“My boy, we have followed the gossip surrounding you,” the old earl said.
Darcy fought to roll his eyes. Yes, gossip is all his uncle would care about. “I hope it has not tarnished your name at all.”
“No,” the earl shook his head and tapped his cigar in a tray. “However, my sister has news which might be beneficial to you.”
Darcy turned his attention to his aunt.
“You could still marry Anne,” she opened with.
Darcy stood from his chair. “If this is all this meeting is about, then you will excuse me. I have made my choice. Neither Anne nor I have any desire to wed one another.”
“Catherine,” the earl glared at his sister. “Tell him. Sit, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy waited for a nod from Lady Catherine that she indeed had something of importance to convey before retaking his seat.
“It should come as no surprise to you that I was your mother’s confidant.”
“I had supposed that is why Father did not allow me contact with her side of the family.”
“Yes,” her ladyship picked at lint on her gown. “And it happened at a house party at Rosings. Your father quite blamed me.”
“He did not go with her?”
The earl answered. “He was busy with the spring planting. Anne had missed the last Season with the birth of James. She was desperate to enjoy some of Town and accompanied my wife. She met him at our home, and they arranged to consummate their affair at Rosings over Easter.”
Darcy fought a wave of nausea and balled his fists. “Who?”
“The Earl of Stanhope,” Lady Catherine murmured.
“Your best friend,” Darcy asked the earl. Their friendship began at Eton. “Had she loved him all along? Why did she marry George Darcy?”
Lord Fitzwilliam looked to Lady Catherine. “No, they were never lovers before. There were as many years between them as there are between you and Georgiana. George courted her. One of many. But he charmed her, and she chose him. It was never love, but they were fond of each other. In the beginning,” she shrugged, “I think they thought it was enough to make them happy but soon their differences drove them apart.”
Darcy nodded. He had always suspected as much.
“That winter, she had been very depressed, and Stanhope offered her amusement. She had her heir…and well, I cannot think of a leading lady of the Ton who does not have a lover.”
“They must have been discreet,” Darcy said.
“Too discreet to prove for a divorce,” Lord Fitzwilliam agreed. “Not that George wanted one. I think…I think he always hoped they might work past their differences, find each other again. He would visit her and plead for her return. He thought when he took you in she might beg to return…but she disliked Pemberley too much. She was too stubborn for her own good.”
Darcy nodded. His mother had asked only one time to return and George Darcy must have wanted her to grovel. “And Georgiana’s father?”
Lady Catherine nodded. “Bernard and George looked enough alike that if any townspeople saw them, they would think she was with her husband. Although, she cared so little for anything after you left.”
“Did he seek her out? Seduce her?”
“He had gone at George’s urging to check the estate and visit with her. George could not bear to see her and be refused again.”
Lord Fitzwilliam leaned forward and looked Darcy earnestly in the eye. “Stanhope never married. He has no legal children. You could not have the earldom, without a special remainder, but you could have his estate and income. It rivals Pemberley.”
Darcy started. “Despite not having children, there must be some relative as the heir. I would not steal yet another man’s inheritance.”
“I told him you would say as much,” his lordship sighed. “He vowed to use his influence to help the case, then. He has offered his attorney.”
Darcy’s head pounded. A man who never took any interest in his life, who used his mother and disregarded any harm to her reputation, suddenly offered him a solution to his problems. He would try to be a father to him. Darcy stood so suddenly, his chair skidded backwards and fell over. “That will not be necessary. My apologies, I have another appointment.”
Fleeing his uncle’s house, Darcy rode hard back to Netherfield. George Darcy might never have been his father by blood. He might never have been terribly affectionate, but he had been there. He had taught Darcy how to manage Pemberley and how to balance books. He taught him how to ride a horse and helped him memorise the feel of every hill and dale of its estates. He modelled how to treat servants and tenants. George Darcy was not perfect, but Fitzwilliam Darcy would not be half the man he currently was without him, and now some other man wanted to mar his memory.
Arriving at Bingley’s house, the butler informed Darcy he had mail. Collecting his letters and retiring to his bedchamber to refresh himself, he flipped through the correspondence. His eyes landed on one he had not expected to see and held his breath.
September 25, 1812
Lincoln Inn, London
Darcy,
I am sure you never expected to see a letter from me. Before you ask, I promise I said nothing to your cousin. He did approach me, knowing some of your dislike for me, but I had nothing to offer him. I have a good position as a clerk and am diligently applying myself to the law, this time.
As a student of law, I wondered what burden of proof there could be verifying this former footman of Pemberley told the truth besides his own paper. It occurred to me that I still had my father’s papers from time as the steward. Nick Huggins was not employed at Pemberley until 1786, years after your birth. Before that, he was apprenticed at Mr. Chester Grant of Wolverhampton’s house. There was no previous acquaintance between the couples; your father found Huggins through an employment agency. I have enclosed the original documents of his hire and termination date as well as the letter from the employment agency.
I hope this might be enough to exonerate the accusations against your birth and restore you to Pemberley.
G. Wickham
Darcy stared at the papers in his hand. Here it was and from Wickham of all people! Unable to contain his relief, Darcy sought out his family and friends. Elizabeth and Jane spent most days at Netherfield with Georgiana, and Darcy was lucky enough to find them in the drawing room with Bingley.
“You are back earlier than I expected,” Elizabeth said at his entrance with lines furrowing between her brows.
“I will explain it all to you later, but my arrival is quite timely.” He held out his papers and read the explanation.
“Is it true?” Georgiana asked. “Do you think it will be enough?”
“I do not know,” Darcy answered, “but it is enough to try.”
Bingley ordered a round of punch to celebrate the news. Elizabeth came to Darcy’s side and slipped her hand in his.
“I will love you no matter what,” she declared and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I know,” Darcy squeezed her hand. “The same as I love you.”
The group played games and told stories to complete the festive atmosphere until Jane and Elizabeth had to return to Longbourn. Twenty years before, his mother had said he would never have love again but she had been entirely wrong. Once Darcy opened himself up to it, he could see all people who had come to mean something in his life, ranging from Mrs. Bennet with her prattle about lace and pin money to Bingley and his confidence in Darcy’s words of advice, to Elizabeth, the love of his life. There was no one way to love or be loved and protecting himself from the prospect of pain should that love ever be severed brought nothing but misery. Darcy went to bed that night, his future as uncertain as ever, and yet he rested easy with secure dreams knowing he could face anything with those he loved at his side.
Epilogue
March 20, 1837
Twenty-five years later
“Mama, tell me you did not really wear that!” Beth Darcy giggled in the blue saloon of Pemberley.
<
br /> “Yes, the rules had not been updated yet,” Elizabeth laughed. “And I had your grandmother and your great aunt Catherine attempting to help me.”
Darcy smiled from the doorway. He could not see his wife’s face, but he could imagine her expression.
“And you performed perfectly,” his mother-in-law called from across the room where she assisted another grandchild with embroidery.
“I still remember Anne’s curtsy,” Lady Catherine, present for her yearly visit, sniffed into a handkerchief. “It was just after she married—such a beautiful bride, you will recall Mrs. Bennet.”
“Indeed,” the other woman answered. “I have never seen love blossom a woman the way it did for Mrs. Marshall.”
“I am not wearing the feathers,” Beth said stubbornly.
“You have no choice,” Susanna, Jane’s daughter said. “Do you not remember from Nan?”
“As if I paid attention to Nan’s curtsy,” Beth laughed.
Darcy knocked on the doorframe. “I was told a dance partner was needed.”
“Papa,” Beth cried. “Here, save me from talk of lace and feathers.”
Darcy entered, laughing. “Am I to be your sacrifice then? Surely you know my presence does nothing to stop the chatter.”
“Behave, my love,” Elizabeth teased as she sat at the pianoforte.
Darcy opened his arms for his daughter to take as they went through the steps of a dance. “If you do not want the presentation, you do not have to have one,” he whispered to Beth.
She sighed. “I do want it. I do want to enjoy Society. I just find it ridiculous to dress that way. I would want a greater choice in my attire.”
“Ah,” Darcy nodded. “You do not like the false mask you must wear.”
“No,” she hastened to agree. “Nan never seemed to have that problem and the boys can act however they chose.”
“I hope you think I raised your brothers with more honour than to act merely however they please.”
“Oh, I did not mean it that way!” Beth cried and almost tread on Darcy’s foot.
“Darling, I would suggest you be yourself instead of snuffing your light. Your mother and I only wish you to be happy. You have the support of all your family.” Mrs. Bennet and Lady Catherine argued over a certain stitch. “Your very large and loud family,” Darcy added with a laugh.
“Will anyone see me with such a large and notorious family?”
Her question was not unwarranted. After Darcy regained control of Pemberley, Society turned him into something of rags to riches story, attracting more attention than ever. He and Elizabeth had six children and adopted a half a dozen more. At his school they were fondly known as Mama and Papa Darcy, and so it felt he had fathered a hundred. The Bingleys had ten children. Richard had married Lady Aurora and retired from military life. His elder brother never married and so Richard would one day inherit the earldom, then pass it to his own son. Georgiana married a local landowner who did not care about who her father was. She had three children and was now happier than Darcy ever imagined she could be. Anne had married Alexander Marshall, meeting at Darcy and Elizabeth’s wedding. The marriage had made Anne robust, and she gave birth to four large and lusty sons. To say nothing of Elizabeth’s other sisters who married and had a brood of several children each. When they all gathered together for holidays, it was easy to be lost in the crowd.
“Beth, I spent most of my life before meeting your mother trying to be invisible. I cannot say I understand how you feel, desiring to be noticed, but I will say that the right people will notice you either way. Be the lively, caring, sweet-tempered girl I know you to be and you will do well in life.”
His daughter smiled up at him. “And do you have any words of wisdom on how to walk backwards in a train that’s ten feet long?”
Darcy laughed. “Ah, no. For that, you must ask your mother.”
“I knew you kept her around for some reason,” Beth rolled her eyes as she teased.
The music came to a stop, and Darcy gazed at his wife. “I will keep her forever because I am nothing without her.”
The End
The Secrets of Donwell Abbey
You have just finished reading The Secrets of Pemberley, part of The Men of Austen Series. Each book is a stand-alone read and will feature the hero-only point of view of a Jane Austen gentleman as they grapple with secrets in their past. The next book, The Secrets of Donwell Abbey, will release in 2021 and centers on his father’s most ungentlemanly secret.
I hope you will enjoy this sample of The Secrets of Donwell Abbey!
Excerpt
George Knightley watched as Emma busied herself around the drawing room. She had a natural grace about her as she did little household tasks. How many times had he been privy to such a scene over the years? Year after year, he had glimpses into the domestic scene until Hartfield became almost as much his home as Donwell Abbey.
Perhaps that was what made her presence so soothing. Emma could irritate the thunder out of him. No other lady could and very few gentlemen ever had. However, there was not a mean bone in her body. There was no shortage of kind people in the Highbury area, though, yet Emma was who he always sought out when tired or weary. There was very little accounting for it, and at the moment it was useless to attempt.
Their last argument was about her new friend, Harriet Smith. She could not know, of course, the direction of his true feelings about the girl. When he inherited Donwell a few years ago, he did not delve into all the financial particulars too much. He trusted his solicitor, and his steward was invaluable to him. He balanced the tenant books. It was imperative their money was always accounted for and their every need met. He was no spendthrift, and so he never worried about the London accounts. Until a few months ago when he learned of monthly payments going to Mrs. Goddard’s School set up during his father’s purview.
How Knightley wished he could have assumed his father donated the money out of the goodness of his heart. He alone could guess the truth. The elder Mr. Knightley had been an upstanding gentleman in most ways. No one in the area would say a thing against Alfred Knightley. If not for an unfortunate encounter when Knightley was twenty and in London, he never would have known there was anything to mar his predecessor’s legacy. Instead, he understood why there were payments to Mrs. Goddard’s.
Without asking for her name or any particulars—it could hardly be supposed that suddenly being brought into a family circle where she must always be reminded of her low birth would be enjoyable to the girl—he ordered the solicitor to increase her standard of living. She was now seventeen and could be a parlour border for another year or two before needing to leave the school. Her education must be complete and soon would need new accommodations. The time was coming when Knightley ought to make himself known to her, but he hesitated on how to do so.
Knightley had no serious suspicions that Emma’s new friend might be his half-sister until Harriet received a proposal from one of Knightley’s friends, an honest and humble farmer. Emma had insisted Harriet must be a gentleman’s daughter, even if a natural one, and therefore above her suitor. Was Harriet indeed the daughter of a gentleman? Was it possible she was Knightley’s half-sister?
In the heat of the argument, Knightley had managed to conceal his conflicting emotions. Did she have the Knightley chin? His father’s eyes? If she were his sister, then his feelings intensified to see her well-settled with a man as gentlemanly as he knew Robert Martin to be. It sometimes amazed Knightley that Emma could not guess the direction of his thoughts. She had not deduced the reason for his heightened interest and implacable resistance to her idea of matching Harriet with Mr. Elton.
The very thought of their disagreement and the complications of Harriet being his relation made his head pound. Mr. Woodhouse had chatted away about various things which required few replies and now was napping in a chair.
“Will you stay for supper?” Emma asked Knightley, drawing him from his musings.
“I thi
nk not,” he said and began to shake his head, until touching it with a groan.
“You are unwell!”
“No. I am not ill,” Knightley responded firmly. He never took to the sickbed. He glanced at Mr. Woodhouse, if he had heard her words, Knightley already would be drowning in nurses and tonics amidst words about Dr. Perry’s solutions.
“You look it,” Emma said and sat beside him. She peered into his eyes. “I see it, there,” she said, and her thumbs grazed the side of his eyes. “And here,” she added, smoothing the lines of his brow.
They were often furrowed, how she could tell it was now out of pain and not his usual expression, he was not sure. She placed the back of her palm against his forehead.
“No fever,” she muttered.
“I told you. I am the picture of health.” While she could feel no fever, her nearness, the contact she offered without a second thought, fired his blood.
He had never been with a woman. In his first trip to an establishment in London, he witnessed his father having a row with a courtesan and the proprietor. They argued about his responsibilities for the child she now carried. Somehow, there had been no doubt that he was the father. Since then, Knightley had thought too seriously about how such deeds could affect so many others. He considered it ungentlemanly to use a woman for his own pleasure.
At first, it was a difficult choice and caused no small amount of teasing from his friends—even from his brother. Now, it had been years since he had felt more than the slightest twinge of desire at the sight of a specific woman. Perhaps if he left Highbury more, it would be more difficult. As it was, he knew all the faces and figures. There was nothing to surprise or tantalize—except for his growing fascination with Emma and now her siren touch.
“I will leave you,” he said, surprised at the feelings his words evoked. His body tensed, telling him it would prefer to stay rooted next to Emma.
Seven Days With Mr Darcy Page 75
