Chapter Four
IT WAS NEARLY a two hours’ horse ride to the country estate of the Vicomte de Larilane, and Mr. Darcy decided that if he began it early enough, he could get there around noon and then return by the afternoon.
He told Georgiana he had business to see to, and Georgiana said that she thought that he had taken care of all of his business before they left, that he had claimed to have done so, at any rate.
“I think it’s something to do with those Bennet women,” she said.
“They seem to appear positively everywhere and whenever they appear, everyone loses their heads.”
“It has absolutely nothing to do with either of them,” Mr. Darcy lied.
And he left early in the morning on the morrow and rode to Larilane’s house.
Larilane’s country estate seemed to have been purchased almost entirely with money provided by his wife’s family, and Darcy wondered at that, wondered if this man really had left everything he had to Matilda Bennet, even though she had not been carrying his child.
The place was large and formidable, lavishly decorated.
He waited for half an hour in the gilded sitting room before Larilane joined him.
His wife was conspicuously absent this time, Mr. Darcy noticed. Before, he had spoken to both Larilane and his wife, and Darcy had suspected that Larilane might be concealing things from his wife.
“You’ve come back,” said Larilane. “I haven’t the foggiest notion why. I have told you everything I could tell you about poor Matilda, I am afraid.”
Darcy noted that Larilane had not offered him refreshment.
This was going to be a bit adversarial, then.
“Some letters were found. Well, not full letters, but beginnings of a letter, one that Matilda was composing to you, one that she seemed to try to write and abandon a number of times. It concerned the fact that you had told the Duke of Neithern about the child she was carrying.”
“Oh, God, she had that in writing somewhere? His name?” Larilane dragged a hand over his face. He muttered something to himself in French, unintelligible, but Darcy thought it might have contained the word merde.
Darcy smirked a bit. “So, he is the man, then, the one who fathered Maltilda’s child?”
“That is what she said,” said Larilane. “I obviously can’t be certain. I did not observe the two of them together, did I? I have to assume that she was telling the truth.”
“You said that the man who fathered the child treated Matilda badly, that she was frightened of him.”
“That is also what she said.”
“And you think she was lying?”
“No, no. I think that is exactly the sort of man the late duke was.”
“So, then, why would you tell him about Matilda’s babe?”
“I did not!”
“The letters, then, you’re saying—”
“She knew it was never that I told him.”
Darcy waited.
“You have misunderstood those letter fragments, I think. Might I see them?
“I don’t actually have them,” said Mr. Darcy. “Can you simply tell me what happened?”
Larilane spread his hands. “I have already told you everything. If there’s nothing else?” He started to get to his feet.
“Please,” said Mr. Darcy. “I know there is more to the tale.”
Larilane shook his head. “I’m afraid there is not. I have told you it all, and I have to say that I don’t think that your appearing here without an invitation—”
“You loved Matilda,” interrupted Mr. Darcy, hoping this might move the man.
Larilane sighed heavily.
“Loved her very much. It’s not every man who will leave all of his money and buy a property for some woman who is carrying a babe that is not even his. You loved her.”
Larilane leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I love her still. I shall always love her. I have done all of this for her, and for her child. I wish to protect that child.”
“Protect that child from whom?” said Mr. Darcy. “From her father? One of the letters calls him a monster. Did you think he was a monster?”
“I heard the things he did to Matilda,” said Larilane.
“You would scarce believe the villainy of him. He was wretched, absolutely the worst sort of man. When he wanted Matilda, he took her by force, and when she said that she would tell her father, that she would ruin herself and cry rape and that he would be strung up, he kidnapped her, took her to Scotland, and forced her to agree to the marriage vows through the threat of violence. He told her that once she was married to him, she belonged to him, and he wasn’t exactly wrong.
He had horrid and violent tastes. He was gratified by the sight of her blood, by the sight of her tears, by making her beg him to stop. This drove him. He was a monster.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “I see,” he said quietly.
“So, yes, I would have done anything to keep a man like that from a small babe. But most notably, I wished to keep him from Matilda, you see. He didn’t so much care about the babe as he was obsessed with Matilda.
But not as if he loved her, more as if he…
I don’t know, that she was a prized filly or something, a possession, do you know what I mean? ”
Darcy did. He knew the type. There were men like this, more of them than there likely ought to be, sadly. “I suppose I do.”
“All right, then. I would have done anything to keep him away from her.”
“Yes, which was why she was in hiding, living at Weythorn, I suppose,” said Mr. Darcy. “Except that deed was under her own name—her maiden name, however, as if she had never been married, though you say she was.”
“She wished to conceal the idea she’d been married.”
“If he was that obsessed with her, he could have found her is what I am saying. She was living as a governess and then with her family. Why didn’t he come after her, then?”
Larilane’s nostrils flared. He would not meet Mr. Darcy’s gaze. “I don’t know. I suppose he simply got bored with her eventually. As long as she didn’t claim to be his duchess, he let her be.”
“And I guess he had another duchess, the mother of his son, the heir.”
Larilane cleared his throat. “Erm, yes, another duchess, quite right.” But there was something in his tone. He was startled by that interpretation.
“Wait a moment, was there another duchess?” said Mr. Darcy.
“I shall not speak of this!” said Larilane.
“But the man is dead,” said Mr. Darcy. “Whatever sort of monster he was, there is no danger from him now, is there?”
“It is done,” said Larilane, shaking his head at him. “He was a monster then, and I had to do… things… in service of protection of Matilda and her babe. Now, I cannot speak of them.”
“Why not?”
“Because they endanger me now,” said Larilane, glaring at him. “And perhaps I would not care if it were only me to worry over, but I have a wife now, children, a life…”
Darcy furrowed his brow. “But who could threaten these things for you? What things did you do?”
“I’ve said all I’m going to say, I’m afraid,” said Larilane. “If you come back here, sir, I shall not admit you. This matter is closed, and it has been closed for over twenty years. It is done. Please, let it go.”
“No, wait a moment,” said Mr. Darcy.
But Larilane was walking out of the room.
“TELL ME, MISS Bennet,” Neithern was saying, as he surveyed the lawn ahead of him, which was dotted here and there with multi-colored larger balls and one small white one.
It was all that was left of a game of bowls.
The game had not been finished so much as abandoned by people who were too drunk to continue.
There was a picnic luncheon spread out on a table outdoors, and people were reclining on blankets and pillows spread out on the lawn and eating.
Several of the women had violins, playing together, though they were not quite in time, and the noise was occasionally grating.
“Are you like Miss Bingley, with a brother in silks and tobacco?”
“Me?” said Elizabeth. “I don’t even have a brother.”
“Your father then?”
“He is a gentleman,” she said. “We have a house and some land in Hertfordshire near Meryton. A few tenant farmers, but not a great deal.”
“Ah, so this explains the difference between the two of you, then,” he said. “Why you are so very respectful and quiet and she is so…” He tilted his head to one side. “Well, whatever she is, she is memorable, anyway.”
Elizabeth could not help but wince.
“No, no, I do not mean to insult her, it is only that she is a bit overly obsequious, you see?” He tilted his head to the other side, grimacing. “All right, perhaps that was an insult.”
“That is truly why you remember her?” said Elizabeth.
“Oh, hard to forget someone who is so adamant to agree with absolutely everything out of your mouth,” chuckled the duke.
“In all seriousness, however, I am a bit used to this sort of behavior, I must say. It wasn’t always this way, but after my father died and I became the duke, the number of people around me who are eager to ingratiate themselves to me increased fourfold. ”
“Your father,” said Elizabeth, seizing upon this. “Were you close to him?” She added, belatedly, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Not at all, I’m afraid,” said Neithern with a shrug. “And thank you for your sympathies, but the truth is that I barely knew the man.”
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I suppose he was busy, often, then, what with his various duties and the like.”
“I suppose,” said Neithern, but in a tone that told her that he didn’t wish to continue speaking about his father.
She wondered if his father had hurt him, since she had heard such terrible stories about the man.
She knew, however, this was not a question she could put to Neithern while they were staring at an abandoned game of bowls.
It was not the time or the place. She decided to do something a bit daring, then.
“Do you walk often on that path? At the same time?”
He turned to her. “Often? I don’t know. I suppose. But I don’t typically come so far, of course. I stay on my own lands and I do not cross onto Houseman’s.”