Chapter Ten
ELIZABETH TURNED IN horror. If she were to be caught in Mr. Darcy’s bedchamber, it would be disastrous.
Mr. Darcy muttered, “Whoever could that be?” and went to the door. Holding it closed, he called, “Who is it?”
“It’s Mr. Nettles, sir,” said the voice of one of the footmen on the other side of the door. “I’ve a letter for you.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Darcy. He nodded for Elizabeth to step out of sight of the doorway, and she did so.
Now, concealed, she couldn’t see the door open, but she heard it.
She heard Mr. Darcy thanking him, and then saying to wait a moment, shutting the door, walking to find his purse out on the writing desk, getting a coin, and then going back to open the door and giving it to the footman.
Then, he shut the door again. “It’s all right, Elizabeth,” he said as he came back into view.
She stepped out into the middle of the room as he opened the letter that had been given him.
He was startled.
“What?” she said.
“It’s from Larilane,” he said. “He’s here.”
“Here?” she said.
“Yes, he wants me to meet him out on the road in front of the house, right now.”
Elizabeth was stunned. “Well, I’m coming with you.”
He cleared his throat, and then nodded. “All right. I need to dress. You meet me at the side door at the bottom of the east wing. No one will see us there. We can walk down the drive under the cover of darkness.”
Except it was only just now growing dark at this time of June.
Still, Elizabeth thought it was a good plan.
She left Mr. Darcy to dress and went outside. He joined her only a few moments later, and he seemed to have rethought bringing her along, but she overrode all his protests, saying that she had questions for Larilane, and that she would not be put off them.
Mr. Darcy eventually stopped voicing the protests.
They walked in silence, all the way down the drive in front of Barralds, down to the road below, where a carriage was standing.
Mr. Darcy went straight to it and rapped upon the door, which opened.
The man inside looked out and his gaze alighted on her, and his expression went tender. “Oh,” he said. “You’ve brought her. Matilda’s girl.”
“Vicomte,” said Darcy, confirming that this was Larilane. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Both of you, inside,” said Larilane, retreating into the carriage. “I’ve lingered in this spot too long, and I am too close to Neith Abbey. We shall drive the roads, instead of sitting here conspicuously. We shall talk. Then, when we are done, I shall drop you both back off here.”
Mr. Darcy helped Elizabeth into the carriage, and she spent too much time noticing the way her hand felt in his, how much larger his hand was than hers, the fact that there were fine, dark hairs on the backs of his fingers, and how she couldn’t help but notice how, well, male that was, how male his hands were, how thick and large and strong and—
When she was inside, she snatched her hand out of his too quickly.
He clenched his very male hand into a fist.
Then, they sat next to each other, and her leg touched his leg through her skirts, through his trousers.
She bit down on the inside of her cheek, her heart stuttering in her chest. Why was this happening with him? Why now? Why not when he’d proposed, when he’d offered to marry her all those other times? Why had it taken her so long to feel these things in his presence when she could not have him?
“Did I know you were in touch with Matilda’s girl?
” said Larilane, shaking his head. “If you mentioned it, I suppose I must not have paid it mind. But it makes sense, now, why you were pursuing it all so intensely. I suppose I must not even be too cross about what you’ve done, but truly… ” He sighed. “I am going to Scotland.”
“What?” said Mr. Darcy. “Why are you going to Scotland?”
“My wife has land there—well, her family has… we are on our way. She is staying in an inn nearby, and I came here only because it doesn’t matter anymore.
All is known, and I have no way to conceal it, and I rather imagine—however it is you’ve poked the Neithern nest—they won’t be forthcoming with any details to you. So, I wanted you to know.”
“What did you wish us to know?” said Elizabeth.
“Also,” mused Larilane, as if he hadn’t heard her, “I suppose that if more people know, it means that there’s no reason to silence me. It’s a bit of protection, I think.”
“Silence you?” said Mr. Darcy.
“At this point, I think they must do that. They cannot allow the real story to get out or it will destroy them, but it also must rankle. That duchess, she is out for blood. I think she may simply want revenge,” said Larilane.
“Are you saying that the Duchess of Neithern is attempting to kill you?” said Mr. Darcy.
Larilane made a tent with his fingers and put them directly to his lips. He nodded.
“But why?” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Darcy said you had done something, something you didn’t want known, but what horrible thing could you have done that would make someone wish to kill you? Did you… that body of the woman that was reported to the duchess—”
“No,” Larilane, shaking his head. “No, I sought out a woman who had died. Anyone I could find with a boy child who’d been orphaned.
I told myself I was doing a good thing for the babe, that no matter how miserable he was with the threat of Neithern as his father hanging over his head, he’d be worse off living as some foundling, shuffled about, likely only taken in to be an extra set of hands and the like, working his fingers to the bone. ”
“What are you saying?” said Elizabeth.
“Well, I made an error,” said Larilane. “One your mother never forgave me for. I thought that if the duke’s family knew what had happened, that they would find some way to rein him in, to protect your mother and…
to protect you.” He nodded at Elizabeth.
“I contacted the duchess, and she and I worked out a plan. She said that she would have her son locked up, kept under guard, only let out for various functions. This was in return for the idea that she could have the heir. You. We didn’t know you were a girl at that point.
Who knows what would have happened if it had all gone the way I wished, anyway?
The duchess might not have been pleased with a girl child. She wanted the heir.”
“Of course she would want the heir,” said Mr. Darcy. “A duchess would be quite concerned with preserving the lines of succession.”
“Indeed,” said Larilane, “but it was more than that. She spoke to me of her late husband, who she said had treated her boys ill growing up. She said that this way, she could have her eldest son locked away and she would be the one in charge. She did not wish her other son in charge either, she said. Both of her boys had been warped, she said, but it wasn’t their fault. It was the fault of their father.”
Elizabeth felt as if every element of her life had fallen into these lines, as if the sins of each generation were visited with full force on the next.
She thought of Wickham, of the way that the Darcy family had tried to make up for the sin of Mr. Darcy’s grandfather and yet had only created Wickham—not a gentleman, not a servant, stymied, spoiled, frustrated.
And now, her own father the duke, who had been ill-used by his father, and whose behavior had led to this tangle that was her own history.
“This new heir,” continued Larilane, “the boy I brought to her, she could raise him herself, fresh and clear, make him the best duke that Neithern had ever seen. So, I rather think that is exactly what she did. She must be quite proud of him, this boy she raised up in the mold she created. And to find out that he’s not her blood, that he’s the son of a strumpet who barely lived to hold him before her body gave out, that his father could have been anyone at all, and that the duchess has raised a bastard nobody to take over her dukedom? Well, she wants to kill me.”
“Oh, God,” said Mr. Darcy, shaking his head.
Elizabeth was stunned. “I’m the legitimate one. He’s an imposter?” And then, “Oh, God, the duchess knows. She looked at me and knew. And she still dismissed me.” Tears were threatening.
“Wait a moment, go back,” said Darcy. “Why did you do this?”
“Well, I had told the duchess of your existence, hadn’t I?
And I brought the proposition to Matilda.
I said to her that she could be safe, that she could be a duchess, and that her child could be raised in luxury and ease.
I said that she and I might not be able to continue as we were, but that duchesses can find ways to see their lovers if they wish.
I also, not to my credit, thought she might have access to money that way, and I was ever so pathetic and penniless then.
I…” He squirmed. “I was not used to living a difficult life. I felt as if I had been badly wronged by the revolutionaries. I…” He tangled a hand in his hair.
“Your mother was furious. She broke with me and she never forgave me, no matter what I did.”
“Furious because…?” Elizabeth didn’t entirely understand.
“Because she said that it would not matter what promises the duchess made. She said that it must have been known what sort of man her husband was, that he must have done awful things to other women, and that a blind eye was turned to it for years. She said that if she were in the same household as that man, he would harm her and he would harm her child. She was terrified of him. She did not think the duchess could protect her.”
“Right, of course,” said Elizabeth.
“Except she does seem to have protected Neithern,” said Darcy. “He said the late duke was locked up for all of his life.”
“Well, my mother was right to be wary,” said Elizabeth.
“I fixed it for Matilda best I could,” said Larilane.
“I didn’t tell her I was going to substitute another babe for hers, but I did it.
When she found out I’d consigned some other child to that life, she was livid.
She would not live in Weythorn, not anymore, even though I signed the deed over to her.
She wanted nothing from me, absolutely nothing.
And she said that, now that the duchess thought she was dead, she had no path for legitimacy for her daughter.
For you. So, she must send you off, she said. She could not raise you herself.”
Elizabeth was not sure how she felt about that.
“You must see that your life would have been awful if you’d been raised by Matilda, who had no income or prospects or anything of the sort, and that you would have had no social standing.”
“Yes, maybe,” said Elizabeth. “But also, if she would have lived in Weythorn with me, she could have simply said my father was dead. If she would have married you, you would have claimed me.”
Larilane hung his head. “True.”
“It was her anger,” said Elizabeth. “Her pride. Her pride cost me a mother.” Her voice cracked. “And I shall never have one now.”
Mr. Darcy reached for her, entwining her small hand in his larger one once again. She shut her eyes and felt as if his strength flowed into her body from his own. She was glad he was here for this.
“I am ever so sorry,” said Larilane. “It could be she regretted it. I gave her little chance to take things back, I’m afraid.
I felt strongly I had done ever so much for her.
I had, you see, given her a house and money, and then I had solved the issue of her awful husband, and…
” He sighed. “I married Jennifer very soon afterwards, and there was no chance of reconciliation between Matilda and me. I must say, my feelings for her have never faded, however, which is not to say that I don’t dearly love my wife.
They are simply different feelings, you see.
There are different ways one can love another person, and the way I loved Matilda… ” His voice also cracked.
It was quiet.
Mr. Darcy squeezed her hand.
She looked up at him, grateful, and his features seemed dear and familiar to her. It was strange, for he felt to her almost like a member of her immediate family, as safe and trusted as her own papa, but she also felt a stirring desire for him, similar to what she felt for Richard.
Don’t I trust my husband? she thought in alarm. And she knew she did not. He had done little, in fact, to earn her trust.
What would it be like to have a husband who could be both things to her, who could protect and thrill her?
No reason to think that sort of thought, she scolded herself. No reason at all.
“Well, that is all of it, I think,” said Larilane.
Elizabeth shook her head at him. “Did you know that Mrs. Exley is quite convinced that you are a fey prince?”
“Mrs. Exley! She’s still there?”
“Quite,” said Elizabeth.
“Mrs. Exley was old when Matilda and I lived there. She must be in her eighties now.”
“No,” said Elizabeth. “I think twenty years younger than that!”
“If there’s fey folk around, it’s her,” said Larilane.
“Sometimes, I swear she would simply conjure food for us out of thin air. And she was there when you were born. She likely put some sort of charm on you, I think, for you are…” He laughed softly, looking at her.
“I see Matilda in you, of course, but I see something else, something almost luminous. And this one is devoted to you, is he not?”
Mr. Darcy let go of her hand, clearing his throat. “We are… amiable, that is all.”
Elizabeth felt entirely mortified.
“She is married to someone else, you see,” said Mr. Darcy gravely.
“So was Matilda,” said Larilane, smiling mischievously at them both.