Men of Consequence

by Francine Rainey

  Matlock shook his head. “She refused to be ignored. She wanted George back in her bed as revenge over the woman who she believed had stolen him from her. She also wanted more control of the Pemberley fortune. Anne knew, but gently-bred women rarely speak about such things, so Anne suffered in silence. George did all he could to shield her; he moved Ellen and Hayden out of the city, but Ellen returned to stay with friends. To be sure, George was as solicitous as any husband, but there was an entanglement with the woman who had lain in his arms for so many years and to his son. Though he swore he had remained faithful, he could not think of discarding them when his own actions had created the circumstance. He felt guilty about his son and held out hope that once Ellen realized that he would refuse to return to her bed, then she would become reasonable.” Matlock suddenly began to tap his finger frantically upon the armrest. “That was not to be,” Matlock spit out the words with a scowl. Darcy leaned forward in his chair.

  “Anne was delicate and had suffered three miscarriages in four years. She was in anguish, although she tried to hide it behind a smile. When Ellen realized that my sister had not produced an heir in four years, she tormented Anne. Ellen was still welcomed as a gentlemen’s daughter and widow in some society, so she spoke of her relationship with George as if it were ongoing. To my sister’s humiliation, the gossip reached her. As one of the most beautiful and kind debutantes in her season, and as the one who had snared one of the most sought-after bachelors of the ton, many were envious of Anne and so delighted in her misfortune. Anne was devastated, but she did not initially speak of it to your father. Eventually, Ellen began to show up wherever Anne went, at the modiste, a walk in the park, at Gunters, at Hatchards. She was always with Hayden, the image of George in tow. She taunted my sister, sniveling, calling her weak, suggesting that it was why George still visited her.” Matlock breathed harshly now. “Ellen played upon Anne’s greatest fear, that she would be unable to provide George with an heir. I am told that my sister returned from these encounters, trembling and tearful, having to be given sleeping draughts to calm her.”

  Darcy leapt from his chair. “Why did Father not protect her!” Darcy bellowed as he racked his hand through his hair. The pain and humiliation his mother had suffered enraged him.

  “Son,” Matlock called, his eyebrows drawn together as he waited, when Darcy turned, he continued, “he did not know. Your father would have done all in his power to protect your mother, and he did so when he became aware; however, at first, Anne would not speak of it,” Matlock soothed. Darcy stood still, with a fierce scowl, his eyes flinty, and his breathing harsh. Finally, he turned and resumed his seat.

  “Are you well, Son? Shall I continue?” Matlock asked. Darcy gave a curt nod, and Matlock watched him for a moment, then he sighed and spoke. “Your mother desperately wanted a child, not just to provide an heir, but to be a mother, to love a child as her sweet nature craved. Anne eventually became with child again, with you, Darcy, and the stress of those encounters nearly caused her to lose you, too. Determined not to lose this child that she desperately wanted, she convinced your father to take her to Pemberley. You were born perfect and healthy to your parents’ delight. After your birth, Anne remained mostly at Pemberley for three years, returning to town only to attend those events that were vital to her social standing and from which Ellen was excluded. When she finally returned to town for a complete season, she was no longer a fragile young wife, but a young mother. While your mother was at Pemberley, your father at times returned to business matters in town without her. During these visits, he spent time with Hayden. Your father swore to me that he never broke his vow to your mother, and I believe him, but when Anne returned to town, he naturally spent more time with you and less with the boy.

  “One day, Anne walked in the park with you, Nanny, and a footman. Ellen was there, lurking and watching with Hayden who was now about 8 or 9 and had been told that you had taken his father away. Anne laughed and smiled with you, ignoring Ellen’s taunts. I presume that my sister’s joy infuriated Ellen because the next we know, Hayden began to hurl rocks at you. One hit you as you ran about before your mother could snatch you up,” Matlock glanced at Darcy’s forehead, and Darcy frowned and touched the small and nearly imperceptible scar that had been there since he could remember. “Anne collected you, marched home, and told your father of the years of abuse she had suffered, the taunts, the rumors, the humiliation – the miscarriages. She demanded that he do something. George was enraged. He confronted Ellen, and she could not hide the bitterness and hatred that she had against you, and unfortunately, she had poisoned Hayden with her hatred.

  “Your father came to me filled with guilt. Guilt for your mother’s suffering, and remorse for what Hayden was being denied. He decided to purchase an estate in county Devon called Creston Hill. It produced three to four thousand pounds per annum, and with the benefit of a good steward, perhaps more. George stipulated that Ellen could live there for life – but only if she ceased in her attacks against his family, and her unwanted chasing of him. The estate’s proceeds were to be divided between maintenance, a trust for Hayden, and pin money for Ellen. If Ellen violated the terms of the contract, the trust from the estate would continue to benefit Hayden, who would be sent to school, but Ellen would lose her pin money and her right to stay at the estate. You must understand Darcy, your father loved you so very much. You were the joy of his life, but he was wracked with guilt for having to send his firstborn away. However, he knew that Ellen’s bitterness would destroy the two families should they remain in proximity. I do not think he ever recovered from the consequences of his actions, and I am convinced that this was the impetus for his treatment of Wickham, taking in the steward’s son to ease his conscience.

  Elizabeth sat on the cold floor, the unanswered questions nearly too much to bear. How? Why? When had it happened? The note tucked inside her sleeve seemed to chafe her skin. Frantically she pulled at her dress sleeve, but the edging seemed to mock her, refusing to easily release the paper. Paper, she scoffed, not paper, not anything as common, as mundane as paper. No, it was her life, her budding hopes. New tears joined the old ones as she finally freed the missive and looked first at the distinguished, sophisticated, unique seal that represented so well its owner. It was identical to the one Francesca had used. There could be no mistake. Many gentlemen recently engaged gave their signet rings to their betrothed as surety until they were possessed of a proper engagement ring. Elizabeth understood that Francesca’s possession of the Darcy signet ring could only mean one thing, that Francesca and Darcy were betrothed. Elizabeth could not fathom how it had happened.

  Suddenly, Elizabeth gasped, her eyes bulging, and with trembling hands, she opened the note and quickly scanned it again.

  Dear EB,

  I implore you, do not be alarmed at the receipt of this letter, nor at the scene you happened upon in the park. I have much I desire to share with you. I desired to offer an explanation yesterday, but you were not present when I returned, nor at dinner, nor to my infinite sadness again at breakfast. I must leave for a few days to attend to urgent business with my Uncle Matlock; however, I shall not stay a second longer than needed. I will hasten back to you like water returning to the sea. Then I will explain all to you. I will withhold nothing. Wait for me. Please.

  Yours,

  FD

  Tempted to toss into the flames the tormenting paper that gave her hope and then crushed it in the space of a few inches, she instead held it to her heart. Elizabeth’s chest rose and fell quickly. He had said he wanted to explain. What she had witnessed in the park must have been a newly betrothed couple. Darcy had likely behaved so strangely because having flirted with her during her stay, he wanted to tell her himself. He tried after the park, but she had hidden in her room like a child.

  Elizabeth sighed. So, he had chosen duty. She could never hate him for that, curse him, rail at him, yes: but hate, no. Elizabeth did not understand why she felt such disa
ppointment, he had cared for her, flirted with her, perhaps even considered her, but he had made no promises to her, and she had guarded her heart, had she not? Surely, what she felt was just disappointment that the fairy tale was just a dream, and surely, she would be well in short order. Elizabeth frowned and bit her lip.

  She knew not how long she stayed crouched on the floor, gripping the letter to her chest. But eventually the cold seeped through her dress, and though she would hardly have cared for the discomfort, it served to alert her to her duties as a guest in her sister’s house. So, Elizabeth rose slowly from the floor, her legs wobbly either from the ill-advised position that she had sat in for too long, or either from the grief and disappointment that she did not wish to acknowledge. She knew not which to blame, but shaky hands nevertheless gripped the bedposts for strength and then clutched the dresser for support. Elizabeth quickly splashed her face with the water from the basin, hoping to erase the traces of tears and wishing that so easily a remedy could be found for her disappointment.

  Darcy rose, walked to the window, and embraced the frame. Silence reigned as Richard leaned forward and stared at the floor, and Matlock stared at Darcy’s back. After some time, Darcy turned, his voice harder than he intended. “I have a brother. My father has another son.” Darcy shook his head, “Why am I only being informed of this now?”

  “That is a fair question. Your father swore me to silence. He knew you were caring and conscientious, and he thought you might feel guilty for being his heir. He wanted to carry that burden alone.”

  Darcy regarded his uncle steadily, then he drew his hand over his face and turned again to the window. After a moment, Darcy asked the question for which Matlock had been waiting. “What does this have to do with Francesca?”

  “Francesca is a distant cousin to Ellen and Lilly.”

  Richard’s head snapped up. “I never trusted her,” Richard spat.

  Darcy inhaled. “You knew! You knew that I had entertained the cousin of my father’s mistress? How could you know and not speak of it to me!”

  “Darcy!” Matlock held up his hand, “understand Son. George had just died when Francesca invaded Pemberley. You had the responsibility of a fragile little girl who clung to you like someone drowning, not to mention the responsibility of an enterprise as vast and complicated as Pemberley, and you were still a very young man. I could not add to that burden, so I confronted the interlopers and sent them away with a warning.”

  After a while, Darcy looked away and heaved a sigh, “Forgive me, Uncle. You have been everything kind. I would not have made it without your care.” The earl and his entire family had stayed with Darcy for two months after his father’s passing, and it had been a tremendous help.

  Matlock waved his hand. “You were, are like a son to me, and George was as a brother. I could do no less.”

  Richard looked at Darcy and his father, “So, this could mean that Hayden is Alexander’s father.”

  “It could, but I am not certain that is the case,” Matlock said, and Darcy looked at him with a frown.

  “A stipulation your father made was that I keep in contact with the steward of the estate. I received quarterly reports about the wellbeing of Creston Hill as well as Hayden. I know for a fact that Hayden did not travel from the estate during that period. And if you recall, before arriving at Pemberley, Francesca spent time at your neighbor’s estate, leaving only in the middle of a snowstorm that stranded her at Pemberley,” Matlock’s lip curled in disgust.

  “Then Hayden and Francesca could not have had contact during the time Alexander was conceived.” Darcy sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “What is he like, my brother?” Darcy asked quietly.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Hayden Christopher Mimms was tall and broad-shouldered with wavy, light brown hair. His mother had always teased him that he had inherited his light hair and broad shoulders from his Aunt Lilly. Hayden was once exquisitely handsome. However, now at four and thirty, he was still very fine to look at, but years of bitterness and dissipation had distorted his once sublime features. He had spent most of his life plotting his revenge on the Darcys. Ever since he beheld his mum wasting away with drink, bitterness, and men because of the Darcy family, the grisly beasts of hatred and revenge had invaded his soul. When his mother died, he and his Aunt Lilly, who had raised his mother since she was a small child, vowed to revenge her suffering. They had spent countless hours plotting, only to have their plans disintegrate as the Darcys’ wealth insulated the Darcys from their lowly touch.

  When he had heard that his father had died, he had been empty inside and had just about given up on revenge, when Francesca returned – again. Left destitute by her husband and turned out by her latest lover, she was desperate – and just what they needed. Another Darcy bastard! Yes, they thought, that would be poetic. So, Lilly, and a reluctant Francesca had set out for Darcy’s neighbor in Derbyshire and became ensconced at Pemberley. After Lilly and Francesca had returned home, his aunt had informed him of Francesca’s weakness for the master of Pemberley; therefore, this time, – he had accompanied Francesca while his aunt remained at home. He would make certain that her amorous feelings for Darcy would not interfere. This time, they would prevail. He would not disappoint his aunt; they would have their revenge for the rejection that humiliated his mother and caused her decline. He would have his revenge in the most spectacular way. He was certain that it was for this reason that his heart continued to beat.

  “Your brother,” Matlock grimaced, “well, he looks like you and your father, his height, eyes, jawline, but in character, he is much like his mother, bitter and wild, I am afraid.”

  Darcy paced the floor, head bent, and hands linked behind his back. Matlock and Richard waited as Darcy absorbed the shocking information. “I wish to learn from Father’s mistakes,” Darcy finally spoke. “I will find a way to care for my son, give him the life he deserves.” I will not send him away. But I will not allow Francesca to disturb Elizabeth.”

  Richard’s eye widened, “Unless,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Unless what, Son?” Matlock asked.

  “Unless Francesca is lying about Alexander’s date of birth!” Richard jumped up.

  “What are you saying, Son?”

  “Think about it, Father and Darcy. My man said that the vicar had a reputation. Perhaps he was persuaded to falsify the record.”

  “That is a punishable offense, Son. There would have had to have been a great reward.”

  “Did you not say that Hayden’s estate brought in 4,000 pounds?

  “It is possible, Son. However, I believe Hayden is profligate. I am not certain he would have kept enough to bribe a clergy.”

  “But he could have,” Richard interjected. “We cannot rule this out, Father. We must investigate. We should…”

  “He does seem – younger,” Darcy interrupted quietly, his eyes blinking rapidly as he frowned.

  Francesca paced in her sitting room. Her hair was wild, having come loose from the pins, and her pristine dress was now crumbled from multiple raising and sittings. Fitzwilliam has gone to Matlock! Matlock will tell him! He will know! He will not want me now. Never again. And to think, I went to Elizabeth to discompose her only to have my own world explode. Francesca dropped in her chair, suddenly and eerily calm. Too empty for tears, she had been here many times before, this familiar place of insecurity, of detachment, of loneliness. Where had she ever belonged? Where had she ever been wanted? No, she would not cry. She had cried all her tears in darkened rooms locked in by governesses, in cold beds locked in by masculine arms. The only time she had ever felt safe had been an illusion because for all his tenderness, he did not want her either. No, she would not cry, could not cry. She lurched from her chair, an idea forming. No, she would not cry. She would survive.

  Richard whipped around. “He seems younger? What do you mean?” He asked too loudly.

  Darcy sat on the ledge of the window with his arm
s folded, head down and brow creased. “I mean that when Georgiana was Alexander’s age, she was, she was – different.”

  “Different? Different how?”

  Darcy threw up his hands, “I do not know. She, she, she talked more. She did not fall as much. She had more coordination.” Darcy looked up suddenly and lowered his hands slowly as clarity came, “She seemed…older.” He stood from the window ledge and paced. “I know every child is different, but whenever I am with Alexander, he seems, younger somehow than the four years Francesca says he is.” He stopped and turned toward his relatives with questioning eyes, “Does this make sense?”

  “Yes! Does it not, Father? Francesca may be dishonest about his birth date, which could be why the vicar was so nervous. What if Alexander is not four but three, conceived with Hayden after she departed Pemberley? That would also explain her delay in informing Darcy; she had to wait until the lad grew up and could be passed off as older!”

  Matlock steepled his hands while Darcy and Richard waited. “I suppose that is possible. Tell me about the vicar.”

  When Richard finished his tale, Matlock nodded. “There seems to be only one way to determine the truth; we must travel there and see for ourselves.”