Mr Darcy’s Legacy

Chapter 9

T hey were caught in a mystery—one that felt not only strange but perhaps even dangerous.

“It is a maddening quandary,” Darcy murmured, “No one can tell us the story behind the painting. Perhaps the Duke of Blandford, but I do not have the audacity to ask him why his portrait is hidden in our mother’s parlour.”

“But,” Elizabeth asked, “how did you know its location?”

It was a good question, but Darcy did not respond as he spotted the butler in the doorway. “Parker!”

The man stepped in, apparently averting his eyes from the painting, which was almost impossible as it was in the centre of the wall.

Darcy approached the painting, brushed the frame with a finger, and then showed the finger to Parker.

“No dust! It seems to me this was dusted yesterday!”

Parker was silent.

“Please, Parker—tell me the meaning of this if you know…”

Darcy was so upset that he could hardly find words; he needed answers, yet the butler remained silent.

“If the maids dusted the painting, someone told them to. You are the only one to give orders to the servants, so…?”

Hesitant, a burden on his shoulders, the butler eventually replied, “Her ladyship used to let you see the painting. I did not imagine you had forgotten. I only thought you did not want to speak of it.”

Darcy sank onto the chaise as though struck by lightning. It was true! Suddenly, the past surged back to him, as vividly as it had been yesterday—yet he was certain he had seen that painting only when he was very young, perhaps three or four years old. That alone could explain why he had forgotten.

“Why this painting hangs in Mama’s room?” Georgiana asked, looking from her brother to the butler. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Of course he does!” Darcy shouted, and after a moment, he spoke again, calmer, addressing Parker directly. “I thought there were no secrets between us after all your years in my service. You know all my secrets. I never imagined you had any hidden from me.”

Parker looked devastated by the harsh reproach from the most important person in his life.

“I am sorry, sir. I did not keep personal secrets from you, but this was not my secret. I cannot tell you more unless her ladyship left instructions about the matter.”

At his butler’s words, Darcy remembered the package he received from his solicitor. He had thrown it on the chaise when he entered the room.

Parker was right; he was not permitted to talk even if he knew the whole story, as it was clear to all three that there was a story behind the painting.

“Thank you, Parker,” Darcy said. “You may retire now.”

The butler headed towards the hall, but as he stepped out of the room, he turned and said, “Perhaps you could ask Lady Edwina about the painting.”

Darcy looked at Parker in astonishment. He was right. Lady Edwina was the key to that frightening secret.

Lady Edwina was his mother’s best friend—his and Georgiana’s godmother. It was Lady Edwina who stayed with his mother in her last moments of life and stood by them when their father unexpectedly died. If a person was close to them, it was, no doubt, Lady Edwina.

Parker finally shut the door, leaving the three of them alone. Darcy sat on the chaise, looking at Georgiana, while Elizabeth came to sit beside him.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I need a few moments to calm down.”

Elizabeth took his hand lovingly. Georgiana, who was following their tender gestures, moved to leave, but Darcy stopped her.

“Stay, my dear, please stay. This is about our dear mother, yet you are no longer a child. You can hear the truth—any truth—about her.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to ask whether she should stay. She asked him only with her eyes as they succeeded many times in understanding each other silently. He smiled at her.

“You are soon to be my wife, dearest, and there is a letter from my mother about you and for you,” he said, showing her the package.

Ignoring the painting, all their interests now turned to the packet he brought and the papers inside. Darcy gave Georgiana the package and the ribbon, watching her eyes fill with tears. She was only six years old when their mother died, and she remembered so little about her. But their mother spoiled and loved them, and only illness prevented her from being close to them in her last months of life.

“She was beautiful, elegant, and full of life.” Georgiana smiled sadly. “When I was five, I received a pony, while my mother had a stunning white stallion. One day, she proposed we race, and the stallion, as if he understood my mother’s intention, let me win the race on my little pony!”

Darcy nodded; now that his sister had told the story, he remembered that scene, which had been forgotten long ago. He realised it was the same as with the painting—a hidden memory that needed a clue to become a reality. And in this case, the evidence was the duke himself.

They hesitated to read Lady Anne’s letter; despite their curiosity, there was a certain embarrassment, for they would be her children no matter their age.

“In the package I received from the solicitor, there were two papers: a codicil to her will and a letter for me.”

He was silent again. They were in her rooms, near the secrétaire where she used to spend all her mornings, and both Georgiana and Darcy had the impression they were children again, disobeying their mother. But Lady Anne Darcy had died a long time ago; both her children were adults, and the letter she left them had been written to unveil a secret she considered they had to know.

Georgiana held the package and the ribbon tightly to her chest. Darcy pulled a key from his coat pocket and looked at Georgiana. “In Mama’s message, I also found this key.” The anticipation of what the key might unlock was palpable.

Georgiana received the key with the same wariness that she took the package, as though she was not entitled to touch it. Elizabeth had to admit she was from a very different family, and it was not a question of wealth or power but the intimate relationship that existed in families. Darcy and Georgiana approached those objects from the past as if they were holy relics, not just memories from their parents. In her family, those letters would have been read in no time and followed by discussion and arguments. She and her sisters dearly loved their parents, but the respect was at the same level as the love. In Lady Anne’s sitting room, her children, who were by now adults, treated the memories with a solemnity that made Elizabeth wonder what a normal day looked like in the Darcy family when both parents were alive. She reflected that, regardless of Darcy’s notions about their children’s education, she would also impose rules based on joyfulness and everyone contributing to the welfare of the family.

She gazed at Darcy in astonishment, striving to comprehend what their life would be like. Yet, she recalled him playful and sarcastic, jesting or amused. Ultimately, she realised that such a reverent atmosphere could exist only because Mr and Mrs Darcy were dead.

Darcy gestured for Georgiana to join them on the sofa, and they made room for the girl between them as both embraced her.

Elizabeth seemed more curious about the letters than the siblings themselves.

“Fortunately, Lady Edwina will be here in the morning,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth looked at them both and said in a deliberately joyful tone, “Do you want me to read the letter?”

If she had been looking at Darcy, she would have seen pride, but Elizabeth was looking at Georgiana, who needed her attention much more than Darcy did then.

With every passing day, even in those instances of intense emotion for his mother, Darcy realised that Elizabeth would bring to their family a fresh breeze that would change their relationships in a positive way. She was spontaneous and cheerful, and her devotion was so genuine and caring that she did not impose on others but offered her help with a kind heart, ready to commit herself without any reward.

“Yes, dearest,” Darcy said, “we shall not wait for Lady Edwina to read the letter. I want to know its contents now!”

“As you can see,” he continued, looking at Elizabeth, “I have lost all propriety in favour of this new spontaneity.” He was mocking Elizabeth, who only smiled at his tone as it allowed her to imagine a little master, Darcy, ten years old, who thought he owned the world.

“But first,” he continued, “I shall read mother’s codicil or at least unveil its contents as it is written in a language only solicitors understand.”

He rang for Parker and asked for a glass of brandy; in truth, he wanted to show his butler that he was sorry for his former anger. Darcy barely remembered governesses as he spent almost all his time with Parker, who became his valet at eighteen and then his butler when his father died. He had to admit that he was envious of Parker’s dedication to his mother. Like a selfish child, he would have preferred Parker only for himself. However, the butler’s discretion and the impeccable way he kept her secrets over the years were traits of his noblest character.

The girls were waiting impatiently. Darcy was too restrained for Elizabeth’s taste, but she had to learn to adapt to his rhythms; sometimes, his way of considering before acting was meant to avoid mistakes—but not always, as the past proved; sometimes, his stiffness caused him to make mistakes.

Parker entered the room with the glass of brandy on a tray; still, both men knew it was only an excuse. Darcy was sorry. The butler nodded with a smile while offering his master the glass, and all bad feelings between them were forgotten.

“Mama,” Darcy said abruptly, “left my future wife a yearly income of ￡1500.”

Elizabeth was so surprised that she could not speak. Fifteen hundred pounds a year was a huge income, especially considering she would live at Pemberley. She looked from Darcy to Georgiana, not knowing precisely what to say. She was tempted to refuse; after all, Darcy’s mother was a stranger to her. However, those matters were established with the family solicitors. Darcy’s father certainly was present when his wife signed the documents—as was customary when money, incomes, and estates were involved—so it was not easy to refuse. But then she realised how selfish it would be for her to refuse when her father’s death might plunge her mother and unmarried sisters into a state of near poverty. Having a personal income would give her the ability to help them. Suddenly, Lady Anne Darcy was no longer a stranger but an angel who looked upon her as she did her own children.

“This money,” Darcy said, “is yours; you can dispose of it as you wish. You understand that the codicil is my moral duty for as long as you live.”

“I accept it,” Elizabeth said with a shy smile.

Darcy knew her thoughts just from looking at her. The money would be spent on good causes and not on frivolities.

Unfortunately for her, Elizabeth could not read her future husband’s mind, as he was thinking that, regarding the frivolities, he would attentively take care to provide them all. He had only a half smile, imagining some of his gifts.

“Our parents provided for Georgiana with the utmost fairness, and now, we discover they also thought about my future wife.”

Georgiana smiled; she was like Elizabeth in many ways: unselfish and considerate.

“I am so amazed by Mama,” Darcy said, mainly to Georgiana. “How well she knew me! She spoiled us every moment of our childhood, but she was certain I would choose my wife based on her personal qualities. Mama knew our inner essence and never doubted that. I hope I have grown up to meet her expectations.”

“Now,” Elizabeth said to overcome her emotion, “let us read the letter unless you decide otherwise.”

Elizabeth and Darcy were looking at Lady Anne’s portrait on the wall opposite the duke’s portrait—as if they were intended to look at each other forever.

Lady Anne Darcy was in an elaborate court gown with a small hoop and a tight corset. A weighty blue silk material that constructed her gown in style à l’anglaise. Elizabeth wondered about the change of fashion in only thirty years and how happy she was about that change. But Lady Anne’s hair was natural, dressed merely in a mass of curls that gave her a delightful appearance.

In the portrait, she looked happy; she had a glow that Darcy recognised as love. He had seen that portrait many times, but now, since he had Elizabeth in his life, he could discern the emotions.

Acknowledging that she placed her portrait opposite the duke and not his father was demanding, if not sad. Perhaps Georgiana still did not understand, but he was a grown man who had seen love in many circumstances. He wondered whether he had the right to shatter his mother’s image with Georgiana. The letter was for him, but more than thirty years had passed since the portrait had been painted, and fashion was not the only thing that had changed. The people had as well.

“Good,” Darcy said, “enough hesitation. My only doubt is regarding you, little sister. After reading this letter, we shall look at our past differently. I decided to involve you in these disclosures as I am almost sure the letter is a confession.”

Darcy was wrong. The letter in Elizabeth’s hands was not a confession—at least not a direct one.

Elizabeth read in a steady voice, for she did not want to create excitement, pain or frustration.

My dear,

In the package, along with this letter, you will find a codicil to my will that entitles your future wife to a comfortable income. I want her to love you for all your qualities, not the wealth you will bring to the marriage. As the law requires, your father signed the codicil. He has graciously accepted any of my wishes about your inheritance.

I would have loved to know your wife, but I am sure you chose appropriately and will marry a worthy, strong, and independent woman—the way I hope I had been.

I cannot be ungrateful, as destiny blessed me with an understanding husband and two beautiful children, my unique gifts.

You will also find a key in the package. It guards a long-kept secret—my life’s secret—and it is up to you whether you decide to unveil it. Regardless, I approve of your decision.

If you decide to uncover my secret, that will be possible only after your father’s death. Lady Edwina will guide you in using the key when the time arrives.

It is also entirely up to you to include dear little Georgiana in this secret, but no sooner than her twenty-first birthday.

I hope you and Georgiana will have splendid lives. Please, both of you, heed my last advice: never marry without love.

Your mother, who loves you,

Anne Darcy

Elizabeth set the letter down, and in the silence that followed, she searched for Darcy’s eyes, waiting for him to speak.

“My father has been dead for five years,” he said, looking at Georgiana. “One condition has been met.”

“But I am not yet twenty-one,” Georgiana whispered.

“No,” Darcy replied. “But it is already too late to hide anything from you. We are expecting Lady Edwina, and after that, we shall proceed exactly as she advises.”

Both ladies smiled, for it was precisely what they desired.