Undoing

by L. L. Diamond

  After a shaky breath, he drew a cluster of letters from his pocket, tied neatly with a pink ribbon. “I wanted to ask him about these. Grace found them in her dressing table at Worthstone. They were tucked behind one of the drawers. She was searching for a comb I gave her for our anniversary and they fell.”

  He had read the contents of a few of them, but quickly set them aside. They conjured too many questions that he had planned to ask his mother when they visited at Christmastide. His mother and God apparently had other plans.

  His aunt did not open the correspondence but flipped through them briefly. “How much did you read?”

  “I do not know what to think. I . . .”

  “We should not speak here. Come.” She led him down into the rose garden and took a seat on a bench in the centre. When she could not be down by the river, his mother loved to sit in the midst of the roses in the summertime. Today, no one lingered about since the gardeners were working in the orangery and on the south lawns.

  When he sat beside her, Aunt Jane handed him the letters. “Your mother first met the Duke of Leeds in Meryton . . .” He listened as his aunt told him of his real father, Thomas Osborne. They rarely spoke of the former duke. As far as Alexander was concerned, Fitzwilliam Darcy had always been his father—he was, after all, the only father Alexander had ever known. Thomas Osborne died a mere nine days after his birth.

  While he listened, Aunt Jane spoke clearly and even paced in front of him for part of the story. When she finished, she stopped and faced him as though waiting for something. He could only stare at her as his entire body trembled.

  “You are teasing me, are you not?” He swallowed hard and glanced around him. “My mother and . . . I do not believe it.”

  “You hold the proof in your hands, Alexander. I daresay if you read enough of those, your father will confirm my story in his own handwriting.”

  “But why would they never tell me?” His voice echoed from the front of the great house as he sprang from the bench and ran both of his hands through his hair. “Why would they allow me to believe the duke is my natural father?” He lowered his voice for the last.

  “To protect you and the dukedom. You were born to save the duke’s estate and the people who relied on him. Do not ever doubt that you were conceived in love, because you were—a deep, abiding love. But you possessed a great inheritance because your mother was wed to the duke. If they wanted to keep any question of what was yours from society as well as prevent a hellish scandal, they had no choice but to hide their past.” She clasped his shoulders. “You have children. Would you not give all you own to do what was best for them? Even if this came to light now, the scandal would be great.”

  “But do I not deserve to know?”

  Aunt Jane’s head tilted a fraction. “You might consider their perspective. They would be telling you of their affair—of how they sinned in the eyes of the church and most people. Such a conversation would not be so easy with one’s child.” She watched him for a moment. “Now that you know, does it change how you feel about your father, about Fitzwilliam?”

  He paused and closed his eyes. Thomas Osborne had never really been more than a name to him, only mentioned when the past of Worthstone came into conversation. Fitzwilliam Darcy had been the man who taught him to ride, who held him when he fell from his first pony, and who taught him all he knew about managing the Leeds dukedom. His father had always told him that being a duke was nothing more than an embellishment to his name. The title was not what mattered. Instead, your character and your behaviour made you a man worthy of respect—not a title.

  “I love him as I always have, though I suppose I feel more connected to him than before.”

  “That is understandable,” said his aunt. “Perhaps your perception makes you feel that way.”

  “I always thought my mother and father to have the highest morals. I do not know how to reconcile this.”

  Aunt Jane smiled and took his hand in hers. “Do you think they never had any guilt? In the beginning, they attempted to deny their feelings. You must remember the duke orchestrated the beginning of their intimate relationship. Once the affair began, they saw no reason to deny themselves what they desired more than anything—to be together.”

  He sighed and hugged his aunt. “Thank you. After finding these, I suspected, yet I had no idea how to confront my father.”

  “He will not be pleased with me. I must find Nicholas so we can hide in the orangery.”

  Alexander smiled and squeezed her hand. “I shall claim I forced you to tell me.”

  She laughed and cupped his face in her palms. Her laugh was so different than his mother’s, yet it still resembled her in a way that made his chest ache. How was she gone? How was he to go on without her? When he considered his own feelings, he could not help but think of his father. How would he continue? She was his entire world.

  Aunt Jane kissed his cheek before he set off in the direction of the river. The chapel was set close to a small bridge where the stream narrowed and twisted into the forest. As he cleared the wooded pathway, his father sat on a bench by the water, his head tilted up. How many times had he seen his mother in the same position, her face towards the heavens and her eyes closed? She always loved the feel of the breeze against her face.

  As he approached, his father turned and opened his eyes. “I did not expect you to follow.”

  “I . . .” He tapped the bundle of letters against his hand. “I wanted to return these to you.” His father’s eyes flared when he reached for them, his fingers curling around them gently as though they were made of a delicate crystal.

  “Where did you find them?”

  “Grace found them. They were in mother’s old dressing table.”

  His father’s fingertips, weathered by the years, traced the heavy lines of his own script. “She always wondered what became of them.”

  “I suppose they fell behind the drawer.”

  He nodded, and his eyebrows drew down while he stared at them. “Did you read them?”

  “A couple,” said Alexander. “I confess that by the dates, my curiosity was piqued. I thought it would be a conversation about Aunt Georgiana or of Thomas Osborne. I did not expect . . .”

  “You did not expect to find our love letters.”

  “No.” He shook his head as though the word needed emphasis. “I knew you and Mama wed before her mourning was completed, I knew that you loved each other deeply, but I suppose I thought you grew to love each other.”

  “You and your mother did require protection from James Osborne, but our union was never a marriage of convenience—ever.”

  “Thomas Osborne is only my father in name, is he not?” His heart beat madly against his ribs. Why? He already knew the answer. People always commented on his resemblance to the Darcys, but they claimed the duke resembled the Darcys. The truth held a certain amount of convenience to hide their sins. “You are my true father.”

  “Did you learn that from the letters or have you spoken to your Aunt Jane?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, it does not, though I had reconciled myself to the fact that you would never know.”

  “Regardless of what the world believes, I have always considered you my father. You never failed to ensure I knew how much I was loved by both you and Mama.”

  His father stifled a sob and shook his head. “Forgive me. I loved your mother so much, and I loved you from the moment I knew of your possibility. I mourned that you would never know I was not only your father in the sense that I raised you, but also by blood. I certainly could not explain how I had an affair with your mother, and I know she did not relish the idea of revealing her indiscretions to her son.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  His father’s head whipped around and his brilliant blue eyes shone, glimmering with the moisture welling along his bottom lid. “Never! In the eyes of God and society, we may have been wrong, but I could never, ever regret that time with your mother o
r with you. When we wed, we made our peace with our lives and our past, and continued forward. Your mother always preferred to think of the past—”

  “As its remembrance gave her pleasure.”

  “Yes, and we did just that. We have five wonderful children. Bennet has run Pemberley for these past ten years, allowing me to travel some with your mother—to show her Paris and Rome. I still remember the look of awe in her eyes at her first glimpse of the Colosseum.” He cleared his throat. “Your sisters have all married men they love and have families of their own. We took great joy in watching all of you grow and spread your wings. Now I simply wait to be with your mother again.”

  A chill flooded his heart, and he stiffened. “You will not give up?”

  “No, I could not,” said his father in a weak tone. “Your mother would never forgive me if I did.”

  Alexander reached over and put his hand over his father’s. “I love you. Even had I never discovered the truth, I could never consider anyone but you my father.”

  His father choked back another sob as Alexander wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. The feeling was so different from what he recalled from years past. The last time he had held his father, he was much younger and his father was so strong. He never thought anyone could be as tall and strong as Fitzwilliam Darcy. Time changed everyone, his father included.

  Alexander took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes, lifting his face into the breeze. With his father in his arms, he attempted to commit the memory to his mind—to create an indelible imprint so he would never forget.

  People live their lives and have so many experiences, but how many did they remember with the clarity of a portrait, how many of those precious remembrances kept them company in their later years? Memories and love were a person’s wealth—money meant nothing.

  Alexander was a fortunate man. He had a beautiful wife who he loved, and three children who held his heart as well, but he would never have appreciated what he possessed if his mother and father had not taught him what it was to love.

  Regardless of what people believed or what a piece of paper said, in Alexander’s heart, he had always been the son of Fitzwilliam Darcy. As it turned out, what he had always believed and desired was actually truth.

  The breeze shifted a few tendrils of his curls as he wrapped his arms tighter around his father—the best man he had ever known.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  To tell the truth, this story has always given me fits of nerves worthy of Mrs. Bennet!

  I first started writing the story of Elizabeth, Darcy, and Thomas right after we first moved to England five and a half years ago. I closed myself into my room in temporary housing and typed away, but became derailed when we moved into our actual house. When I finally was able to continue writing, I started An Unwavering Trust instead. I think it’s fitting that I finally finished it several months before we move back to the United States.

  It’s been at least six or seven years ago now that I first read the history of the Duke of Cumberland and the mysterious late-night murder of his valet. The question of what occurred that night will never be truly known, but the theory of the valet being the duke’s lover stuck with me. If they were indeed lovers, it was an ingenious method of hiding their affair, and was the trigger for Thomas to be born inside my mind. What if you had a duke who needed an heir but couldn’t bring himself to actually do the deed—well, with a woman anyway?

  Thomas is a tricky character. His actions are despicable, but I wanted him to remain a sympathetic character, which I struggled with and probably why I shied away from finishing this five years ago. Despite Thomas’s trickery and deceit, I hope you still care for him. After all, if it wasn’t for Thomas, we wouldn’t have a happy ever after for our dear couple.

  As always, I so appreciate my family. I get a great deal of support from them whether it’s my son, who wants to stay in the room with me, but has to play his video games with headphones or everyone giving me some time to finish what I’ve been working on, they’re willing to do what’s needed.

  Brandon always does as much as he can and is definitely a second half. Is it bad that we can finish each other’s sentences or go to ask the other the same question at the same time? Sometimes I wonder if our brains have partially fused together over the past twenty odd years. He took me to see the new Emma recently and has even taken me to Bath for a day to see the promenade. Perhaps I will convert him completely one day!

  I’ve had a number of betas along the way, but Carol S. Bowes has stuck with me from the beginning, or nearly the beginning and was my wonderful copy editor for this go around. We finally met in person this past summer, and we had a blast talking and seeing Pride and Prejudice in the only remaining Regency theatre in England.

  Thanks to Brynn for her editing and her help with the JAFF community. We always love to get our books out there for those who have yet to find the genre.

  Thanks to Debbie F. for proofreading and those who were my fabulous ARC readers!

  A huge thanks to my friends both in the military community and outside of it. Friends are precious and a good friend is priceless. I thank my friends for every willing ear and every laugh that’s gotten me through a rough day. With the current trials we are experiencing, I wish for everyone to have friends to rely on and love. Love is always the most important consideration!

  JAFF has a huge online community which has been extremely supportive and helpful over the years—whether from a fellow author or the fan base, I appreciate it all.

  Thank you to everyone who has purchased my books, left me wonderful messages, left an amazing review, and followed me after reading one of my stories. I wouldn’t be able to have this much fun without your support and encouragement.

  About the Author

  L.L. Diamond is more commonly known as Leslie to her friends and Mom to her three kids. A native of Louisiana, she spent the majority of her life living within an hour of New Orleans before following her husband all over as a military wife. Louisiana, Mississippi, California, Texas, New Mexico, Nebraska, and now England have all been called home along the way.

  Aside from mother and writer, Leslie considers herself a perpetual student. She has degrees in biology and studio art but will devour any subject of interest simply for the knowledge. Her most recent endeavors have included certifications to coach swimming, certifying as a fitness instructor and indoor cycling instructor, and she is currently studying to be a personal trainer. As an artist, her concentration is in graphic design, but watercolor is her medium of choice with one of her watercolors featured on the cover of her second book, A Matter of Chance. She is also a member of the Jane Austen Society of North America. Leslie also plays flute and piano, but much like Pride and Prejudice’s Elizabeth Bennet, she is always in need of practice!

  Leslie’s books include: Rain and Retribution, A Matter of Chance, An Unwavering Trust, The Earl’s Conquest, Particular Intentions, Particular Attachments, Unwrapping Mr. Darcy, It’s Always Been You, It’s Always Been Us, It’s Always Been You and Me, and Undoing