A Peculiar Connection

by Jan Hahn

  “She must go to Mr. Darcy in gowns befitting her new position,” she declared. “Oh, think of all our Lizzy shall have, married to a man with ten thousand a year!”

  “I wager he will not spend the entire sum on Lizzy’s clothes,” Papá answered, a statement that made me smile, for I had just entertained the same thought.

  I made time to assist Kitty with her latest addition to an old bonnet, and I even practiced the pianoforte enough to play a duet with Mary. It seemed that I wished to share my newfound joy with almost everyone. Such attentions were welcomed, and I realized how much I would miss my sisters, for soon, I would leave them for a new life. I hoped with all my heart that eventually each of them made happy unions with good men of their own.

  Still, I found myself missing William more and more each day. I rambled through the Hertfordshire countryside, wishing I might happen upon him. Each time the post arrived, I raced to meet it. And every night, I sat at the window of my chamber, reliving each moment he had held me in his arms.

  At last—at long last—the day came when Hill announced his name, and Mr. Darcy walked into the parlour. It was all that I could do to keep from running into his embrace. He bowed as he kissed my hand while Mamá welcomed him with excessive effusions. He spoke to her in a cordial manner, but his eyes never left mine. Papá joined us, and they spent no little time in general pleasantries. All the while, my arms ached to hold him, and my lips longed to be kissed.

  We suffered through dinner, sitting across the table from one another. I was not surprised to find that, at the end of the meal, I had scarce touched the food on my plate. After having a drink with Papá and spending sufficient time thereafter within the company of my family, Mr. Darcy rose and bade us good night. I read the message in his eyes to follow him from the room.

  “I shall see you to the door, sir,” I said.

  “Oh yes, let us all see you off, Mr. Darcy,” Mamá said.

  “There is no need,” he protested. “I know the way perfectly well, ma’am, but, Elizabeth, I would speak to you a moment.” He bowed in my mother’s direction. “With your leave, of course, ma’am.”

  She nodded, still in awe of her new son-in-law to be, and I saw Papá smile. At the door, I took William’s hat from the servant and dismissed him.

  We closed the door behind us and walked out into the dark and into each other’s arms. His mouth covered mine before a word was said. How could a man taste so sweet? I gave myself up to him in willing surrender. Again and again, he took my lips while his arms bound me closer to his warm body, his hands roaming up and down my back.

  “Oh, how I have missed you,” he whispered, “your lips, your skin, the scent of your hair, the way you feel in my arms.”

  “No more than I have missed you.” I nestled into his neck.

  “Oh yes, more, much more. No one could ever miss anyone as I have missed you. Dearest, at times, I found it hard to breathe for want of seeing your face. Tell me you will marry me without delay.”

  “I will, I will,” I said, laughing. “But when?”

  “By the end of the week?”

  “This week?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding vigorously. “I have the licence. Why should we wait?”

  “Why, indeed?” I answered, laughing again.

  “Shall you come to Netherfield tomorrow? Bingley will allow us time alone, and I have much to tell you.”

  “What happened at Kent?”

  He shook his head. “Not tonight. I shall tell you all on the morrow. Tonight, I wish only to hold you.”

  ][

  In the Bingleys’ drawing room the next day, I visited with Jane for what seemed an impossible length of time. Most days, I should have welcomed a long span of time to talk to my sister, but that morning, my eyes kept straying to the doorway, hoping that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley would soon return from shooting.

  At length, they came. William strode to my side immediately and kissed my hand, his lips lingering and his hand pressing mine. Jane asked them how they had fared in their sport, and her husband was only too willing to enlighten us on each and every shot. Even when we sat down at the table, Charles continued on and on. I learned more about the exercise that day than I ever wished to know.

  We tarried over the meal for some time, and I had to admit that it was most pleasant. There, with my favourite sister and brother, and my own dear love beside me, I could not have asked for more—other than the fact that I was anxious to be alone with William and to hear what he had learned on his journey.

  “Shall we retire to the drawing room?” Jane asked at last. “Or perhaps you would enjoy a walk in the garden, Lizzy.”

  I saw a knowing look pass between William and Charles. “My dear, I must insist that you rest,” Mr. Bingley said. “Come along, now. Our guests will understand.”

  “But, Charles, I do not wish to forsake Lizzy.”

  “Go, Jane,” I said. “You should keep up your strength.”

  “Besides that,” her husband said, “I am sure Darcy is more than willing to keep our sister company.”

  “Oh, of course.” Jane blushed and allowed Mr. Bingley to help her rise from her chair.

  “I shall go along to make certain the drapes are drawn so that you will not be disturbed.” Charles turned and glanced over his shoulder, giving William another sly look as he escorted his wife from the room.

  Mr. Darcy led me into the library and closed the doors behind us. He then proceeded to kiss me as any man ill with love would do. I certainly did not protest but responded to his lovemaking as I did each time his lips met mine, filled with wonder at how his mere touch could provoke such exquisite ripples of desire in me.

  At length, however, we reluctantly drew apart so that he might share news of what he had learned while in London and Kent. He bade me be seated at the library table, where he had placed a packet containing the missing pages from his father’s journals.

  “Where and how did you find these?” I asked.

  “As planned, I called upon my barristers. They were acquainted with my quest for information about your birth, for I had engaged them to begin the search on the same day last year that Lady Catherine produced the note my father had written to Sir Lewis. For most of these past months, their efforts have been in vain. However, while we were in Ireland, Mr. Barnesdale called upon his grandfather, who had been my father’s attorney for many years. He retired to the country, and he is quite aged, but he remains interested in his grandson’s cases. When Mr. Barnesdale began to discuss his fruitless labours on my behalf, the old gentleman produced this packet of papers.”

  “But why should they be in his possession?”

  “My father had given them to him for safekeeping years ago. His orders had been to secure them in a place where no one else would find them. He had been told to relinquish them to no one other than my father’s brothers or me. Unfortunately, when he departed the firm, the elder Mr. Barnesdale neglected to instruct his grandson to call upon him if there were any inquiries regarding George Darcy. Consequently, the pages from my father’s diaries had been locked away in the old man’s personal safe within his house for years, their existence known only to him. Just think: had he not lived to such an advanced age, I might never have found them.”

  William opened the packet and began placing page after page before me. They began, as we had suspected, in June of the year in which I was born. Sir Linton Willoughby had returned his sister to Bridesgate once he learned that she was with child. Since that knowledge had destroyed his plans to annul the marriage and marry his sister to Lord Haversham, his temper had flared out of control. He stormed into Pemberley, demanding that George Darcy inform him as to Peter’s whereabouts. That was the first time George learned that his brother had secretly married Elizabeth Willoughby and that she was to bear his child. He was also shocked to discover that Peter’s influence had persuaded Elizabeth to convert to Catholicism.

  Over and over, I read of the anguish George endured because o
f his brother. He spent an extravagant amount of that year searching for Peter and dealing with Sir Linton’s rage over the matter. George offered to take Elizabeth into his family, promising that she and her child would always have a home at Pemberley, but Willoughby refused. He was obdurate that no one ever learned that his sister’s husband had deserted her or that she had embraced the Catholic religion. He would not tolerate Papist connections tarnishing his reputation or deflecting his ambitions.

  Once Sir Linton saw that Peter Darcy was not returning and was perhaps dead, he determined to rid his family of any evidence that Peter and Elizabeth’s union had existed. He threatened the vicar of the local church with the loss of his living if he or his family ever revealed that a wedding had taken place, for he would not brook the scandal caused by talk that his sister was with child and deserted by her husband. He would rather send her out of the country. Willoughby stood over the vicar, forcing him to expunge the record of their marriage from the church annals. At first, the clergyman balked, but when Sir Linton saw that there were no other entries on the page, he tore out the page himself.

  Neither George nor Sir Linton possessed knowledge that Peter and Elizabeth had also married in a Catholic ceremony, for no one existed to bear record to the fact. Unfortunately, Father Ayden, who had married the couple, was killed in an accident not long after Peter disappeared and before George returned to Pemberley from Town.

  Willoughby made certain his grandmother kept his sister locked in her chamber at Bridesgate during her entire confinement, refusing her leave to see anyone. All of George’s efforts to speak with Elizabeth were denied, and Willoughby told him that, if he did not keep silent about the matter, he should fear for the safety of his family.

  William picked up one of the pages and began to read aloud.

  11 September 1791

  Normally, I would disregard Sir Linton’s threats, but Fitzwilliam is young and freely roams the woods between Bridesgate and Pemberley, although I have instructed him to stay away from the Willoughby house. The baronet’s rage is not only beyond reason; it is demented. So far, I have kept Anne unaware of this wretched dilemma, but I shall be forced to tell her and curtail both her and Fitzwilliam’s activities if I do not go along with Willoughby’s demands. I fear for Anne’s health. She is so delicate that the least distress puts her in bed and the doctor must be fetched.

  What am I to do? And why, oh why, did Peter desert his young wife?

  “The man dared to threaten my mother!” William said, balling his hand into a fist. “Here is another entry little more than a month later.”

  22 October 1791

  I called upon Willoughby during my trip to Town. He remains unbending in his stubborn, insupportable mood. He refuses to claim the child if it lives, and he vows that it shall not be reared at Pemberley. He insists that, once delivered, his sister and her child must take up residence at a cottage he has secured in an obscure village in Scotland, far from either Derbyshire or London. I fear Willoughby plans to cast his sister from the family, for Lady Margaret says they have no relations in that country. She said it was all she could do to insist that her granddaughter be allowed to remain at Bridesgate until her confinement is over. If Sir Linton had done as he originally planned, he would have banished the girl to Scotland upon first knowledge that she was with child.

  I shall do whatever I can for Peter’s poor wife, but oh, how I wish my brother would return!

  “Elizabeth, what if you had been born in Scotland? I should never have known you!”

  The torment in William’s eyes caused me to rise from my chair. I held out my arms, and he stepped into them, allowing me to comfort him for no little time.

  When we returned to the writings, I picked up a page.

  28 November 1791

  Lewis has been here ten days. Once again, Catherine has learned of his misdeeds—this time with an actress in Town. I have written to her, attempting to intervene, but, thus far, she refuses to relent.

  “So now we know why your father prevailed upon Lady Catherine’s husband for assistance. He truly could call in the favours he had performed for Sir Lewis.”

  “As a lad, I wondered why my uncle oft times visited Pemberley or our house in London without Aunt Catherine,” William said, a bemused expression upon his face.

  I cut my eyes at him. “Shall you have an actress in Town after we are married?”

  “Only if you take to the stage,” he answered, bending over to kiss me. He pulled out a chair and seated himself beside me. “Let us continue.”

  7 December 1791

  Peter’s child was born last night—a girl—apparently healthy. She has her mother’s colouring, but I can see my brother’s imprint upon her face. Elizabeth Willoughby died an hour after giving birth. Poor girl! I suspect that despair robbed her of the will to live. Her brother should be shot!

  Lady Margaret summoned me right after the birth. Her daughter and grandson remain in Town unaware that it has taken place. She pleaded with me to take the babe before Sir Linton comes and sends her to Scotland. I have sent the child to Rosings with Wickham and Sarah, as I trust them both without question. I pray that Lewis can find a suitable home for her, and that he keeps news of the birth from Catherine so that she never tells my dearest Anne.

  What a sad ending to this tale! I fear I shall suffer guilt the rest of my days for the part I have played. If only I could find Peter, but I fear he must be dead, for he is not the kind of man who would leave his wife and child.

  William laid the journal entry down and sat back in his chair, his face troubled. “I thought my father a stronger man than that. If he had possessed more courage, you might have enjoyed a much altered life.”

  “At least he kept me in England. That must have required a great deal of fortitude to resist Sir Linton’s certain anger when he became privy to your father’s interference.”

  “Why could he not have stood up to Sir Linton and insisted upon rearing you at Pemberley?”

  “You must not judge him harshly. He had your mother and you to think of before all else. It was a difficult situation, and your father had great responsibilities, but he did what he thought best.”

  He gazed into my eyes. “You are generous with my father, and yet you cling to a grudge against the man who nurtured you.”

  I swallowed and turned away. “That is different. Papá should have told me long ago.”

  “Still, he, too, did what he thought best, did he not?”

  Unease settled upon me, and I did not like the feeling. Had I treated Papá less than fairly when he did so much for me? I rose and freshened my cup of tea. I determined not to think on the matter, for I found it painful. I poured another cup for William and changed the subject.

  “Shall you ever learn why your father removed those pages from his journals?”

  “Barnesdale provided the answer. He said that, the year before he died, Father summoned the elder Barnesdale to Pemberley. My father had been told by the physician to put his affairs in order because he did not have long to live. Father trusted the senior Mr. Barnesdale more than any other attorney as he had retained him since inheriting Pemberley as a young man. He was the one whom Father had instructed to send support for your care all those years. Together, they went through my father’s papers, and the barrister suggested that Father either dispose of anything that linked him to Peter’s child or allow Mr. Barnesdale to provide safekeeping for the evidence. My father gave him correspondence from Henry and Sir Lewis before recalling that he had written about the birth in his journals. A thorough inspection of the volumes from the year 1791 onward caused him to remove the pages from the diaries. In doing so, he also decided to take out anything he had written about Peter becoming a priest.”

  “But why did Mr. Darcy not destroy his writings?”

  “The elder Mr. Barnesdale stated that was Father’s original intent, but something caused him to reconsider. He said perhaps he had been in error to keep all of it hidden all those year
s, and that someday someone might need to know the truth. The attorney thought his client referred to Peter Darcy, thinking he might eventually return to Pemberley.”

  I reached out and took William’s hand. “Who would have thought your father’s information essential for his son to know?”

  He brought my hand to his lips. “Strange how life comes about.”

  “Did you call upon Sir Linton while in Town?”

  He frowned and looked away. “I did. He refused to see me, but when I told the servant that I would not leave the premises until his master granted me an audience, Willoughby eventually consented.”

  “Will you tell me what happened?”

  “I shall say only this: Sir Linton knows precisely what I think of him. He has been told that not only do you and I know the truth, but Peter Darcy does as well. He knows that, but for the unbelievable forbearance my uncle urged me to consider, I should have called him out then and there—and I should have prevailed. And finally, he knows that he shall never prevent his sister from seeing you whenever and wherever she chooses, or he will have me to contend with, and mercy on my part shall no longer exist.”

  “Excellent!” I clapped my hands together. “I wish I could have witnessed that meeting.”

  “I would not have had you there, for the language used would not have been fitting in the presence of a lady. Indeed, Elizabeth, I do not ever want you to see that man again.”

  He had risen by that time and crossed the room to the window. “I see that your sister has left her chamber, for she walks in the garden with Bingley.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I suppose we should join them, for we have spent a long time in seclusion.”

  I walked over to the window. “Not before you tell me what happened at Kent. Jane and Charles appear content in their stroll.”