Sins of the Father ~ Section V

    By Jan H.

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    Chapter Thirteen

    Posted on Sunday, 7 October 2007

    The infamously rough crossing of the Irish Sea meant that seasickness beset some of the men and most of the ladies on board The Falcon, including Mrs. Gardiner, Georgiana, and Mrs. Annesley. Miraculously, I escaped as did my uncle and Mr. Darcy. I kept busy directing the maid in tending my aunt for much of the voyage and prayed for deliverance from the treacherous waves. Our passage had surely proved to be a challenge so far.

    At last, however, the storms abated, and we enjoyed smooth sailing. I had been confined below deck for so long that when we were told we might emerge to take the air, I could not wait to climb the stairs. My aunt remained too weak to rise from her bed but for short periods, as did Mrs. Annesley. Georgiana, however, recovered more quickly, and she was as eager as I to distance herself from the detention we had been forced to endure.

    The fresh sea air enticed us, and we hastened to the railing to breathe deeply and watch the waves. The ocean appeared much calmer. One found it hard to reconcile the idea that it was the same one that had tossed us about carelessly only the day before, although infrequent wind gusts still occurred, causing me to catch my breath when the ship pitched unexpectedly.

    Georgiana exclaimed when we caught glimpses of the creatures beneath the surface of the water. A number of basking sharks lurked within sight, a fearsome spectacle that covered my arms in gooseflesh.

    “Those predators are an awesome sight,” Mr. Darcy said, having joined us without my notice.

    “Oh, Wills, would it not be dreadful to fall into the sea?”

    “All the more reason to take care and not venture too near the edge. Shall you and Elizabeth join me in a promenade? I could do with the exercise.”

    “An excellent suggestion,” I said, “for I have been longing for a walk to restore my energy.”

    “As well as your spirit, I would wager.” He smiled and offered one arm to his younger sister and one to me.

    Several times, we walked the length of the deck as far as passengers were allowed. Before making the final return trek, we stopped to watch the busy seamen executing their various duties, alternating sails and stowing ropes. I craned my neck and shaded my eyes with my hand in order to follow a sailor as he scrambled up the rigging to the mast and climbed into the crow’s nest. What a view he must have had from that lofty perch!

    At that moment, the man cupped his hand to his mouth and cried, “Land ho!”

    Immediately, all eyes turned westwards where he was pointing. We hurried toward the bow and searched the horizon. Neither my sister nor I could see it, but Mr. Darcy spotted a faint outline. Georgiana declared she must share the news with Mrs. Annesley, for she felt certain it would aid her companion’s recovery to know our deliverance was nigh. She hastened toward the hatch and soon disappeared below stairs.

    Aware that Mr. Darcy and I were alone, I started to withdraw my hand from his arm when the ship lurched upward and then immediately downward, having encountered a particularly large swell. I felt myself sway and lose my balance. I could not refrain from falling against Mr. Darcy. Instinctively, his arms encircled me. Within moments, he had steadied us both, but not before we had been thrust against each other. The scent of his skin enveloped me, I could feel the powerful strength in his arms, and I began to tremble.

    “Do not fear, Elizabeth, you are safe with me,” he said into my ear.

    I stepped back, knowing that I was not. Yes, he might protect me from the elements, but who would shield me from the forbidden emotions he unleashed within my heart?

    “I…should return to my aunt and see to her needs.”

    “If you wish. Allow me to escort you to the stairs.”

    “No, I am fine now, sir. I can make my way unaided.” Without meeting his gaze, I turned and fled below. Hearing steps behind me, I turned to see that Mr. Gardiner had followed from above deck. He wore a decided frown. “Uncle, is something wrong?”

    “A moment with you, Lizzy, if you please.” He led me into the empty dining hall. “My dear, I question the wisdom of the scene I just witnessed.”

    “What scene do you speak of, sir?”

    “Finding you within Mr. Darcy’s embrace.”

    I felt the heat of the blush that crept up from my neck to burn my cheeks. “It…happened in all innocence, sir. The sudden movement of the ship almost caused me to slip, and it forced me against the gentleman. He meant no untoward behaviour. He simply attempted to aid me in securing my balance.”

    “Yes, I saw it all, Lizzy. He, however, did not release you as quickly as he might have. As we discussed before, I think it best if you avoid his presence as much as possible.”

    “That will prove difficult in these confined spaces.”

    “Still, I counsel you not to be alone with him.” He patted my shoulder somewhat awkwardly. “I do not accuse Mr. Darcy of impropriety. I simply remind you of the concern your aunt and I expressed in Bath. You must not encourage nor tempt the gentleman in any manner.”

    Tempt him! I bit my tongue to refrain from making a sharp retort. He said no more and indicated that we should return to our cabins. Once my door closed behind me, I sank down upon the narrow bed. For some time, I fumed at the suggestion that I had purposely led Mr. Darcy astray or that he had done anything amiss. Eventually, after I calmed myself and took time to examine the situation, I could see the wisdom in my uncle’s words. If Mr. Darcy had not truly renounced his romantic feelings toward me, and if I were honest, I doubted that he had, I should do all in my power to help him accomplish the feat. The question remained: Who would assist me in conquering my own love for him? Oh, why had Mr. Gardiner insisted that I make this trip? We would be thrown together constantly, and I trembled anew at the thrill I had felt when held within Mr. Darcy’s warm embrace. My aunt and uncle were correct. No matter how I would miss him, ‘twas more prudent for us to be apart.

    The sensible side of me acknowledged that things would be easier once we left the ship, for after we reached Dublin, Mr. Darcy and Georgiana would travel on to Cork.

    As I have come to learn, what I expected did not happen.

    Although Mr. Gardiner met with several of his business contacts in Dublin, it turned out that the majority of the goods my uncle had ordered were actually manufactured in County Cork, and the entire shipment had set sail from the nearby harbour at Cobh. From what he was told, if negligence had occurred, it would have happened in Cork City. Thus, we would be forced to travel south in a hired carriage to the same county where my grandmother had been born, and very near the place to which Mr. Darcy journeyed. The moment I heard the name of our destination, my mouth fell open.

    “Impossible,” I murmured when Mr. Gardiner told me. Were Mr. Darcy and I destined to be thrown together?

    “We have been invited to dine with Mr. Darcy and his sister tonight, Lizzy,” my aunt said, “but I fear I do not feel well enough to go out.” She had not regained her strength from the sea voyage and had remained inside our lodgings the entire week we had been in Dublin.

    “Then I shall stay with you.”

    “Oh, no, my dear, for you have been inside these rooms far too long. You must accompany your uncle this evening.”

    “I have been out now and then. Do you not recall that I took a long walk this morning? I watched the traffic on the River Liffey.”

    “That is not the same as good conversation with someone other than me, Lizzy. I insist that you go along with Edward and visit with Miss Darcy. I am certain she longs for your company. She seems to come alive in your presence.”

    “As does her brother,” my uncle added.

    “That is why I shall remain here, sir,” I announced. “I shall not have you fretting over my being in Mr. Darcy’s company all evening.”

    He smiled. “I shall not fret, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy and I have travel plans to discuss. You will not be alone together, so I see no reason for you to decline the invitation.”

    Thus, a few hours later, I changed my gown, fussed with my hair, pinched my cheeks, and bade Aunt Gardiner goodnight, for she said that she would be abed by the time we returned. The carriage carried us from the Norfolk Hotel on the north side of the city into the centre of town. The Darcys were in residence at the exclusive Gresham Hotel on Sackville Street, Dublin’s main thoroughfare.

    Inside, candles glowed throughout, casting a luminous glow over the sumptuous room, emphasizing its modern splendour. Crystal, fine bone china, and well-polished silver sparkled on every table. I was surprised to find the accommodations rivalled any I had seen in London, for I possessed the English prejudice that Ireland remained a poor, backward nation. Perhaps we would find that to be true in the countryside, but certainly not in that area of the capital city.

    Mr. Darcy and Georgiana descended the sweeping staircase, and her eyes lit up when she saw us approach from across the room. After greetings were exchanged, we were immediately shown to our table in the main dining room. Mr. Gardiner explained his wife’s absence, and Georgiana sympathized, saying that Mrs. Annesley also still suffered the effects of the trip. The evening passed pleasantly enough, and I noticed that Mr. Darcy seemed in exceptionally good spirits. He was completely at ease with my uncle, and oft times when I looked up, he bestowed a smile upon me.

    “Is this not good fortune that we shall travel to Cork together?” he said.

    “It will prove beneficial for us,” Mr. Gardiner said, “for now I shall not have to navigate the route alone. I confess I sometimes feel that the Irish do not speak English as I do. Their brogue garbles the language something fierce, and they appear to use an excessive amount of words to convey a single thought. I often feel as if they speak to me in riddles.”

    “They do speak their own version of our mother tongue,” Mr. Darcy agreed with a smile. Just then, a hotel porter appeared with a note for him, which he read quickly. “Have the package delivered to my apartment.” The porter bowed and disappeared. Our meal was drawing to a close, when Mr. Darcy asked if my uncle and I might visit with him in his private rooms above stairs.

    “Well, sir, the hour grows late,” Mr. Gardiner answered.

    “It will not take long, and I wish to show you something that I consider important.”

    “Splendid!” Georgiana said. “Elizabeth and I shall not yet be forced to part.”

    Mr. Darcy, however, thwarted his young sister’s plans. “You, my dear, must retire for the evening. You have kept far too late hours ever since we arrived. I insist that you rest up for the journey ahead.” Even though she complained, he remained firm in his decision, and so it was that Mr. Gardiner and I joined Mr. Darcy in the parlour of his lodgings while Georgiana went to her chambers.

    After my uncle accepted his offer of sherry and I declined, Mr. Darcy had the servant retrieve a thick packet that had obviously just arrived by post. Opening it upon the library table, he exclaimed, “Perfect! My steward sent exactly what I requested.”

    I turned to Mr. Gardiner, who sat beside me on the sofa, with a questioning look, but he appeared no more knowledgeable than I.

    Mr. Darcy took several bound books from the packet and brought them with him as he sat down on the chair nearest the sofa. “This is what I wished to show you both.”

    My uncle put his glass down. “Atlases we may use in our travels?

    “No, nothing like that. These, sir, are several of my father’s diaries.”

    “Diaries!” I said. “I thought our search at Pemberley proved fruitless, sir.”

    “We found no additional books that I had not previously canvassed. I did not show you these, Elizabeth, because I did not think they held anything of note concerning your birth. However…”

    “You have had second thoughts, sir?” my uncle prodded.

    “I have. I read these books for the first time in the year following my father’s funeral. My mood was dark with grief for months after I lost him, and I found solace reading the mundane jottings my father had made note of through the years. Most entries pertain to management of the estate and his other holdings, but now and then I was delighted to find lengthy, personal notations about my mother and myself, and in later volumes, he wrote of Georgiana as she grew up. He did not write on a daily basis - he often went weeks between recordings - but if one reads carefully, one finds a consistent testimony of his life contained therein.”

    “And yet, you say that he never mentioned my birth. Then, why, sir, have you now changed your mind? Why should these books be of interest to us?”

    “Before we left Bath, I began to ponder that question. Why had my father never marked such an important occurrence?”

    “Well, naturally, because he wished to keep it hidden.”

    “A pertinent conclusion and one I shared, until I remembered…”

    “Remembered what, sir?”

    “Pages are missing from these books.”

    “Missing? How do you know?”

    “See for yourself.” He held an open book up for us to see. “Look closely. Can you not see that pages have been torn out? And not just in this book. In several volumes there are remnants of torn pages left behind.”

    Mr. Gardiner took the book from his outstretched hand and examined it closely. “Why should that signify anything of importance, Mr. Darcy? Perchance your father simply made an ink blot and wished to begin anew.”

    “A possibility, sir, but as I considered making this journey to Ireland, I also wondered why my father had not told me more about finding his brother after all those years. For that matter, why had he not written more about it in the diaries? Here, examine this one.” He rummaged through the stack until he found a volume marked 1805. “There is but one entry made about Peter Darcy this entire year. Pray, read it aloud, Elizabeth.”

    I smoothed the page open and followed his finger to the appointed place.

    14 July, 1805

    Received letter from Henry this date. Peter is alive! He has found him near, of all places, Mother’s birthplace in Ireland. Says he is well. After all these years, I rejoice. My brother, who was dead, is alive. If only he could return to Pemberley, we would kill the fatted calf, put a ring upon his finger, invite the neighbours, and hold a feast. Alas…

    “And that is where the next page is removed,” Mr. Darcy interrupted. “See!”

    “I do,” I answered. “But what significance does it hold?”

    “From then on, my father never makes mention of Peter again. Not anywhere, not in a single one of the diaries he wrote thereafter. Does that not seem strange?”

    “And it appears he either did not finish his thoughts in this entry,” Mr. Gardiner added, “or…”

    “Or, for some reason he thought it best to remove what he had written,” Mr. Darcy finished. “And that is not all.” He picked up another book. “The year of your birth, Elizabeth, Father writes about Peter’s disappearance in March. He tells of his distress, the anguish it causes my mother. Here, listen to this.

    24 March, 1791

    Returned to Pemberley from London this night. What Wickham (Mr. Wickham, Sr., was his steward at the time) wrote in his letter to me is true – Peter is nowhere to be found and has been missing ten days. Anne is growing ill with worry. Tomorrow I will begin the search with visits to the neighbours, and I pray I must not call in the detectives. Oh, merciful God, let this be some foolish prank he is playing. If it is, however, I shall have his hide!

    “That year, over and over again from March until the middle of June, my father writes of his futile search for his brother and then…evidence of discarded pages begin. Throughout the book, pages have been removed”

    Mr. Gardiner rose and refilled his glass from the decanter of sherry. “I think a simple explanation may exist for the volume written in 1791. By the time the summer months arrived, your father’s despair over finding your uncle gave way to the dilemma facing him over Lizzy’s birth. He could have noted her expected arrival, but then discarded his observations so that no evidence remained to link him to her in any way.”

    “Except that Sir Lewis de Bourgh failed to destroy the one letter Mr. George Darcy wrote about my birth,” I said.

    “One would draw those conclusions,” Mr. Darcy said, “if our suppositions are correct.”

    I sighed and leaned back against the sofa. “How are we to ever discover any other answer, sir?”

    Mr. Darcy rose and returned the diaries to the library table. “That is precisely why I have come to Ireland. If Peter Darcy does not hold the key, then I have nowhere else to turn.”

    “Key to what, sir?” I said, irritation in my voice. “Surely, you do not hope to have your father’s name cleared, do you? Have we not seen proof enough of his participation in the deed?”

    “What proof have we seen? Lady Catherine has produced a letter…”

    “Written by Mr. George Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner said.

    “True, but examine it again, if you will.” He withdrew the letter from his coat pocket and handed it to my uncle. I rose and stood beside him, looking on while he read. “Not once does my father say that the child in question is his.”

    “But Lady Catherine said…”

    “Yes, yes, I know,” he waved his hand as though to dismiss my words, “my aunt most definitely had her say.”

    My uncle looked up from his reading, “Are you saying that you doubt the veracity of Lady Catherine?”

    “No…no, I would not disparage her in that… Oh, I do not know what I am saying, except for one thing.”

    I held my breath, wondering what he could mean and what he might say next.

    “Lady Catherine is hiding something. She would brook no questions concerning the details of what Sir Lewis told her about the night he carried Elizabeth to Longbourn. She kept telling me that it was none of my affair.” His voice rose in volume. “None of my affair! I ask you, if it is none of my affair, then whose?”

    Mr. Gardiner and I exchanged looks, and I could see the concern on my uncle’s face. “Mr. Darcy,” he said, “the hour does grow late. I believe we must depart.”

    “I apologize for keeping you,” he replied, looking somewhat surprised that we should wish to leave. We made our farewells, and the two men agreed to meet on the morrow to discuss the final details of our travel plans. Mr. Darcy appeared preoccupied and proved quite hasty in his final remarks. I descended the stairs, my mind in a muddle.

    In the carriage, my uncle remained silent for some time. I wondered what he was thinking, but in some ways, I did not care to know.

    “Lizzy,” he said at last, “do you think that you are George Darcy’s daughter?”

    What? “I…well, yes, of course. Lady Catherine said I was, and I have not seen any evidence to dispute her word. Why do you ask me that?”

    “Because I strongly suspect that Mr. Darcy no longer believes you are his sister.”

    That night I slept little. My uncle’s statement whirled around and around in my head. Could it possibly be? Might I be the daughter of someone other than George Darcy? No, I had not seen one thing to make me think that and much that did. Lady Catherine stated it as fact most assuredly, the letter that George Darcy wrote to Sir Lewis would certainly lead one to believe that I was his child, Mr. Fawcett said I was the natural child of a gentleman from the north country, Eleanor Willoughby said my father was called Darcy, and I bore a distinct resemblance to George Darcy’s mother, Siobhan.

    If George Darcy was not my father, who could it be? I allowed my mind to wander freely. What if Lady Catherine had tried to mask her husband’s infidelity? Perchance, while visiting Derbyshire long ago, he met my mother and lied, telling her his name was Darcy. He evidently had relied upon George Darcy for help in the past. Was it because he had been faithless in his marriage vows? Could I have been his mistake? I shuddered at the thought. I had never met Sir Lewis, but I could not imagine that young girl I had seen in the portrait attaching herself to a man married to Lady Catherine. If so, why would George Darcy have worded his letter in the manner that he did – Tonight, I must beg leave to call in all favours you owe me? No, that did not make sense, and Eleanor Willoughby never mentioned that her sister even knew Sir Lewis. It could not be him.

    Siobhan had two other sons besides George – Henry and Peter. I knew nothing really of Peter, other than he converted to the Catholic religion, and he wished to live in his mother’s homeland, so much so that he ran away rather than risk his brother’s disapproval. I doubted that he was responsible for my birth, for it appeared that he cared little for anyone in Derbyshire. He did not even write to his family once he settled himself in his new home. I had the impression that he must have been a serious-minded, solitary man, not one who would trifle with a neighbour’s young daughter.

    Henry, however, was handsome, headstrong, and had a reputation as a lady’s man. Could he have been the Darcy my mother met secretly in the woods of Pemberley? And if so, did his widow know of my existence? Perhaps, she feared that if she revealed the truth, I would attempt a claim upon his estate. Had she encouraged her nephew to travel to Ireland on an endless chase only to thwart his discovery of the truth in Bath?

    My head ached at the possibilities, and I punched my pillow with all the frustration that possessed me. Oh, what good would come from hoping for what could never be? Why dare to contemplate the idea that George Darcy was not my father, only to have it snatched from me? The girl I had been a year ago might have dreamed such a dream, but I no longer possessed that girl’s faith. It had died in the garden at Longbourn when Lady Catherine came to call.

    We departed Dublin three days later. Mrs. Gardiner had regained a bit of her vitality by that time, and I hoped that the subsequent journey would not assign her to bed once again. Our carriage followed behind that of Mr. Darcy, but oft times Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley exchanged places with Mr. Gardiner. It proved a merry exchange when four women travelled without men to overhear the conversation. I was surprised, but not displeased, that Mrs. Annesley entered into the dialogue much more freely at those times.

    “And how do you like Ireland?” my aunt asked her.

    “Much more than that sea voyage. I was never so glad to feel firm ground beneath my feet in all my days!”

    That provoked a spirited discussion between the two older women of the ills they had experienced aboard ship. Georgiana took the opportunity to speak to me, waxing on and on about how she found the country charming. I marvelled at the changes I had seen come over her since first we met last year. That shy, quiet young girl had blossomed, becoming much more confident and vivacious. She spoke of her future debut the next spring and insisted that I go to Town and accompany her to teas, balls, and other social outings.

    “Would you not rather have someone by your side who is more accustomed to such events? What about Miss Bingley? She is well acquainted with the social life of London, and I know that she craves your company, for I have heard her remark upon it more than once.”

    “Miss Bingley craves my company for one reason only, Elizabeth – she wishes to marry my brother.”

    “Georgiana!” Miss Annesley exclaimed, interrupting her discussion of lumbago with Mrs. Gardiner, even breaking off in mid-sentence to admonish her young charge.

    “Well, she does, Annie. You know it as well as I!”

    “One must not disparage an older lady, my dear. She may not be your equal in some matters, but she is an accomplished lady.”

    “Yes,” I added, lifting my chin, “it cannot be denied. Miss Bingley does possess a certain air.”

    Georgiana began to giggle, and Miss Annesley’s attempts to calm her failed utterly. Her laughter was infectious, and I could not suppress my own amusement. It was obvious that we behaved in an unseemly manner, but it was not long before both older ladies could not refrain from bursting forth in jollity as well. We laughed until we were forced to hold our sides in pain, and Mrs. Gardiner begged us to desist, for she was quite uncomfortable. I wondered if the shepherd in the fields that we passed could actually see our carriage shake from the hilarity within.

    It was good to laugh. It reminded me of growing up in a house filled with five girls. Suddenly, I longed to see all of them once again. I missed Jane in particular, and I knew that my aunt yearned to hold her children. Ireland seemed like the other side of the world from Longbourn. And yet, I did enjoy Georgiana’s company. Sweet and unassuming, she brought joy to my life, and I thought how much I would miss her when we returned to England and resumed our separate lives. For that matter, I would miss her when we separated in Cork.

    “Georgiana, has Mr. Darcy told you much of the city to which you travel?” I asked.

    “Wills says Ballymeghan is more of a village than a city. I learned only recently that my grandmother was born there. I wish I had known her, but she died long before I was born. My brother remembers her but not well. Evidently, she had been in poor health for some years and she kept to her chambers most of the time.”

    “Do you remember this uncle whom you plan to visit?” Mrs. Gardiner asked.

    “Oh, no. He left Pemberley as a young man and has never returned. I do recall visits from Uncle Henry, the one who lived in Bath.”

    That statement aroused my interest. “What was he like?”

    “Tall and handsome in his uniform and always happy. His beard tickled when he kissed my cheek, and he was forever taking sweets from the kitchen and sneaking them to me. I thought him absolutely wonderful!”

    “I have only seen his portrait at Pemberley, and I agree that he was handsome,” I said. “I did not see much resemblance between Mr. Henry Darcy and your father.”

    “They might have looked more alike if Uncle Henry had shaved his beard. I do remember that his eyes were different from Father’s.” She leaned forward and peered closely at me. “In truth, Elizabeth, your eyes are much like my uncle’s. Perhaps it was a family trait that both of you inherited even though you are not closely related.”

    I straightened and turned my attention to the window.

    “I wonder if Wills ever determined the exact connection between our family and that of Elizabeth.”

    “He has certainly devoted himself to the quest,” Mrs. Annesley said. “He spent countless hours upon the task at Rosings, Eden Park, and especially Bath. Do you share his curiosity, Miss Bennet?”

    “I…”

    “Lizzy has never been one to shut herself up inside for too long, no matter the pursuit,” my aunt interjected. “Give her a good, long tramp in the woods, though, and she considers it a perfect day.” I exhaled with relief as my aunt’s statement renewed Mrs. Annesley’s discussion of her various ailments occasioned by the last long walk she had attempted.

    An expression of boredom settled upon Georgiana’s countenance, and she devoted herself to the passing scenery for a while. We remarked on the many shades of green that coloured the island, but eventually, she grew drowsy, removed her bonnet, and leaned back against the seat. I, too, wearied of the long journey and hoped we would stop soon to spend the night. The carriage rocked on as consistently as the ladies’ conversation. I was left to allow my mind to wander at will. Without fail, it returned to questions of my paternity.

    I thought of Henry Darcy and the physical similarity we shared. Had Mr. Darcy ever noticed it and if so, had he shared the news with the captain’s widow? I wondered what kind of man Peter Darcy would turn out to be, if my presumptions of his character rang true. The only portrait I had seen of him was with his brothers, and he was but a very young child at the time. Mr. Darcy had said he was ill. Oh, I hoped we did not arrive too late for Peter Darcy to answer his nephew’s questions.

    At length, the carriage pulled into the small village of Cashel, and we clambered out, ready to stretch our limbs from the forced confinement. My uncle informed us that we would spend the night there at an inn. We followed him into the whitewashed, thatched house that bore the name Fitzgerald’s above the door. Our lodgings were somewhat primitive but clean and tidy. Neither Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner nor I found the accommodations unsuitable, but I wondered how Mr. Darcy and his sister would react. I doubted that either of them had ever stayed the night in such a humble dwelling.

    My aunt wished to lie down before supper, and Mr. Gardiner sought a drink in the local pub. After making certain that I was not needed, I slipped outdoors for a short walk. The few shops across the street had closed, but I did not need to make a purchase. I simply yearned for exercise, so I ambled several blocks without any destination in mind. Suddenly, I heard someone call my name, and when I turned, I saw Mr. Darcy advancing upon me.

    “Elizabeth, where do you go?”

    “Nowhere, sir. I am simply walking.”

    “The sun goes down soon. You must not wander about alone. After all, this is not Hertfordshire. Shall I keep you company?”

    I nodded, and he smiled as we fell into step. After asking about my aunt’s health, we remained silent for a block or two. He then pointed out the Catholic church around the corner, and we watched as the black-robed priest hurried inside. The man had not acknowledged us in any manner.

    “Do we trespass, sir? The priest does not appear friendly.”

    “He may fear our notice since we are clearly strangers in these parts, and the Papist Church is no longer the religion of the ruling class. Besides that, we are English.” He spoke as though we had committed a crime.

    “I do not understand. Ireland is now united with England, is it not? Are not both countries under one Parliament?”

    “They are in name, but this country has little representation in London. Besides, the conflict between our nations goes back centuries, and the Irish people’s struggle continues. I have been told that the place to which we travel, County Cork, is a stronghold of resistance to the English. In fact, it is known as the Rebel County with no small amount of pride among the natives.”

    “Do you think Mr. Peter Darcy will welcome your visit?”

    “Yes. No matter the years past, the difference in religion, politics, or country, we are the same blood, and in Ireland, blood relations trump all else. He is my uncle, and I cannot imagine him refusing to see me.”

    “Is he accepted here?”

    We had crossed the footpath and begun to retrace our steps back to the inn. “I would surely think so, else why should he stay all this time?”

    I took a deep breath. “Sir, if Peter Darcy knows nothing of me or the circumstances surrounding my birth, will you put this search of yours to rest at last?”

    He turned and looked directly at me. “I think he does, Elizabeth. I feel in my heart that Uncle Peter will answer my questions.”

    “But why?”

    “I cannot explain it. Do you recall that I once told you how Bridesgate, the Willoughby house, seemed to call out to me as a boy?”

    I nodded. “Even though your father instructed you to stay away from it.”

    “Exactly. I have that same feeling about this country and about Peter Darcy. I think he knows the circumstances surrounding your birth.”

    “But if he does not, sir, what then?”

    We had reached the inn, and he stopped short before entering. “Do not say that.”

    “But you must consider it.”

    “No, I must not!” Although he had not raised his voice, his tone was as unyielding as though he had done so. We stared into each other’s eyes until, at last, I turned and walked into the house.

    Chapter Fourteen

    Posted on Sunday, 14 October 2007

    After spending yet another night in another inn and a long, hard day of travel on country roads, we reached our destination at last. Although not as large as Dublin, Cork was a fine, bustling city, exceedingly more populous than any of the villages we had encountered along the way.

    As we drove through the streets to the Imperial Hotel on the South Mall, we admired the sunset reflected off the handsome limestone buildings lining the banks of the River Lee. Seagulls greeted us with their screeching cries, as they accompanied the ferryboats carrying passengers upriver from the town of Cobh to Merchants Quay. The air was rich with sounds and smells from the nearby Grand Parade Fish Market and the local brewery, famous for its dark stout. The odours permeated my senses, but I, unlike Mrs. Annesley, did not find them unpleasant.

    “Oh, Georgiana, I fear your appetite will suffer if we remain outdoors. Come, we must hurry and escape these dreadful smells,” she said.

    “They are not so very bad. May we not watch the sun go down?” Her companion would not be deterred, however, so the young girl reluctantly followed her inside.

    Our apartment was the best by far since we arrived in Ireland. My uncle’s time would be much occupied by business, including travelling down to Cobh at the mouth of Cork Harbour. Thus, he expended the extra money necessary to secure our lodgings in the same venue as that of the Darcys so that my aunt and I would not be left alone during the day. During the course of our meal together that evening, however, Mr. Darcy announced that he would depart on the morrow for an overnight visit with the Earl of Killaine at Castelaine and wished to leave Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley in Mr. Gardiner’s care while he was gone. Both gentlemen then stressed that we were not to venture far from the hotel until my uncle returned in the evening.

    “Oh, Wills, must you go so soon?”

    “It is only right that I call upon the earl, as his family has known ours for many years. I have written to him of our coming, and he has secured a cottage for us in Ballymeghan. I must see that all is in order for our arrival.”

    “I do not understand the connection between our family and this Irish earl you call upon. I do not recall hearing of him before.”

    “He is the son of our grandfather’s friend from Cambridge. It is due to his father that our grandparents met. If he had not invited James Darcy to visit during that summer, we would not be alive today.”

    When she asked where he lived, Mr. Darcy said it was about three miles just outside the village of Ballymeghan.

    “And is that where you hope to find your uncle?” Mr. Gardiner asked.

    He nodded. “My source in Derbyshire corresponds with a priest in Ardfield, which I understand lies but a short distance from there. He is the one who says that Peter Darcy has made his home in the village. It is only right that I call upon Lord Killaine before I begin my search. He, most likely, can tell me exactly where Uncle Peter dwells.”

    “I wish you good luck, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Gardiner said, and my uncle echoed her sentiments.

    I felt his eyes upon me. “And you, Elizabeth? Do you not wish me luck?”

    I raised my eyes to meet his. “Of course, sir, and, even more, I hope that what you find will grant you peace.”

    The next night, my aunt and I had joined Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley in their parlour after dinner. Attempting to teach me a simpler method in which I might master a difficult embroidery stitch, the older ladies had erupted in laughter at my pitiful struggles and subsequent display of temper when I succeeded in repeatedly knotting my thread. I made such a shambles of it that they were forced to take turns trying to work it loose, all in vain. At last, when hope was gone, Georgiana solved the matter by cutting the thread.

    “Elizabeth, you had better begin all over again.”

    “I think I should give up,” I said, laughing with the others, “and admit that my fingers were not created for sewing. Look at the bloodstains I have left on this scarf.”

    “Perhaps you might dye it a soft rose colour when the task is completed,” Mrs. Annesley offered.

    Just then, we heard the outer door open and slam shut, subsequent, rapid footsteps into a bedchamber, followed by another slammed door. We looked at each other in wonder.

    “Goodness, could that be Wills?”

    “If it is, something must be amiss,” Mrs. Annesley said.

    “Perhaps we should go,” my aunt said.

    Georgiana rose. “No, it is still early. I shall see what is wrong.” We all prevailed upon her to remain with us and give her brother time to recover from his trip. She had just sat down again and picked up her needlework when we heard doors slam again and the same rapid footsteps depart the apartment.

    I looked at Mrs. Gardiner, and we both folded our work and put it away. “I really do believe we should make our departure,” she said. “It has been a lovely evening.”

    We made our farewells and returned down the hall to our quarters. My uncle sat snoring in his chair, his book lying open upon his chest. My aunt woke him, and, shortly thereafter, they retired to their chambers for the night. I walked about the room, picked at the daisies in the pitcher upon the table, and looked through a small stack of books lying beside my uncle’s chair. I saw nothing that interested me. Spying the full moon through the window, I pulled the curtain aside. Below in the moonlight, I saw Mr. Darcy pacing back and forth on the footpath outside the hotel. He carried his hat in his hand, and several times he raked his hand through his hair.

    Something is terribly wrong, I feared.

    Turning back to the room, I tiptoed near the door of the Gardiners’ room, from which I heard nothing but silence. Quietly, I gathered my shawl around my shoulders and slipped out the door. I made it down the stairs to the lobby without meeting anyone, but just as I reached the outer door, the alarmed porter asked if he could help me. I could not think of a reason to explain my actions, for I knew that a single woman would not normally leave the hotel alone at that late hour. So, I simply lifted my head, assumed my best imitation of Miss Bingley, and waved him away.

    I hurried out the door, whereupon I found Mr. Darcy still pacing frantically.

    “Elizabeth!”

    “I…saw you from the window above.”

    “You should not be out here.”

    “I must know what ails you, sir. You are obviously angry, upset…what is it?”

    “Nothing. Nothing you can make right.”

    “What do you mean?”

    He made a helpless gesture, hitting his hat against the side of his leg.

    “Tell me what has happened! Is it your uncle? Are you too late?”

    He took my elbow. “Come, I must return you to Mr. Gardiner.”

    “He and my aunt have retired. Will you not take but a moment and tell me?”

    A man walking by stared at us.

    “Not here. Let us cross the street.” He led me out of sight of the hotel to where we had a clear view of the river. We strolled in silence, the moon glistening on the rippling surface. The water lapped against the pier, and I knew I should have loved being there in that setting, if not for the anguish on Mr. Darcy’s face.

    We sat down on a bench looking out towards the mouth of the harbour and remained silent for several moments before I spoke. “Did your visit with Lord Killaine not go well? Is that what troubles you?”

    “The earl was cordial. He said his father had often told him of his friendship with my grandfather and what a scandal it caused when Siobhan MacAnally sailed off to England with James Darcy.”

    “Did he seem angry?”

    He shook his head. “Not at all. His father actually aided their escape. Of course, he was a young man back then. He had no idea how dangerous their decision truly was or what serious consequences it would yield.”

    “If the past does not anger Lord Killaine, then what causes you distress?”

    Mr. Darcy rose and stared up at the sky. I stood up and gently touched his arm. “Sir, may I not share your troubles as you have often shared mine?”

    When he turned to me, I held my breath at the pain I saw reflected in his eyes. “Elizabeth, I have made this trip in vain. Peter Darcy will not give me the answers I wish for.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because he cannot.”

    “He has died?”

    “No.”

    “Then, what is it?”

    He lowered his head and took a step toward the wharf, but I walked with him, refusing to let up. He gave a great sigh. “I began this search with you for your mother, and once we discovered Elizabeth Willoughby, I should have been content, but I could not.”

    “You want to know why.”

    “I want more than that.” He turned and faced me. “I want…oh, my dearest girl, I need someone…anyone…to tell me that my father is not your father.”

    My heart rose into my throat. I swallowed and looked away, then walked back and sank down on the bench. What had he done? Had he actually spoken aloud between us the very hope that lived deep inside me, the same dream I attempted to bury daily but which refused to remain hidden?

    I was conscious of his return and that he sat beside me, but I could not face him.

    “I know I promised that I would look upon you as my sister, and I intend to keep that promise. But I must be honest and confess that is not my heart’s desire. I want…”

    “No, do not say it! You must not say it, sir.” I jumped up to return to the Imperial.

    “Wait,” he said, catching my hand. “Wait…forgive me. You are right. I…do not know what possessed me. It is just that I have received such disappointing news this day.”

    “If it concerns me, do I not have a right to know?”

    He sighed again. “I have searched everywhere for a hint, a clue, some revelation that you were fathered by someone other than George Darcy. I have combed through every document I could find at Pemberley. I sought out the vicar at the church for a record of your birth. There is none. Your mother’s death is recorded, but that is all. I have told you how Lady Catherine provided no answers. Eden Park was the same. I even called upon Sir Linton Willoughby again, but he refused to see me. And Bath…I thought surely I would find more than I did among Uncle Henry’s many journals and correspondence. I even dared to insult my aunt by asking if her husband could possibly be your father. Her answer is what drove me to Ireland.”

    “Her answer? What do you mean?”

    “Aunt Harriet said Captain Darcy was close-mouthed about your birth and spoke of the incident only once. He said that his brother had chosen to forsake a woman and child in Derbyshire and that after the woman died, the child had been taken to a far county to be fostered by an unknown family. She assumed the brother was George, for he was the sole brother she had met. For years they thought that Peter was dead. I could not accept her assumption, and that is why I am here. I hoped to find Uncle Peter and confront him. I had this insupportable notion that he might…well, I had determined to force him to take responsibility for your birth…until today.”

    I sank down upon the bench once again. “What happened today?”

    He sat down beside me, leaned forward, and held his hat between his legs. “I learned from Lord Killaine that Peter Darcy could not be your father, for he is a Catholic priest.”

    “A priest!”

    “That is why he ran off without telling his family. He travelled straight to this country and began his studies to join the priesthood. He had always been meant for the church, but not that of the Papists. Evidently, his mother’s influence truly shaped his life. After her death, there was nothing to keep him at Pemberley. Lord Killaine said he has served the poorest parishes in Ireland, devoting his life to good works. That hardly sounds like a man who would desert a woman and child, does it?”

    “No,” I whispered.

    We said nothing more for a long while. The sadness rose up between us like a deep chasm over which no one crosses. Rising at last, he said, “Come, I must return you to your rooms.”

    As we crossed the street, I felt as though heavy weights pulled at my legs. My shoulders drooped, and weariness settled upon me. When we reached the door to the hotel, I stopped. “What will you do now? Shall you return to England without seeing your uncle?”

    “No, I shall see him. The earl confirmed the fact - he has not long to live. It is only right that I visit him, and I wish to introduce Georgiana to him.”

    I nodded.

    “I still would like for you to meet him.”

    “Why? Would it not be shameful for a man of God to witness the result of his brother’s sin?”

    “If Peter Darcy is the same man I remember as a boy, he will not hold you responsible for another’s misdeeds. I hope you will go with me to Ballymeghan.”

    Four days later, my aunt and I departed Cork City with the Darcys for Siobhan Darcy’s birthplace. Business concerns forced Mr. Gardiner to remain behind. He would make numerous trips between the city and the harbour at Cobh either by ferry, or hiring one of the local jingles, little horse-drawn cabs that provided transport each day. Since his wife had rallied from the stresses of travel, he allowed us to go to Ballymeghan without him. I saw little of Mr. Darcy during those four days before we left, and when I did, he kept his distance. Depressed and brooding, he had said little to any of us. I noticed that he did accompany my uncle to the local pub down the street every evening, and they often stayed until closing time. I prayed fervently that my brother visited the establishment for Mr. Gardiner’s company alone and did not seek refuge from his sorrows in a bottle of Irish whisky. If Mr. Darcy drank to excess, my uncle never made mention of it, but then, he had always possessed a modest affinity for spirits himself.

    Ballymeghan was situated about forty miles from Cork City, and the day’s journey proved excessively diverting, for it took us along the picturesque coastline with its magnificent views. I was content to stare out the windows the entire trip. The only sights that marred the scene were the obviously poverty-stricken tenant farmers attempting to scrape out a living in the fields. Many of their dwellings were little more than hovels with numerous children in the yards, while the fine houses of the landowners contrasted sharply in their affluence. Mr. Darcy had told us that with English occupation, native owners who formerly owned much of the land now made up little more than five percent. Most had been reduced to the status of tenant farmers working the land for the benefit of the oft-absent English landlord.

    As we drove into Ballymeghan village, I noted its tranquil setting. The white-washed, thatched cottages were well tended, and, set against the lush, green hills in the background, they made a charming, typically Irish scene. I was pleased to see the fine, spacious house that Mr. Darcy had rented for all of us to share. Bringing his own servants, and, having sent one ahead to secure local help, we were ushered into a lovely, limestone house with more than adequate furnishings.

    “What a charming little place,” Mrs. Gardiner exclaimed. She was relieved to be free from the bumps and jolts of the carriage ride but did not protest when I urged her to rest in her chamber. I supervised the maid unpacking my aunt’s belongings before seeking my own room.

    “That will do, Lizzy. Go along and arrange your things as you like. I shall lie down for a bit before dinner.”

    After setting my possessions in their proper places, I returned to the parlour, where I found Mr. Darcy pouring a glass of brandy. He offered me a sherry, which I declined.

    “Do you find the lodgings to your liking, sir?”

    He shrugged. “As long as Georgiana is content, they will do. And, of course, I trust that you and Mrs. Gardiner are satisfied.”

    “Very much so.” I noticed that his voice had not the slightest inflection. It was as though a man devoid of emotion – of life - had spoken. I walked to the window covered in fine Irish lace and pulled the curtain aside. “What a beautiful little village this is. I have not seen its equal during our entire journey. I wonder whose fine mansion that is far up on the hill.” I hoped to prick Mr. Darcy’s interest and lift his dark mood.

    He joined me at the window. “That is Castelaine.”

    “Where the Earl of Killaine lives?”

    He nodded. “His presence affords this village more prosperity than most we have seen, for it enjoys his protection.”

    “Tell me, sir, why was he able to retain ownership of Castelaine when so many landowners have been disenfranchised?”

    “He is a clever man and enjoys the benefits of his connections.” Mr. Darcy returned to the brandy decanter, and I frowned, not only at his words but his actions.

    “I do not understand,” I said, crossing the room to the nearest chair.

    “Lord Killaine’s younger brother, Pádraig, married Maíra McKenna, a wealthy widow who possesses a treasure even more valuable than riches.”

    “Whatever do you mean, sir?”

    “She is Anglican. Not particular about his religion, it was a simple thing for Pádraig Killaine to renounce Catholicism and become Anglican in order to secure her hand. Lord Killaine’s wife also has a prominent Anglican cousin, the Bishop of Shrewsbury, in fact. He is a close colleague and friend to the Bishop of Canterbury and, hence, the Crown. Such family associations have assured the earl’s continued retention of Castlelaine.”

    “A fortunate man.”

    He looked disinterested. “A prudent man. Maintaining goodwill toward his Anglican relations provides him the power to protect his community, and, doubtless, my uncle as well.”

    “Why should your uncle need protection?”

    “According to Lord Killaine, Father Peter Darcy does not always play inside the law. He scorns the dictates designed to squash the Catholic faith, and he has done whatever was needed to assist his parishioners to practice their true faith.”

    “And does that distress you, sir?”

    “It means little to me. He chose this life. What he does with it is up to him.”

    Another resigned response, I thought. “All the same, though, he sounds like an interesting man, but then, I have yet to meet an uninteresting Darcy.”

    My impertinent remark failed to provoke any rejoinder from him, as it would in the past. A chill raised gooseflesh on my arms when I examined his face. Expressionless, the light had vanished from his eyes as surely as if one had doused a candle.

    The next morning I awoke to what promised to be a day of perfect weather. A gentle breeze wafted in through the open window of my chamber, stirring the starched, linen curtains. Although white clouds littered the blue sky, the sun shone through in abundance. We had encountered rain almost every day we had visited the country, and I welcomed a brighter interval.

    Smelling the delightful aroma of rashers and sausages from below, I hastened to dress, unwilling to await the maid’s assistance. When I entered the dining room, I was surprised to see Georgiana and Mr. Darcy finishing their meal. Their well-dressed appearance gave every sign that they were obviously going out.

    “I see that you do not delay in meeting your uncle,” I said after morning greetings were exchanged, and I sat down across from Georgiana.

    “We do not go to meet Uncle Peter,” she announced. “Wills is taking me to meet Lord Killaine at Castelaine.”

    “Oh?” I looked in his direction.

    “Lady Killaine expressed a desire to know my sister, and we made arrangements to meet at one o’clock.”

    “Tell me, have you learned whether your grandmother’s relations yet dwell in these parts?”

    “She has two nephews and their families living in the area.”

    “And shall you visit them while you are in Ballymeghan?”

    “I do not see the need or have the inclination.” He rose from the table and strode from the room without another word.

    My spirits had dampened upon seeing that Mr. Darcy’s mood had not lifted. He appeared much like a man uninterested in anything or anyone. I knew only too well that severe disappointment ruled his outlook. He was drowning in final acceptance of what could never be changed.

    After the Darcys left the cottage, I visited with Aunt Gardiner at her bedside for some time. Once again, yesterday’s journey had robbed her strength, but she assured me that a day in bed would put her to rights soon enough. I told her of our companions’ outing for the day, never hinting that anything was wrong. Fortunately, she was too tired to see through my cheerful performance, as she would have, had she been herself.

    When she had finished her breakfast and the maid had taken the tray below stairs, she was ready for a nap. “Why not take a stroll, Lizzy? The village seems safe enough, and I know that you are yearning to free yourself from walls. Do not stray too far, though. None of your three-mile hikes, mind you.”

    I smiled and agreed, promising to return within an hour or so. Although I remained worried about Mr. Darcy, once I stepped out into the sunshine, the quaint little village lifted my spirits, and I looked forward to discovering its charms. Not much larger than Meryton, it contained a small public house with a store on one side. A limited collection of bonnets had been placed behind the glass, and I noticed several women entering the shop, while two men loitered outside the pub. As I passed by, I stopped short when the bartender swept dirt out the entryway. He bobbed his head and begged my pardon, but I gave him a smile to indicate no harm had occurred.

    I walked down to the end of the street, having seen most of what there was to offer in the village other than the church sitting prominently at the opposite end of the main road. The bridge we had crossed upon reaching Ballymeghan lay in the other direction, and I set off to examine the River Bandon below. I was delighted to find the water as clear as any I had ever seen in Hertfordshire and, even more splendid, a well-worn path that ran alongside for some distance.

    I scampered across the bridge and down the bank. On the path, I stopped to watch the trout jump. Perhaps my uncle and Mr. Darcy might enjoy fishing there once Mr. Gardiner concluded his business and joined us. The thought of Mr. Darcy’s dark temper flashed across my mind, and I feared that it would take more than fishing to brighten his outlook. I shall not think about him, I told myself and continued to follow the path.

    Around the bend, the walk widened. A part of it veered off, leading up an incline to a small cottage. I smiled, thinking how lovely it would be to live there and awaken to the mist rising on the river as the morn dawned over the mountains. I spied a patch of wild primroses and bluebells a short distance ahead, closer to the river’s edge, and spent no little time choosing yellow and lavender blooms to make a bouquet I might take back to my aunt. At length, I sat down in the soft, green grass and felt content to watch the reflection of the clouds on the surface of the water.

    I allowed my mind to drift, oblivious to time passing or to how the sky began to darken. Taken by surprise when the heavy Irish rain began to fall, I jumped up and looked for the nearest shelter. There was nothing under which to hide, for the trees had been cleared well back from the river. I shaded my eyes from the merciless downpour and saw the small overhang of the thatched roof on the cottage I had passed. Within moments, I ran up the slope and huddled beneath the tiny bit of protection, extending my shawl over my bonnet to shield my face. With dismay, I watched the rain increase and drops collect on the ends of the straw before splashing down onto my person.

    “Good morning.”

    I startled at the voice behind me and turned quickly to see an older man dressed in black, standing at the door he had opened. Obviously frail, he leaned on a rough cane. I blinked when I realized he was a priest.

    “I…beg your pardon, Father.”

    “You had best come in, lass, before you catch your death.” He opened the door wider and took a few steps back into the room. I hesitated, but he urged me to enter with a welcoming gesture. “Sure, these summer showers catch us all out, even those that have lived here all their lives, much less a stranger in our midst. I am correct, am I not? You are not from around here at all.”

    “I was picking blossoms down by the water.”

    “Ah, yes, the flowers never fail to entice us away from the path we are on, as well they should. Well, come in and sit down until the damp chill dispels.” He walked slowly to a chair beside the large fireplace in which a turf fire burned, warming the whole parlour. In truth, it could not be called a proper parlour, more like a single, large room with a bed at one end and a small table and chairs next to the window. Although sparsely furnished, it was neat and clean, and I saw that the furnishings were worn but comfortable.

    “Forgive the place, my child,” he said as he watched me look around his home. “I do little these days, but Father Rafferty will come along later to tidy up a bit and cook me a meal.” He eased himself down upon the chair, and I saw that the bed had not been made, as though he had just risen.

    “I am sorry to intrude. I simply wished to escape the brunt of the rain.”

    “Of course, my dear, but the stoop offers slight protection. You had much better sit in here and tell me all about yourself. From your speech, I take it you have travelled a long way.”

    “I have, from England.”

    “England? My, my, that is a great distance. I was born in England, you know.”

    “Oh? In what part, Father?”

    “What part? Why, the prettiest part, of course – Derbyshire. Oh, forgive me, for I have not introduced myself - Father Darcy.”

    Darcy? Had I stumbled upon my uncle all on my own? Amazement rendered me unable to observe the slightest civility and tell him my name.

    With the black clouds blocking the sun and dimming the already scarce light coming through the tiny windows, he rose to stoke the turf fire and to light a candle on the table next to his chair.

    “Pray, sir, could you be Father Peter Darcy?”

    “Why, yes. Has someone told you of me? Step closer, child, into the light.”

    I removed my bonnet and straightened my frock before crossing the room. The priest held up the candle as though his sight had dimmed. He squinted at me, blinked several times, shook his head, and peered closer.

    “Ah, my eyes are playing tricks again, or is it me feeble mind? I never know these days.” He inclined his head in my direction, and then his mouth gaped open. He clutched his chest and sank down upon the chair. “Eliz…Elizabeth? Is it you? No! She is dead. Do I see a vision?”

    “I…am Elizabeth, Father. How did you know my name?”

    “You cannot be! Child, who are you?” His hand shook with such violence that I stepped forward and took the candle from him. “But it is you, my…my own Elizabeth.”

    His words frightened me. His ill health evident, I wondered if the priest might collapse before me. What should I do? Whom could I call upon for assistance?

    “Sir, I am Elizabeth Bennet.”

    “No, not Bennet…Willoughby. You are Elizabeth Willoughby…Darcy.”

    Elizabeth Willoughby Darcy!

    I took a step backwards. “I…I fear that you are confused, Father. My name is Elizabeth Bennet.”

    He shook his head and a tear slid down his cheek. “You are my Elizabeth, returned to me after all these years. You are come back from the grave.”

    “Sir, you do not know what you say. You must be ill. May I fetch something for your distress?” I scanned the room wondering where he might keep medicine.

    “No, stay before me, I beg of you. Do not leave. I must know from where you have come.”

    I glanced over my shoulder, hoping the rain had ceased. I had the strongest urge to flee the cottage. “I…I…”

    “Lass, tell me!”

    He had evidently known Elizabeth Willoughby in the past, but I had to make him understand that he was mistaken. Did I dare tell him I was her daughter? Oh, why was Mr. Darcy not with me at that moment? I took a deep breath. “Father, pray listen carefully. I am not Elizabeth Willoughby, for you spoke the truth. She died long ago.”

    He leaned forward and tugged at my hand until I knelt before him. Reaching for the candle once again, he searched my face. “You have her face, her smile, her beautiful hair…but the eyes…no, the eyes are not hers. The eyes are those of my mother.”

    I swallowed. “I have been told that I am the natural daughter of your neighbour in Derbyshire, Elizabeth Willoughby.”

    “Natural dau…what are you saying? That is not possible. You are mistaken, for Elizabeth had no child. And, yet…your every expression is hers. I cannot fathom it! This could not have happened as you say.”

    Shame washed over me, and I felt the heat of a blush overtaking my countenance. “It grieves me to cause you alarm, sir. I assumed that you knew of your brother’s liaison with my mother and of her death in childbirth.”

    At my words, he sank back against the chair, his face turned deadly white. “What are you saying? My brother? Which brother? I do not understand.”

    “Your oldest brother, Father, George Darcy.”

    “George? Preposterous! What would make you dream up such a falsehood?”

    Now, my mouth gaped, and I felt the room begin to spin. “George…George Darcy is my natural father. Lady Catherine said…she gave me his note…why should you doubt it, Father?”

    “Catherine? Catherine presumed to say that you are George’s daughter! I cannot take it in. Why? It defies all reason.”

    I sat back on my heels. “What are you saying, sir? Am I not George Darcy’s daughter?”

    “Of course not! Some monstrous trick has been played. You must be Eleanor’s daughter and…perhaps, Henry’s. Did he return to Pemberley when little Eleanor grew up?” His voice quavered. “Tell me, child, when were you born? The date…the year…when?”

    “1791 - the sixth of December.”

    He looked away as if he was counting. “The same year. Nine months later.” His face turned ashen, and his breathing grew shallow. “No, no, it cannot be. Oh, dear God, she must have been with child when I left Pemberley…with child when I was told she was dead!”

    I began to tremble. “Father, what are you saying? Forgive me, but I care not when you left Pemberley. Have mercy and tell me, who is my natural father? Could it be Henry Darcy?”

    He lifted his clouded, green eyes from the floor to meet mine, and I felt a chill of recognition. “No, not Henry…no, it can only be me. You must be my daughter, Elizabeth. And I am not your natural father. I am your father. I married Elizabeth Willoughby before you were conceived.”

    My stomach lurched violently, and I feared that I would be ill. Frantic that I would disgrace myself, I jumped to my feet and looked for an escape. Without another word, without explanation, reason, regard for either manners or the priest, I bolted from the room and out into the rain.

    I cannot tell you what happened thereafter, for all sense left me. I must have run down the path along the river a great distance. Hours later, I came to myself sitting beneath a tree, staring out at the rippling stream, not knowing where I was, or how I came to be there.

    Two phrases echoed round and round my head. I am not a bastard! I am not his sister!

    Chapter Fifteen

    Posted on Sunday, 21 October 2007

    When I regained my wits at last there on the banks of the River Bandon, I realized that the rain had evidently ceased sometime earlier, for my clothes were but slightly damp. I shivered, aware that the sun now sat low in the sky. Rising to my feet, I looked around, glad to see that although I had run far from the cottage in my befuddled state, I had not strayed from the river.

    I must return. Aunt Gardiner will worry, I thought, taking several steps toward the path, but then the realization of what I had learned in the priest’s cottage flooded my mind once more, and I stood absolutely still. I am not a bastard! I am not Mr. Darcy’s sister!

    The loveliest feeling I could imagine crept over me, and I began to smile. I smiled and smiled and smiled. I am not his sister! The words swirled around me like snowflakes, but instead of feeling chilled, a delicious warmth flooded my heart.

    I looked about for my bonnet, but evidently I had lost it somewhere along the way. I scanned the spot where I had sat, making sure I had not left my reticule behind. No, it hung from my wrist. I turned back to the path, raised my head, and caught my breath.

    There stood Mr. Darcy, his hat in his hand. “Elizabeth!”

    “Sir,” I whispered, for my voice had somehow vanished.

    He did not take a step toward me nor I toward him. We simply gazed at each other as though we might never drink our fill.

    He swallowed. “I…am not…we are not…brother and sister.”

    “I know.”

    And then, he dropped his hat. Before I could blink, he covered the distance between us, clasped my face between his hands, and covered my mouth with his! Hungrily, he kissed me, greedily prodding my lips until they parted, and I felt a fire well up from deep within that I never knew before.

    Just as suddenly, he released me, stepped back, and I watched his chest heave to and fro as he struggled for breath. I underwent my own struggle, attempting to grasp what had just happened between us. He lowered his chin and raised his eyes to stare at me from under his brows, as though he dared me to lash out at him.

    “What I did was improper,” he took a breath, “was it not?”

    I nodded, frowning a bit. Was that all he could think of – impropriety?

    He closed his eyes, a tortured look about his countenance. “I suppose you expect me to beg your forgiveness.”

    Did I dare speak honestly? I swallowed. “No.”

    His eyes flew open, incredulity therein. “No?”

    “No.” I took a step toward him, hoping he could see the light in my eyes.

    “Elizabeth, may I dare to hope?”

    “You may.” I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

    He looked to the river on his right, at the trees on his left, at the ground below, and, finally, he looked into my eyes as though he could not believe the words I had spoken. He shook his head. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were in April a year ago, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have only multiplied, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

    I closed my eyes and looked away, struggling not to weep, but he misread my actions.

    “I would not have you under obligation to me because of what just happened,” he said quickly. “There are no witnesses, and I swear that no one shall ever know of my transgression.”

    I turned back to meet his gaze. “I do feel under obligation.”

    “You do? But why?”

    “Be…because I wanted it to happen.”

    The nerve in his forehead twitched. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Inclining his head, he said, “You…wanted it to happen?”

    I could not help but smile then. “I did.”

    “Dearest Elizabeth, I have loved you for so long, and I hope…I pray…that you will be mine, for I simply cannot go on without you.”

    I took another step in his direction. “William, I will.”

    Delight suffused his face. He gathered me into his arms, and gently touched his mouth to mine. Soft, undemanding, caressing, his kiss awakened my desire even more. My arms reached up to encircle his neck, and I could not keep from entangling my fingers in his curls. My body yielded to his with need so fervent that it overwhelmed me. The fires we had banked for so long would not be denied.

    His lips moved across my forehead and my cheek, as he pulled my head onto his shoulder. “Oh, my lovely, lovely Elizabeth…I cannot breathe without you.”

    Fortunately, or unfortunately - however one chooses to look at it - our good sense eventually returned before we gave into our passion there by the river. The sun had almost disappeared over the woods behind us by the time we returned to the bridge and, consequently, to the house where our companions awaited. When we had passed Father Darcy’s cottage, I asked if we should make certain he was well. William ran up the slight hill while I waited below. He spoke briefly to a priest at the door, but did not go in, before returning.

    “That was Father Rafferty. He had come only a moment or two before I concluded my earlier visit. I asked him to tell Uncle Peter that I had found you and that you are well. The priest said he insisted that my uncle retire, but that he had not yet fallen asleep, so he will inform him. I fear he was quite overcome with the day’s revelations. He expects us on the morrow, for he has much to say, and I have many questions to be answered.”

    “As do I.”

    We had talked during the entire walk back to the village. He told me that he and Georgiana had returned to the house from Castelaine late in the afternoon to find Mrs. Gardiner alarmed at my extended absence. She feared that I had been caught in the heavy downpour. William had gone immediately to search the village, eventually learning at the pub that someone had seen me walking in the direction of the river. He followed the path, discovered the priest’s cottage, and inquired therein, whereupon he found his uncle and heard the shocking news. They had spent no little time attempting to grasp what had happened when Father Rafferty arrived and saw that his friend and mentor was ailing. Leaving the younger priest to see to his uncle, William had resumed his search for me.

    I was amazed that I had run so far, obviously in a stupor.

    “If I had not found you, Elizabeth,” he said right before we reached the house, “I could not have rallied.”

    “You must not say such things.”

    “Perhaps not, but it is true. I have never feared any man, but my need for you…it is so great, it frightens me. Promise that you will never leave me.”

    “I will not leave,” I whispered just before the servant opened the door for us.

    Inside, we struggled to rein in our emotions, but my aunt’s quizzical expression upon greeting us showed that we failed. While walking, we had decided to refrain from telling Georgiana any of what we had learned until after we had spoken to Father Darcy again. After all, the story was not just mine, but my father’s, and we knew that it would not only affect his standing in the church and the parish but his very life. I feared for his fragile health and prayed that the shock would not cause him serious harm.

    Before dinner, I enjoyed a hot bath and directed the maid to restyle my hair. I picked my brightest gown, and the maid nodded in approval when she finished my coiffure.

    “You look particularly well tonight, Miss Bennet.”

    I smiled. In truth, I could not yet keep from smiling. All the joy I thought I had lost, all the love I had repressed for almost a year, now bubbled up without restraint. I simply could not contain my happiness. My aunt walked into the room just as the maid carried the wet towels out the door.

    As simply as possible, I told her of what had happened at Peter Darcy’s cottage and how I had responded, how Mr. Darcy found me, and that we had professed our love for each other. She, in turn, was not only relieved but also exceedingly pleased that I was to be happy at last with the man I loved. The moment we had returned, she had guessed, of course, that something momentous had occurred to provoke the elation that neither Mr. Darcy nor I could conceal.

    Throughout the meal, I felt William’s eyes upon me like a gentle caress, and I am certain that my love for him shone forth each time I looked up and met his gaze. Georgiana had not failed to notice the change in her brother’s mood, but, fortunately, she did not recognize the connection between us as the cause.

    “I think that walk in the rain did you good, Wills.”

    “Indeed?”

    “Yes, your spirits have lightened. I declare that I have not seen you this happy in months.”

    “I believe you are right, my sweet little sister. I must walk in the rain more often.”

    She smiled innocently, and I clutched my napkin to my face to hide my amusement.

    Following dinner, Georgiana played on the small pianoforte Lord Killaine had installed before we arrived. Although she deemed it inferior to the one her brother had given her at Pemberley, she still coaxed one lilting tune after another from its keys.

    Suddenly, Mr. Darcy rose. “I am in serious need of a reel!”

    “A reel!” Georgiana cried, clapping her hands. “Oh, yes, I know the perfect Irish song.”

    “Come, everyone,” he demanded. “We must all join in.”

    Shock evident upon their faces, Mrs. Annesley and Mrs. Gardiner laid their needlework aside, wondering aloud at the astonishing announcement. Mr. Darcy called the servants and assisted them in quickly shoving the settee, chairs, tables, and chaise back against the walls.

    “Now, let us participate. Yes, all of you, ladies, come now. Mrs. Gardiner, you may partner with Mrs. Annesley…and Elizabeth, you shall dance with me.” Mr. Darcy graced me with a most tender look. It took all my strength not to run into his arms.

    The older ladies protested at first, but the gentleman would not be dissuaded. He signalled Georgiana to begin, and held out his hands, indicating that all four of us should join hands in a circle. With commencement of the first notes, much hilarity ensued as we skipped and bounced our way around the room, Mr. Darcy calling out encouragement with each change in pattern. Never had I seen him behave with such selfless abandonment. We laughed until, after three songs, Mrs. Gardiner begged to be seated, complaining that the merriment had caused a stitch in her side.

    To quench our thirst, we sipped sherry and continued to laugh and visit for some time. Conversation sparkled, for Mr. Darcy regaled us with one amusing anecdote after another. Where had this man been hiding all my life? Discarding the burden from his heart had freed him in more ways than I ever imagined. I knew he possessed a reserved nature, and I doubted that tonight’s excess of spirit signalled a permanent alteration in his character. Nonetheless, such knowledge did not keep me from thoroughly enjoying the elation he allowed himself to exhibit that particular evening.

    At length, the ladies and Georgiana began to yawn and eventually bade their goodnights. I lingered a bit, hoping to snatch a moment alone with William.

    “Are you coming, Lizzy?” my aunt asked, walking toward the door.

    “In a moment, Aunt.”

    She cocked her head. “Be sure to look in on me before you retire, my dear.”

    “I shall.”

    “And do not be long.”

    I nodded, knowing she would not sleep until I had done as she wished. Once the door closed behind her, however, William caught my hand and pulled me to him.

    “She knows, does she not?”

    “She does, and she is more than pleased for us. I could not keep from telling her.”

    “I am glad you did. I long to step outside the door and shout to the entire world, ‘Elizabeth Bennet loves me!’”

    I laughed and leaned my head back to gaze up at him.

    “Do you know how much I love you?” he said softly.

    “Yes, but I should dearly love to hear you tell me all the same.”

    “I would rather show you,” he whispered, gathering me close. I lifted my face to his and felt myself surrender as his lips covered mine. Softly, he caressed my mouth, nibbling and teasing until my lips parted, and he captured my mouth, provoking delicious waves of desire to flood over me. Unknowingly, I spread my hands over his chest, stroking repeatedly until I reached his face. His arms had encircled my waist, and he pulled me nearer and nearer.

    “Oh, Elizabeth, I cannot hold you close enough,” he whispered in my hair.

    “You shall. Never fear, William, you shall.”

    He smiled, softly tracing his thumb along my chin. “Such a long time to wait.” He groaned. “How shall I survive until we return to Longbourn? Think of that sea voyage that awaits us!”

    “I have every confidence in you. Once you set your mind to something, your will is ironclad.” My tone was gently mocking.

    “Except when it comes to you. My love, you will always be my weakness.”

    “I cannot picture you with any weakness.”

    “Now that you are privy to my confession, you must be merciful.”

    I smiled. “Then, for mercy’s sake, I shall leave you now.”

    “What kind of compassion is that?” he cried, reaching for me as I stepped out of his arms. “That will not relieve my suffering.”

    “Still, it is prudent, for if I do not, I fear that my aunt will soon walk through the door to fetch me.”

    He sighed. “If you must.” I took another step from him, when he pulled me back. “One more kiss before parting.”

    Reclaiming my lips, he proceeded to take my breath away once again, and it was with the greatest difficulty that, at length, I managed to break loose from his embrace and climb the stairs. He watched me ascend, but when I reached halfway, he covered the distance between us in two long strides. Clasping my face in his hands, he kissed me quickly, released me, and then kissed me again.

    I have never taken longer to reach my chamber than I did on that glorious night.

    The next morning, I awakened late. I had slept better than I had for more than a year. Consequently, I walked into an empty breakfast room. As the servant set steaming coffee and muffins exuding a scrumptious aroma in front of me, he said that Master Darcy had gone out, and the ladies were assembled in the parlour.

    Surely, William has not left for Peter Darcy’s cottage without me, I hoped.

    “Please ask Mrs. Gardiner to join me,” I directed the servant. Within moments, she walked into the sun-lit room, dressed to go out, but for her pelisse.

    “You are up at last, Lizzy.”

    “Forgive me, I did not know it was so late.”

    She waved her hand to dismiss my apology and hastened to announce that all of us were to call upon Father Darcy that afternoon. Mr. Darcy had gone on some errands but would return within the hour to escort us.

    “All of us? What do you mean, Aunt? Has Mr. Darcy informed Georgiana of what transpired yesterday?”

    She assured me that he had not, but stated that he thought it proper to introduce his sister to his uncle as soon as possible. He had arranged with Mrs. Gardiner that, after a suitably short visit, she would suggest that Georgiana and her companion join her for a walk along the river. Mr. Darcy and I would remain behind so that we might talk with the priest alone.

    “Will Georgiana not question why I fail to accompany you, for she knows I am fond of walking?”

    “You are to say that you are tired from your long sojourn in the rain the day before, and that you prefer to wait in the priest’s cottage until we return.” Mrs. Gardiner smiled as though she enjoyed this small attempt at subterfuge. She also said that she longed for Mr. Gardiner to join us, so that Mr. Darcy could formally ask his blessings upon our union. In Papá’s absence, he would stand in as my guardian.

    Perhaps, I thought, William ought to ask my true father for his permission.

    Our plans for the afternoon succeeded with nary a snag. I was glad to see that Father Darcy had survived the night after receiving such a shock. It was distressing, however, to see that he was unable to rise from his bed. Father Rafferty ushered us in and explained that the older priest’s strength had failed him that morning. Father Darcy, however, was pleased to meet his niece, and he was cordial to her companion and my aunt, but I noticed that his eyes rarely left my person. The younger priest cautioned us not to stay too long, which aided in my aunt’s plot to remove Georgiana, her companion, and herself after only a brief visit. Father Rafferty also left at the same time, assuring his friend that he would return later that evening.

    Once they departed, Mr. Darcy questioned his uncle as to the true status of his health and whether he wished us to withdraw also. The priest dismissed his nephew’s concern.

    “I must talk to Elizabeth. I must tell her how it all happened. You may stay, Fitzwilliam, for I think you should hear this also, especially since you have suffered from Catherine’s tale about George.”

    Mr. Darcy sat in a chair at the foot of his uncle’s bed, while I settled myself in the chair nearest my father. I leaned forward so that I might hear every word he wished to say and gazed into a pair of eyes that matched mine, but for their age.

    “Dearest child, you truly are my daughter. Although you are the image of your mother, I can see bits of myself in you as well. What must you think of me, leaving you to be reared by another?”

    “Let us not speak of that now, Father. I so long to understand what happened all those years ago.”

    He reached out his hand and patted my cheek before closing his eyes. Seeming to travel back in time, my father began his tale.

    “I fell in love with Elizabeth Willoughby during the summer of 1790. I had returned home from Cambridge and found myself restless, finally accepting the bitter truth that I did not wish to be an Anglican vicar as my father had planned before his death and as my older brother presumed I would do. After spending countless hours at my ailing mother’s bedside, listening to her urge me to remain true to my Catholic faith, I, at last, tired of the emotional struggle and sought refuge on the back of my favourite horse. Several times a week, we roamed the trails that led us throughout the hills and woods of Derbyshire.

    “One day after a particularly long, hot ride, I dismounted some distance from the grounds at Pemberley and threw myself down on a grassy expanse. I allowed my horse to nibble at the tender, green shoots while I rested. I had almost fallen asleep, when I heard a rustling in the trees and the distinct melodic tone of a girl’s laughter. I rose, followed the sound, and crept into the wood, whereupon I heard footsteps retreating through the bush. A flash of colour appeared before my eyes, and I darted after it in full pursuit.

    “She led me on a merry chase before I caught her, but I was well rewarded with my snare. For there before me stood a barefoot girl with laughing eyes, a wild tangle of dark curls streaming down her back, and an arch smile upon her lips that proved enchanting.

    “When she identified herself as Elizabeth Willoughby, I could not believe the beautiful creature who stood before me was our neighbour’s little girl from Bridesgate Manor, whom I had seen now and then through the years. When had she grown up? And why had I never before noticed how lovely she was?

    “From that moment, we became inseparable. She was as natural as the forest she loved and yet foreign to every woman I had ever known before in my one and twenty years. A freedom possessed her – freedom from drawing rooms, parlour conversation, pretence, and convention. It was as though she and the earth were one, and outdoors, under God’s benevolent eye, hidden deep in the woods that adjoined Pemberley and Bridesgate, she thrived as a healthy rosebud responds to generous helpings of rain and golden sunlight.

    “I found everything she did and said fascinating, and she, in turn, encouraged my company. She shared her favourite haunts, while I entertained her with tales of my life at Cambridge and of my family’s plans for me to inherit the living at Kympton.

    ‘That means you are to be a vicar,’ she said.

    ‘And therein dwells the dilemma.’

    ‘I do not understand. Do you not wish for a career in the church?’

    ‘Not the Anglican church.’

    “I then explained to her about my mother’s Irish heritage, about her elopement with my father, subsequent break with her family, and of her living a lie throughout her marriage. I told how she had attended Anglican services all those years with her husband and sons, allowed her children to be raised in the Protestant religion, and yet yearned in her heart for all of us to someday become members of the true church. Elizabeth, of course, had no idea of what true church I spoke, but she was as open and innocent as a child when I began to teach her Catholic doctrine.

    “Eventually, we visited the small chapel in the woods at Pemberley that my father had allowed built for my mother. There, Elizabeth accepted further instruction in the faith from the priest, Father Ayden. It was not long before she professed a desire to become baptized. After doing so, she received Our Lord in Holy Communion and completed the necessary studies for Confirmation. All this was done in secret, of course, and our growing relationship remained hidden.

    “Elizabeth’s younger sister, Eleanor, often accompanied us on our jaunts in the woods, but she was afraid of the priest and would not enter the church with us. She did, however, keep watch without to make certain we were not discovered. We made it into a sort of game, which she found highly entertaining, and she was only too pleased to play at what she considered an adventure. Eleanor had no idea at the gravity of her sister’s decision, nor how serious Elizabeth and I had grown in our feelings for one another.

    “My mother’s illness progressed that autumn, and I postponed my return to Cambridge because of it. I had always been particularly close to her, and she sought my presence even more as her condition deteriorated. She became obsessed with the idea that I move to Ireland, her homeland, where I might practice my faith without causing repercussions upon the futures of my brothers. My father had died some years earlier, and George, who was eight years my senior, had assumed his place as head of the family. He had married Anne, a titled lady, whose connections could assist George in any future ambitions he might entertain.

    ‘Once I am dead,’ my mother said, ‘George will be free of what this country considers the Catholic taint. If you go to Ireland, Peter, there will be no one to hold George back. And you might also re-establish contact with my family in County Cork. I trust that my brothers’ hearts have softened and that they will take you in. When you reach the shores, call upon Lord Killaine. He will aid you, once he learns you are my son and that you have embraced the church.’

    “Of course, my mother knew nothing of my affection for Elizabeth, nor my horror at the thought of leaving the girl behind. Whenever she had a good day, which grew ever less frequent as the months passed, Mother made meticulous plans for financing my leave-taking. She urged me to keep it our secret, for she and I both knew that George would never approve.

    “Sadly, she died three weeks after Christmas. It was a bitterly cold day in January, and I felt the loss most acutely. I sought refuge at the chapel in the woods, and it was not long before Elizabeth found me weeping there. She shared my grief, not because she knew Mother well, but because she loved me. Any emotion either of us felt dominated the other, for our spirits were bound to each other.

    “The day my brothers and I buried Mother, Elizabeth and I made plans to marry. We enlisted the aid of the parish priest, and I travelled to London to secure a special licence, telling my brothers that I was calling upon a friend from school. We could tell the truth to neither of our families, for her brother would have forbidden it and never given his consent, especially when he learned that I had influenced his sister to change her religion. I also knew that George and Lady Anne would not understand. After all, my education was not complete, nor did I possess much of a future, for now that I was Catholic, I could never accept the living at Kympton.

    “Elizabeth’s brother, Sir Linton Willoughby, was an ambitious but lazy scoundrel.”

    Mr. Darcy gave a disgusted grunt of agreement and rose from his chair.

    “I see you have discovered that for yourself, Fitzwilliam.” Father Darcy asked for water, which I quickly brought to his bedside. “Thank you, my dear.” He sipped from the glass before returning it to me.

    “Having assumed leadership of his family after his father’s demise, Willoughby had already wasted much of his fortune. He was his mother’s favourite, however, and she denied him nothing. Together, they had determined to marry Elizabeth to Lord Dudley Haversham, a balding, stout, old widower twice Elizabeth’s age. Plans to secure the alliance during the approaching season in Town were already underway, for Sir Dudley’s lust for young women was well known. Thus, it was essential that I married Elizabeth before she was forced to depart Derbyshire.

    “To comply with the legalities of the Crown, we married on the first of March, 1791, in the Anglican church in which the vicar had baptised us and in the faith he assumed we yet professed. I secured his pledge and that of the witnesses, his wife and daughter, to keep the union secret until we informed our families. Afterwards, we proceeded to the Catholic chapel where Father Ayden married us before God. Two transient Irish laborers working temporarily in the country, whom Father Ayden had given shelter for the night, witnessed our vows. They made their marks, and on the morrow they went on their way. We planned to announce our marriage to both of our families two weeks later just before the Willoughbys were to leave for Town. That gave me sufficient time to confirm our passage to Ireland from the funds my mother had quietly hidden away for me in a distant county with a banker unknown to George.

    “I shall not share with you how and where Elizabeth and I managed to be together during those two weeks, but be assured that I was as resourceful as any man violently in love. We determined to tell our news to Lady Willoughby and Sir Linton before we confessed the marriage to George and Lady Anne. Our plans, however, fell short at Bridesgate, and I never told George that I had married.

    “Sir Linton erupted into a rage that I have never witnessed before or since. He vowed that he would annul the marriage, and that our wedding was invalid because Elizabeth was underage when she married and when she converted to what he called the Papist religion. He said he would see me in hell before he ever allowed me near his sister again. He declared that Elizabeth would marry Lord Haversham, and, that if I made any attempt to change his plans, he would destroy my family’s reputation. Ordering Elizabeth confined to her room, he drove me from Bridesgate.”

    By that time in his uncle’s narrative, Mr. Darcy had begun to pace back and forth.

    “My first thought was to enlist George’s aid, but he and Lady Anne had not yet returned from Town. They had travelled there with Henry to commence plans for his enlistment in His Majesty’s service. I was wild with anger, fear, and frustration. I had no one at Pemberley to call upon for help, and I knew that the Willoughbys planned to leave Derbyshire the very next day. At last, I raced through the woods to the chapel and sought Father Ayden’s counsel. We discussed my options at length, and he advised me to return to Bridesgate that night after Sir Linton’s temper had cooled. He could not believe the man would not listen to reason once he settled down, and the priest assured me that Elizabeth’s brother would not annul our marriage.

    “That night, I hastened to see Sir Linton. A tremendous storm broke just as I climbed the stone steps to the entrance of the house. I recall how the butler refused me entry, evidently at his master’s orders, and I stood out in the rain, waiting. At length, Sir Linton appeared and that is when…the unthinkable happened.”

    Father Darcy’s voice broke, and I watched tears fill his eyes. He clutched his chest and inhaled sharply. I rose hastily and fetched the powder he had shown me earlier. I stirred it into another glass of water. Mr. Darcy assisted him in sitting up, and the priest sipped the concoction for some time before resuming his tale. As I turned to sit once more in the chair, he caught my hand.

    “Stay close beside me, lass. Sit on the bed, pray, for my strength falters.”

    I eased myself down beside him, for I, too, had noticed the weakness of his voice. “Perchance you have said enough for today, Father.”

    He made a feeble gesture in protest. “No…no, I must tell you, before I am no longer able to do so. You, of all people, have a right to know.” He swallowed visibly and fixed his eyes on some unseen object in the distance. He remained silent so long that I feared he was lapsing into some sort of vision, but, just as I despaired of his return to the story, he rallied and began again.

    “That night, at the commencement of that terrible storm, Willoughby told me that my Elizabeth was dead. Dead…even after all these years, I still find it difficult to say the word.”

    “A bold-faced lie!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed, balling his hands into fists.

    “Yes, Fitzwilliam,” Father Darcy agreed, “but I did not know it until yesterday. Willoughby said she had fallen down the stairs from the second floor and broken her neck. Shock and outrage consumed me. I wanted to throttle him, but he slammed the door in my face with a hatred I shall never forget. I cannot recall much of what happened after that. I must have wandered through the woods like a madman all night, for, at dawn, I came to myself on the steps of the chapel, soaked and chilled from the rain.

    “Inside, I threw myself before the altar and cried out my despair. The next thing I remember was Father Ayden’s endless questions as to the cause of my sorrow. I grasped little of what he said, other than something about allowing God to work in my life.”

    “Out of my mind with grief, I fell into a raging fever. Father Ayden put me to bed in his quarters and tended to my needs. I remember begging him to return to Bridesgate and give Elizabeth the last rites before her brother had her buried. When he suggested returning me to Pemberley or at least going there to inform George, I insisted that he do as I ask and go to Bridesgate instead. I assured him that all my family were in London, so a visit to Pemberley would be useless.

    “I remained with him for several days, eventually growing stronger. Upon my recovery, Father Ayden told me of what had transpired at Bridesgate. Armed men hired by Willoughby met him at the entrance to the grounds. The steward informed the priest that he was not welcome and neither he nor Peter Darcy would be admitted under any circumstances. Father Ayden asked to see Elizabeth’s body, but was told that she had already been buried in an unmarked grave in a secluded place unknown to anyone but Sir Linton. A burly footman made a menacing gesture with his weapon lending force to the words of Willoughby’s steward.

    ‘Sir Linton says to tell Mr. Peter Darcy he is not welcome at Bridesgate, that if he or anyone from that Papist church trespasses, our orders are to treat him as any common intruder.’

    “I did not return to Pemberley. I did not write to George or Henry in Town. Within the week, I recovered enough to depart for Holyhead, where I booked passage on a ship sailing for Dublin, and made my way to my mother’s home county. The banker my mother had trusted gave me his pledge of secrecy. I also secured Father Ayden’s vow of silence about the matter before leaving, for I now feared for his safety as well as that of my family. To my way of thinking, Willoughby had become insane.”

    “But why?” Mr. Darcy cried. “Why did you not go to Father and enlist his aid?”

    The old priest closed his eyes. “To this day, my boy, I do not know why I failed to inform my family of my whereabouts. Perhaps, I was simply too overcome with my own misery to think clearly. When Henry found me fourteen years later, that, too, was his first question, but I did not have an answer, and I still do not. By that time, I wore the cassock I wear today. Perhaps, I knew that George would never approve my decision to join the priesthood, and I did not wish to endure the aggravation of his censure. I freely admit that is not an adequate reason, and I regret having caused Lady Anne and George, as well as Henry, anguish over my disappearance.

    “I never told any of them about my marriage to Elizabeth. After all, she was gone, and the entire union had existed no longer than a fortnight. When Henry did not mention the Willoughbys, I assumed Sir Linton’s wrath had subsided and he had kept it quiet, wishing to hide the news of what he considered his sister’s disgrace from even my family.

    “Now, you tell me that Elizabeth did not die as her brother falsely said, that she died some nine months later in childbirth. How deserted she must have felt! What must she have thought of my forsaking her? A coward…surely, she must have considered me the lowliest of cowards. I cannot forgive myself for having left her.” Tears trickled down his worn, lined cheeks.

    “Sir Linton is the one I shall never forgive,” Mr. Darcy declared, and I murmured my agreement. He walked across the room to the window. He stood there some time before turning to face us. “What I wonder is exactly how much my father knew of this matter.”

    “What do you mean?” I asked.

    “Did he know that Elizabeth Willoughby had married Uncle Peter, or did he believe her child was illegitimate?”

    “According to Lady Catherine, he believed the latter,” I said.

    “But…did Lady Catherine tell us the truth?”

    Father Darcy sighed. “If I know Catherine, she told as much truth as she needed to satisfy her demands.”

    “She demanded that I never engage myself to Mr. Darcy,” I said.

    “Exactly,” Mr. Darcy said. “And she professed to believe that Elizabeth was the natural daughter of George Darcy. Surely, my father would never have told such a lie, even to protect you, Uncle Peter. I say that a call upon my aunt is in order as soon as we return to England.”

    “And I shall write to Miss Willoughby this evening,” I added. “I would be very interested in knowing how much of the story she assumed that we knew, but did not.”

    “Is Eleanor happy?” Father Darcy asked. “She was such a lively little girl. Her laugh was contagious – one could not keep from smiling when hearing her.”

    I sighed. “She has not had an easy life, living with her brother, but I am thankful to report that she bears a pleasant expression and a kind manner. She never married, but she seems content.”

    A light tap on the door signalled the ladies’ return. They waited without as we made our good-byes.

    “Shall you visit me tomorrow, my dear?” the priest asked, clinging to my hand. I assured him that I would. “Then, God give me strength so I may begin to beg your forgiveness on the morrow.”

    “There is nothing to forgive, Father. You have been sinned against as much as I."

    Continued In Next Section

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