Chapter 57
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
“I do not take your meaning? Henry did? Henry who? I am Henry, and as you can see, I am unblemished.” The man smiled, appearing a bit wolfish as Elizabeth moved away from his grasp and reached down to cover her legs with her dress.
Fear suddenly struck her. Stupid, stupid Lizzy. What am I doing? What if he attempts to harm my son? I am alone with him; even the servants have retired.
“I do not know,” Elizabeth stammered, hoping to buy some time. She placed her hand to her head. “I am…I do not feel well suddenly. I might have a bit of a fever. Did Henry feel warm…oh, I already said that. Perhaps I should go check on him.”
She rose to her feet with haste, and in a trice, he was beside her. He caught her hand, still looking amiable. It is astonishing how malevolent amiability can appear when one suspects the bearer is insincere.
He pulled her tightly against him, pressing his pelvis against her. “Are you nervous, my beloved? It does not surprise me that you should be.”
“Yes.” She seized on the idea gratefully. “I am very nervous.”
“Do not be.” He ran his hands down her back. “It is just me, just us. Have we not, you and I, always shared a certain…passion? Just allow yourself to be easy, and the rest will follow.”
A different idea struck her, and she acted on it. Turning to be more fully in his arms, she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pressing her body along his and caressing him, trying to pretend he was Darcy although the two could not have been more different.
Just as their kisses had grown impassioned, she pulled back slightly. Putting her mouth close to his ear, in a breathy voice, she said, “I know. I know.”
“Know? What do you know?”
She moved seductively against him, murmuring, “After all, do I not wish to retain my title too? The rights of a wife to her husband’s fortune? I have no desire to upset things.”
He laughed awkwardly and tried to move away, but she did not permit it, clinging to him tightly. “I do not understand you.”
“You are not Henry.”
“Of course I am.”
She ran her hands down his body, her fingers brushing his abdomen. “It can be our secret, you know.”
She saw a struggle play out in his eyes and decided to press him. “You are so clever to have apprehended the means by which to further your plans. It is all so very complicated, yet you have emerged the victor.”
She had judged rightly: she saw it by the pleased look on his face. Her misjudgement was in arousing him rather brazenly. However, she saw the next opportunity for gratifying his vanity, though it required a gamble on her part.
“It is in this that I am made certain of my suspicions,” she whispered into his ear. “Henry was a good husband, but alas, not an ardent lover. There was not a shared passion as you have suggested. I foresee a great alteration in my bedchamber soon, and I welcome it, Francis.”
The London streets were hushed, and there was the feeling of a spring storm in the air although it had not yet come to pass.
As the men strolled down the dark streets between Matlock House and Towton Hall, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke, “I think you should remain back, Darcy. Let Hanley and me speak to Mr Warren.”
“No chance of that,”
“I expected you would say that.” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Onward then, but pray, Darcy, do not play the hero.”
“I promise nothing where the safety of my wife is concerned except to get her out of there. That much you may be sure of.”
They arrived at the door of Towton Hall only moments later, knocking and hoping some servant would hear. After a pause, the butler appeared, looking baffled by the sight of three gentlemen on the step so late at night.
“Yes, sirs?”
Hanley stepped forward, allowing himself to be seen in the candlelight. “Good evening, Baynes. How are you tonight? I suppose his lordship awaits me?”
Mr Baynes looked confused and glanced over at Darcy and Fitzwilliam, both of whom he knew from Elizabeth’s time in residence as a widow. “Mr Darcy, Colonel.” He bowed, still seeming a bit uncertain.
Hanley’s bland, genial countenance was like a shield upon him. “He was supposed to meet us, and when he did not, we realised we must have had the plans confused. No need to show us in. I know the way. Please, return to your bed.”
Mr Baynes looked like that notion appealed to him, but duty prevailed. “I could not hear of that. I shall show you—”
“No, no, I insist.” Hanley smiled. “Surely, my long tenure as a friend of this house could permit us both some familiarity, Baynes? After all, it was not so long ago that I recall a certain incident involving myself, his lordship, and a particular cake your wife had intended for some guests.”
Baynes’s face softened a bit, and he wavered, chuckling at the memory Hanley had brought to the fore. “Oh, yes, well…you were the pair of scamps back then. You are certain his lordship expects you?”
“He certainly should!” Hanley exclaimed with a grin. “I do not doubt we shall have him out for the night shortly.”
“Very well then,” Mr Baynes acquiesced. “I believe he remains in the drawing room with Lady Courtenay.” The three men were free.
They watched as the arthritic butler walked slowly towards his quarters. When he was gone from sight, Fitzwilliam murmured, “Excellent work there, Hanley. He did not doubt you for a moment.”
“I have been told I have a face that appears unburdened by an excess of quickness or wit. I must take it for the advantage that it sometimes is.”
Then Hanley put his finger to his lips and motioned Darcy and Fitzwilliam to follow him towards the drawing room. They heard from within the voices of Francis Warren and Elizabeth. It sounded as though a seduction was taking place, and Darcy’s stomach turned.
Inside the drawing room, Francis regarded Elizabeth with clear doubt marking his features as she attempted to appear seductive and alluring, enticing him into divulging his secrets. What she thought she might do with the information, she knew not, but she stayed her course, nevertheless.
She took a step towards him, putting an extra sway in her hips and a welcoming smile on her lips. “I do not have a brother save for Mr Bingley,” she informed him. “My father’s estate is entailed on a cousin. Henry knew that well; we discussed it many times.”
“I have forgotten much of what—”
“Much of what you have forgotten is oddly specific to me and to us.” Still smiling, she ran her hand lightly across his chest, brushing his abdomen.
“Yet you have also forgotten that onions make you sick, to visit your tailor irks you, and you like your hair kept short because, when it is on your neck, it reminds you of finding a spider inside your collar when you were young.”
Her fingers slowly caressed his abdomen, gently tracing down. She could see his temptation and did all she could to foster it. “Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me everything so that I might rid my mind of these memories of Henry and think only of you.”
A faint smile came to his lips, and he brushed her cheeks with his fingers. “Henry told me you were clever.”
“Henry.” She tried to sound derisive. “Let us say no more of Henry. Let us speak of you: extraordinarily smart, brave Francis.”
“It can never be known,” he spoke warningly. “A man cannot be wed to his brother’s wife. I shall be Henry for now and for always. You must not breathe a word of it.”
“Naturally,” she said, feigning admiration. “But we shall know the truth of it; our secret will bind us. You are Francis—wonderfully clever Francis, who has found the way to take back his birthright.”
“I have always thought it unfair that, but for an hour, he should have all and I should have none. I took what was necessary for me to take my place, not just in Courtenay history but in the history of England.”
“A radical.” Elizabeth smiled.
“In every sense,” he replied, returning her smile.
“Your wife is brilliant yet exceedingly foolish. What must she be thinking to endanger herself so?” Fitzwilliam hissed into Darcy’s ear. Darcy batted him away with his hand, intent on hearing the words being said on the other side of the drawing room door.
A small voice was suddenly heard from down around Darcy’s knee. “Papa?” Darcy startled, looking down to see young Henry staring up at him in delight. The little boy immediately reached up to be held.
Hanley looked alarmed. “Get him out of here, Darcy.”
“Of course. Come, my son.” He knelt and picked him up, then carried him down the hall.
He was charmed that the boy still called him Papa, but then again, how would he apprehend the many changes, the ups and the downs, that had transpired in his young life?
To Henry, Darcy was Papa, and Papa he would remain.
He took the boy to his room, from whence he summoned Nurse Jenny who was surprised to see Darcy standing in Henry’s bedchamber. “Mr Darcy, sir,” she stammered. “I beg your pardon; I did not anticipate seeing you here.”
“I would not expect you to.” He smiled. “This young man was out of his bed, and I have come to return him, but first, I must ask an odd favour of you.”
“Yes, sir?”
He grew more serious. “In truth, it is less a favour than an order. Get yourself and Henry dressed and summon a footman to escort both of you to my house. Make haste, but make as little noise as possible, and do not raise any alarm. Do you understand? You must get away from here with as much speed as you can but as quietly as you can.”
Jenny’s eyes went wide. She was a sweet girl, young and with a naturally loving disposition.
The notion of disobeying his order would never occur to her, nor did she question his right to command her.
It made him wonder what the servants of the house suspected or believed regarding the master. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. Get him settled in his bed at my house. I do not think Mrs Darcy and I shall be long here.”
“Mrs Darcy?” Jenny looked confused.
Darcy smiled. “Yes, Mrs Darcy. My wife.”