The Lost Heir

by Harriet Knowles

  Darcy nodded without replying. Richard glanced at him. “Are you not pleased this whole thing is nearly over?”

  Darcy sighed. “I suppose so.” He sounded weary.

  “I think we’ll both be better after a good dinner and a night’s uninterrupted sleep.” Richard yawned at the very thought.

  Darcy shrugged. “It will be a few days yet,” he muttered. “I am still not convinced he will not be able to inveigle his way out of this.”

  Richard was incredulous. “He is shackled in a cell with twenty other prisoners. I doubt he will even be able to speak with a gaoler. He is quite secure, I assure you.”

  “And among those twenty other prisoners will be those who are loyal to him.” Darcy’s glance was resigned. “And who have an interest in assisting him.”

  Richard felt uncomfortable. “I suppose so.”

  “You will excuse my thoughts about the indifference of the family.” Darcy was walking faster and faster, and Richard lengthened his stride to keep pace with him.

  “You are safe, Darcy. Georgiana and Miss Bennet are safe.” Richard wondered what he could say. “I will speak to my parents. After what I have seen, they can no longer object to Miss Bennet becoming your bride.”

  “Very reassuring.” Darcy’s voice dripped with irony. “And what if the action — no, the inaction — of the family means she would never wish to join it?”

  Richard was taken aback. “But you’re a Darcy! Of course she will wish to be aligned with you!”

  “Hmph!” Darcy swung round the corner onto the next path. “You don’t know Miss Bennet. You know nothing about her, and yet you complacently assume she is the same as all young ladies!”

  He spun, furious, toward Richard. “Well, I’m telling you she is not! I would not be at all surprised if she never wishes to see any of us again!”

  He turned back towards the house, his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet; barely audible. “I am as guilty as any of us. I ought not to have placed her in the position where she could be taken by Wickham. I cannot blame you if she will not forgive me.”

  50

  Darcy returned to the house to prepare for dinner. His cousin followed him, uncharacteristically quiet, to Darcy’s grim amusement. He was very weary — the only bright thing about the forthcoming dinner was that he would see Elizabeth again.

  She had taken his breath away earlier, when she’d entered the drawing room. The recollection of the borrowed gown she was wearing made him smile. He remembered those early days, as he passed Mrs. Oliver’s desk and saw Elizabeth poring over fabric samples. She’d especially loved the faded-rose colour, and, seeing her wearing it today had shown him that she had a perfect understanding of what suited her.

  He climbed the stairs to his chamber, deep in thought. He could imagine standing in church, watching her walk down the aisle towards him, in just such a wedding gown; and her breathtaking beauty.

  He shuddered. She’d been very courageous in telling them about her ordeal, although the bright spots of colour in her cheeks told him how embarrassed she’d been. He must make it easy for her tonight. And the duchess would help her. Her manner was like that of Mrs. Gardiner, and Elizabeth might find it reassuring. He hoped so.

  The servant appointed to assist him was dutiful and efficient. But he wasn’t Mr. Maunder, and Darcy almost wished himself back to the old days of doing everything himself. But it would not do, not in this ducal house. He resigned himself and sat back to be shaved.

  Descending the stairs twenty minutes later, he knew his heart was bounding at the thought of the evening. He would certainly take any opportunity of speaking to her. She’d looked very tired, he wouldn’t trouble her with any questions. Perhaps gentle reminiscences of the times they’d shared at the warehouse would be appropriate.

  He huffed a laugh to himself; given Richard’s interference in the gardens earlier, he ought at least to assist Darcy to be able to speak to her.

  But when he turned into the drawing room a moment later, neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana were there. Perhaps he was a little early.

  “Come in, Darcy.” The duke was sitting comfortably by the great fireplace. “We will be a quiet party tonight.”

  Darcy looked at him in consternation, and the duchess broke in. “Miss Bennet is, of course, very tired, and did not have the opportunity to rest this afternoon. I have sent a tray up to her chamber, and then she will retire.” She anticipated his next question. “Miss Darcy requested to stay with her.”

  Darcy bowed in acknowledgement to her, and took a seat morosely. He wished he could take the same course if he was not to see them.

  But the duchess was watching him. “I think we must be careful tomorrow. I believe perhaps I was wrong to ask Miss Bennet to describe what happened in front of you gentlemen. It would have been better for me to have questioned her and relayed her answers to you. It must have been a mortifying experience.”

  Darcy knew Richard’s gaze was on him, mutely questioning, and he nodded. “I can understand. Even though we are sympathetic to her ordeal, it must have been difficult for her.”

  But he’d never be able to forget her low voice as she described what they had endured, her humiliation at having to listen to Wickham’s crude remarks. He hoped the memory would not taint their next meeting for her.

  “I agree.” The duke gazed into the flames. “She seems an extraordinarily brave young woman, but we must never forget that is what she is, a female, with delicate sensibilities.”

  The duchess sniffed, and Richard grinned. Darcy managed to keep his impassive exterior because he was concerned about Elizabeth. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a walk in the gardens in the morning.

  “Anyway, enough of business,” their host announced. “I want to hear what brought you back to the family, Darcy. I remember Matlock telling me of your loss. We were all convinced you were gone for ever. Then, in his letter yesterday — no, this morning —” he shook his head. “Gracious me! a great deal has happened today. In his letter, he only mentioned your name in passing, being in haste to post the letter. So you must tell me about it.”

  They were interrupted by the butler, who announced dinner. Darcy and Richard followed their hosts through to the dining room, Darcy sunk in gloom. He wished even more that he could dine from a tray in his chamber. No, he didn’t. He wished he was back at the Swan Inn; that he was still William Stoke, gradually building wealth to be secure enough to marry.

  Richard seemed to be aware of his feelings. “Let me tell the story, Darcy. You can think of other things and not listen.”

  Darcy shrugged. He was tired of it all. “I will have my say and change the subject.” What did it matter to him if he offended these people? He didn’t know them, after all. Then he remembered that without the assistance of the duke this morning, he would have lost Elizabeth. He must not be rude.

  When the main course had been served, the duke asked the question again, doubtless thinking it a light conversational matter.

  “I find it hard to think of myself as Darcy, Your Grace. For all the life I can remember, I have been William Stoke, a stable lad, and, after that, working in a warehouse.” He shrugged. “I have no memory of my life before that, and therefore don’t really believe I am Darcy, or that I have a place in this sort of life.” He looked at his plate. “And taking my birthright has put innocent people in danger — including you.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Darcy put down his knife and fork. He wasn’t hungry any more. He listened quietly as the duchess firmly led the conversation into undemanding subjects and Richard answered many questions about his siblings and their children.

  When the duchess withdrew to the drawing room, and the butler had placed the port at the duke’s side, and closed the door quietly behind him, Darcy knew the questions would recommence.

  The port was passed around, and Darcy poured only a little, knowing his exhaustion might lead him to drop his guard.

  “For what
it’s worth, Darcy, I know you have done the right thing in accepting who you really are.” Richard’s voice was quiet. “If you had not, then by now, Wickham would have forced Georgiana to wed him at Gretna — with the blessing of your father — and would have control of her fortune and Pemberley.”

  “It must have been a shock to discover you were not who you thought you were,” the duke said thoughtfully. “But you must have suspected it, from whatever incident stole your memory.” He took a sip from his glass. “Was there no clue on your clothing as to your identity, so you could discover who you were earlier?”

  “No.” Darcy shrugged. “The attack was meant to kill, and I had been stripped of every identifying item. I was destined for an anonymous pauper’s grave.” He smiled wryly. “I suppose I was fortunate; they must not have been inclined to do the burial themselves.”

  Richard suddenly guffawed. “It is to be hoped he knows his laziness has led him to the gallows. I wish I had the opportunity to apprise him of it, for him to think of as he waits for the noose!”

  The duke sounded irritated. “You’re not in the regimental headquarters now, and although I know some morbid humour is needed in the heat of battle, it is hardly appropriate here.”

  Darcy smiled thinly as his cousin apologised. For himself, he found it difficult to think about his evidence sending any man to his death, even though he knew it was the only certain way of being sure Elizabeth and his sister were safe.

  He wondered if Elizabeth was asleep. He hoped she would be able to rest peacefully, and that she’d feel better in the morning. He wanted — needed to see her, to speak to her and assure himself of her wellbeing.

  51

  The sun slanting through a gap in the curtains roused Elizabeth next morning, and she watched sleepily as the rays moved slowly along the wall. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Shutting her eyes, she tried to forget the burning mortification she’d felt yesterday at having to tell her story to the duke as Mr. Darcy listened.

  What must he think of her, knowing how they’d had to manage with little privacy and sleep in the coach overnight? She wasn’t ruined — Georgiana had always been there — but she was certainly not unsoiled.

  Facing him again — she shivered, before suddenly flinging aside the covers. Yawning, she moved over to the wash basin. The water in the ewer was cold, but it would do. It was warmer than the streams she’d been using. If she walked out this early, no one would see her. She never wanted to face the gentlemen again, and this was a way to delay the necessity further.

  Once she was dressed, she found a coat and hat in the closet. Thank you, Lady Durdar.

  She hurried silently down the great stairs, surprising a few early maids polishing the bannisters. She smiled at them, and nodded her thanks to the footman by the door as he opened it for her.

  Finally, she was outside and able to walk out freely. She’d missed that, this past week. No! Don’t think about it! Think about how I can ask to go home.

  She turned into the rose garden, the scent drawing her in. Her steps slowed as she thought about how far she was from people and places she knew.

  She had no money to take the post, no one to travel with — she could hardly travel alone. If she asked Papa to send his coach for her, it would take several days for her letter to reach him, and another week for the coach to arrive, and that only if it could be spared. She sighed; Mama would not permit him to send it.

  She wandered on, wondering what would happen. Eventually, she supposed, she would return to London when Georgiana wished to go — unless the girl was taken to Pemberley. She felt very alone. She would have to wait until others found it convenient. And, until then, she’d have to be in company with Mr. Darcy and the other gentlemen. She must act as if she wasn’t embarrassed by what she’d had to tell them the previous day.

  She turned the corner and saw a maid approaching slowly. “What is it? Does Miss Darcy need me?”

  “No, Miss Bennet.” The maid curtsied. “Her Grace saw you out here. She requests you attend her in her chambers.” She waited for Elizabeth’s answer, never doubting that she’d acquiesce.

  Nor could she. “Very well, please show me the way.” Elizabeth felt her hair. Had she put it up well enough? She’d hardly dressed expecting to meet anyone, thinking she’d be able to submit to her maid’s ministrations before steeling herself to join the rest of the party.

  The maid knocked quietly on the gilded door, and led Elizabeth into the private sitting room of the lady’s apartments. The duchess looked up. “There you are, Miss Bennet. Come in.”

  She indicated the chair next to her sofa, and nodded at the maid. “I saw you walking in the gardens and thought it would be a good idea to take tea together where we won’t be disturbed.”

  Elizabeth curtsied. “As you wish, Your Grace.” She wondered what the lady wished to talk about, but doubted she would feel any better at the end of the conversation than she did now.

  But it seemed the duchess didn’t intend to skirt around the subject, and she didn’t wait for the tea to arrive. “I’m happy to have the opportunity to talk to you early in the day, Miss Bennet. Principally, I wish to apologise to you for making you go through such a difficult time yesterday when telling the story of what happened to you.”

  Elizabeth felt her cheeks heating and bent her head to stare at her hands in her lap, hoping the older woman wouldn’t see her blush. “I think you did not have opportunity to do anything differently, Your Grace. The evidence had to be gathered, and it was probably for the better that it was done quickly and I can now attempt to forget about it.” She was proud that her voice was steady and showed, she hoped, no evidence of her inner turmoil.

  There were several moments of silence, and eventually she looked up. The duchess was regarding her thoughtfully, a small smile playing around her lips.

  “You know, I am reminded of my oldest daughter when I talk to you, Miss Bennet. She too, has a capable, confident exterior. And she can be utterly relied upon in every situation to do whatever has to be done.”

  She stopped, and waited quietly while the maid brought in a tray of tea. When the door was closed and they were alone again, she turned back to Elizabeth.

  “It took me a long time to understand that underneath Eleanor’s capable exterior was a sensitive soul who felt she had no one to turn to. I was distressed to think I’d failed her by not understanding how she felt, and how much of a toll it was taking.” She stopped and sipped at her tea.

  Elizabeth stared down at her hands, willing them not to tremble, or the rattling teacup might give away her feelings. Part of her wanted to burst into tears, pretend this lady was like her aunt, and tell her how she felt.

  But this lady wasn’t her aunt. She was a duchess, and Elizabeth had met her for the first time yesterday. Not only that, she’d been there when Elizabeth had had to describe the embarrassing circumstances of her journey north. No, she could not confide in her. She raised her eyes.

  “Thank you for being understanding, Your Grace. I think I know how your daughter felt — it seems such a long time ago I was with my family.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps I may now have the opportunity to write to my sister and aunt.” She bit her lip. “While I was walking in the gardens, I was trying to think how I would be able to make my way home. I really would like to go as soon as I can.”

  The duchess leaned forward. “Let me refill your cup, dear.” She smiled slightly. “I can understand your wish to go home, and I’m sure I can arrange something in the next few days. But it won’t be today, I’m afraid, because you have to be here, just in case you are called to give evidence. So you had better write to your family, so they know you are safe.”

  She leaned back. “Let us talk of other things while we finish our tea.” Her gaze was astute. “It was a surprise to us that Darcy had returned to his family. I understand it’s quite recent, so it had not been in the papers. I imagine his father is delighted that he’s been found.”


  Elizabeth nodded. “I imagine so, Your Grace.”

  “Do you know the family well?”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Not at all. I met Colonel Fitzwilliam briefly once — only a few words of introduction. Then Mr. Darcy brought Georgiana to us and asked us to look after her, because he thought no one apart from the Colonel knew of his connection to us.” She tried to keep any note of bitterness out of her voice. “But I think word of the connection must have been shared among the family quite widely without his knowledge. There is no other way Mr. Wickham could have known about us, and have planned the way he did.”

  She sighed and gazed out of the window. “The very next day, Mr. Wickham struck.” She tightened her lips. “I feel very much for Georgiana. She barely knew me, and was certain she was going to be forced to marry a man she was deathly afraid of.”

  The duchess frowned. “So you must have met Darcy before he found his family?”

  “I did.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure how much Mr. Darcy wanted them to know.

  “How long have you known him?”

  Elizabeth tried not to grimace. “Long enough to know him as an honourable and principled person, Your Grace. I don’t know how much he is willing to say as yet, because this matter has come too soon for him to feel his position is secure. But I do not think I am at liberty to share what he might think is private.”

  “I understand.” The duchess didn’t seem to be offended. “Thank you for coming to take tea with me. I will see you downstairs when you’ve finished your letters, and I hope you can bring Miss Darcy down with you. It’s important not to let her hide away too long.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Elizabeth murmured at the dismissal, and hurried from the chambers. She would write to Jane and her aunt, although she didn’t know quite what to say to them.