Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
D arcy raced up the steps to his cousin’s house. To his horror, when he entered, all he saw was chaos. The butler apologised for the state of the corridor, took Darcy’s coat and hat, and said that he would find Lady Fulford and Miss Bennet in the study. He went there at once, almost running in his haste. Elizabeth rose to greet him, her face pale. She raised a finger to her lips and with a silent tilt of her head indicated an armchair where Cecilia was sleeping under a heavy blanket.
“I came as soon as I received your note,” he whispered when she was close enough to him to hear. Holding her hand, he added, “Please tell me you are unharmed.”
“Lord Fulford has gone, taking some of your cousin’s jewels to pay his debts. She offered him pearls, but he demanded more. You should have seen him wrench her diamond necklace from her hands. His greed was disgusting.” Elizabeth shuddered. “After he left, she cried terribly until she fell asleep.”
He nodded and led her to a small alcove where there was a low sofa.
Sitting, he said, “The rest will do her good. But you did not answer my question. Are you well?”
“I am, but…”
When she did not go on, he said, “Elizabeth, remember our promise. There are to be no secrets between us.”
She took a deep breath. “Lord Fulford frightened me, but he did not hurt me.” She paused. “He was here with that woman. Mrs Wilder.” She removed her hand from his and observed him carefully. “She spoke as though she knew you and asked me to give you her regards.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “I have never met Mrs Wilder.”
“Perhaps you knew her under a different name? She said it had been a long time since she had the pleasure of your company.”
“You do not believe me? Whoever this woman is, she means to cause mischief. You should not liste?—”
“She said you were responsible for Dominic’s death.”
The words were like a slap to the face, and he lost the power of speech. Suddenly, he was in darkness, racing through Covent Garden, banging on doors, demanding whether anyone had seen Dominic or knew where he might be. The rushing sound of his own heartbeat filled his ears. Then a voice, so soft and sweet, called his name, and a warm hand was pressed against his cheek. He shook off the memory of his panicked search, closing his eyes against the image of Dominic lying dead on the cold ground, his eyes staring blankly into the heavens. Eventually the room returned to him, and with it came Elizabeth, whose eyes were full of the deepest compassion.
“What happened?” she asked. “I wish to know the truth for your sake, so I might know how to ease your suffering. I am sorry for repeating that woman’s wicked insinuations, for I can see the pain it has caused you. Doubtlessly she only said it to provoke me, for there can be no truth in her claims?—”
“It was my fault. I am to blame for his death.” Darcy had never said the words aloud, and he dropped his gaze. He could not bear to look at Elizabeth and see the horror that must surely be in her eyes.
There was a silence, and then she said, “Whatever it is, you can trust me.” She removed her hand from his cheek and laced her fingers with his.
He dared to look at her then. If he were to tell her of the darkest moments of his life, of the guilt that ate away at him, it was only right that he should face her to do it. He could not hide from her, no more than he could tell her a half-truth.
“My mother hated her brother Mallory, Dominic’s father. She would not admit him to the house, and his name was rarely mentioned. When it was, the subject was always swiftly changed. As an adult, my mother’s aversion to him has always troubled me. I often tortured myself wondering what secret pain her childhood contained.”
“Lady Fulford said that he was not well-liked.”
Darcy shook his head. “Lady Catherine is not well-liked. Mallory Fitzwilliam was feared.” He continued, the dam within him finally breaking, his internal prison slowly crumbling. “When my parents learnt that he had abandoned Dominic with Lord and Lady Matlock, my mother insisted he be brought to Pemberley. I overheard them arguing about it. My father was against the scheme, worried it would give Mallory an excuse to visit my mother, but she convinced him.” He blinked several times, holding back tears. “My mother had the kindest, most tender heart. I believe she knew what my uncle was capable of, and she sought to protect Dominic.”
Her face pale, Elizabeth whispered, “Do you know what she feared he would do?”
“Dominic had terrible dreams. He would wake screaming, his arms flailing, sometimes begging his father to stop. He hated to be near men who resembled…” A lump formed in his throat, and he could not bring himself to say the rest.
Tears ran down Elizabeth’s face. “That poor little boy.”
“Everyone loved him. More so, once we realised how he had suffered. He relished affection and was easy to love, even though he never expected it.” Despite his sadness, he smiled. “It helped that he resembled an angel and had the temperament to match. He idolised me, and we were inseparable. Wickham hated him, of course.”
“That does not come as a surprise.” She squeezed his hand in a gentle entreaty for him to continue.
“Dominic took great joy from music and the arts, and my mother encouraged his interest. He was a gifted pianist, despite his age, and they played together. My mother was sickly, and Dominic gave her a purpose that helped her overcome her physical ailments. My father loved him for it.”
A silence fell between them, only broken by Elizabeth's next, inevitable, question. “What happened to him?”
“After three years, my uncle returned to claim him.” He could still hear Dominic’s sobs echoing across the courtyard as his father hauled him to the carriage and the loud smack of flesh against flesh as soon as the door closed. Dominic’s departure had left his mother broken-hearted. Darcy had later learnt that his father had offered Mallory money in exchange for Dominic, but he had refused. “I think my uncle enjoyed inflicting pain on my parents and others. He never had any affection for Dominic. Our contact was sporadic after his removal. They travelled extensively, which made exchanging letters difficult. My mother never truly recovered from Dominic’s departure and died not long after. At that time, our entire family was plunged into the midst of the deepest grief.”
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Two years ago, Dominic returned, wanting to reestablish a connexion to his relations. His father had died, leaving him with a substantial fortune. My father was dead, Wickham was no longer a friend, and I longed for the company of one who remembered my parents with the same innocent affection I did. The rest you know. We spent a great deal of time together, and I found that, for all he had suffered, he was still the boy I recalled—bookish, mild-mannered, gentle. You would have loved him.”
“I wish I could have known him.”
Darcy’s gaze fell to the floor. He had arrived at the hardest part of his confession, and he could not look at her.
“What I am about to disclose is not a subject that I would discuss with a gentlewoman, but I cannot be truthful without including it.”
“After everything I have witnessed and heard since coming to town, my sensibilities refuse to be offended.” Elizabeth’s voice was warm, giving him quiet reassurance.
Taking a steadying breath, he prayed Elizabeth would be as understanding once he was finished.
“Dominic once confessed to me that he did not have a great deal of experience with women. He became very anxious when in the presence of the fairer sex. Stupidly, I revealed this to Thorpe. I should have known how the information would appeal to his cruel streak. He coerced Dominic to attend… a private rendezvous with a woman known for her discretion.”
“I see.” Elizabeth’s voice was heavy with disappointment.
“I was not aware of Thorpe’s scheme until I heard him boasting of it at our gentleman’s club. It pains me to admit that I did not immediately rush to Dominic’s rescue, mistakenly believing that there would be no harm in it. On reflection, I see now that such a liaison would have been a trial for a man as shy as my cousin. I believe he was too much afraid of Thorpe to refuse. I would not be surprised if Thorpe bullied him into it.”
Elizabeth gave a slight nod, her lips taut. “And what happened after Dominic visited this-this woman of ill-repute?”
“When he did not return by dinner, I began to worry. I remembered the name of the house mentioned by Thorpe and went to find Dominic. The hour was late, and when I arrived, I was greeted by a woman who told me that he had spent some time there before returning home. She would reveal nothing else.”
“What did you do?” Elizabeth asked when he fell silent.
With reluctance, he admitted, “I left. There were several girls walking about the place that were very young, far too young to be put in front of men. I could not countenance remaining any longer, even to try to learn more about what had happened to my cousin.” He met Elizabeth’s gaze. “Please believe me when I say that I did not stay. I might have discovered some clue that would aid my search for my cousin, but I could not.”
Elizabeth regarded him for a long moment. At last she said, “What has this to do with your cousin’s death?”
“He returned home some hours later. He would not tell me what had happened, but it was evident his…experience had upset him greatly. In the weeks that followed, Dominic was changed. He was withdrawn and anxious, scarcely talked, and he was reluctant to leave the house. I convinced myself that being amongst society would help. I garnered an introduction to my gentlemen's club for him, but soon he began to drink heavily. I should have intervened, but he said he was well and amusing himself.” His chest tightened. “On the night he died, we were at the club. He confessed that he had slept ill the night before and was in no humour for society, but I persuaded him to remain for a short while. We would spend the evening together, and it would revive his spirits. But then I saw an acquaintance I had not spoken to in some time. While I was occupied with him, Dominic disappeared. I assumed he had found a companion of his own to speak to.” Darcy shivered. “I later discovered that he had imbibed so much that he was in a desperate state. I am sure that played a hand in his death.”
“I was told he died in a duel.”
“In a stupid and uncharacteristic act of recklessness, my cousin challenged one of the most notorious shots in London to a duel and lost his life. Dominic was no fighter. I do not think he ever owned a weapon. His upbringing meant that he detested violence of any kind.”
“Why did he do it? Do you believe it was only because he was so drunk?”
He closed his eyes. “God forgive me for what I am about to say, but I believe he wished to die. He provoked a fight he knew he could not win, thereby avoiding the stain of suicide on his name. Amongst his belongings, I found a letter addressed to me, thanking me for every kindness I had ever bestowed upon him. I knew it to be a farewell, written by a man who had chosen death.” With great bitterness, he said, “There you have it, my darkest secret. One that I have told none but you. Judge me all you want, for it cannot be any harsher than how I judge myself.”
Elizabeth removed her trembling hand from his and wiped a tear from her cheek.
“I do not understand how his death is your fault.” Her brow creased. “Or, indeed, how Mrs Wilder would know what occurred.”
“Perhaps Thorpe spoke of it? I should not have left Dominic alone that night. I knew something was amiss. Afterwards, I ought to have forced him to talk about what had happened. When I heard about the duel, I scoured every corner of London I could think of, yet I did not discover where it was taking place until it was too late. I…I only arrived in time to watch him die an agonising death.”
Elizabeth nodded, her face white. “His was a tragic life, and it had a tragic end.” Her manner imploring, she asked, “Are there any more secrets?”
I love you. I love you most ardently. Every part of him screamed it, and yet he faltered.
“No. You now know every part of me, every weakness, every shadow that plays upon my conscience. All I ask is that you do not count my poor decisions against me.”
“It is not my good opinion you seek. It is your own. You judge yourself too severely. I do not understand why you hold yourself responsible for your cousin’s death. How were you to know his intentions? Darcy, you bear too much pain alone. How could you live with such guilt and never share it with another? You must learn to ask for help, to let others comfort you, stand by your side, and assist with your burdens.”
Almost to himself, his voice shaking, he said, “But I could not save him. What if I cannot save Georgiana or Cecilia? What if I cannot protect you?”
Elizabeth gently wrapped her arms around his neck and murmured, “Can you not see that you already have?”
He clasped her to him, his cares melting away as they sat there for several wonderful moments. Across the room, Cecilia stirred. Her cheeks flushed, Elizabeth broke their embrace and rose to adjust the blanket covering his still slumbering cousin and then returned to him.
“I do not know what to do for her,” Elizabeth admitted. “Your aunt refuses to understand how terrible the situation is with Lord Fulford.” Briefly, she told him of the meeting they had with Lady Hadland earlier that day.
Frowning, Darcy rose to seek out a pen and paper from the escritoire .
“Lady Matlock might be determined not to help, but perhaps the depravity of Lord Fulford’s conduct will prompt my uncle to act. Would you ask that a bag be packed for my cousin? I cannot prevent Fulford from returning here, but I can remove her from the house.”
“I shall see to it immediately,” she said, moving towards the door.
“Wait,” he called out softly. She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “Thank you. For everything.”
She smiled. “Finish your letter, and then please make arrangements for my return to Cheapside.” Her eyes shining with undisguised tenderness, she gracefully slipped out of the room.