Darcy's Secret Garden

by Jane Grix

But that is neither here nor there. I still have friends among the servants at Darcy House and I was intrigued to learn that none of them know your past. They only know that you were Mrs. Holt.

  I must assume that you did not want anyone to know that you were once a Bennet.

  And I wonder if your husband knows.

  Please write and let me know how I should approach him myself, now that we are connected by marriage. I wish to make amends and heal the breech between us.

  Elizabeth set the letter aside with shaking hands. Wickham was not a fool. This letter was a form of blackmail. He would want to be paid to keep his silence.

  What was she to do?

  Obviously, she must tell her husband everything as soon as possible, but if she told him about Wickham’s letter, Darcy might think that she had only confessed to avoid having Wickham tell him first.

  Which was partly true.

  She was appalled by her procrastination.

  She should have told him months ago.

  But no more indecision. She refused to be weak and fearful. She squared her shoulders, determined to be as brave as she had been when she was younger. She would tell Darcy everything as soon as he returned home.

  She spoke with the butler to make certain that dinner was prepared and then waited, pacing about the room.

  As she waited, she prayed silently. Dear God, Forgive me for my deceit. Please help me to find a way to make this situation right. Please help my husband to forgive me as well.

  Because I love him most desperately.

  “ELIZABETH?”

  Elizabeth heard her husband call for her in the hallway and she flinched. Now was the time to tell him everything. She smiled as he entered the sitting room, but was surprised to see another gentleman with him, a familiar gentleman, and her heart sank with dread.

  “Elizabeth,” Darcy said happily. “I hope you have an excellent dinner planned because I have invited my cousin to join us. Elizabeth, may I introduce you to Richard Fitzwilliam. And Richard, this is my wife –”

  The man she had known as Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled widely. “You don’t need to introduce us, Darcy, for I well remember Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” She had known Colonel Fitzwilliam years ago when he was a guest along with Darcy at Rosings Park.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed. “How do you do, ma’am? I see that time has made no difference to your beauty.”

  For a moment, there was a look of astonishment on Darcy’s face, quickly masked.

  Elizabeth wanted to speak to him, to explain, but he refused to face her and his jaw was clenched tight. She did not want to beg his forgiveness in front of his cousin. She said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, “I thank you.” Time had not dimmed the Colonel’s charm.

  Darcy’s face was pale as if he were struggling with his discovery of her perfidy. After a long moment, he seemed to control himself and said lightly to his cousin, “I have surprised you, haven’t I?”

  The Colonel laughed. “Not entirely. I remember years ago that I thought you liked her. I am glad to know that all is well now. How did you meet again?”

  Elizabeth said, “I was touring Pemberley with my aunt.”

  “How convenient,” the Colonel said smoothly. “I wish you all the best in your marriage.”

  DINNER WAS AN ORDEAL. Elizabeth wanted to run from the dining room. She wanted to send Colonel Fitzwilliam away, so she could talk to Darcy privately and try to explain herself.

  Instead, she had to pretend that all was well. She said to the Colonel, “Have you married?” She remembered that as the second son of an earl, he had been looking for an heiress.

  “I have. I married Miss Anne de Bourgh.”

  She was surprised. Lady Catherine had wanted Darcy to marry her daughter.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “When Darcy finally convinced Lady Catherine that he would not marry Anne, she accepted me instead.”

  “Anne never wished to marry me,” Darcy said flatly.

  “No, but that was what her mother wanted.”

  Elizabeth enquired after Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s health.

  The Colonel smiled. “She will never be robust, but her health took a turn for the better after her mother died. Anne inherited Rosings, and one day, God willing, it will belong to my son.”

  “You have children?” Elizabeth asked. Anne had seemed much too frail to endure childbirth.

  “We do. Two. A son and a daughter.”

  Elizabeth was happy for him, but she could not think of anything besides Darcy and what he might be thinking.

  Fortunately, the Colonel was still an excellent conversationalist. As the footmen served dinner, they spoke of books and music and his travels. Darcy said little. After dinner, the Colonel stayed to listen to Elizabeth play the pianoforte but finally he excused himself.

  As soon as the Colonel left the room, Elizabeth turned to Darcy, “Fitzwilliam, let me explain –” she said but he put up his hand to silence her.

  “Why did you lie to me?” he said sharply.

  She winced at his tone but knew that she deserved his disapproval. She said, “I was embarrassed, ashamed of my past. When I married Mr. Holt, I thought it best if everyone believed I was dead.”

  He said, “I thought you were dead. Bingley told me you were gone.”

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  “You have no idea how I felt,” he said coolly, and she knew she had offended him to the core. “And then when I proposed marriage, why did you not tell me then?”

  “I did not want to upset you. I wanted to marry you.” She knew how feeble her excuses sounded. “Fitzwilliam, I –”

  “No, madam,” he interrupted. “Do not say anything more. You have lied to me for months. Our marriage was a fraud. And I can no longer trust you.”

  Elizabeth blanched as the blood rushed from her face. She felt herself sway. Was she going to faint? She clutched the back of a chair to steady herself.

  He said, “Twice I have made the mistake of loving you. The first time, I did not know you hated me and this second time, I fell in love with a woman who does not exist.”

  “Love?” Elizabeth repeated, suddenly hopeful. “Do you love me?” In all their conversations he had never used the word ‘love.’

  “No,” he said bitterly. “I love Mrs. Holt, the woman you pretended to be. I no longer know who or what Miss Elizabeth Bennet might be.”

  “I am your wife,” Elizabeth reminded.

  “Technically yes, but was our marriage valid?”

  Elizabeth had never considered that. “Holt was my legal surname.”

  He said bitterly, “No wonder you did not wish to come to London. You were afraid of being seen and recognized. What a fool I was.”

  She had offended him. She had lied to him. She understood his feelings of betrayal, but if he had loved her once, why wasn’t he happy that she had returned to him? Elizabeth said, “Fitzwilliam, please forgive me. I know I was wrong to deceive you.”

  He said coldly, “You have greatly disappointed me, Elizabeth. I expected more of you.”

  His words were like a blow. She clutched her hands before her to keep them from shaking. “I am so terribly, terribly sorry.” There were no words to justify what she had done.

  He made no move towards her. He was like a statue – cold and unmoving. He said stiffly, “I think it best if we do not see each other for a while. I will send you back to Pemberley and I will stay here in London.”

  He was dismissing her, but she was still his wife, so she still had hope that one day they could be reconciled. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly and left the room.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Elizabeth left for Pemberley the next morning. Darcy saw her off, most likely so as not to alarm the servants, but his good-bye was barely civil.

  Elizabeth’s heart ached. She felt like an errant child being sent to the nursery, but she had her own pride as well. She waited until she was in the quiet carriage to cry.

  She knew she deserved his displeasur
e and she prayed that one day his anger would soften.

  But she also remembered something he had said years before – that his temper was resentful. That his good opinion once lost was lost forever.

  Would that be the case for her?

  Surely the sweet times they had shared would help him forgive her.

  But perhaps not, if he viewed them all as part of her deceit.

  She did not know if he would ever forgive her, but until then, she would do her best to care for Pemberley and his unborn child. She wanted to tell him that she was expecting, but she did not want to share the news when he was so unhappy with her. If he rejected the baby as well as herself, it would break her spirit completely.

  She placed a gloved hand over her slightly rounded belly and prayed that unlike her first baby, that this child would live.

  DARCY DID NOT KNOW what to think, for his heart and mind were in a turmoil. Elizabeth Bennet was alive, and she was his wife, but she had lied to him deceiving him for nearly a year.

  He was so angry, he wanted to shout and break things, but a lifetime of discipline kept him still and silent.

  He felt foolish that he had not discerned the truth.

  But at some level, he had suspected that they were the same woman. His dreams were proof of that.

  But now that he knew of her deceit, how could he ever trust her again?

  She had lied about her name, her age, even her family history.

  Now, every warm and tender memory of their time together was tainted.

  Darcy clenched his hands into fists and cursed his blindness. If he had not been blind, he would have immediately known the truth.

  But if he had not been blind, he would have gone to Bingley’s wedding years ago. He would have met Elizabeth then and proposed to her.

  But it was madness to think of what might have been.

  He spent the next week thinking, wanting to shout at Elizabeth, wanting to hold her close. He wanted to never see her again; he wanted to return to Pemberley immediately.

  Eventually he decided that he would stay in London and have the cataract surgery. He knew the risks, but he felt fatalistic. If he died, he died, but if he lived, at least he might see Elizabeth’s face again and determine whether she loved him or if she had merely taken advantage of his weakness and tricked him into first hiring her, and then later marrying her.

  SUMMER BECAME AUTUMN at Pemberley and Elizabeth received no letters from Darcy. She wondered if he would ever address her directly again, but she trusted that one day he would return to Pemberley. Until then, she would wait.

  At times she composed tear-stained letters to plead with him, but in the end, each letter joined her previous attempts in the fireplace.

  Darcy would come home when he wished.

  He would speak to her when he wished.

  And until then, Elizabeth would stay at Pemberley. It was too beautiful of a home to be a prison. She spent her days reading in the library and taking long walks. She heard a kingfisher again and saw it only briefly. She supposed its chicks were grown and had left the nest.

  When Elizabeth first arrived at Pemberley, Mrs. Lewis had asked her when Mr. Darcy planned to return and Elizabeth had replied that she did not know. Mrs. Lewis did not ask her again, and the servants still treated her with respect.

  Wickham wrote to her again, this time requesting a thousand pounds to keep his silence.

  Her response was brief.

  Do what you will. I will give you no money. I have no secrets from my husband. But I recommend that you do not approach Mr. Darcy, for he will not take it kindly.

  Do not write to me again.

  She doubted that Wickham would take her advice, but for Darcy’s sake, she hoped that her disreputable brother-in-law would leave him alone.

  Mrs. Lewis noticed that Elizabeth was sleeping and eating poorly and asked if she wished to see a doctor.

  “No, I am fine,” Elizabeth assured her. Within a few more weeks, it would be obvious that she was with child, but until then, she would keep her own secrets.

  Elizabeth now had the quiet life she had once dreamed of, but it was not to her liking. All she wanted was her husband to return and to have the opportunity to repair their shattered relationship. If her life were a three-volume novel, this volume might be titled “Regret.”

  DARCY WAS SURPRISED one morning in London when his footman informed him that Mr. George Wickham was outside, seeking an audience.

  As much as Darcy did not want that villain to darken the door of Darcy House, curiosity made him agree to have Wickham come into the drawing room.

  Once Wickham entered, Darcy did not rise. He did not offer him a seat. He said only, “What do you want?”

  “Still the same uncivil Darcy that I remember.” Wickham sounded amused, and Darcy could imagine the look of scorn on his face. “That is hardly the way to treat your brother by marriage.”

  Darcy startled. “What?” Was he implying that somehow he had married Georgiana years ago?

  “I am married to Lydia Bennet, your wife’s sister.”

  The information shocked Darcy. It was another example of Elizabeth’s deceit. She had kept this knowledge from him.

  “Since when?” Darcy demanded.

  “We have a son, almost eight years old.”

  They had been married so long? Darcy said, “It does not matter. I want nothing to do with you or the Bennet family.”

  From the moving shadows, it seemed that Wickham sat down without his permission. Wickham said, “I don’t blame you. You have your reputation to uphold. You do not want your friends and family to know that your brother runs a gaming hell.”

  Darcy said, “You are barking up the wrong tree, Wickham. Your reputation cannot harm mine. I move little in society and do not care what anyone thinks of me.”

  Wickham said, “That is admirable, I am sure. But what of your wife’s reputation?”

  Darcy stiffened. “My wife is none of your concern.”

  “No, but I am certain you do not want it to be known that she was a whore.”

  Darcy leapt to his feet, his hand gripping his cane tightly as he forced himself to keep from striking Wickham. “Take that back.”

  Wickham said smoothly, “Gladly. But I am only saying what others will think when they learn that Miss Elizabeth Bennet entertained gentlemen in her bedroom.”

  Darcy remembered Elizabeth’s tears when she told him about the man who had attacked her. He believed her. He knew she was not at fault. But society would not see it the same. His jaw tightened, and he said, “How much do you want?”

  “Ten thousand pounds and I will never bother you again.”

  Darcy did not believe him. “I do not have that amount readily available. Come again in a fortnight and we can discuss the matter.”

  Wickham stood, taking his hat. “It is a pleasure doing business with you, Darcy.”

  Once Wickham had left, Darcy sent his footman to summon a detective. When Wickham returned two weeks later, Darcy was prepared to meet him.

  Wickham arrived at Darcy House, full of confidence. “I am glad you are such a practical man, Darcy,” he said. “You know how delicate a woman’s reputation can be.”

  Darcy said, “I should have shot you when you tried to elope with Georgiana.”

  Wickham said wryly, “I still miss her, you know. I would have much preferred your sister over my current wife.”

  Darcy said, “Enough of that. In truth, until and unless you produce your marriage lines, I doubt that Lydia Bennet is your wife.”

  “You couldn’t read them even if I did.”

  Darcy refused to take the insult. “My secretary would read them.”

  Wickham blustered. “It is a common law marriage. We are married by mutual consent.”

  “This is England, not Scotland,” Darcy said coldly. “And if you want my financial assistance, I will insist that you and Miss Bennet are legally married before I part with a shilling.”

  From his inv
estigation, Darcy knew that Wickham had tried twice before to marry wealthy women – first his sister, and later a wealthy widow who spurned him.

  Wickham said, “You promised me ten thousand pounds.”

  “I said we would discuss the matter only.”

  “You are wasting my time, Darcy.”

  Darcy said quickly, “You have said I am practical. I am too practical to hand you a fortune and expect you to live prudently, so I propose instead a yearly sum, five hundred pounds paid on condition that you never mention my wife or my sister.”

  “It is a deal.”

  “And that you leave England. I never want to speak to you again.”

  Wickham said, “That is impossible. My wife and I have a profitable business.”

  “No,” Darcy said firmly. “You have outspent your means and I have bought up all your debts – private and public. If you don’t accept my offer, you will go to debtor’s prison.”

  Wickham was quiet for a long moment and then he said, “We were friends once, Darcy. How did we become at cross purposes?”

  Darcy refused to be drawn into a pointless conversation. He said only, “Accept my offer or it will be much worse for you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  M. Laurent spoke to Darcy one last time before performing the surgery. “We will not know if the surgery is successful for a week. After surgery, you must lie in bed with your eyes bandaged. When I remove the bandages, we will learn if your vision has improved.”

  Darcy nodded. He understood the risks. He knew that some surgeons required bedrest and bandages to provide themselves an opportunity to leave Town before the results were known. But M. Laurent was no coward. He would come every day to Darcy House while he recovered.

  Darcy prayed that God would guide the doctor’s hands and that he would be able to see clearly once again.

  By chance, on the day before the surgery, Georgiana visited Darcy House without her children. She had been shopping and stopped to see him. Darcy was in no mood to talk to her, but thought he should, if only to say good-bye in case the surgery was a failure and he died. He had already dictated a letter to be delivered to Elizabeth in that case.