Darcy gazed unblinkingly at the youth, his chest rising and falling rapidly for a few moments that contained an eon: shocked into paralysis by the familiarity. A clearing of the throat yanked Darcy from the abyss; however, the subsequent words caused him to feel as if he were plunging again over the precipice.
“May I introduce you to someone special in my life?” Francesca asked, her voice barely over a whisper.
Darcy nodded; his eyes trained on the lad.
“Mr. Darcy, may I introduce you to Alexander William Waters,” Francesca hesitated, “my,” she cleared her throat, “my son,” she said as Darcy’s eyes lifted from the lad’s eyes to hers, and yours; her eyes transmitted.
Chapter Fifteen
“What is the meaning of this?” Darcy asked, breathing harshly after the child was returned to the nursery. Francesca stood as stone. Darcy walked in front of her, “Madam, I ask again, what is the meaning of this? Who is he? He has your late husband’s name, but you had no child before he died. Speak the truth; I will countenance no lies. Whose child is he?” Darcy demanded.
She lifted her chin and gave the answer that Darcy dreaded. “He is your son.”
Darcy rocked backward as if he had been punched by a champion pugilist. “How? How can he be my son? When was he born?”
“17 September 1806.” Darcy tensed, his eyes blinking rapidly.
“Seven months after you left Pemberley,” he whispered. Darcy sat down slowly; his eyes glazed. Silence filled the room as Darcy, fingers steepled on his chin, drew the logical conclusion.
Finally, he spoke. “Did you know you were with child when you left? Why did you leave without informing me? Did you think me so ungentlemanly that I would not have done what was honorable?” Darcy asked the questions in rapid succession. When he paused, Francesca smoothed a curl behind her ear and swallowed.
“Answer me, madam,” Darcy demanded, his voice steely and calm.
“No, I did not know that I was with child before I left.”
“Why did you not contact me when you knew? Did you think I would not act honorably?”
Francesca breathed deeply, “Fitzwilliam, you were so young. You had only just lost your dear father, and you had the weight of a vast estate upon you; I could not further burden you. I was a widow; I knew what I was about. Besides, by the time I realized that I was with child, I had traveled far and had taken very ill. For months, my life and the life of our son was uncertain. My cousin, whom I had traveled to stay with, lived away from society and was willing to shelter me.”
Darcy rubbed his hand down his face, “I had a right to know. I could have given the boy legitimacy and all the rights of a firstborn.”
“Yes, Fitzwilliam, but that would have required that you marry me, a woman you did not love. You were not the first man I had given myself to after my husband died. I did not want to ruin your life. Because I was so ill, none of my cousin’s few acquaintances even knew that I was there. The apothecary, who tended me, thought the child was my late husband’s. My cousin’s few servants had been with her for so long, they would not risk her reputation nor her ire with gossip. So, I stayed, and when Alexander was born, the housekeeper tended my birth. When the child and I were finally able to go into society, no one knew when my husband died. Everyone assumed that I had been with child before he died. So, you see, we were well.”
“Then, why now? Why return and inform me at all?” Darcy’s eyes bore into hers.
Francesca shrugged and sighed. “My cousin passed unexpectantly, and what little she had to leave, passed to her eldest. Now, I am here.”
Darcy stared at her for a long time, his eyes searching, seeking, demanding answers. Francesca held his gaze for a while but eventually looked away. Darcy took in a slow breath and exhaled. “If he is mine, I will care for him.”
“He is yours.” Francesca relaxed her shoulders. “And I know you will do your duty.” Francesca rose and joined the now standing Darcy and placed her hand gently upon his arm, “It has been a shock. Let us meet again after you have had time to adjust.”
Not this! Not now! Darcy felt as if his world had imploded. Rarely at a loss as to what to do, Darcy sat in his study, staring blankly at the papers on his desk; he barely remembered how he had gotten from Francesca’s home to his own. Darcy rubbed his hands down his face. What was the correct path to take for the boy? Darcy could not abandon him to an uncertain future. No, he remembered when his father had taken him to a place in town he had never been before. There he had viewed emaciated children, dirty and begging for food and money. He had been astonished at their condition, some appeared as young as 4 or 5 years old. He had been ready to excoriate the unfeeling parents who would leave their children to such abasement, when his father explained that many of the children where the natural sons and daughters of gentlemen who had taken advantage of servants or indulged with bought women and left, unconcerned for the consequences. With no way to raise themselves in society, the children were left to beg, starve, or worse: sold to chimney sweeps.
His father had then taken him to a parish that cared for many of the outcast. This charity was the recipient of the Darcys’ largesse. His father had wanted him to understand his responsibility in the world and always seek to make it better, and never, ever dally with a servant, nor run the risk of begetting a child, that could unknowingly be subjected to such an existence. He remembered his father turning to him, once they were back in the carriage and had distanced themselves from the stench of poverty and eliciting his promise to keep himself under good regulation until he married. His normally even-tempered father, apparently also affected by the pitiful conditions of the children, had spoken with such passion that Darcy had promised emphatically to do as his father bid.
He had failed. Now this, a son. Darcy put his head in his hands. What shambles. The boy was a Darcy, no doubt about that and since his father was deceased and he had only distant Darcy relatives in France, it stood to reason that the boy, no, Darcy stopped himself, not the boy, Alexander was a Darcy. Darcy hmphed, this would not do. Alexander was not simply a Darcy; Alexander was his son! He had a son! Darcy closed his eyes as the realization made his head spin. He had a son that should be heir to a vast fortune, who had every right to grow up with all the privilege and prestige of a Darcy; but how? Darcy felt that a rock had dropped into his stomach. He ran his fingers through his hair, his face in a deep frown. Should he simply acknowledge his son and establish him and his mother in a home and care for his needs? He knew gentlemen who did this. But would that be honorable? It was no fault of the boy that he had given in to his weakness. No, the boy was his firstborn and had every moral right to be his heir. His heir.
Could he bring the boy into his home and raise him? Illegitimate sons could not inherit titles, but property was different. It would be difficult, but should his firstborn be denied because he would find doing what was right, difficult? And what of Francesca? Could he take Alexander from her? If not, how would he train the boy to become a Darcy, his heir? Would Francesca even let him go? He knew he had rights, but if she did not willing allow him to raise the child, she could cause even more of a scandal, and his name would be bandied about in every drawing room and gentlemen’s club in London.
Darcy ran his hand over his face and closed his eyes. Ever close to his mind came the face of Elizabeth. His beloved Elizabeth. Things had been going so well with her. Her words to him in the library, he was convinced that she was beginning to feel something more for him, and he had experienced contentment for the first time since he was a boy basking in his mother’s love. Now this, what would she think of him for having a natural son if he were so fortunate as to win her hand? She was so innocent. Did she even understand the ways of the world and how such a thing could come to pass? Would he lose her good opinion only recently gained and send her into the waiting arms of Saye? Darcy jumped from his chair. “No! No! I will not lose Elizabeth. I will do what is honorable; I can do no less, and I will l
ove Elizabeth so well that she will understand. She will. She must.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered Darcy’s study, unannounced. Darcy sat turned toward the window, swirling a glass and staring outside. He did not hear his cousin’s rather noisy entrance. Thus, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood at the threshold and watched. Darcy’s brow was deeply creased; his jaw was set in a hard line, and it was apparent that he wrestled with something significant. Richard shook his head and sighed. Darcy was entirely too serious, Richard thought. Richard walked farther into the room, and Darcy turned at the sound.
“Cousin, just what I needed to see on this dreary day, your happy countenance, tis as healing as the sun,” Colonel quipped theatrically.
Darcy gave a chuckle that was half exasperation, half amusement at his cousin’s antics, even in his turmoil Richard could make him laugh. Shaking his head slightly, Darcy stood and bowed. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit today, Richard?”
“I was in the neighborhood and decided to visit my favorite Darcy cousin.”
“Georgiana is in the music room; I should not want to keep you,” Darcy smiled as he lazily resumed his seat. “Go to it, and since you are here to see your favorite Darcy cousin, I shall not be required to share my excellent brandy with you,” Darcy smirked at the feigned panic look on Richard’s face. “Off you go then,” Darcy finished with lips slightly upturned and brow lifted.
“You wound me, Cousin,” Richard placed his hand on his heart. “Do you not remember the bond we shared at the Battle of 1795 as we defended Pemberley Ridge against those reprobates Hardston and Wickham. Did we not fight valiantly and form a bond only borne in battle?”
Darcy chuckled at the memory of them refusing to allow Wickham and Hardston to cross the bridge until they confessed where they had hidden Darcy’s bow and arrows. Suddenly, his smile vanished as he realized that he was in a very different battle now, and it was still Richard he wanted at his side.
“Tell me what it is, Darcy.”
While Darcy reminisced, Richard had seated himself and was now looking upon him with intensity. Darcy marveled that Richard could move from jester to commander so rapidly and so authentically.
“She has a son,” Darcy spoke solemnly.
Richard snapped forward in his chair, his brows drawn together, “Who? Miss Bennet?” He asked, his voice reaching a near unmanly octave.
“No, no,” Darcy responded quickly. “Francesca, Mrs. Waters. She has a son.”
“She does?” Richard relaxed. “I was not aware that she and Giles Waters were blessed with a son.” Richard’s brow crinkled as he attempted to remember. “But…”
“Her son does not belong to her husband,” Richard looked up sharply. “He is mine,” Darcy replied.
“You cannot be serious, Darcy!” Richard leapt from his chair. “Who has spread these lies? Has she claimed such? You are being drawn in. I always knew that behind that pleasant exterior lurked the heart of a shrew! Surely you cannot believe this. I have heard no such rumors.” Finally, as the possibility set in, Richard slowed, “How, Darcy?” Richard’s voice trailed off.
“The normal way, Richard. I did not think I had to explain that to you,” Darcy lifted a brow.
Uncharacteristically, Richard ignored Darcy’s tease. “How, Cousin? What proof does she offer that she has born your child? I daresay it is just her attempt to insinuate herself into your life as she did before!” Richard sat and crossed his arms.
After a significant pause, Darcy responded quietly, “I have seen him.”
“You have seen him?” Richard’s voice again threatened to rise to an unmanly octave. “When?” Richard asked at Darcy’s nod of the head.
“Yesterday.”
“How can you be sure? What proof did she offer?
“He is a Darcy, Richard, without a doubt. And since my father could not have sired him as he was,” Darcy ran a hand down his face, “gone, and as he was an only child and his father an only child, and I have no Darcy uncles or close Darcy cousins in England, and since I have had intimate relations with her, it stands to reason; he is mine.”
“How are you certain he is a Darcy and not the byblow of someone with similar looks?”
“What is distinctive about the Darcys, Richard?”
Richard sighed, “So he has your eyes and your dimples?”
“Yes,” Darcy gave a humorless laugh, “and my chin and my nose and my hair. I promise, Richard, he is the very image of my father and myself. There is no mistaking it. Besides, his date of birth coincides with,” Darcy hesitated, “with our time together.”
Silence took center stage, daring them to escape the implications of such facts.
“What does she want?” Richard asked.
“She has made no demands as of now. She claims she just wanted to inform me, and that the boy and I deserved to know the truth.”
Richard narrowed his eyes, “Then why did she wait so long? Why did she not inform you when you could have done what was honorable?”
“Believe me; I asked the same questions.” Darcy shrugged, “She claimed to have been very ill after she left Pemberley, and by the time she was well, the boy had already been born, and she did not desire to disrupt the life I had forged nor to add to my burdens as master of Pemberley and Georgiana’s guardian.”
Richard stared at Darcy, arms folded, and legs outstretched. “Darcy, let us consider for a moment. Do you believe that Mrs. Waters would have kept this advantage from you altruistically? I know you do not see it, but I believe that she took advantage of your youth and vulnerability all those years ago.” Darcy turned away frowning. “Think, man!” Richard leaned quickly forward. “How did she come to be traveling near Pemberley in the middle of such a storm? I know you do not think so, but I have always believed that she planned such an event.” Darcy pursed his lips and shook his head.
Richard exhaled loudly and looked Darcy hard in the eye. “Did you know that she insinuated herself upon your nearest neighbors? Yes,” Richard responded to Darcy’s raised brow. “Clarence later informed me that she imposed upon his sister for a visit and then proceeded to insinuate herself in every Derbyshire event that had any likelihood that you would attend. Think, it was about one year after Uncle George’s passing. You were out of full mourning and attempting to make connections amongst your neighbors as the new master, and she appeared at every event.” Richard stood and laid his hands flat on Darcy’s desk and held Darcy’s gaze. “Then she leaves on the day of the worst weather and becomes stranded at Pemberley for some duration.”
Darcy vaulted from his chair and strode to the window. He had always felt he was an equal, though inexperienced participant, in the relationship with Francesca. He did not like the thought that he may have been manipulated. No, Darcy shook his head. Though he did not love her, Francesca had always been warm and welcoming. No, he had not been a pawn. The kindness she had offered him had been real.
As Darcy turned, Richard could see the fight in his eyes, and Richard knew that Darcy was about to challenge his analysis. He spoke quietly, “Darcy, you are closer to me than my own brother, but if you cannot believe me, consider that Father also did not trust her.”
Darcy tensed. His uncle had arrived to check upon his overwhelmed nephew and had been none too pleased to see that the stranded house guests were still in residence, even though the roads had been passable for some weeks by then. “I thought his dislike was over the situation of having a widow in the home of an unmarried man,” Darcy frowned.
“I am certain that, that was a concern, but her companion was there, there would not have been much talk. It was something more. Father told me that he did not trust Mrs. Waters.”
“He said something similar to me, too.” Darcy frowned, “Did he tell you why?” Darcy trusted Lord Matlock as he did his own father.
“No, no, he did not. I did not question him. But did he not tell you that he caught the companion attempting to enter your study right afte
r they were told to leave?”
“Yes, but she said she had mistaken the study door for the library. It was not inconceivable.” Richard huffed and shook his head. Darcy leaned against the window seal, arms folded, head lowered, eyes blinking rapidly. Darcy remembered Francesca as kind, but he also remembered his dislike for her companion, Lilly Hayden. There was something not quite right about her. She was too forceful toward Francesca, and she stared at him coldly whenever she thought he was unaware, only to smile sweetly when he looked at her. Finally, after a very long time, Darcy spoke, “Hmm,” he said.
Richard stayed for dinner. In the drawing room afterward, the foursome played whist. Georgiana and Darcy partnered against Elizabeth and Richard.
“We have won again!” Richard turned and smiled into Elizabeth’s eyes. “You make an excellent partner, Miss Bennett, beautiful and intelligent,” Richard flirted. “We could use such strategic thinking on our next military campaign.”
Elizabeth laughed at the exaggerated flirtation, “Why, thank you, Colonel, but I will stick with cards and chess as the extent of my strategic thinking!”
“So, you play chess as well? Singular! Who taught you?”
“My father. Since I have no brothers and an endless curiosity that vexed my mother, the story goes that father forbore to teach me, so that I might learn to sit still.” Elizabeth leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But really, I believe that in a house full of females, Father simply wanted a ready chess partner!”
Richard laughed, “Likely, Miss Bennet, but tell me, who wins?”
Elizabeth smiled, “If you are asking if a poor female ever beats a male, then the answer is ‘yes.’ Father and I are evenly matched.”
Richard tilted his head slightly and smiled, “Singular, excellent card and chess player, and do you sing and play as well, Miss Bennet?”
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