Chapter 3 #4
“Without you I would still be stuck in my chair, having to be fed. You have changed my life for the better. Now that you have shown me the proper exercises, I know what to expect from Betsy, or she will soon be looking for work. Please take this. I wish you the very best of luck, my dear girl.”
Elizabeth bent down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you for the opportunity to prove to myself that I am capable of doing tasks I never imagined. If you are amenable, I should like to visit you while I am still in Lambton.”
“Please do; it will keep Betsy on her toes!”
She walked back to Mrs. Hopkins’s house more confident in her ability to help others.
* * *
Pembrook Cottage
Day and night, depression and guilt filled Darcy’s mind.
His estate had been destroyed while it was his responsibility to keep it safe.
He drank brandy all day and privately shed copious tears.
He could do nothing to save his family’s ancestral home—he was useless.
So many had lost their livelihoods: those who worked on the estate as well as the many tradesmen in Lambton who depended on Pemberley to survive.
His father had instructed him to do anything necessary to keep the estate from diminishing. Pray forgive me, Father.
He shouted at Mrs. Reynolds and the maids she hired.
Did they not remember he wanted to be alone?
Isolating himself had become a priority—did they not understand?
The young women quit after working only a day or two.
They told Mrs. Reynolds they could not endure how abusive the master was to them.
Although he was in his cups, Darcy allowed Mr. Barton to enter his room every other day to apply a honey compound to his facial burns and change the bandages on his leg.
Most days he refused to get out of bed, he hardly ate, and he drank as many bottles as Mrs. Reynolds could carry from Pemberley’s unaffected wine cellar.
His sister, uncle, and cousin wrote to him to plead for him to rebuild, but to Darcy, it was a fruitless effort, so he stopped reading their letters.
This was all his fault: the destruction of the manor house and all it contained; the loss of the furnishings, books, and art that had taken his ancestors hundreds of years to collect.
The rooms his mother had decorated and the furniture she had chosen were all very beautiful despite what Lady Beatrice thought—and now, thanks to him, they were ruined.
The library, the work of generations, was gone, and nothing could be salvaged.
No one could be blamed but Darcy himself.
Several weeks after Darcy arrived at the cottage, Lady Beatrice and her father drove up the lane to Pemberley. As much as he loathed their presence, Darcy prepared to accept their call.
Their faces indicated that they both saw how much difficulty Darcy had trying to stand, and when Lady Beatrice saw his scarred face, she blanched, covered her mouth, and turned away.
“Darcy, Lord Matlock told me about the fire, and I wanted to see you for myself. I know your engagement to my daughter has been of long duration but after carefully considering your current circumstances, I shall release you from that agreement. I assume your contract was destroyed so I have had another copy made and have brought the papers you must sign to make the end of the agreement official.”
The offer was the best news Darcy had encountered in years! Their unexpected visit was distressing, but after Lord Markham’s proposition, he became overjoyed to see them both. “Yes, my lord, I agree that would be best. Where do I sign?”
After their signatures were in place, Beatrice opened her reticule and averted her face as she handed him her engagement ring and wished him luck in an absent manner.
With a closer look at his former betrothed, it became obvious she did not appear the same as when she had visited a few months prior.
He was shocked. Her gown was tight over her larger stomach and was straining at the seams. This could only mean one thing.
Thank G-d the engagement was over—he could not be happier!
Being compelled to marry a lady he could not tolerate would have been bad enough, much less being forced to raise another man’s by-blow as his own.
Not long after Darcy was released from his marriage agreement, he read in the London papers that Lady Beatrice had married Lord Palmerston.
Darcy shook his head. The man was at least twenty years older than his bride and had lost all his family’s money at the gaming tables.
Palmerston would need more than her dowry to make his estate solvent again.
He chuckled, even though he probably should not find mirth in another’s bad luck.
Very little was amusing to him these days.
Lord Markham must have paid Palmerston a fortune to marry his daughter and claim the child as his own.
The fire was a tragedy that resulted in at least one good thing: he was no longer tied to the woman he dreaded marrying. What a relief.