by Jan Hahn
Of a sudden, a new fear gripped me. If my mother suspected I had connections with aristocracy, she would not wait to spread the news. Frantically, I searched my mind for some disclosure that would satisfy her. Fortunately, my father spoke for me.
“Of course not, Fanny.”
“Then what was the purpose of her visit?”
“If you would grant me a moment, Mrs. Bennet, I shall explain. And pray, quiet yourself. There is no need for Mary and Kitty to hear, much less the servants.” He rose and paced back and forth as though he were purchasing time to think up a plausible explanation for Lady Catherine’s revelation.
“It all happened so long ago. Lizzy, your mother and I—we never—I never thought it necessary to tell you. You have always been our daughter. I believe I almost forgot your mother did not give birth to you.”
“I never forgot,” Mamá cried. “I told you from the beginning someone would find out someday, but no, you would not listen, and now it appears we have a fine mess on our hands and all of it your creation.”
I began to cry quietly. I had never felt as close to my mother as I did my father, and now I knew why. She did not consider me her daughter, and, in truth, she was right. Immediately, I felt Jane’s arms around me as she sat down on the settee and pulled my head onto her breast.
“Lizzy,” Papá said. “You must believe me when I tell you I never knew the name of your parents until this day. I simply knew you were orphaned and in need of a good home.”
“And now you know the identity of Lizzy’s parents? Then out with it, Mr. Bennet, even though I am quite certain they are long dead. Do not keep us in suspense any longer,” Mamá cried.
“It…seems our Elizabeth is a distant relation of the Darcys.”
Distant relation? My eyes grew wide in wonder at my father’s falsehood.
“The Darcys?” Mamá grabbed her throat and sank down upon a chair. “Well! But why should Lady Catherine come to tell us that? Why did not Mr. Darcy come?”
“Mamá,” I began, sitting up and pulling away from Jane.
“What else did Lady Catherine say? How close is the connection?”
“Not close,” Papá said quickly, “not close at all. In truth, my dear, she was born to Mr. Darcy’s poorest relations. The lady has only recently become privy to the knowledge, and she came to warn Elizabeth not to prevail upon it.”
My mother frowned as did Jane. “But, Papá,” my sister asked, “why should she think Lizzy would do such a thing?”
“Hmph! Lizzy has no use for Mr. Darcy and makes no bones about it,” Mamá said. “As for Lady Catherine… Now, Lizzy, it might be wise if you were to cultivate a friendship with her. Curb your saucy manners, and flatter the great lady. If you are admitted into her inner circle, think of the advantages she might offer.”
I sighed deeply. “That is highly improbable. If you had heard our conversation, you would know Lady Catherine has not the slightest interest in any future entertainment of my company.”
“And, my dear,” my father added, “if you listened closely, you might recall that I said the connection is with the Darcys, not the de Bourghs.”
Just then, Hill entered the room with a tea tray and placed it on the desk. My mother refused the tea, calling for her salts instead. She left the room with Hill, declaring she must lie down, for she had much to think about, a statement that filled me with dread. She called for Jane to assist her, and although I wished my sister might stay, my father dismissed her with a nod. The moment they closed the door, I rose and whirled around to face him.
“How could you tell such a tale? You know Mamá will take delight in spreading what she believes a fortunate turn of events throughout the community.”
“I thought it the lesser of two evils.”
“Do you think Lady Catherine will rejoice when news reaches her that I am Mr. Darcy’s poor relation?”
“She will prefer my story to the fact that you are Mr. Darcy’s illegitimate sister. According to a letter I received from Mr. Collins this morning, she plans for Mr. Darcy to marry her daughter.”
The word illegitimate slammed into me like a hard fist in the pit of my stomach. Once again, I was forced to sit down to keep from falling. “Oh, Papá, why did you not tell me the circumstances of my birth long ago? How could you let me grow up thinking I was your daughter?”
“You are my daughter.”
“And Mr. Darcy… Even after he came to Hertfordshire, you still did not think it necessary that I know he is my—” My voice broke, for I could not utter the word.
“I did not know. Lizzy, believe me. Until moments ago, I did not know the name of your natural father.”
He rose and walked to the window, his shoulders slumped. Suddenly, he appeared old, his vigour and liveliness dimmed. At length, he returned to sit across from me, leaned forward, and took my hand in his. “Lizzy, allow me to tell you how it happened.”
He then laid out the entire sordid tale. One night, almost one and twenty years earlier, the vicar of Longbourn Church had sent a messenger requesting Mr. Bennet’s presence. The hour was late. The knock at the door sounded just as my father had picked up the candle in his office and headed for the stairs. The message urgently requested his assistance, and so he complied without delay. Some months earlier, Mrs. Bennet had taken Jane, who was but a toddler, to London to visit her brother and his new wife, so there was no one else at home save the servants.
At the vicarage, the parson met him with a worried look. A well-dressed gentleman stood within the parlour, but no introductions were made, a curious occurrence made even stranger when Mr. Bennet heard the faint cries of an infant. Within moments, the gentleman made his departure.
“What is all this, Mr. Fawcett?” Mr. Bennet asked.
Closing the door behind the gentleman, the vicar drew close and spoke in a low voice. “I am beset with a strange task, Mr. Bennet. I call upon you as squire of the village for guidance.”
He led him toward a basket from whence the soft sounds emanated. There, wrapped in blankets, lay a tiny dark-haired baby.
“She was the prettiest little thing I had seen next to my Janey,” my father said. “Where my own babe had golden curls, this little one had a mass of dark tresses and the sweetest pout of a tiny pink mouth.”
The clergyman explained that the child was the natural daughter of a gentleman from the North Country. Her mother had died giving birth two days earlier, and she had been brought to him because of an old friendship from earlier times. It would cause a scandal for the gentleman’s family unless the child was raised in a distant county. He would provide funds for her upbringing but wanted all other contact with her severed. She was never to know his name.
“Which family in the village shall I call upon to take her, sir?” the vicar asked.
Mr. Bennet shook his head sadly. How could a man turn his back on such a child? She was beautiful and appeared to possess a good constitution. He searched his mind for a suitable house, and the two men discussed several families who might be prevailed upon to take in the baby. They, at last, settled upon the Pratt household. The mother had lost an infant to the fever the year before, and she might look favourably upon the substitution. It was determined that the vicar would call upon them with the morning light, and he would awaken his housekeeper to tend the infant through the night.
Mr. Bennet took one last look at the little bundle; the baby had ceased whimpering. He pushed the blanket back and softly caressed the tiny pink cheek. Instinctively, the baby girl’s little fingers curled around his large forefinger and held on for dear life. Her dark eyes sparkled, and a diminutive smile flashed across her sweet countenance for a second. At that moment, she not only snatched hold of Mr. Bennet’s finger but his heart as well.
“I could not let you go, Lizzy.” He covered my hand with both of his. “From that moment, you were my child, my daughter. I never looked back. I never again thought of you belonging to another man. Oh, I had some convincing to do when your moth
er returned a few days later, but for all her bluster, she took to you as one of her own. The vicar and I agreed we would never reveal your parentage. Your mother’s visit had been lengthy because of her sister Gardiner’s difficult confinement that resulted in a stillbirth. When Fanny returned, we told everyone she, too, had given birth while in Town. Your mother was of a sweeter, more compliant nature at the time and, with a little persuasion, willing to keep the secret even though it went against her better judgment. No one questioned us, and I never thought it necessary to say otherwise. The servants were bribed and sworn to secrecy, and, in fact, Hill is the only one remaining from that time.”
He had stared at the floor or around the room during much of his recital, rarely meeting my eyes. He now did so, and I saw the mist therein threatening to spill. “I am sorry, my dear, so very, very sorry. I am guilty of a grievous error in judgment. I should have told you. I see that now. I pray you will forgive me.”
][
I spent the remainder of that day wandering the back lanes and countryside of Hertfordshire on foot. I could bear neither the closeness of the house nor my sisters’ solicitude. My father decided to tell Mary and Kitty his altered version of my birth and connection with the Darcys, adding that my real parents had been killed in an accident shortly after I was born. Naturally shocked, they each declared their love for me. Each expression of sympathy simply renewed my grief, and I desired solitude in which to grasp the enormity of the morning’s revelation.
Where I walked, I could not tell you. My mind raced from shock to anger to anguish while my body instinctively plodded on, placing one foot before the other. How could I accept the knowledge that my life would never be the same again…that I was not the person I always knew myself to be…that the family I loved as my own was nothing of the sort…and worst of all…that secretly I must now think of Mr. Darcy as my brother?
Hope no longer existed. He could never renew his addresses. Even the idea was abhorrent now. Most likely, he would flee the county to avoid facing the scandalous consequence his own father created, unaware of the fabrication Papá had invented. I should never be allowed to express my gratitude for his part in saving Lydia, for I knew in my heart that I would not see his face again.
Twilight had descended by the time I returned to Longbourn. Unaware of the lateness of the hour, I was surprised when of a sudden I could barely make out the road before me. I hastened my steps toward the lights shining in the windows of the house in which I had grown up. My heart ached to think I did not truly belong there. If my real father had wanted me, I would never have known Papá or Jane. I would never have slept in the bed I had crawled into every night all these years or shared the laughter and comfort of growing up one of five Bennet sisters.
Once more, tears trickled down my cheeks, and instead of entering the house, I stood back and remained in the shadows until I could wipe my face clean with the sleeve of my pelisse and swallow the emotions that choked me. At last, I opened the front door, hoping the family sat in the parlour so that I might make my escape above stairs.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Hill cried. “You must go into the family directly. They have been sorely troubled.”
“No, pray tell them I am tired and have gone to my room.”
“But you must, miss. The gentlemen callers are most anxious to see you as well.”
“Gentlemen callers?”
Just then, Kitty emerged from the parlour, and seeing me, she called back to my family that I had returned. With a great sigh, I straightened my shoulders before I was ushered into the room. The entire family was present along with Mr. Bingley, and to my utter dismay, I saw Mr. Darcy standing at the window.
“Lizzy, where have you been?” Mamá cried. “We have been worried nigh to death. Have you no compassion on my poor nerves?”
“Come in, my dear,” Papá said as he rose and crossed the room to my side.
I could feel my cheeks burn as I curtseyed briefly to Mr. Bingley and in the general direction of Mr. Darcy. I could not lift my eyes to meet his but chose to study the pineapple design in the carpet at my feet, a pattern as familiar as the wallpaper in my chamber. Never in my life had I felt such shame, not even at the news of Lydia’s elopement. Why was he here? How could he possess so little understanding?
“Shall you not answer me?” my mother asked again. “We feared you had been snatched by the gypsies, staying out this late in the evening.”
“Forgive me. I strayed too far and did not notice the passage of time.” I quickly crossed the room and sat beside Jane.
Mamá threw her hands in the air. “Did not notice—head in the clouds again, I suppose! And Mr. Darcy here has waited several hours—”
“It is of little importance,” Mr. Darcy interrupted, “as long as you are well.”
I raised my head then, feeling his gaze upon me. The expression in his eyes was pained, the natural dark-brown colour now almost black. We looked straight into each other’s eyes, and I was shocked to see neither disdain nor anger, but what appeared to be a reflection of sympathy.
“Mr. Darcy,” my father said, “I am in need of serious libation, and since it is obvious Mr. Bingley desires naught but the nectar of love, would you care to join me in the library?”
Jane blushed at Papá’s words, but they did not seem to deter Mr. Bingley’s steadfast attention.
As the men reached the doorway, my father turned back and inclined his head toward me. “And, Lizzy, I would speak with you.”
“Oh, yes,” Mamá said, rising quickly. “That is an excellent idea, Mr. Bennet. Let us repair to your study immediately.”
I saw consternation flicker across Mr. Darcy’s face, but Papá intervened. “My dear, you must not neglect our other guest. Think what Mr. Bingley should suffer in your absence. I am sure Mr. Darcy will make do with the sacrifice, for he is a generous man.”
My mother looked somewhat torn between the choices, but when Mr. Bingley bestowed one of his beatific smiles upon her, she happily sat down and gave him her full attention.
Inside my father’s study, I sat on the chaise at his insistence while Mr. Darcy remained standing.
“Lizzy, Mr. Darcy and I have talked at length. He agrees that no one must know the true nature of your relationship, not even Mr. Bingley, Jane, or his younger sister. He is perfectly willing to abide by the story that you are a distant cousin, and he has returned from Town this very day to make you a handsome offer.”
I frowned, baffled at the suggestion.
“He desires to bestow a generous settlement upon you.”
“I do not understand.” I turned to look at him. “Why should you do that, sir?”
Mr. Darcy took a few steps nearer. “I have the entirety of the matter from Lady Catherine. I mean to give you your inheritance, Elizabeth—secretly of course, but your rightful inheritance.”
“I still do not comprehend your meaning. Did your father name me in his will?”
He looked away, and I could see the embarrassment this entire scene caused him. Oh, I could not bear to be the reason for his shame.
“There was no mention in his will, except that a certain sum was to be sent to his solicitor in London every year in payment of a private debt. When I took over as master of Pemberley, my father’s attorney simply told me it was a personal matter. I now assume the money has been sent to the vicar of Longbourn Church, who then handed it over to Mr. Bennet.”
“That is correct,” my father said.
“The will provided Georgiana an ample fortune but left the bulk of his estate and the property, of course, to me. I propose to share a goodly portion with you. It shall be accomplished discreetly. No one need ever know, not even Georgiana. If Lady Catherine is your concern, be assured that she will remain silent, for she fears the taint of scandal. ”
I was mortified. How could he think I would accept such a gift? “Mr. Darcy, there is no need for you to make such a gesture. I thank you, but I shall not allow it.”
“But why no
t? It is your right. You are”—he swallowed—“my sister just as Georgiana is.”
“No, I am not.” I rose and walked to the window where I fingered the drapery and peered out into the darkness. “I am your half-sister, sir, born on the wrong side of the blanket, a fact that must be kept secret so as not to sully your good name. Your father did not want me, and I do not want anything that is his. If the only father I have ever known will allow me to remain in his house, then this is where I shall stay.” I turned my gaze upon Papá and saw him nod in agreement.
“Good night, Mr. Darcy. I do not think we should ever meet again.” I walked across the room, out the door, and up the stairs.
Chapter Two
In our bed that night, Jane allowed me to weep on her shoulder until, spent, I at last drifted into troubled slumber.
Upon awakening, I saw the rumple of sheets I had created. My sister had already risen and dressed. One look in the mirror told me I did not wish to encounter anyone before somehow repairing my wild tangle of hair. Restoring my swollen, red eyelids was another matter.
A slight tap at the door announced the maid bearing a tray containing mugs of hot, steaming tea.
“Taste it, Lizzy,” Jane said, “while I attack your curls.”
“Mmm, a hopeless task I fear.” I sipped the comforting drink and closed my eyes as my sister gently worked at the snarled locks streaming down my back.
“I hope you feel better today.”
I squinted at the sunshine beaming through the window and, for Jane’s sake, decided I would attempt a cheerful tone. “’Tis difficult to remain sad on a day deprived of morning fog. Not a cloud appears in the sky.”
“After I have worked wonders on your hair and we have breakfasted, shall we not go for a long tramp in the woods?”
I shook my head. “You forget Mamá has claimed you for the dressmaker’s this morning. Another fitting for your wedding gown awaits.” She frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but I was quicker than she. “Go along, Jane. I shall be well.”
