sunset’s brilliant hues peeked through the snow clouds and danced upon the surface of the lake.

After dinner that night, while Georgiana played for us on the pianoforte with Mrs. Annesley nearby to turn the pages, I felt Mr. Darcy’s eyes upon me. He sat in a large overstuffed chair, his head reclining against the back. I thought him asleep once or twice, for he closed his eyes during several refrains. He appeared truly at ease in his home. If ever a man belonged to a house, he belonged to Pemberley. It fit him like a well-tailored suit. I wondered if I would ever feel at home in such a great house. Even though we shared the same father, I knew that I would never share his sense of entitlement.

“Has the evening’s refreshment relieved the strain of travel, Elizabeth?” He spoke softly so that he would not interrupt Georgiana’s concert.

“The meal was delicious, and one could not ask for more pleasing entertainment.”

“But you are weary, are you not? I see fatigue in your eyes. After she finishes this song, you must retire.”

“I would not shorten Georgiana’s enjoyment. Pray, do not cause her to stop on my behalf.”

“There is always the morrow when she may play as long as she wishes, while I show you the house in detail. I know Mrs. Reynolds gave you and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner a tour last summer, but I wish for you to see the house through my eyes. Shall we say after breakfast around one o’clock?”

“If you wish.” I was more than eager to explore the great house once again and especially with one who knew it intimately. Georgiana and I soon retired to our chambers, and I fell into the luxurious, soft bed with welcome abandon.

The next day we began our tour in the kitchen, a curious choice to my thinking, but one I soon understood. Mr. Darcy knew each of the downstairs staff by name along with their responsibilities, including Mrs. Soffel, the cook, who ruled her domain with a sharp tongue. She barked orders to the lower servants like the best sergeant-at-arms before she realized the master had invaded her kitchen.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Darcy,” she said with a curtsy. “I didn’t see you there, sir.”

“Quite acceptable,” he responded. “I recall as a lad you ordered me about in that same tone of voice.”

She blushed bright red. “I never, sir. Well, perchance…but only when you snatched cookies before they cooled.”

“And burnt my tongue as a result. They were well worth it, however.”

“Aw, go on with you, sir.”

As we walked from room to room, I could see in what esteem his servants held him. It was evident their deference was heartfelt and not prompted by duty alone. I recalled Mrs. Reynolds’ words last summer, “He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived.”

We worked our way up the floors, and I marvelled anew at the splendour therein. Its understated elegance extended from the architecture to its perfectly selected furnishings. I could not find a single item I would change if I were mistress. You shall never be mistress of Pemberley, I chided myself silently.

“And I suppose Mrs. Reynolds showed you the gallery, did she not?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“She did, but I would enjoy a closer view.”

He led me up the great staircase, pointing out paintings by Italian and Dutch artists that lined the wall. In the great hall, my eyes travelled immediately to his large portrait. I thought it exceptionally fine. The artist caught his face in a benign expression, and he smiled in a manner I had sometimes observed before when he looked at me. Mr. Darcy began naming various relatives, but I confess I only half listened, for I could not tear my eyes from the only face whose features were known to me.

“I believe you will find this likeness of interest.” He had walked a number of paces ahead while I lingered behind. “Elizabeth?”

I coloured, hoping he had not caught me out and hurriedly joined him. “And who did you say this gentleman is?”

“My…our…father.” He drew near and spoke softly, even though it appeared we were alone.

I raised my eyes to observe the subject of the painting. Mr. Darcy resembled him in many ways. They possessed the same chin and turn of countenance. Although the man’s hair in the portrait had turned silver, it fell across his forehead in curls much like that of his son. My father…I searched his eyes seeking to recognize some part of me therein.

“I can see you, but I fail to find myself in his image,” I murmured.

“His hair was dark like yours when he was younger.”

“Dark hair is common enough. I confess I cannot see any connection.” I cast my eyes on the full-length portrait of a woman hanging next to that of Mr. Darcy, Sr. “Is that your mother?” He nodded. “She was a beautiful woman, much like Georgiana.”

“Yes, my sister inherited her blue eyes and fair colouring.”

“And you have her dimples.”

“Do I?”

“When you smile. ‘Tis one of your best features you might exhibit more often.”

We walked on down the hall, while he named grandparents and various relatives on his mother’s side of the family. Then he stopped in front of a portrait of a young man and woman. “These were our father’s parents – your grandparents, Elizabeth – James and Siobhan Darcy.”

“Siobhan? Was she Irish?”

“To the core. As a young man, my grandfather sailed to County Cork and spent the summer there with friends from Cambridge. He fell in love with Siobhan MacAnally, the daughter of a landed family that harked back for generations. Her father forbade the marriage, but they eloped anyway. She gave up her entire family to marry my grandfather and return to Derbyshire with him.”

“Gave up her family? Did they never reconcile?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “It could not be done. Her choice was entirely insupportable.”

“But surely, one would not disinherit a daughter simply because she loved an Englishman.”

“’Twas not just nation but religion that separated them. My grandmother was Catholic, and my grandfather, of course, was not. She was required to renounce her religion and rear her children as Protestant. In truth, my father said his parents hid all traces of her former faith once they settled in England.”

“Of course. Her husband would have endured persecution if she did not. How difficult it must have been for her.”

Mr. Darcy walked on a few paces, stared at the floor, and lowered his voice even more. “Few know this, but Grandmother continued to practice her faith in secret.”

“In secret?”

“In public, she attended services with her husband and children at the village church, but whenever possible, she stole away to visit a priest who maintained a small Catholic church just past the edge of the wood. He tended a small flock that clung to the Papist belief. The church remains to this day.”

“And did your grandfather know?”

He nodded and smiled. “My father said his father permitted it because he loved her. He found it hard to deny her anything, even though his own family was not at all pleased that my grandfather married beneath him.”

“How can that be? I thought her family prosperous.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Irish and Catholic? ‘Twas unacceptable. Besides, Grandfather married her without her father’s consent. She came without a dowry. Yes, I would say he married below his station, but then he married for love.”

His eyes met mine, and for one unguarded moment, it was as though I caught a glimpse of his soul. Almost immediately, however, he cleared his throat and marched on ahead. “That is sufficient for today. I shall not bore you with more family history. Let us walk on to the opposite wing of the house. I want you to see the ballroom.”

I had to hurry to catch up with his long stride, but not before I turned and looked into the green eyes of Siobhan Darcy once more. I felt a chill run down my spine when I realized it was like gazing into a mirror.

By nightfall, Mr. Darcy had exhibited all of the great house, save the attics. We agreed to postpone those for a day when we had adequate time to devote to our quest. I was glad to know he had not abandoned his offer to search for knowledge of my birth. I had feared it might have been simply a ruse to entice me to visit Pemberley.

A welcome break in the weather occurred on the morrow, and we enjoyed four glorious days of sunshine. Mr. Darcy took advantage of it to show me the grounds. Even covered in snow, I could see the gardens were outstanding and that I had experienced only the briefest of tours during my visit the previous summer. The stables were filled with thoroughbreds, and he took pride in naming each horse’s forebears – all superior pedigrees I am certain, if I had known anything about breeds. He was surprised that I informed him I was no horsewoman, and he assured me that riding lessons would commence as soon as the weather permitted. I met the declaration with the enthusiasm I would have shown had he served me a beaker of pickle juice.

On what proved to be the final day of clear weather for some time, Mr. Darcy announced at the breakfast table that he would take Georgiana and me on a ride through the woods in his phaeton. She clapped her hands in delight, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“A phaeton?” I asked. “Shall it not be rather crowded with three passengers and cold, as well?”

“Oh, no, Elizabeth,” Georgiana declared. By that time, we had progressed to addressing each other by our first names. “The wind has disappeared, and the sun is out today. We can fit, if we squeeze close together. Tucked under a rug, we shall be quite cosy.”

Sipping my tea, I raised my eyes to observe Mr. Darcy’s reaction. He appeared completely satisfied with the idea, oblivious to any discomfort such intimacy might cause. Well, if he could sit close beside me without problem, I should do as well. After all, he is your brother, I reminded myself. I quickly swallowed the remains of my cup, but, in so doing, I choked and coughed to an extent that I was forced to excuse myself from the table.

A half-hour later, I descended the stairs and saw the phaeton waiting at the side entrance. Attached to a huge white mare, the shiny green conveyance with its huge yellow wheels looked like something out of a painting, even down to the bells hanging ‘round the horse’s collar. My sister carried a white muff and wore a fur coat and hat. Mr. Darcy had swathed his neck with a flannel scarf, but he frowned when he saw my plain wool coat and bonnet.

“Do you have no fur?”

“My coat is adequate.”

He shook his head and ran up the stairs two at a time, calling for a servant. I followed Georgiana outdoors. She climbed up into the vehicle with aid from a servant and urged me to join her, but before I could, Mr. Darcy returned with a fur hat and cape.

“Exchange that bonnet for this hat,” he demanded. “I shall not have you catch your death.” When I hesitated, he untied the ribbons himself, and before I knew what had happened, he handed my bonnet to the maid and placed the warmer covering on my head, wrapping the cape around my shoulders.

“Whose garments are these?”

Georgiana smiled. “They are mine. Wills, we must see to a more suitable wardrobe for Elizabeth.”

“Yes, we must.”

“No,” I protested, “I shall not accept…”

“’Tis better than coming down with a chill, is it not?” He raised one eyebrow while he completed tying the bow under my chin. Stepping up into the carriage, he held out his hand to assist me. “Now, let us arrange the rug, and we shall be off.” He sat between Georgiana and me and securely tucked the warm throw around each of us. I held my breath as he leaned over me, his head so close that his hair brushed against my cheek. “Warm enough?” he asked.

“Perfectly,” Georgiana announced. I could manage nothing more than a nod.

Not even a hair could have squeezed between our bodies, and I became acutely aware of the warmth of his leg touching mine. This is a mistake, I thought. But how was I to escape? Before I could think of an excuse, Mr. Darcy flicked the reins, and the great horse picked up his heels and trotted off. The cold wind fanned my cheeks, and I gasped to catch my breath. How fortunate that I could blame the elements for the rosy colour of my countenance.

That day, I discovered Mr. Darcy had a passion for driving fast. We had scarce left the outskirts of the park before he urged the horse into a brisk gallop. Georgiana squealed as we rounded a corner and laughed gaily when I protested.

“Do not fear, Elizabeth,” she cried. “Wills is an excellent driver. He will not allow us to spill.”

I held on in terror, for I had not the confidence she possessed. Unknowingly, I grabbed the side of the phaeton with one hand and Mr. Darcy’s arm with the other. Within moments, he turned the conveyance to the left as we rounded a sharp curve, and, consequently, caused both my companions to swerve to my side. Once more, his face appeared alarmingly close to mine. I felt his breath warm on my cheek and heard him chuckle before we turned back onto a straighter path.

“You are welcome to hold on, Elizabeth, but when you clamp my arm that tightly, it does hamper my driving somewhat.”

I withdrew my hand from his person immediately, shocked that I had touched him unawares.

“Do take care,” Georgiana cautioned. “I fear you frighten Elizabeth.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course not,” I lied, straightening my spine and sitting as tall as I might. Within moments, he rounded another curve, and I found myself clinging to him with both hands. I heard him laugh softly in spite of Georgiana’s gleeful screams.

“You are incorrigible, sir,” I declared. “You drive like Jehu!”

At last, to my great relief, he slowed the horse to a gentle trot. I reached for my hat to make certain it did not sit askew and pulled the cover back into place, for it had slipped loose in all the twists and turns. I felt my heart beat furiously and took a deep breath of the cold, frosty air. The remains of my breath hovered about like miniature clouds.

“Shall we drive by Lady Margaret Willoughby’s house?” Georgiana asked.

“It lies directly around the next bend in the road.”

Within a few moments, we came upon a large manor house set far back from the road, surrounded by the forest. It almost appeared a part of the woods, for what park surrounded the house was untended, allowed to grow wild, obviously abandoned.

“That is Bridesgate Manor,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Is my lady away, for it appears vacant?”

“Oh, Lady Willoughby no longer lives there,” said Georgiana. “She died years back before I was born, did she not, Wills?”

He nodded. “As her son had died before her, the entail passed to her grandson, and he has let the house to a family named Denison. I hear they shall take possession by Lady Day.”

“I do hope we shall like them,” Georgiana said. “Perchance they have a daughter near my age and sons to court Elizabeth. Would it not be lovely if she were to marry and live nearby? Then we would not have to travel to Hertfordshire to visit her.”

I swallowed at the thought. “Georgiana…”

“Do not speak nonsense,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Is that not one reason we invited Elizabeth to Pemberley? To find her a husband?”

“I am in no hurry to find a husband.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Darcy agreed, “and I know little of the family, other than Mr. Denison is a retired admiral in the King’s Navy. They certainly do not dwell on Lady Willoughby’s level.”

“Even though they shall now dwell in her house,” I murmured.

“You may scoff, but the Willoughby family was the reigning aristocracy in the neighbourhood when I was a lad. I recall my parents often dined at the old lady’s table. ‘Tis a pity her grandson has not taken better care of the place.”

He turned and drove the horse up the long path leading to the house. Brambles wound through the wild bushes that lined the drive. The beautiful old trees appeared almost bent under the weight of vines grown unchecked for years. It would take a prodigious amount of work to clean the grounds. One could only hope the inside of the house had been better preserved.

“Shall we stretch our legs?” Mr. Darcy asked. When Georgiana and I agreed, he stepped down and assisted us from the carriage. I missed the warmth of his body next to mine and shivered slightly as the wind came up. We began to walk about the property, the paths covered in snow, and I could see the estate compared poorly to Pemberley. The house was about the size of Netherfield, but due to lack of maintenance, appeared sad and bleak.

“A door is open here on the side,” Mr. Darcy announced, having walked on ahead of us. “Do you wish to see inside?”

Georgiana and I readily followed him into the entrance that opened onto a great hall. It smelled musty and dank, but it did provide respite from the cold.

“Evidently, neither the workmen nor servants have arrived as of yet,” Mr. Darcy said. “I should think Denison would have ordered preparations underway long before now.”

“Look where the portraits were removed,” Georgiana pointed up to the wall lining the staircase. “The house is in sore need of paint.”

“And soap and water,” I added, as we followed Mr. Darcy above stairs. The draperies in the drawing room were still intact, and what furniture that remained was covered in dust cloths. Georgiana spied the shape of a pianoforte beneath the coverings and pushed them up so that she might run her fingers over the keys.

“How sad. It is out of tune.” She sat down on the stool and began to amuse herself with chords and scales. Mr. Darcy indicated that I follow him into the dining room where a grand table and chairs were still in place.

“When did anyone last inhabit the house?” I asked.

“The family moved away from these parts when I was but a child. I could not have been more than eight or so. That is, all but the grandmother, Lady Margaret Willoughby.”

“Do you mean she stayed here alone?”

“The grandson moved his mother and sisters to London, but she refused to accompany them. I still remember the night my father returned from a visit and told us, ‘Lady Willoughby said she came to Bridesgate as a bride, and she would not leave until she died.’ Her family could not persuade her otherwise.”

“And did she live out her declaration?”

“She did. If I am not mistaken, I believe she died that same year or soon thereafter. I recall my father attended her funeral, although there had been some kind of break between her and my family. I do not know the particulars, I just recall my father ordered me to stay away from the place. ‘Twas a command I found hard to obey. For some reason, the old house has always drawn me in, as though some spirit called to me. A silly notion for a lad.”

“How sad,” I murmured, “to die all alone in this great old house.”

“It was her choice.”

“Perchance…but then she might have felt this was the only place she belonged.”

“When her family sought her company in Town?”

I walked down the length of the table and gazed up at the massive stone fireplace on the far wall. “It was her home. She lived here almost all of her life. It is important to feel one belongs…to know where you belong…”

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Darcy had crossed the room and stood close behind me. “Do we still speak of Lady Willoughby, Elizabeth?”

The nearness of his presence startled me. I blinked and shook my head slightly. “What? I…of course.” I turned my face toward his, and the tender concern reflected in his eyes touched my heart. I could feel my defences slipping away, and I knew tears would prove my undoing.

Just then, Georgiana skipped into the room and exclaimed that the candelabra still contained remains of burnt candles. She claimed Mr. Darcy’s attention, which allowed me opportunity to once again swallow my emotion. We soon quitted the house and climbed back into the phaeton, bent on driving around the next bend in the road.

I was surprised to see another great house built not far from Bridesgate, a structure much more modern. Mr. Darcy explained that none of the Willoughbys ever returned to live at the estate, and Lady Willoughby’s grandson had consistently sold off the acreage surrounding the old family home until the domain was now reduced to a fraction of its former glory. A family named Whitby had purchased some of the land and built the newer house.

“They have two eligible sons, Elizabeth,” Georgiana announced. “I am sure one of them will please you.”

I did not even bother to protest, for her brother growled enough for both of us. It did little to suppress the young girl. She entreated Mr. Darcy to drive by the home of yet another family of young men in the area. He, instead, turned off the main road and onto a country lane that led us directly through the woods. When Georgiana questioned him as to our destination, he cautioned her to practice patience. We rode for some time, allowing my mood to lighten. It proved insupportable to remain melancholy on such a beautiful day, in the company of a cheerful, chattering girl, and nestled snugly against the warmth of the body next to mine.

“Here we are,” Mr. Darcy announced, as he pulled off the lane onto a narrow drive. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw a small, well-kept church hidden well back within a shady glen. No sign indicated its name without, but a solitary cross adorned the steeple.

“What church is this, Wills? I do not recall ever visiting here.”

“It is not one of our persuasion.”

“What do you mean?” Georgiana held out her arms for him to lift her down from our high perch.

“It is a Papist church, is it not?” I said, climbing out the other side, unaided.

“Papist? Here in Derbyshire?”

“The religion is not outlawed, Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Certainly not popular, though. We know no one of that faith, do we, Wills?”

His eyes met mine. Evidently, he had not shared the secret of our grandmother with his young sister. I was surprised when we found the door unlocked. Inside, we were greeted by the smells of incense mingled with lemon oil and old wood. One would never guess the beauty of the interior from the simple stone structure without. Georgiana marvelled in awe at the statues of the Madonna and Child and another saint, whom I did not recognize. As she and I crept silently about the sanctuary, Mr. Darcy disappeared through a side door at the front of the room. It seemed such a reverent place that both Georgiana and I spoke in whispers.

“Is not the altar magnificent?”

I agreed as we approached the table covered with a lace cloth and containing various religious emblems, among which I saw the Celtic cross. “Is it true they worship idols?” she asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “But I am not acquainted with their rituals other than I believe they confess their sins to the priest.”

“All their sins?” Her eyes grew wide.

“Do you find that shocking?”

“I do. I should not like that to be a requirement of my faith.”

I smiled. “Oh, yes, I am certain you are a sick and wicked person.”

Her lip trembled, and tears formed in her lovely eyes.

“Oh, Georgiana, I did not mean it. I am simply teasing you. Forgive me.”

“You might be surprised to learn how wicked I have been. I fear you would no longer think highly of me, if I were forced to confess it.”

I assured her that nothing she did would ever lessen her reputation in my eyes, but I could see it did little to comfort her. Mr. Wickham’s escapade with her had robbed her of her innocence. I put my arm around her and led her to sit on a pew beside me. “My dear, I know what happened at Ramsgate.” A look of horror covered her face. “It was not your fault. I know Mr. Wickham – he married my youngest sister – and he deserves to be branded wicked, not you.”

“I should never have entered into the alliance. I was such a fool.”

“You were young – you are still young, much too young to recognize the man was a scoundrel.”

“Your poor sister! How will she manage in a marriage to such a man?”

I looked away, a cloud covering my eyes. “’Tis sad, but there was nothing to be done. Her name would have been ruined had she not married him. Thank goodness he was made to do the right thing, and it is all due to the generous nature of your brother.”

“Wills is a good man.”

“I know.” We said nothing more for a while and simply sat back on the pew, absorbing the quietude of the place. A curious peace settled upon me. Although the religion was not mine, I found it satisfying to know my grandmother had been granted this lovely setting in which to practice her faith.

We were startled from our reverie when the door opened and Mr. Darcy reappeared. A priest robed in black stood within the doorway. They exchanged words we could not hear and shortly thereafter, the older man disappeared behind the closed door. Mr. Darcy motioned for us to accompany him and within moments, we were once again seated in the phaeton.

Mr. Darcy folded Georgiana’s hand around his right arm and then tucked my hand around his left.

“Hold tight. We shall make haste and return to Pemberley before dusk.” With a jerk forward, we once again flew through the snow. Georgiana squealed with excitement, but I was content to hang onto Mr. Darcy’s arm.

Chapter 5

Posted on Sunday, 19 August 2007

I had spent little more than a month at Pemberley, when an unexpected guest joined us – Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was a cousin of the Darcys on their mother’s side of the family whom I had met in Kent the previous Easter. I was delighted to renew our acquaintance, for I thought well of the gentleman. His manner and general amiability made him an agreeable addition to our table. I was surprised, however, to learn that he already knew the altered version of my past. He explained that Lady Catherine had erupted in anger when she learned I had accepted Mr. Darcy’s invitation to visit Pemberley. The great dame had travelled post-haste to Eden Park, the home of her brother and the father of the colonel. There, she spent no little time casting disparagement upon my character, although, evidently, she did not tell the earl that I was sister to Mr. Darcy and Georgiana. She despaired of her nephew and declared he had lost his senses to offer me, a distant poor relation of no consequence, a portion of his inheritance.

“She insisted I visit you, Darcy,” the colonel said with a twinkle in his eye, “and – let me recall precisely how she put it – oh yes, ‘restore your good sense.’ According to my aunt, Miss Bennet is quite the little fortune hunter.”

Mr. Darcy threw his napkin onto the table and immediately rose from his chair. “That is preposterous! Surely you, of all people, do not believe such twaddle.”

“Sit down, Cousin. Of course, I do not believe it.”

“Wills and I invited Elizabeth to visit Pemberley,” Georgiana said. “Since we are related, we wished to know her better.”

“And Elizabeth has refused any offer of assistance, even so far as the thought of establishing a dowry for her,” Mr. Darcy added.

“Come now, Miss Bennet, you must at least allow your cousin to provide you a dowry, for I have it on good authority that he has plenty to spare. ‘Twill greatly increase your chances in the marriage market. Added to your green eyes and lovely smile, you shall prove irresistible.”

“Must you make love to my cousin at the dinner table, Fitzwilliam?” Darcy snapped.

I was embarrassed to be the centre of attention. “You forget, sir, the remoteness of my connection to Mr. Darcy and subsequent adoption by Mr. Bennet would never render me irresistible, whatever dowry I possess, so there is little reason for me to accept it.”

“You are mistaken, my dear,” the colonel responded. “A fortune can make one overlook a great number of things.”

“Then I shall surely forego the gift, for I do not prefer a man who would seek my hand simply for material gain.”

By that time, Mr. Darcy’s exasperation had grown, and he signalled the colonel to join him in his library for their after-dinner libations. Georgiana and I retired to the drawing room, where I took up my needlework, and she returned to the novel she was reading. A short time later, the gentlemen joined us, and we enjoyed a more pleasant evening together. The colonel persuaded me to play and sing and insisted upon turning the pages of music. The only blight upon the company was that Mr. Darcy’s mood had turned dour, and neither my songs nor Georgiana’s would lighten it.

During the next two weeks, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s company proved diverting. He was always game for any activity that Georgiana or I suggested, and he often accompanied me on my turns about the park. The snow had melted at last, and the wind lifted as well. Whenever the sun favoured us, I hurried outdoors, for I loved to walk, and Pemberley possessed a wonderland of paths that turned and twisted enough to even please me. On one such day, we strolled along the lake, and I silently recalled last summer when I had happened upon Mr. Darcy unexpectedly, neither of us aware of the other’s presence in Derbyshire. I grew sombre, thinking how much had changed since that time.

“Miss Bennet?”

“Pardon? Pray, excuse me, Colonel, what did you say?”

“Nothing important, but what draws you away? You appear heavy in contemplation.”

I shook my head slightly. “Just an old memory.”

“Ah, memories haunt us at times, but out here where winter is about to give way and your beloved spring awaits, I am surprised to see you so reflective, for I do remember how you loved the woods at Rosings last April.”

“I did. I spent many a happy hour exploring the trails in Lady Catherine’s park. Now, I am certain I shall never see them again.”

“Do not worry on that account. I am sure my aunt will come around when Darcy marries Anne.”

I was surprised to hear the colonel make the statement as though it were an inevitable event. “I thought Mr. Darcy did not wish to marry Miss de Bourgh.”

“He is in no hurry, but in the end Lady Catherine will have her way. She always does.”

“How convenient for her. Then, I should look forward to banishment to New South Wales, should I not, for I am sure that is her wish for me.”

He laughed and tucked my hand within the crook of his arm. “She is not all that bad, Miss Bennet. She simply looks after her daughter’s interests. Is that so fierce? All of us look to our own interests, do we not?”

We said little more and soon returned to the house, but I did not like the turn the conversation had taken or the tone of his voice.

A week or so later, I stood in the gallery and gazed upon the portrait of Siobhan Darcy, my grandmother. Something repeatedly drew me to her and to Mr. Darcy’s painting. I found I could study either of them for some time without growing tired. Each viewing afforded me detail I had missed before. On that particular afternoon, I heard heavy footsteps behind me and assumed it to be the colonel, for he had become my frequent companion. I turned and was surprised to see Mr. Darcy instead. Since the colonel arrived, he had absented himself from my company except for meals and after dinner. I wondered at his actions, but assumed he had much business to attend concerning the estate.

“Studying your ancestors, Elizabeth?”

“Somewhat.”

He remained silent for awhile, clasping his hands behind his back. We walked a bit further while I gazed up at the enormous portraits. “That lady in the white wig is my mother’s mother, Lady Catherine Anne.”

“She bears a strong resemblance to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does she not?”

“I believe there is a similar expression of determination about their mouths. From what my mother told me, neither of them has ever tolerated being crossed.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me Lady Catherine always wins and that she will have you for a son-in-law eventually.”

Instantly, a frown wrinkled his brow. “Fitzwilliam talks out of turn, and just because he speaks a word, do not depend upon it.”

“Would you have me doubt him? Do you cast aspersions upon your cousin’s honour?”

“You misunderstand. My cousin’s honour is intact. He simply speaks rubbish at times. I shall never marry Anne.”

I turned my face away to hide the smile upon my lips. Why did that please me? The bitter fact was that he would marry some day, a truth I was compelled to accept. Quickly, I walked ahead and feigned excessive interest in a portrait of three children, all boys. They sat upon a scarlet couch, their faces scrubbed and shining. The two younger boys still wore their hair styled in long curls, and all three were dressed in starched white collars and blue velvet jackets.

“Who are these children?”

“Father and his brothers.”

“The two younger appear very close in age. Which is your father?”

He pointed to the older boy on the left, and, when I looked closer, I could see the promise of the man whose likeness I had seen previously. “And did he have sisters as well?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Only George, Peter, and Henry Darcy to carry on the family name.”

“George has certainly done so, but what about the others?”

He shook his head again. “The youngest, Henry, went to sea, not necessarily by choice. At a tender age, he had already developed a somewhat disreputable reputation here in Derbyshire. Even though I was a child, I was not unaware of the rows between my father and him.”

“Over his behaviour, I assume.”

“Father said Henry would never listen to reason, that he was determined to live life as he wished, and Father feared it would take a tragedy to bring him to his senses. My father’s will reigned just as strong as his brother’s, however, and at his insistence, Henry left Pemberley to make his way within His Majesty’s service. He was already eighteen, almost too old to begin training, but my father prevailed and secured him a position. I assume that my uncle eventually reformed his wild ways, for, in time, he began to apply himself and years later became a sea captain. He even married a respectable woman of means some years his senior, but she never delivered a healthy child. She is a widow now and resides in Bath.”

“His early days sound like those of Mr. Wickham.”

Mr. Darcy grimaced. “I often wondered if Father favoured Wickham because he reminded him of his young brother.”

I did not wish to remain on the subject of Mr. Wickham. “And Peter, the middle child?”

“He was studious, quiet, and excelled in his studies at Cambridge. He chose another life altogether.”

“And shall you tell me about it?”

He walked ahead until he reached the end of the great hall, whereupon he opened a door and indicated I should follow. He began to climb a narrow back staircase that lay just inside the landing, and I, of course, scampered after him. “Sir? Will you answer my question and also tell me where we are going?”

“In good time, Elizabeth.”

The attics proved to be Mr. Darcy’s destination. An inordinate amount of miscellany filled the room we entered, from boxes stacked to the ceiling to dressmakers’ forms to countless trunks covered in dust and cobwebs. He pushed aside an assortment of rubbish from a chair, pulled a trunk close by, and indicated I should sit. “I promised you a search for the woman who gave you birth, so let us commence.”

He placed a valise on a small table and opened it. When I hesitated, he grabbed an old rag and wiped down the chair. “Forgive me. I failed to allow for the dirt. I shall order a thorough dust-up first thing on the morrow.”

I sat down and attempted to open the latch. “It seems this one is locked.”

“A good sign, perchance it contains secrets.” He smiled before he grabbed a hammer and struck the lock until it popped open. I swallowed and leaned forward to begin the quest.

Hours later, our hands and clothing were coated in dirt. I had sneezed repeatedly and blown my nose until I felt certain it was now swollen to twice its normal size, yet, we had found nothing of enlightenment. Both of us had combed through letters, journals, accounts, various mementos, and relics that meant nothing to us, but must have been precious indeed to the Darcy ancestors.

I blew at a stray lock of hair that had loosened and persisted in falling over my left eye. Wiping my hands on the dirty cloth, I allowed a sigh to escape. It seemed an impossible task. Why had we ever thought to engage in the undertaking? Just then, I felt Mr. Darcy’s hand under my chin.

“You look an absolute fright.” He tucked the unruly curl behind my ear and, pulling forth his handkerchief, began to rub my forehead. “What a great amount of dirt you have on your face. You could not look worse if you had cleaned the chimneys.”

“Your own attire, sir, is nothing of which to boast. Are you turning prematurely grey or now donning a wig made of cobwebs?” I began to squirm as he rubbed harder and playfully slapped his hand away. “Leave my dirt where it is, and see to your own.”

He ignored my plea, turned my face upward, and attacked the smudges again. “Do not be impertinent. I am attempting to clean the mess you have made.”

“I made? Who brought me up here I might ask? And you, sir, really should look to your own interests. Your clothes are downright filthy.” I began to swipe at the dust on his shoulders, but succeeded only in causing us both to sneeze.

“You are right, Elizabeth, we must leave this place. Why, your petticoats are six inches deep in dirt at least.” He spoke in a mocking tone, and we both began to laugh.

“Can you imagine the horror on Miss Bingley’s face, if she were privy to our disgrace?”

“Her reproof echoes in my ears: ‘I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.’ How disgusting we are! Come, let us give up for today and repair to our chambers.”

I continued to giggle as I followed him to the door, and we climbed down the stairs. It struck me that we had been more at ease with each other in the attic than at any time since we learned we were brother and sister.

Upon opening the door to the gallery, we came face to face with Colonel Fitzwilliam. The shocked expression he wore made me laugh anew.

“So here you are. I thought you had left the county, for I have searched the grounds and the house. I did not think to check the attics. My word, Darcy, what have you two been up to?”

“I am training Elizabeth to be an upstairs maid,” Mr. Darcy said with a straight face. “If she will not accept a dowry, she must earn her keep in some manner.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows. “I have never before observed you instruct your servants with such a detailed demonstration.”

“Nonsense. I always personally see to it that my servants know the correct procedures.”

“Even upstairs maids?”

“Especially upstairs maids.”

I could not keep from laughing aloud.

“And how did Miss Bennet do? Did she take to instruction well?”

“Like she was born to it. You see for yourself she can more than adequately cover herself in dirt.”

“Indeed.” Colonel Fitzwilliam walked back and forth, shaking his head at us.

Without even a glance in my direction, Mr. Darcy barked an order. “That will be all, Elizabeth. Tell my valet to draw me a bath, and you may take time from your duties to clean yourself up as well.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I curtseyed and hurried down the hall. Mr. Darcy can laugh at himself! For some reason, the thought made me happy all over, and I felt my spirits begin to lift.

Within a few days, my spirits fell with a thud. The time had arrived for my first instruction at riding a horse. Of course, I had ridden before at Longbourn, but only as a child perched behind Jane upon the back of an old nag who would take barely a step or two before stopping. It took incessant urging upon our parts to make the animal move more than a short distance. Thus, one could understand why I looked upon the art with less than breathless anticipation. I sought to dissuade Mr. Darcy from the attempt, but he would not hear of it, and the colonel’s encouragement spurred his efforts. Thus, one morning, I found myself sitting gingerly upon the back of a beautiful chestnut mare, while a young groom led the horse round and round the stable yard. All the while, Mr. Darcy and the colonel admonished me with more commands than I could comprehend, much less follow.

After numerous walks around and around, I thought I at last had achieved some dignity in my posture. I finally allowed my eyes to rise from the ground far below, I straightened my back, and I held my head up. Just as I congratulated myself on my progress, Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered the groom to have the animal trot. The horse, naturally, kicked up her heels and followed the boy’s lead. I lurched forward, grabbed the horse’s mane, and screamed.

“No, Fitzwilliam!” Mr. Darcy yelled. “She is not yet ready.”

“Nonsense! She will never learn until she is exposed. Sit up straight, Miss Bennet. Do not pull on the mane, hold the reins.”

My screams must have alarmed the animal, for it seemed to me that she ran even faster. As for holding the reins, I could not find them, perchance because I screwed my eyes shut upon first view of the ground rushing by at unbelievable speed. I know not how long the horse trotted around the stable yard, only relief when she was, at last, slowed to a halt. I opened my eyes to see Mr. Darcy’s outstretched arms, and, without a moment’s hesitation, I slipped down to his waiting embrace.

“You are trembling.” He led me to a nearby bench and bade me sit. “Fetch the lady a glass of water.” Within moments, a servant returned with a beaker.

As I sipped the cool water, I saw the colonel approach. He swished his riding crop back and forth in the air as he walked. “Darcy, do not coddle your cousin. She will never learn unless you are firm. As soon as she has had her drink, she must try again.”

My heart rose up into my throat at the thought, and I swallowed the liquid with difficulty.

“A word, Richard,” Mr. Darcy said. The colonel followed him a distance away where I could no longer hear their conversation with clarity. I saw what appeared to be a heated argument with much flapping about of arms, pointing of fingers, and other animated gestures. At length, the colonel turned and stalked back to the house. Mr. Darcy called the groom to saddle his horse, a great beauty, black and sleek, but taller than a giraffe in my eyes. He then motioned for me to join him beside the animal. My mouth fell open in dismay, and the glass of water slipped from my hands and down the front of my dress.

“Oh!” I jumped up and began to dab at the cold, wet spots with my gloved hands.

“John, a towel.” Mr. Darcy arrived at my side with the necessary cloth before I could even look up. “Now, see what you have done. Is there no hope for you, Elizabeth?” He shook his head in dismay and began to wipe my dress with the towel. He stopped in mid-stride when he reached my bosom, as though he just then realized how high I had spilled the water. “You…finish the task.”

I took the towel and turned away, wiping furiously at the dampness. My face burned, escape my only desire. Within moments, I threw the towel upon the bench and took steps to return to the house.

“Where do you go, Elizabeth?”

I did not answer, but continued to walk straight ahead. Before I could reach my destination, however, I felt his hand on my arm and the pressure was strong enough to detain me. “Elizabeth?”

“Inside, sir, where else?” Irritation coloured my tone and knit my brows together.

“You cannot be that wet. Your gown will dry soon enough here in the sun. Come with me.”

“Where, sir?”

“Your riding lesson is not yet over.”

“Oh, no! I shall not climb on that horse again, and if you mean to frighten me with the suggestion that I ride your great beast instead, I shall not hear of it. Nothing will induce me to change my mind.”

He took my hand in his, placed his left hand at my back, and prodded me forward as he spoke in a voice low enough that only I could hear. “Come now. I shall not have any sister of mine afraid of a horse. There is nothing to it once you learn the technique. You must not be afraid. I shall not let you ride alone.”

“What do you mean?” With more questions and exclamations, I protested his actions, but to no avail. Within moments, he lifted me upon the back of his great horse, swung himself into the saddle, and placed himself close behind me. He encircled me with his arms, picked up the reins, and urged the horse into a gentle walk. I wanted to cry aloud, but one has to breathe in order to do so, and some time elapsed before I realized I had forgotten to take in air. I opened my mouth with a great gasp.

“There, now. It is not so fearsome, is it?”

I realized Mr. Darcy had one arm wrapped snugly about my waist. “As long as you do not let go,” I whispered.

“I shall not let you go, Elizabeth. You may depend upon it.”

Conversation at dinner that night was somewhat strained. Neither Mr. Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke to each other during the entire course of the meal. If not for Georgiana’s chatter, tension would have curdled the creamed soup. She appeared unaware of any disagreement between her brother and cousin and happily entertained us with news of the neighbourhood. Renovations were well underway at Bridesgate, and the Denisons moved in a week ago. The neighbours’ housekeeper had told Mrs. Reynolds that the Whitbys were to hold a ball, and the Denisons were invited. At least twelve ladies and five gentlemen from Bridesgate would attend, or perhaps it was five ladies and twelve gentlemen.

The colonel, who sat across the table from me, raised one eyebrow and smiled. “Too many gentlemen.”

“Have you received an invitation, Wills?” Georgiana asked.

“It came in today’s post.”

“Wonderful! Now, Elizabeth, we shall find someone for you.”

“Georgiana,” I began, but the colonel interrupted.

“For Miss Bennet? What is this? Are you in such a hurry to rid Pemberley of your new cousin?”

“Oh, no! I do not want her to ever leave, but she must marry sometime, and if she marries a neighbour, then she will settle nearby, and we shall have the easy pleasure of her company.”

“Ah, I see. Well, if the purpose of this ball is to find the lady a husband, then I must not attend for if I did, I would insist upon securing her hand for the first two dances.”

I smiled at the colonel. “There is no such purpose to this ball, and I should be happy to accept your invitation.”

Mr. Darcy stood up somewhat abruptly, signalling the end of our meal. He and the colonel retired to the library and evidently settled their disagreement, for upon their return, the colonel appeared more at ease. The only mention of the day’s earlier altercation occurred when Colonel Fitzwilliam accompanied me to the pianoforte, drew a chair close by so that he might turn the pages of my music, and offered his apologies for his part in frightening me during the morning instruction. I, naturally, accepted his offering, and nothing more was said about the incident. I did notice Mr. Darcy’s steady perusal while his cousin and I remained at the piano. In truth, I felt his eyes upon me much of the night, but he said not a word. Instead, he consumed a more than generous amount of brandy. Each time he refilled his glass, he grew quieter, and his look darkened.

It made me uneasy to see him drink heavily, and I could not dismiss the idea that I had done something to displease him.

Chapter Six

Posted on Sunday, 26 August 2007

Sleep deserted me that night. I crawled between the sheets with an uneasy mind, for thoughts of Mr. Darcy’s dark mood nagged at me. From Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression and behaviour, the earlier disagreement between the two men had appeared resolved, and, yet, what demon prodded Mr. Darcy to drink such a prodigious amount of brandy? I had not seen him in dark spirits like that since I happened upon him beside the stream at Longbourn.

I wrestled with the dilemma for some time, but, at last, I closed my eyes and vowed to banish all thoughts from my mind. Immediately, I felt his arms around me as we rode his great horse. Back and forth our bodies swayed in unison to the natural rhythm of the stallion’s gait. I grew warm at the memory and threw off the blanket from my shoulder.

“Do not do this, Lizzy!” I said aloud. I would not allow myself to enter the pleasure of that remembrance, for I knew it to be forbidden. Would I never be free of the former affection in which I held Mr. Darcy? Obviously, he had kept his resolution to think of me as his sibling. Could I not be strong enough to feel naught but a sister’s love for him? I hated my weakness! I gritted my teeth, hoping to drive away thoughts that insisted upon having their way.

A good read will distract me, I thought.

I rose from the bed and lit a candle. As I scanned several novels in my collection, I sighed, for I had read half of a new book but could not find it in the stack. Then I recalled I had it last in the drawing room. The clock on the mantel chimed the quarter-hour past one. Would Mr. Darcy and the colonel have retired by now? Surely. I slipped a shawl over my shoulders, gathered it close about myself, picked up the candle, and stepped out into the hall.

Descending the stairs, I rounded the corner toward the drawing room when I saw lights emanate from within and heard the sound of male voices. I shrank back into the shadows and blew out my candle. Sufficient illumination remained in the hall sconces to show the way. I had tiptoed lightly, my slippers making little sound on the walnut floor. I turned to retrace my steps, when I realized the argument ensuing between the men would drown out any muffled sounds I might make.

“But you do not care for dancing, Darcy. Thus, I see no valid reason why I should not have secured Miss Bennet’s hand for the first two dances.”

“She is pretty enough. Plenty of men will seek her favour. You need not claim her attentions for the entire first hour.”

“But she knows no one in Derbyshire. I fail to see why my invitation rouses your temper.”

“Do not concern yourself with my temper; it is within check. And you are mistaken. Several neighbours have called since her arrival, and we have returned the visits. Elizabeth is acquainted with enough local gentlemen to attract an adequate number of partners.”

“Then why in heaven’s name are you in such a humour? I have not seen you drink this amount since we left Rosings last Easter. What is wrong with you, man?”

I could not hear a response and quickly scurried across the hall until I stood right outside the door. I wished to hear Mr. Darcy’s answer more than I feared detection.

“The whole affair is worrisome,” he said, his voice sounding defeated. “Elizabeth’s connection with my family is obscure, to say the least. I would not draw undue attention upon her or raise questions that might cause talk.”

“I do not understand your reasoning.”

He sighed deeply. “I wonder just what my neighbours think of her. I cannot recall when the Whitbys moved here. Surely, there are others among my friends whose families lived here when it all happened.”

“When what happened? Out with it, Darce, of what do you speak?”

“What?” Mr. Darcy sounded as though he had been awakened from a private reverie and somehow been caught revealing more than he should.

“You said you wondered how many of your neighbours lived here ‘when it all happened.’ I do not understand to what you refer. Is Miss Bennet’s birth the result of some sort of scandal?”

“Of course not, Fitzwilliam!” Silence followed, except I could hear someone begin to pace back and forth within the room. “It is just that her parents were killed in an unfortunate accident right after her birth, and she was left an orphan. To have been taken in by a family other than her own kindred may give rise to gossip, and I will not have talk about her!” His voice grew insistent. “Do you hear me? I will not tolerate it!”

“Calm yourself. I cannot help but hear you. I still fail to see cause for concern. According to Lady Catherine, your family lost contact with Miss Bennet’s parents long ago, before the time of her birth. As you said, the connection between them was remote. It is most likely that no one even knew to bring her to your father’s house. I think you have imbibed far too much tonight, and drink is deluding your brain.”

“Did your father know about Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam? What did he say when Lady Catherine descended upon Eden Park?”

“He did not know. He was surprised. We all were, naturally. Of course, the earl never totally approved of your father or his family, but he is devoted to you, Darce.”

“Because of my mother.”

“Yes, he loved his sister, but also because he genuinely loves you. He and Lady Catherine both do. Surely you acknowledge that fact. With your father it was…well, you know…his Irish connections and the Papist church he allowed to be erected in the woods of Pemberley.”

“My grandfather authorized that building, Fitzwilliam, not my father.”

“And my father knows why – because your grandmother never truly renounced her religion. Neither her husband nor her son forbade the church.”

“How could they? They loved my grandmother, and that was her faith. I would not have denied her the right, either.”

“My father says you allow the congregation to continue to meet on your property. Is that true?”

“It is. Only a handful of parishioners exist, and I see no reason to forbid it.”

The conversation ceased at that point amid the sounds of tinkling crystal. The gentlemen, or at least one of them, refilled his glass. I heard the fire crackle and spit as though one man stirred the logs. And then, the colonel spoke in such a low tone I could not distinguish the words. There was no mistaking Mr. Darcy’s response, however. He was angry and lashed out, telling the colonel how much he drank was none of his business. I felt ashamed for Mr. Darcy and turned away, determined to return to my chamber. I had no business eavesdropping, especially when he was in such a state. I took only a step when I halted, struck by what I heard.

“Just what are your intentions toward Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy slurred the words.

“My intentions?”

“Every time I look up, you either sit beside her, walk beside her, or remain by her side in some manner. You practically declare yourself if you are to claim her attentions for two dances.”

The colonel’s only response was a chuckle.

“I asked you a question, Fitzwilliam. What are your intentions?”

“You are drunk, Cousin. Come, let us retire for the night.”

“No! I do not want to go to bed. I want an answer. I demand you answer my question.”

“Very well, but I doubt you shall remember this conversation in the morning. I find Elizabeth Bennet a handsome woman. She is lively, entertaining, and, but for the fact I am a younger son, I would pursue her in earnest. I am not in love with her, but I believe she possesses sufficient charms to tempt me into the state. You possess the means to help my quest.”

“Help you? Why should I?”

“She must marry someone. Why not keep her in the family? Darcy, if you would convince her to accept a sizeable dowry, the impediment would no longer exist.”

My heart sank to the floor. I did not wait one moment more to return to my room. I could not climb the staircase quickly enough. Upon reaching the landing, I fled to my chamber and closed the door behind me. Marry the colonel? I had thought of it only in passing when visiting Kent last spring. Upon meeting him, I acknowledged his pleasant conversation and agreeable manners, but he soon dashed any contemplation of a possible match by informing me of his position, of his need to secure a financially advantageous alliance. I had never entertained the thought again. And now, at the mere suggestion, gooseflesh crawled up my arms.

I kept to my chamber most of the next day, pleading a headache. Georgiana checked on me and satisfied herself that my complaint was minor. She agreed to make my excuses to her brother and cousin, and, thus, I avoided facing them. I feared that knowledge of the conversation I had overheard the night before might reflect in my expression, and I needed time to conceal my apprehension.

By late afternoon, however, I tired of my surroundings and stole quietly from my room. I climbed the staircase to the great gallery wherein the paintings of Darcys and their ancestors hung. Once again, my grandmother’s portrait drew my attention. I searched her face, wishing she could speak to me, that she could enlighten me on the mystery of my birth. Hers was the only personage with whom I felt a kinship - why, I do not know.

At length, I walked on down the hall and stopped to gaze upon the portrait of Siobhan Darcy’s three young sons. Their faces shone with innocence, and I wondered if my grandmother had lived long enough to know of her oldest son’s transgression. I made note to ask Mr. Darcy in what year she died, to see if it occurred before the year of my birth. I walked back to the portrait of my father. I still could not find myself hidden within his features. Above his painting and to the left hung a portrait of a man in a naval uniform. I glanced from the man’s face to that of one of the three young boys. Yes, I could see it was Henry Darcy, the youngest son. At even a young age, he had a mischievous gleam in his eye, as though he longed for adventure. It caused my heart to warm, and I smiled in return. There was something about him…

Someone cleared her throat. I startled somewhat, for I had been preoccupied and failed to notice Mrs. Reynolds’ arrival. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to surprise you.”

“No, no, I just did not see you, Mrs. Reynolds.”

“I trust you are feeling better. Will you join the family at dinner?”

“No, please have a tray brought to my room. I confess I only left my chamber because of boredom and not because my headache has lifted.”

“Very well, Miss Bennet.” She turned to leave, but I stopped her with a question.

“Did you not tell me you have been at Pemberley since Mr. Darcy was a boy?”

“Yes, Miss Bennet, since he was four years old.”

“Did you know either of his uncles, Messrs. Peter or Henry Darcy?”

“I did, ma’am. Captain Henry had not yet joined the Navy.”

“I see his portrait.”

“It is very fine, is it not, ma’am?”

I nodded. “And which of these men is Mr. Peter Darcy? I confess I do not recognize him as an adult.”

She cleared her throat before answering. “That gentleman’s portrait was removed as I recall, ma’am, when the disgrace occurred.”

“Disgrace?”

She lowered her eyes to the floor and pressed her lips together.

“You do not wish to tell me, I take it.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Bennet, it is not my place to do so.”

“Well, goodness, what could he have done to cause his memory to be erased from the family portraits? Even Mr. Wickham’s likeness remains in the cabinet below stairs.”

“Yes, ma’am, that is because Mr. Wickham was a favourite of Mr. George Darcy.”

“But his own brother’s likeness is banished? Come now, Mrs. Reynolds, did he turn into a brigand?”

“Oh, no, Miss Bennet, ‘twas nothing like that.” She stepped closer and spoke in a whisper. “You must not let anyone know I told you this. Mr. Peter Darcy emigrated to Ireland.”

“To Ireland? Surely, that cannot be so shameful. Why, his own mother was born there.”

“True, but ‘twas the manner in which he left. Mr. Peter Darcy just disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

She nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight little grimace. “He up and vanished without a word to anyone. The family did not know his whereabouts for a long time. It caused Mr. George Darcy and my lady much anguish. Years later, they finally learned the news, but he has never set foot on Pemberley since that time.”

I turned back to the portrait of the young brothers. How sad to lose one’s place in a family, to simply give it up as though it did not matter. What had that done to his mother, I wondered. I determined to ask Mr. Darcy the particulars. I would not discuss the family further with the housekeeper, but I found it all quite curious and provocative.

The date of the Whitbys’ ball coincided with Pemberley’s first crocus blooms. I know because I spent no little time awaiting their arrival in the gardens. Scattered throughout the vast beds, hidden between the hyacinth and daffodil bulbs, they emerged from the dark soil like soft, delicate treasures of pink, white, and lavender. The gardeners had planted them in abundance in the more prominent plots of ground, but I had discovered a hidden trove secured within a small alcove behind a brick wall at the rear of the house. It became my place of refuge.

Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to evade his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings, errands, and tasks for which she might employ her cousin. Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father’s youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his brooding silence and avoided me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons ensued; no further forays into Pemberley’s attics were suggested. In truth, he barely said more than was absolutely necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming his entire attention.

I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening’s alcohol consumption diminished his enjoyment of the morning light. We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.

“Will you not accept one paltry gown from me?” he demanded.

“Shall I shame you in the gown I wore to the Netherfield ball last year?”

“Of course not. You were lovely…but would you not like something new? It has been my experience that most women do.”

“I do not.”

We stared at each other as though waiting to see who would give in. “Very well. Wear the frock you have on, for all I care.”

He turned and stalked from the room. I felt as though he had slapped me.

And so, I spent a great amount of each day in that hidden alcove awaiting the crocuses. A stone bench sat in the shade, and it proved an agreeable haven in which to read and to think. I could not account for the change in Mr. Darcy. I knew an excess of strong drink produced adverse effects on a person’s behaviour, but what had precipitated this new habit? I had known him well over a year now and had never before seen him imbibe extravagantly. I could not rid myself of the fear that I was somehow to blame, that I had caused his aberrant conduct.

Only one other instance provided any sort of clue to the mystery. Three days before the ball, Georgiana and I walked into the hall from our morning social calls to hear an uproar coming from Mr. Darcy’s study. Unmistakably, the colonel and his cousin disagreed once again. I quickly asked Georgiana to fetch a piece of music from a large stack of songs in the music room so that I might memorize the words for that evening’s entertainment. A worried frown clouded her countenance, but she hastened to do my bidding.

I stood in the hallway where I could hear the argument without obvious eavesdropping. Indeed, the servants passing by were privy to the raised voices, reason enough to pardon my actions in my mind.

“I have told you, Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth will not accept a dowry from me. Why can you not let go of the matter? You must marry for money, and she has none!”

“You could settle her dowry on me privately at the time of the marriage. She need never know.”

“Never know? You would ask me to go behind her back, against her explicit wishes?”

“It could be a gentleman’s agreement. Wives leave matters of money to their husbands. I am sure with a bit of gentle persuasion, I could win her hand.”

“Do you think her daft? She knows you have little fortune. You made it clear to her last year at Rosings. Do you now believe she has lost her memory? It is insupportable. I will discuss it no further.”

“You will regret this, Darcy. She will marry some pretty boy who worms his way into her heart, and he will take her God knows where. They may settle in Scotland, for all you know, and you and Georgiana will never see her again.”

“Oh, I will see her. No matter where she goes or whom she marries, I shall always be her cousin, and she will not be lost to me. Not ever.”

“Indulge your foolish fancies, but you do not have a right to deny mine. I shall at least ask Miss Bennet if she will be my wife.”

“Without a suitable dowry?”

“If she says yes, I know you will not let her live in need. You cannot. It is written all over your face. You care too much for her, and you will provide for her one way or the other.”

I felt a hand on my arm. “Elizabeth?”

I looked up to see Georgiana holding the requested music. I took it quickly and asked her to accompany me to my sitting room where we might memorize the words together. I feared she had overheard too much of the conversation between her brother and cousin, but, if so, she did not mention it.

After that, time passed quickly, and the date of the ball soon arrived. I had little opportunity for a thorough inspection of the crocus beds on said day, but I was pleased to snatch a few moments and note their emergence in my journal before my maid claimed me for the obligatory perfumed ablutions, the donning of my gown, and tedious but expert attention to my coiffure. Georgiana glowed in a pale pink gown of moiré silk, and, suddenly, I had a moment of regret that I had not graciously accepted Mr. Darcy’s offer, for my ivory gown felt somewhat shabby next to hers.

Oh well, ‘tis too late, now, I told myself as I joined her in the hall.

We descended the staircase together, whereupon Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward and offered an arm to each of us. He escorted us toward the open door, through which I could see Mr. Darcy’s large carriage standing ready.

“With two such lovely ladies in tow, I shall be the envy of every man at the ball tonight.”

“Oh, Richard, are you certain I look acceptable?”

We both assured Georgiana of her loveliness as we walked across the wide hallway. The servants stood at attention, smiles on the maids’ faces, and Mrs. Reynolds bade us a pleasant evening. I looked around, wondering at Mr. Darcy’s absence, when he stepped out of the shadows just outside the door. He bowed slightly, but remained silent as Georgiana and I climbed into the carriage. The colonel entered next and sat beside me. Mr. Darcy’s expression appeared as grim as ever, and I hoped he had not already made liberal use of his newfound companionate bottle of brandy. He continued to remain mute unless directly addressed. I felt uncomfortable, as though the carriage had diminished in size. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to sit far too close beside me, and, even though I shrank into the corner, I felt smothered. I was greatly relieved when the ride ended, and we disembarked at the Whitbys’ front door.

Lights bedecked the house, and music and gaiety signalled that the festivities had already commenced within. Mr. Whitby introduced me to Admiral and Mrs. Denison, and they, in turn, brought forth their children: Andrew, Maurice, Marianne, and Fanny. Maurice was by far the more handsome of the two brothers, but it was Andrew who asked me to dance.

“Miss Bennet will be glad to honour you with her company, I am sure,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “but she has promised the first two dances to me.”

I smiled as Mr. Denison, with an understanding glance, bowed and turned away while the colonel took my hand and led me to the floor. I had hoped at least to make my way among the crowd and acknowledge those Derbyshire folk of my acquaintance before joining the dancers, but the colonel had other plans. The first piece was a stately tune, and the colonel proved an engaging partner, maintaining a steady patter of conversation. By the end of the first set, I found myself at ease and actually enjoying the ball. I had always loved dancing, and, although my partner was not as expert at the art as one I recalled, he did prove agreeable.

At completion of the first hour, I allowed Colonel Fitzwilliam to escort me to the punch bowl where Miss Denison and her elder brother soon joined us. Marianne was a lovely girl with an animated spirit. I thought we might easily become friends, for she possessed that ability to not only poke gentle fun at her brother, but to laugh at herself as well. I wished to know her better, but the colonel hovered about, frequently interrupting our conversation. I had never seen him so determined to put himself forward. When the music began for the next set, I welcomed Mr. Andrew Denison’s hand as he led me to the line of dancers.

“So, you are a cousin of Mr. Darcy and his sister. Is that correct?” he asked as we circled the couple next to us.

“In truth, I dare not call myself a cousin, sir. It is a somewhat complicated interrelation, but family ties oft times are, would you not agree?”

“Ah, yes. I have cousins I have never seen and probably never shall, unless someone dies and leaves a great inheritance. Greed has a way of uniting long-lost relatives, if only until the will is read.”

“I would not have you think I visit Pemberley for that cause, sir. I am a poor relation and shall remain so.”

“Indeed? I would think Darcy would right that wrong.”

“Mr. Darcy is all kindness and generosity.”

He raised his eyebrows at my remark, and we danced several steps without further conversation. I hoped to change the subject, as his questions made me irritable. Must every man I meet inquire as to my fortune or lack thereof? Of course, silly girl! What is the purpose of a ball other than to pair up possible marriage partners?

“Have you enjoyed successful sport since your move to Derbyshire, Mr. Denison?”

He held my hand as we joined the promenade. “I confess I have had little time. My father has assigned me the onerous task of supervising the removal of rubbish from the attics. You would not believe the collection of personal mementos left by the Willoughby family. Deciding what to keep or discard has driven me to distraction. I am tempted to direct the servants to throw out the entire lot, but my father insists I retain any item that might be valuable, if only for sentimentality, until Sir Linton Willoughby arrives next week.”

“Shall you have time to complete your chore before the owner visits Bridesgate?”

“Only if I devote myself to the assignment. You see before you a harried man, Miss Bennet. That is why you must honour me with another dance this evening. ‘Tis the only pleasant activity I have enjoyed since arriving in the county.”

I laughed at his exaggeration, but agreed to be his partner later in the evening. With the musicians’ final note, I felt flushed from the exercise, but not without pleasure. Mr. Denison led me from the floor, bowed, and assured me he would return to claim his dance. I looked around, hoping to find Miss Denison. With surprise – no, astonishment – I watched Mr. Darcy escort her to the head of the host of dancers. He must have found her exceedingly charming to ask her to dance, for I knew he had not honoured any other lady the entirety of the evening. I watched as he took her hand, stepped close, and inclined his head. Evidently, he did not find conversation with her as trying as he had with me last year at Netherfield. Growing uncomfortably warm, I wished I had brought a fan. The Whitbys’ fires were entirely too well tended this late in the year. I thought of having another cup of punch, but, for some reason, I could not tear my eyes from the dancers and one couple in particular.

“Miss Bennet?”

I startled, as though someone had read my thoughts, and looked up to find Colonel Fitzwilliam at my side extending a refreshing cup toward me. I acknowledged his gift with gratitude, and, when he suggested we step out on the balcony for a bit of air, I agreed.

“Your colour is high. I fear you have danced too close to the fireplace.”

“The night breeze is a welcome change.”

We stood next to the balustrade whereupon he leaned forward and rested his forearms. “It is a beautiful night.”

I agreed and lifted my head to gaze at the multitude of stars littering the heavens.

“You are quite beautiful in that position, Miss Bennet. The fairness of your throat is luminous in the starlight. That and the turn of your countenance prove a heady combination.”

I immediately lowered my gaze and protested his remarks.

“No, I am serious. You are a lovely woman. Surely, you have been told that by numerous suitors.”

“I do not collect suitors, sir. With my lack of fortune, they hardly stand in line.”

“Young Mr. Denison appears smitten.”

“He simply asked me to dance.”

“Has he not requested your hand a second time?”

“That does not signify anything of consequence. You danced with me twice.”

“I did, indeed, and I shall ask for your hand a third time. Now, tell me, does that signify something of consequence?”

My heart beat faster, and I was grateful for the cool air, for I could feel my cheeks burn. What was the colonel suggesting? Surely, he would not ask for my hand that night. I turned toward the French doors, anxious to return to the safety of the throng within. “I am sufficiently refreshed. I think we should return to the ball, sir.”

He caught my hand before I could reach the door. “Will you do me the honour of being my partner for the last dance, Elizabeth?”

“I…do not think…” I could not conjure up a reason to refuse him. “Yes…if it is your desire, sir. Thank you.”

“It is most assuredly my desire,” he murmured as he brought my hand to his lips. The look in his eyes filled me with dread, and I quickly excused myself and hurried into the ballroom.

I sat between Marianne and Andrew Denison at dinner. Mr. Darcy sat on Marianne’s left, and Colonel Fitzwilliam sat directly across from me. I was relieved that he did not act with any peculiarity or pay particular attention to me during the meal. There were no stares or long, meaningful looks into my eyes. One would never guess we had engaged in a significant moment earlier in the evening. He proved an engaging guest and entertained Mrs. Whitby with tales of his military exploits. From the vacant stare in her eyes, I doubt she knew much of the exotic places he mentioned, but he spoke with such animation that he amused everyone at the table within hearing.

Mr. Whitby asked Georgiana to play for us near the close of the meal, and, although she was nervous, she agreed and performed in an excellent manner. After Marianne performed and two sisters played a duet, Mr. Whitby extended the invitation for me to play and sing, but I demurred. Obviously, I did not possess the talent already exhibited. I would not think of shaming myself or the Darcys as my sister, Mary, had done at the Netherfield Ball.

Mr. Darcy said little during the entirety of the feast, but I noted he kept the waiter busy refilling his wine glass. Without a doubt, I thought, he would not imbibe more than he could handle. I had never seen him out of control in a public assembly and could not fathom why he took such chances that evening.

Mr. Andrew Denison requested the first dance after dinner, during which he said our discussion of the Bridesgate attics caused him to recall a certain painting. He asked if he might call upon me the following day and bring the picture, for he thought I would find it of great interest. I agreed, of course, but when I asked why, he refused to reveal his reasons.

“You must wait and see for yourself, Miss Bennet,” he said with a sly smile. His blue eyes twinkled, and I decided that although he might not be as handsome as his brother, Maurice, I did not find his appearance unappealing by any means.

After that, I danced with several other gentlemen; indeed, I seldom sat the entire evening. Once I did find myself without a partner, I witnessed Mr. Darcy ask Marianne to dance a second time. I decided I had made a mistake earlier, thinking she and I might be friends. Of a sudden, I decided that she smiled too much. It became clear we would not suit each other at all.

As the evening drew to a close, Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived to claim the last dance. Andrew Denison accompanied him and reminded me that he would call on the morrow. We had just concluded our conversation, and he had turned to leave, when I saw Mr. Darcy approach.

“The last dance, is it not?” he said. “Will you do me the honour, Elizabeth?”

“Darcy!” Colonel Fitzwilliam hissed in a low voice. “Miss Bennet has already promised me.”

“You have presumed upon her time more than enough this night. Elizabeth?”

He brushed past the colonel and took my hand firmly in his, steering me toward the dance floor without a backward glance.

“Sir…it is not done!” I whispered. “I…I beg you, do not make a scene.”

He drew closer and spoke in my ear. “It is not I who would make the scene, Elizabeth. No one but you and I know our true connection. Will it not appear unnatural if I do not ask my cousin to dance at least once? Take your place in line.”

The first notes sounded, and I recognized the song as a newer romantic air that called for greater contact among partners than any previous dance of the evening. I held my breath as Mr. Darcy stepped forward and encircled my waist with his arm. The position thrust our faces close, and he met my gaze with a dark, piercing stare. Was it my imagination, or did his hand linger longer than necessary about my body? Did he step nearer than he should when we clasped hands and danced forward? And why did my hand tremble so when I placed it upon his shoulder?

I cleared my throat and attempted to lighten the mood with conversation. His only response to my remark was a steady perusal of my face. I saw his eyes travel down to my mouth, and I found myself blushing. Frantically, I searched for something innocuous of which to speak.

“Are not the musicians talented? I have rarely heard such able completion of …”

“Elizabeth.” He twirled me around and stepped away.

I took Mr. Whitby’s hand and bowed in time to the rhythm before turning back to face Mr. Darcy. “Sir?”

“In your lifetime, have you ever, just once, danced without speaking?”

I glared at him as we clasped hands and stepped down the line. “Naturally. I simply…”

“Then, I pray you, bestow that favour upon me. Let us do nothing more than dance.”

We circled the last couple in line and faced each other. Oh! The man was impossible! Very well. I would not tell him if the house caught fire. I gritted my teeth and determined to complete the set, but only because I refused to call attention to myself by leaving the floor precipitously. But I would not enjoy it. Oh, no, I would not enjoy one moment.

And then, Mr. Darcy took my hands and whirled me around and around. I inhaled sharply as the tempo increased, but I matched him step for step. He stared into my eyes with a ferocity I recalled from our first dance together at Netherfield. I refused to cower, but met his gaze fully. But why…why must he incline his head so near? The scent of his skin intoxicated me. And he must not allow his hands to caress my shoulders when we clasped each other to descend the line. Was it my imagination? No, I knew his hands lingered longer, much longer, than needed.

This would never do. The melody enchanted me, and I felt myself caught up in the fascination of dancing with him. All those feelings I had earlier confessed to God now flooded my heart, and I knew I was lost…I had not forgotten the spell he could weave over me. In spite of all my declarations and determination, I had not overcome the delight I experienced at his slightest touch. I loved him, but not with a sister’s love. And I never wanted our dance to end.

That night, I did not close my eyes. Before dawn, I determined to leave Pemberley post-haste and return to Longbourn. I knew I could no longer stay in the same house with Mr. Darcy.

Author’s note: I took the liberty of basing the dance between Darcy and Elizabeth on the choreography in the movie Emma starring Gwyneth Paltrow.

Continued In Next Section