A Peculiar Connection

by Jan Hahn

  I had rounded the first bend in the path that shielded me from view of the street when I heard rapid footsteps overtaking me. A scant glance over my shoulder revealed Mr. Darcy’s long legs covering the distance in half the time it had taken me. I began to run. Thankfully, the park was deserted and I did not make a spectacle of myself before others, for I ran even faster when I heard him cry out my name. I felt my bonnet loosen and fall to the ground, but I paid it little notice. Erelong, however, I felt his hand catch mine, and even though I struggled, he would not release it.

  “Elizabeth!” He pulled me into his embrace and sheltered my head against his warm, heaving chest. I could hear his heart beating wildly in my ear, and we both gasped to catch our breath. “Hush now; be still,” he murmured, stroking my hair.

  At the tenderness in his voice, my heart melted, and tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked. I allowed him to hold me thus for some moments.

  If only I could stay here the rest of my life, I thought, safe and protected within his arms.

  Perhaps I could. Had I not seen him hold Georgiana in a similar manner? Perhaps I protested his brotherly love in vain. Perhaps this was how a brother comforted a sister. Perhaps…

  And then, he stepped back, and with one hand, lifted my face to meet his. As I raised my eyes, I felt naked, my need for him laid bare. His eyes searched mine, and the line between his brows increased in an expression of deep concern. I turned my face away, knowing I must conceal my feelings. I could not reveal the love I felt for him. I must not let him know how desperately I needed him.

  He led me toward a stone bench a few feet away. There, he gently eased me down and sat close beside me, never letting go of my hand.

  “You have wept enough; now speak to me.”

  “I feel such shame.”

  “Never! You have done nothing of which to be ashamed.”

  “My birth caused the ruin of the Willoughby family.”

  “Insupportable nonsense! Sir Linton’s excessive consumption of spirits and dissipated lifestyle ruined his family’s fortunes. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “But he said—”

  “He did not speak the truth. The man is a profligate libertine and has been all his life. He blames others for his own trespasses, and he heaps most of his abuse on those he believes unable to defend themselves. Elizabeth, you have not brought shame on anyone.” His voice softened. “It is not in your nature.”

  “But the circumstances of my birth—are they not cause for disgrace?”

  “And I suppose you selected those circumstances? Out of the entire world, you chose to be the offspring of an unmarried girl and a reckless gentleman? Come now, I know you better than that. Your judgment is much more prudent than to make a choice so unseemly.”

  I looked up at his mocking tone and could not help but smile slightly at his raised eyebrows. “No, I should have chosen a wise, caring set of parents who provided well for their children. And while I am handpicking my family, I might as well have made them wealthy.”

  He shrugged. “Might as well. Why not select the best?”

  “If only—”

  “Yes, if only.” He rose and walked back and forth several times, and then stopping abruptly, he turned and faced me. “Elizabeth, it seems we have solved part of the mystery of your birth.”

  “Part of the mystery?”

  “We have found your mother.”

  “And we know my father. What more is there to solve?”

  He sat down beside me. “I want to know why. Why would my father indulge in an act fraught with danger and dishonour and with a mere girl? I have made some calculations since learning Elizabeth Willoughby’s age when she died. My father must have been more than ten years her senior.”

  “Evidently, age did not bring wisdom.”

  “But from all other accounts, it did. And from what I remember, my father was the most excellent of men—prudent, discerning, cautious, and moral. I cannot grasp why he would take such a chance.”

  “I would hope because he loved Elizabeth Willoughby. Today has proved a bitter, personal disappointment. Leave me with some semblance of faith that I was conceived in love.”

  “If I do, that destroys my belief in his devotion to my mother.”

  We both looked away at that moment. I closed my eyes, saddened that my only consolation brought grief to Mr. Darcy. Oh, why had my parents not considered the possible consequences when they engaged in such unacceptable behaviour?

  I turned back to face him. “I must ask you: did Sir Linton enlighten you any further about my mother and father’s relationship?”

  Mr. Darcy sighed. “He professed to know little about it. Said by the time he learned of the connection, the deed was done. He blustered about, declaring he did everything in his power to protect his sister, even so far as locking her in her room.” He shook his head, uttering a brief, disgusted sigh. “I have no idea why I did this, but I asked Sir Linton whether he knew the name of your natural father.”

  I held my breath. Why would he ask that question? Do we not know? “What…what did he say?”

  “Something like, ‘You know the answer to that, Darcy, as well as I do! If I were younger and in better health, I would tell you exactly what I think of him, but you are the hot-blooded type who would call me out, and I am no longer fit to fight a duel.’ Then, he changed the subject and once again asked whether you were a fortune hunter preying upon my family. Do not be alarmed, for I was quick to rid him of that impression.”

  “Did you tell him you remembered a break between the Willoughbys and your family when you were a child and that your father instructed you to stay away from Bridesgate Manor?”

  “I did. Sir Linton is a wretched scoundrel! He spoke ill of his own grandmother—your great-grandmother. When he could not persuade her to move to Town and agree to send your mother away, he left them little on which to live. From then on, Lady Margaret lived a solitary life. She must have cut off all communication with surrounding society, or at least I assume she did. As I told you, sometime during my childhood my parents no longer called upon her, and Lady Margaret ceased attending either church on Sundays or any social gathering.”

  “Do you believe my birth caused her to become a recluse?”

  He turned his eyes to meet mine. “Whether it did or not, the breach between my parents and Bridesgate must have happened once Lady Margaret learned of my father’s part in her granddaughter’s predicament. Elizabeth, there are so many unanswered questions. I long to know what truly happened!”

  “I believe we know what happened, sir. What more is there to discover?”

  “I cannot rid myself of this desire to know more. Why would my father do this? What would make him forsake my mother and enter an affair fraught with peril?” He rose and slapped his hat against the shrubs of holly lining the path. “I must speak with someone in my father’s family. I know that somehow I can find the answers.”

  “But who? Is not your uncle deceased?”

  “Uncle Henry is, but his widow lives.”

  “In Bath?”

  He nodded. “She might have knowledge of the incident. My uncle may have told her of it.”

  “And your other uncle…Peter, is it?”

  Mr. Darcy stared into the distance before answering. “He would be harder to find, but it is possible. Anything is possible if one searches long enough.”

  “You said you would tell me about him, but—”

  He lowered his eyes to the ground. “It is not something of which our family speaks.”

  I rose, and we began to walk down the path side by side. We happened upon my discarded bonnet, and after Mr. Darcy retrieved it, he handed it to me. Even today, I recall that the scent of jasmine lay heavy in the air. Numerous vines wove their way through the shrubs, lighting the greenery with their delicate, yellow blossoms.

  “Shall you tell me now? After all, Peter Darcy is my uncle as well.”

  He smiled slightly. “True. I do not know why I had n
ot considered that. I shall tell you, but it is not something the family wants commonly known.”

  In the space of a half hour, Mr. Darcy laid forth the story that corresponded with the account Mrs. Reynolds had given me. Peter, the quietest of my grandparents’ three sons, had always been his mother’s favourite. I could imagine Siobhan Darcy’s indulgent coddling of her little boy. Even when grown, he remained close to his mother, so close that he accompanied her to her clandestine worship services at the Papist church hidden in Pemberley’s wood. Unknown to his father, young Peter’s faith in the Catholic religion grew until he wished to join the church. His desires remained a secret between his mother and him until after her husband’s death.

  A few years thereafter, by the time he was at Cambridge, Siobhan had evidently laid aside funds in the event Peter wished to depart England and sail for Ireland without his older brother’s knowledge. There, he could practice his faith without causing his family to suffer. Once he made his choice, all connection with his family at Pemberley was severed. Eventually, however, George Darcy and, subsequently, Mr. Darcy himself kept apprised of his general location through the priest at the church in the wood.

  “Is that why you spoke privately with the priest on the day you took Georgiana and me to the chapel?”

  “It is. He receives letters from another priest who lives near the Irish village where Peter Darcy resides. He told me my uncle is in poor health and may not live to see another spring.”

  “Do you think he knows of the events surrounding my birth? Did he leave for Ireland before it happened, or was he still in residence at Pemberley?”

  “I do not know. As a child, I recall my father’s anger when he learned Peter had gone away without a word to any of us, but I am unaware of the order of events. It was a period of tumult in our house, for Henry was frequently found in some disgraceful scrape or other misbehaviour. I think he joined the Navy that same year. I do remember how I missed both of my uncles and how much quieter and lonelier the house grew when they left, but as to when it happened, I cannot say. It all runs together in memories of my childhood.”

  We walked in silence for some time, and I was much engaged in reflecting over all that Mr. Darcy had told me when he spoke again.

  “Elizabeth, I would caution you once more not to tell anyone of Peter Darcy other than your uncle and aunt.”

  “You do not need to remind me, sir. I would not reveal your family’s secrets to anyone. If you prefer, I need not mention it to my aunt and uncle.”

  “I trust Mr. Gardiner. He has proven himself a man of discretion, and I have no quarrel with his knowing the truth. As you said earlier, Peter Darcy is your uncle as well as mine, and if you care to confide in Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, you have my permission.”

  I smiled at him. How lovely that he shared my good opinion of my favourite relations. “Since you still have questions, might you write to your uncle in Ireland and make inquiries? Perchance he could provide the answers.”

  Mr. Darcy shook his head. We had returned to Gracechurch Street by that time, and we halted to allow the carriages to pass. “I cannot ask a man I have not seen since I was a boy to discuss such serious matters in a letter.”

  He took my arm and guided me across the street to the steps of the house. There, he stopped and turned to face me. “I have made plans to visit Henry Darcy’s widow.”

  “Indeed? When might you go?”

  “As soon as I can travel to Kent and fetch Georgiana. I cannot leave her under Lady Catherine’s oppression any longer. Elizabeth, will you go with me to Bath?”

  My eyes widened at the thought, and I felt my pulse begin to quicken. “I…I do not think that a good idea, sir.”

  I turned away and hurried up the steps. He followed close behind and opened the door for me. We stepped into the vestibule, and Mr. Darcy handed his hat to the waiting servant. He informed us that Mr. Gardiner had gone above stairs to greet his wife but would be down shortly. I walked toward the parlour and asked the servant to bring tea for Mr. Darcy and myself.

  I settled myself upon the sofa and straightened my skirt, all the while averting my face. Oh, how I wished my aunt or uncle would soon join us or at least that the gentleman would refrain from any more discussion of his trip to Bath. Instead, he seated himself in the chair nearest me and leaned forward, forcing me to look directly at him.

  “Why not, Elizabeth? I shall take Mrs. Annesley with my sister. Why should you not accompany us?”

  “I do not see the need, sir. You are well acquainted with your aunt. I would find myself ill at ease meeting yet another relation with whom I must explain my birth. Besides, you are the one with questions…not me.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  “Sir?”

  “You cannot be satisfied with today’s resolution. Surely, you want to know why your mother and my father ever—” He broke off and placed his hand to his mouth in a movement I had witnessed oft times when Mr. Darcy was troubled. “Their involvement is simply insupportable! There must be more to the story, and I cannot believe you are not as curious as I.”

  “Believe it! I want no more details of this unfortunate affair. I have no desire to claim either the name Willoughby or Darcy.”

  “You are content to remain a Bennet?”

  “I am not a Bennet, am I? That is the truth. I am…no one. I am just Elizabeth, and I do not know where I belong or to whom.” I fought the bleakness welling up within me, but I could not hide my sorrow from him.

  Mr. Darcy rose to sit beside me, taking both my hands in his. I turned my face away, but he commanded me to look at him. “You belong to me, Elizabeth”—my heart turned over—“and to Georgiana. We are your family. Why must you continue to fight it? We want you near us. You will always be welcome at Pemberley. You may come for long visits whenever my sister is home, and wherever you choose to live, I will protect you, provide for you. I will care for you.”

  I finally turned and met his eyes. “The way you did at the Whitbys’ ball?”

  He stiffened and released my hands. Rising, he took a step toward the window and then turned back. “Elizabeth, that will never happen again. I promise you.”

  “I believe you made a similar promise in the church at Longbourn, sir. I believed you then, but you did not keep your word.”

  “I behaved badly, I know. It was the brandy.”

  “And what will keep you from returning to the comfort of drink?”

  Just then, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room, and our private conversation ended. Mr. Darcy remained but a short while and soon made his departure. Later, my aunt gently questioned me about the day’s events. Evidently, Mr. Gardiner had warned her of my fragile emotions, and when I began to hesitate, she tempered her inquiries and encouraged me to retire to my chamber.

  Above stairs, I fell upon the soft bed and buried my face in the pillows.

  ][

  A week later, Jane persuaded me to return to Mr. Bingley’s townhouse in Grosvenor Square. She had visited Gracechurch Street often during my stay with the Gardiners, but I had refrained from calling upon her. Now, she insisted I spend the remainder of my time in Town in her company.

  “I shall miss you when you return to Longbourn, Lizzy. You must grant me this request, and if you do, I shall tell you a very great secret.” She would not say another word or give me the slightest hint until I agreed to pack my trunk.

  Once I had settled into my former chamber and directed the maid as to my belongings, I joined my sister in her favourite sitting room, where she told me she was with child. The news filled me with joy as nothing else had since Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane. She bloomed with radiant happiness and informed me that Charles was over the moon at the news. Thus far, she had not been plagued with sickness of any kind, and her appetite had soared.

  “I shall burst the seams of my gowns if I continue to eat in this manner!” she declared.

  We laughed together at the thought, and I assured her she could order as many
larger frocks as she desired. It was so good to laugh together, to direct my thoughts toward a thrilling, happy event. We spent no little time planning the nursery, wondering whether it would be a boy or girl, and pondering the choice of names.

  “If it is a girl, I hope Charles will allow me to name her Frances Elizabeth after you and Mamá.”

  “I would imagine Charles will allow you to call her by any name you like, for if it is possible, he appears more besotted with you upon each occasion we meet. Oh, my dearest Jane, your news has made me so happy!”

  This relief from my own troubles lasted but a few days, however, for by the end of the week, Jane informed me they were having guests for dinner on Wednesday next: Miss Bingley, who had just returned from Rosings, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy. I cautioned her not to strain herself, but she assured me she was quite well enough to preside over her table.

  The night of the event, I attempted to come down with a headache as best I could, but I unfortunately remained in excellent health. There was nothing for it but to grit my teeth and join my sister’s guests. I fussed with my hair and studied my choice of gowns in the wardrobe for some time, but at length, I could no longer find an excuse to remain in my chamber. With great reluctance, I abandoned my sanctuary and made my way to the drawing room.

  Mrs. Hurst was the first to greet me with her insincere smile and veiled slights. Miss Bingley, likewise, looked me up and down as though I had walked in from the streets. Mr. Hurst’s affair with the bottle had progressed nicely, and he hardly noticed my entrance. Mr. Bingley, however, crossed the room and escorted me to Jane’s side. I loved Charles, for he was truly dear. I avoided glancing in Mr. Darcy’s direction as long as possible, but, eventually, when Charles included him in the conversation, I was forced to raise my eyes to his and acknowledge his presence.