Mr. Darcy's Secret (15 page)

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For all her outspoken words Elizabeth showed a united front with her husband at the dinner table, though it was difficult to be the light, bright, and sparkling conversationalist that Mrs Darcy had become renowned for amongst her neighbours. Thankfully, Lady Catherine made no further reference to their earlier conversation and Elizabeth resolved to keep the matter to herself for the time being. Lady Catherine had not had her questions confirmed and Lizzy decided that if she was so impertinent to hint at such a thing again that she would deny all possibility. Mr Darcy's aunt held court, much as she had done at Rosings when Elizabeth had been invited there with Charlotte Collins the previous summer. Poor Georgiana was bombarded with questions and with so many recommendations as to the correct conduct of an engaged young woman that Elizabeth wished she could have intervened more than she did. At length the evening was broken up. Mrs Darcy retired to her bedchamber feeling as weary as she ever had. The fact that her husband did not instantly follow her had only a momentary regret; the instant her head touched the pillow she fell fast asleep.

When she awoke, however, he was not there. Whether he had risen early or whether he had not slept in their bed she could not decide at first, but the neatness and lack of depression upon his pillow finally persuaded her that he had not in fact slept there during the night. Elizabeth sighed. He was the most stubborn man she had ever known, she decided. Fitzwilliam was behaving like a child who could not get his own way. "I am not going to report to him for everything I do or say," she said to herself, "and if I give in to him now I shall never be my own person again." Yet despite her brave thoughts and her self-assurance, she was very upset that he was not lying there beside her. In their short married life together they had never before spent a night apart. Disagreements were unpalatable; she had never felt at such variance with any other person in her life; and to dispute in such a manner with the man she loved most in the world was so dreadful and alarming. Quite what she was to do about it, she did not know.

A knock on the door had her alert and sitting up in bed in expectation. Her disappointment she felt deeply when her maid entered, though the sight of a cup of tea with the post was most cheering.

There was a letter from Jane which she eagerly read first, a letter from her sister Lydia in Newcastle asking for money, and the third, scribed in a hand she did not recognise, not only gave her cause for great upset but was also anonymously written.

Dear Mrs Darcy,

Your husband's heart belongs to someone else. If you need proof ask Mrs Tissington of Birchlow about Master George's true parentage. If not for certain conditions imposed upon his real mother and father, he would be the next rightful heir to the Pemberley fortunes.

A well-wisher.

The postmark was a London one, a district she did not know. This hastily penned, cruel missive written in a scribbled hand with the sole design to cause mischief left Lizzy feeling greatly disturbed. Despite telling herself that it was all nonsense, an invention created to wreak havoc in her marriage, she could not help but dwell on the message it contained. That Fitzwilliam had lately been seen in the vicinity of Birchlow village and talking to a boy matching George Tissington's description gave rise to great feelings of apprehension and trepidation, but what should she do about it? In any case, Darcy had never disguised the fact that he knew the boy and his mother. Questioning her husband or showing him the letter would suggest that she considered him under suspicion. The more she thought about it, the more Elizabeth rejected the ideas and the contents of the cruel note. The implication that George Tissington's father was Mr Darcy was the worst possible insinuation. To do nothing seemed the favoured option; to contemplate anything else was too awful. Besides, Elizabeth refused to believe such a lie, such a degradation of truth, and getting out of bed she threw the vile paper on the fire, watching it smoulder and burn until it vanished into smoke.

Mr Darcy, Georgiana, and Lady Catherine were already seated at breakfast in the parlour set aside for its special use. Lady Catherine looked up as Elizabeth entered the room.

"I have given instructions to Reynolds for the special tisane I was telling you about, Mrs Darcy," she began. "It will help to alleviate the symptoms with which you suffer."

Aware that she had blushed to the roots of her hair, Lizzy muttered her thanks and sat down, averting her eyes from Mr Darcy who stared at her in that uncompromising way he had. "I hope you slept well, Lady Catherine," she said, helping herself to a bread roll. Unable to face anything else, her symptoms felt stronger than ever this morning.

"Quite well, thank you," the lady replied, keeping her eyes firmly fixed upon Elizabeth's countenance. "Perhaps you would fare better if you slept late in the mornings, Mrs Darcy. Take my advice, you cannot be too careful in your situation."

Mr Darcy looked from his aunt to his wife with a quizzical expression unable to comprehend the subject of their discourse.

"What a pity it is that you are unable to stay longer, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth persisted, determined to change the subject.

"Yes, my hosts are always grieved when I must leave, but I must hasten to Rosings to prepare for the London season. I hope to see you there, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana. You have never yet missed my first soiree of the season, Darcy, and my friends will expect you."

"Oh, but I am not sure if we plan to go to London this time," said Elizabeth, knowing that they had already discussed the fact that they wished to be at Pemberley for the foreseeable future.

"But Georgiana will want to enjoy everything London has to offer in the company of her fiance, I am sure," barked Lady Catherine. "Surely you do not wish to deny her that great pleasure. You long to go to London, do you not, Georgiana?"

Georgiana looked down into her hands. Elizabeth thought she had never seen anyone look less willing to go anywhere.

"We have not yet made any firm decision," announced Mr Darcy, contradicting his wife and glancing at her over the breakfast table.

"Good, that is settled then. I shall expect to see you shortly in town, Darcy," said Lady Catherine, an expression of triumph on her countenance. "The first Friday in March is the date, as you well know, and I will expect to see you all, your health permitting, Mrs Darcy. Well, I cannot sit here in idle chatter any longer; I must be away. Have you a letter for Mrs Collins, Mrs Darcy? I expect you are in constant communication at present and on a most particular subject."

"I wrote only yesterday to Charlotte, thank you, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth replied, wishing she would hurry up and go. Her comments were bound to instigate some queries from Mr Darcy and she did not want to talk to him about anything at present. She would fulfil her role as dutiful wife whilst Lady Catherine was present, but she was not sure that she was ready to forgive Fitzwilliam for yesterday's tirade. Besides, there were other matters on her mind that had to be resolved before she made her peace with him.

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Lady Catherine left for Rosings eventually, without making many more insinuating remarks, to Elizabeth's great relief. She was ashamed to admit it to herself, but she was glad that Darcy's aunt had gone. The old lady had wavered at the last moment before flouncing off to her carriage as if mortally wounded by all she witnessed about her. At least the steps towards a reconciliation had taken place and Fitzwilliam had resumed a relationship with his aunt, a fact which Lizzy considered her doing. It would take more than one visit, she knew; Darcy would still have to be the person to engineer the rift, but he had made the first move to accomplishing this very thing.

Mrs Reynolds appeared the moment Lady Catherine departed with a request for Elizabeth to advise her on what was required for dinners during the forthcoming week, so Lizzy was glad of the excuse to leave her husband's side. He had estate matters to attend and so she knew he would be occupied for the morning, at least. The discussion with Mrs Reynolds did not take long, leaving Mrs Darcy with time on her hands. Needing to think, she took herself off to her sitting room, but on passing the library door en route she had another idea--one which, however much she told herself might not be a good one, nevertheless took hold, taking her footsteps in that direction.

Recalling the shelf where she had found the book on Christmas day was not difficult and by using the library steps she managed to find what she was looking for with ease. Her heart was hammering as she took out the slim volume, her fingers shaking as she removed the letters from their hiding place.

The first was the one she recalled reading. The second she did not hesitate to open.

November 20, 1792

Darling Orsini,

I am writing to you in good spirits under the circumstances. I am well; indeed, we are both in good health. Everything has turned out much as could be expected, but I miss you more than words can express. It was not your doing to send me away, I know, yet the cruelty of my situation is one that nobody should ever have to endure. Not that I blame you, my love; I know left to you I would not have been treated so shabbily.

I expect you are curious to hear about little G. whom you have not yet seen but that, I trust, will be a pleasure soon afforded. The babe is fat and healthy--with dark, curly locks, not unlike those I've seen in countless family portraits at P. I wish you could see him; when he opens his eyes he has such an earnest way of looking; he is quite the little gentleman already. Your wish to provide, to look after us is exactly the gesture I hoped you would make, and I know that your word is as good as your heartfelt actions. Fate has cruelly separated us for the time being, but I know you too well to expect anything less than unerring devotion for myself and little G. They cannot and will not separate us forever. I love you more than words will ever express and, if he too could show his adoration, I know he would. When the time is right I am certain that you will redress the situation and accomplish what is right for us all. Believe me when I say that you have never been from my thoughts; if it had been in my power we would never have parted.

Come soon,

My love always,

Viola and little G.

Elizabeth knew she had made a terrible mistake as soon as the letter was read. To her mind there was only one interpretation. The date, the information, everything confirmed what Elizabeth suspected. Eleven years--the lapse of time seemed too exact a science to be a mere twist of fate. George, little G. must be Viola Wickham's son, George Tissington, and his father... could there be any other explanation? Elizabeth could not bring herself to voice his name even in her mind. It would appear that the discovery of the union between Viola and Darcy had ended with them being parted by the family. Miss Wickham must have been sent away in disgrace, but quite what had happened when the baby was born still seemed unclear. That he had been taken away from his mother, perhaps unwillingly, seemed a great possibility. Placed in the custody of Mrs Tissington, at least the Darcys had scruples enough to see to the boy's welfare, but it all appeared to be a very wicked business. Had Darcy been in love with Viola? Was he bound by duty alone to look after the boy? Two questions plagued her more than any other. Had he broken off all ties with Viola, and was there any fragment of that former regard Mr Darcy had had for her? Did he perhaps still secretly love Viola with the passion of a love thwarted? She struggled with all these notions, but there didn't seem to be any straightforward answer. And there was another thing: Miss Wickham and Mr Darcy may have been in love, but how much better could he be said to have behaved than Mr Wickham in his seductions of Georgiana and Lydia? This was such an awful thought that Elizabeth buried it as soon as it surfaced.

Just touching the letters was distasteful; she wished she had not read them, and replaced them as soon as she could. Satisfied that the bookshelf looked as it had before she entered the library, no one would be any the wiser, she thought. She must go and find solace in her sitting room where she could think about it all rationally and look for any other explanation that could ease her present mind.

Balanced as she was on the library steps, the next step down was lower than she realised and in her haste to get away she completely missed her footing, which caught her off balance. Too late did her senses combine to inform her of the mistake. With an almost silent cry for help, which she knew she could not command, she fell in a heap, landing painfully on her back, banging her head hard on the floor. An overwhelming sensation of nausea engulfed her before she submitted wholly to the darkness, instantly blanking out every other sensation in mind and body.

When she came to, she could not at first think where she was or what had happened to her. The room slowly came into focus as she opened her eyes, and the anxious face of Mr Darcy, who was holding one of her small hands between two of his large ones, loomed into view. Dressed in her nightgown and cap with the covers tucked neatly around her, she was lying in her bed. The memory of the fall and what had happened prior to it came back in a sudden rush. Elizabeth pulled her hand away as she struggled to sit up.

"Rest, Elizabeth," urged her husband. "You have had a nasty fall. I have sent for the physician. Please don't try to sit up. I shall not be easy until you have been examined."

Looking up at his face, Mr Darcy's concern was etched on his features. Such a kind and handsome countenance, thought Elizabeth, as she watched him take her hand once more and raise her fingers to his lips, his dazzling dark eyes never leaving hers for a moment.

"I am worried about you," he said tenderly. "I do not know what I should do if you were to be taken from me, Elizabeth."

Apart from a blinding headache and the feelings of nausea that had dogged her for the past week, Elizabeth felt fine and able to assure him, "I just took a tumble, that is all. There is no need to worry."

"I am sorry we quarrelled," he continued, his eyes averted before he found the courage to look into hers again. "Will you forgive me, Elizabeth? I was wrong to speak to you like that, but you must understand that you are no longer Miss Bennet of Longbourn. Mrs Darcy of Pemberley House must take care of herself, if not for her own sake then for that of the man who loves her beyond all measure."

Leaning toward her, he dropped the softest kiss upon her lips. "I love you, Mrs Darcy. Please tell me that you forgive me."

The physician chose that exact moment to arrive, accompanied by Mrs Reynolds and a flurry of housemaids fussing about with bowls of water and tea for the invalid. Mr Darcy was shooed out of the room, followed by all the attendants, until finally Elizabeth was left alone with the doctor. Their discussion and the ensuing examination included the topic of Lizzy's state of well-being and her queries were finally satisfied. What she had hardly been able to imagine these last few days was confirmed as the truth, and she was given strict instructions to stay in bed for a day or two in case the shock of falling had done any damage.

Now that the truth was substantiated, her feelings were so mixed and her emotions so intertwined that she seemed to rapidly course between the highs of elation to the depths of despair in a moment. Unadulterated joy merged with fear; a new worry that she might lose this precious baby was coupled with the dreadful knowledge that she had about the possible existence of another child who most likely belonged to her husband. With difficulty she tried to put these thoughts into a more considered perspective. What had happened eleven years ago, before she met Mr Darcy, belonged to a different time. She had no control over those past events, and nothing could change what had happened. Until her husband could tell her himself, she would have to be patient. And if he did not, then she would have to accept that there would always be an enforced lack of trust between them. But the failure to divulge his secret and, no doubt, his shame would illustrate a lack of real devotion in their relationship, Elizabeth decided. To take her into his confidence, to confess all would define a new intimacy between them. It would be the greatest example of his trust and faith if he were able to share his past. It was not likely, she considered, but perhaps when she told him her news, he might divulge something of the history and tell her about George. It might all be impossible, but she would have to bury the knowledge she had gained for the present, and of course, there was always the hope and the slightest possibility that none of it were true. Love would find a way, Lizzy told herself, and no matter what had happened before, she would continue to love and adore the man she had married. Besides, there was a new life to consider.

When the doctor had gone, Mr Darcy soon reappeared looking as anxious as ever. He sat down on the bed, stroking her hair with one hand whilst reaching for her fingers with the other. "The doctor has given me strict instructions to make sure you do not get up," he said gravely. "You are not to go waltzing along to Lambton for any reason, whatever you may think on the freedoms of the individual. I am sorry, Elizabeth, but in this case I must be firm."

"Yes, Mr Darcy, I quite agree."

He looked back at her, the shock on his face plain to see. "You agree with me?"

"Yes, on this occasion I do agree with you, wholeheartedly. At least for the present." A smile played about her lips.

"Did you hear me properly? I said you must stay in bed."

Elizabeth nodded and began to laugh. "I will do as you say."

"And may I ask exactly what has brought about this complete transformation in your character that you are inclined not only to agree with me, but are also willing to obey my every word?"

"I am having a baby, Mr Darcy, and as such, I must take care of myself."

Fitzwilliam Darcy was stunned into silence. His expression gradually changed from serious reflection to joyous exultation. He whooped and hollered, throwing back the bedcovers to snatch his wife up into his arms to twirl her round, squeezing her so hard that she could only laugh all the more. The worries and fretful anxieties of the afternoon disappeared as he embraced her, celebrating her beauty in laughter and words of praise. It was only when he speculated on the sex of the child that her thoughts turned briefly to George Tissington, but nothing could spoil this moment nor remove the pride she felt at having achieved her husband's greatest wish for a child so soon.

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There followed such a period of happiness between the young married couple that Elizabeth was able to bury any misgivings she had learned of her husband's past. Now she had had time to reflect and consider the matter, she even began to wonder if she might not have been fanciful in her estimation of his role in the Tissington affair. Despite all indications to the contrary, there was no proof that the letter from Viola was written for him, and the anonymous letter could have been penned by anybody who wished to be malicious. She felt rather ashamed that she could have jumped to such a conclusion, yet was prepared to forgive herself, realising that her suppositions had first arisen when she had been feeling under great strain. She was determined to put the past behind her and this was made even more possible by Mr Darcy's own very attentive and loving manner towards her welfare.

With every passing day Elizabeth bloomed and her husband never failed to tell her how much she was blossoming, admiring her soft and burgeoning womanly contours, which to the rest of the world were not yet apparent. Lizzy was feeling strong and delighting in the changes, transformations that gave her husband even more pleasure than herself. Only one thing marred her happiness. Georgiana was becoming increasingly subdued as time went on. To Lizzy the girl had never looked as a blushing bride-to-be should appear and Georgiana's spirits seemed very low. Hugh Calladine called dutifully twice a week, but to Elizabeth, who had been courted with greater insistence and zeal, she watched them in dismay. A polite civility subsisted between the young couple, no more, and as February came to a close Georgiana's health took a turn for the worse. When Mr Darcy repeated his aunt's request to take a trip to London, assuring her that it would be of only a month's duration, Elizabeth agreed. Something had to be done for Georgiana, and perhaps London with all its diversions would cheer her up. Elizabeth was rather curious to see her London home though dreaded the society of Lady Catherine and her friends. However, to be with her husband, to be loved by him and spend time with him was all that mattered at present. If he had asked her to go to the end of the world with him she would have gladly gone.

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Georgiana did not much care where she went, but so long as she could enjoy the society of her brother and his wife she was as happy as she could be. But she also took pleasure in solitude, whenever she could escape from Mrs Annesley and Elizabeth's well-meaning instruction and employment. She knew they were worried about her, yet she needed time to be alone and think. "I will never love Hugh as Elizabeth loves Fitzwilliam," she thought as she sat at her pianoforte playing melancholy songs. "But then, I do not know of any other couple so much in love, except perhaps Mr and Mrs Bingley. I cannot help but wonder about Tom and what he is doing, even if I know that he has most likely forgotten all about me." Looking out of the window across the hills she could just make out the line of trees to where she knew the stone hut stood. Her heart lurched at the thought of Mr Butler, with his laughing eyes and generous smile. She could feel the warmth of his fingers, his large hand enfolding hers as if he were in the room beside her. But it was no good to dwell on such things. Conjuring up a vision of Hugh, she tried to convince herself that he was the man she loved. She tried to placate herself with thoughts of Hugh's grand house, richly decorated, with every modern convenience and comfort, filled with the finest furniture and art that money could buy, but knew in her heart that if only she could be with Tom, she would have been happy to dwell with him in the stone hut with no roof. Remembering the picnic they'd shared brought back an image of Mr Butler, his tousled hair curling against his brow, which wrinkled in concentration as he tried to make a presentation out of the simple meal. It was no good; however hard she tried, she could not replace his countenance with a picture of Mr Calladine. "I wish I could have told Mr Butler how much I enjoyed his company," she thought as tears pricked her eyelids. "But it is too late now, and he will never know how much happiness he brought me during those few weeks when he was here at Pemberley." Wiping her eyes, she resolved once more to attend to the present and not dwell on the past. Picking a song sheet with a lively melody she resumed her practice, declaring to herself that she would dedicate and sing this song to her fiance when he next called. Time was on her side, she considered, as Mr Calladine had called the day before and did not usually make a habit of calling again until at least the better part of the week had passed.

Downstairs in the drawing room, a favourite place other than her sitting room to sit and read her letters, Elizabeth settled down on an elegant settee. Mr Darcy fussed about her with cushions, which he piled high against the scrolled arms insisting that she put her feet up upon the plump velvet seat. A fire roared in the grate, the reflections of which burnished the little table beside her with flickers of gold illuminating white snowdrops in a glass vase, the delicate petals reminding her that spring and all that the season promised was not far away. She had a letter from Jane, which she eagerly opened, reading its contents with feelings of surprise and hope, followed swiftly by bleak despair. Her sister had written to say that she and Charles had formed a plan to make a trip to the north, that they intended travelling as far as the Lakes at the beginning of March with a view to taking a house. Charles's Uncle Bellingham, a single man with poor health, had offered them his house for a few months whilst he went in search of the healing air of a spa in Switzerland. Would Elizabeth and Darcy join them, as they could think of no one with whom they would rather share such an adventure?

The letter went on:

I know you have wished to see the Lakes for yourself and were disappointed when you could not make the trip as promised by our Aunt Gardiner, even if you were not dissatisfied with the eventual outcome! Just think, Lizzy--did it ever occur to you that if you had gone further north you might still be unmarried and living at Longbourn? My aunt and uncle have been invited also, so we will be a merry party.

My dearest sister, if you have no other plans, please write soonest to assure me that my wish will come true--even if I think you might now prefer men to rocks and mountains in contradiction to what you once professed!

Yours ever,

Jane Bingley

P.S. I do delight in so writing my name, do not you?--I do not think I ever wrote so many letters in my life before, simply to have the pleasure of signing it.

Elizabeth put the letter down upon the table and sighed audibly. It was done before she was cognisant of its volume. As she railed inwardly, trying not to think about how much she would prefer to go to the Lakes in her sister's company than be in London with Lady Catherine, Mr Darcy looked across at his wife, dismayed to see the despondent expression on her face.

"What is it, my love? Are you ill? Let me ring for some tea. What can I do for you? Perhaps you are too close to the fire. Let me adjust the sofa--don't move, stay where you are!"

Elizabeth smiled. Fitzwilliam had always been a very attentive husband, but since she had made her news of the baby known to him Darcy was a man possessed. Nothing was too much trouble; indeed, she wondered if she might be allowed to take a step unaided ever again. But she could not mind. To be so loved was like discovering hidden treasure, and she could only love him the more for his concern.

She explained, trying to disguise the disappointment that she felt, yet knew he would detect it--if not in her words, then in her voice.

"And if you could choose, where would you most like to go?" he asked with a solemn expression.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, that is not fair. You are teasing me, I think."

"No, truly, would you prefer to see your townhouse in London or enjoy a trip to the Lakes?"

"I am very curious to see the house and to spend time with you in London, seeing all the sights together, but I would not be truthful if I said the prospect of the season and all it entails does not fill me with a certain apprehension. If I really had a choice, I would prefer the Lakes."

Darcy paused. He was lounging in a fireside chair, but he sat upright to regard his wife with a huge smile on his countenance. "Then we shall go to the Lakes."

"I beg your pardon, Fitzwilliam?"