A Peculiar Connection (11 page)

I walked back to the portrait of my father. I still could not find myself hidden within his features. Above his painting and to the left hung a portrait of a man in a naval uniform. I glanced from the man’s face to that of one of the three young boys. Yes, I could see it was Henry Darcy, the youngest son. At even a young age, he had a mischievous gleam in his eye, as though he longed for adventure. It caused my heart to warm, and I smiled in return. There was something about him…

Someone cleared her throat. I startled somewhat, for I had been preoccupied and failed to notice Mrs. Reynolds’s arrival.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. I did not mean to surprise you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see his portrait.”

“It is very fine, is it not, ma’am?”

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

She cleared her throat before answering. “That gentleman’s portrait was never painted as I recall, ma’am, because of the disgrace.”

“Disgrace?”

She lowered her eyes and pressed her lips together.

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

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

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

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

“But his own brother’s likeness does not exist? Come now, Mrs. Reynolds, did he turn into a brigand?”

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

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

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

“Disappeared?”

She nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight little line. “He up and vanished without a word to anyone. The family did not know his whereabouts for a long time. It caused Mr. George Darcy and my lady much anguish. Years later, they finally learned his destination, but he has never set foot on Pemberley since that time. ’Tis unfortunate that he ran away before his likeness could be taken.”

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

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

Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to avoid his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings and errands for which she might employ her cousin.

Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father’s youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his dreary silence and avoidance of me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons were broached, and no further forays into Pemberley’s attics were suggested. In truth, Mr. Darcy said scarcely more than was necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming much of his attention.

I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening’s consumption of spirits diminished his enjoyment of the morning light.

We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.

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

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

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

“I do not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Without a suitable dowry?”

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

I felt a hand on my arm. “Elizabeth?”

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

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

Oh, ’tis too late now
, I told myself with a sigh as I joined her in the hall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Darcy is all kindness and generosity.”

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

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

He held my hand as we joined the promenade. “I confess I have had little time. My father has assigned me the onerous task of supervising the removal of rubbish from Bridesgate’s attics.”

I smiled. “A delightful task I am sure.”

“Indeed. You would not believe the collection of personal mementos left by the Willoughby family. Deciding what to keep or discard has driven me to distraction. I am tempted to direct the servants to throw out the entire lot, but my father insists I retain any item that might be valuable, if only for sentimentality, until Sir Linton Willoughby arrives next week.”

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

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