Mr. Darcy's Secret

by Jane Odiwe

  Yours ever,

  Lydia

  P.S. I am a little short for the rent this month. Do not scold me, but I could not resist the straw bonnet on display in the milliner's!

  The enclosed letter was unfolded once more. Elizabeth had read it twice through already but could not be sure she understood its contents. She read it out loud to Mr Darcy before passing it to him across the table. He read it to himself. That he was disturbed by its contents was clear.

  December 20, 1792

  Dear George,

  Thank you for your letter, I am very well. I cannot tell you what it meant to me to receive a letter with such heartfelt sentiments. My love for you is returned and ever constant; I trust and pray we will be united very soon.

  You ask so many questions about him, I do not know what to tell you except to say that the babe has such a look of the Wickhams about him; indeed, his eyes are yours. I know you would recognise him as our own and that you would laugh to see it. I have named him for his father, of course, though our dear sister assumes that person's initials are entirely different... she has no suspicion of the truth, thank heaven, nor has anyone else. Our secret is safe, Georgie. Duping both the father and the son at Pemberley has been vastly entertaining--I have come into a little money, though how long it will last I cannot say. I am in such dire need of everything new and the rent our sister charges me is not cheap. I am assured of seeing the child from time to time if I wish it, but though he amuses me, you know he will be better off where he is going. Besides, so long as I have the comfort of your company I could not desire anything more. Georgie, will you come and see me soon? I cannot bear to be without you. Are you not a little curious to see him before he is gone forever? Such a bonny babe you never did see. I cannot write more now for fear of discovery, but I promise to write whenever I can. Come soon,

  I am yours ever,

  A loving sister always,

  Viola.

  "I have read it twice through and cannot make it out entirely. But Darcy, if what sense I can make of it were true, it would seem that what you have formerly thought about your father couldn't be the case. What do you think?"

  There was a pause. There was a minute's silence during which every emotion seemed to pass across her husband's face. At last Darcy raised his head, engaging Elizabeth with his dark eyes which penetrated hers with an expression of triumph. "It is as I always hoped. My father's memory is vindicated. I have thought the worst of him and now I know he was the very generous man I always believed him to be. I knew of my father's innocence in all of this; I knew it in my heart and yet I doubted him. I do not think I shall ever forgive myself."

  "You are not responsible. The duplicity of others is to blame. Fitzwilliam, you must not reproach yourself. Let us celebrate the fact that here is proof that your father is entirely guiltless in this whole affair. But I cannot help wondering about the truth of the matter, though perhaps the whole episode would be better laid to rest--I have no desire to learn anything of the Wickhams' secrets. One would presume that your father must have taken pity on the disgraced Miss Wickham. He must have been a very kind and understanding man."

  Elizabeth watched her husband's countenance grow pale. Fitzwilliam sat very still in deep contemplation. His expression, though serious and grave, started to show some signs of relief after a moment or two. He raked his fingers through his hair once or twice, but his eyes were fixed on his plate as he spoke, avoiding Elizabeth's scrutiny of his countenance.

  "I do not think we will ever know the complete truth, nor do I wish to dwell on it further. It does not concern us; we have all the information we need to know. My father was an excellent man until his dying day... I only hope that some day I might grow to be more like him."

  Elizabeth stood up and ran to his side. "Oh, my darling, you need never worry ever again. You know your father must have been a wonderful man to show such compassion for Miss Wickham. Just like his son, who is also most excellent in every way!"

  Elizabeth threw her arms about his neck, kissing the top of his head just to confirm her delight. It was most fortunate that just at that moment she could not read Mr Darcy's mind or his thoughts as he contemplated the thorough wickedness of the steward's son he had grown up with at Pemberley.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The end of May heralded the beginning of summer, sunny days perfumed with the heady scents of lilac in the syringa grove, which was a favourite haunt for the Darcys' afternoon walk. The white blooms nodding their heads in the soft breeze were a reminder that Mr Butler's design for the grove and Darcy's Hall (as the folly was re-named by Elizabeth) had been most successful. For Elizabeth it was the happiest time of her marriage to date, having found a new understanding with Fitzwilliam and a deep sense of satisfaction that life was just getting better and better. The knowledge that Fitzwilliam had chosen to share in divulging past secrets of Pemberley House had only brought them closer together, and in their newfound intimacy love flourished with a deeper profundity.

  "How wonderful it is to be in Derbyshire, the most divine county in all of England. I think this will always be my preferred season at Pemberley," Elizabeth said, as they walked along arm in arm. "It is such a perfect time with everything coming into flower and blossoming into beauty."

  "Just like its mistress," said Mr Darcy, laying his hand over hers in a tender gesture. "I have never seen you look more beautiful than you do today, my love. If I could paint your portrait this is how I would like to see you forever more: on this day, dressed in yellow with your dark eyes dancing with amusement."

  "I am amused, I confess, at the thought of you painting my portrait. I never dreamed you had such a creative spirit when first I met you, though I have learned something of your talent for poetry. Tell me, are your artistic endeavours as exciting as your aptitude for rhyming a couplet?"

  "Do not underestimate my proficiencies, madam," Darcy answered, as if perfectly affronted, stepping away from her with a mock bow.

  "Oh no, Mr Darcy, I could never do that," Elizabeth cried, with a smile on her lips. "On the contrary, you have many abilities for which I declare you to be quite the genius, but I do not think the arts are necessarily your forte."

  "I cannot imagine where you think my gifts tend, in that case," Darcy declared, his face as solemn as ever.

  "Hmm, let me think," mused Elizabeth, her head inclined on one side as she gave him the benefit of her fine eyes. "Come closer, Mr Darcy, and if you will accompany me to Darcy's Hall, I will explain everything."

  They sat high up in the stone built folly, which gave a wonderful view across the estate. Elizabeth saw the beauty of the landscape in front of them stretching as far as the eye could see. A patchwork of fields and a wood sloped away down the hillside to the river in the valley. Shadows made by the clouds swept over the long, silver grasses waving in the breeze, and in the distance on the other side, Elizabeth's eyes rested on the crest of a hill crowned by a circle of beech trees from whence the wind seemed to come, ruffling the coats of the sheep, wearing away the huge rocks which broke the surface of the earth. Nestled in the valley along the winding river, the golden stone houses of Lambton glimmered in the afternoon light.

  "Penny for your thoughts, Mrs Darcy," said Fitzwilliam, watching her closely.

  "Oh, my thoughts are far more expensive than that, you know," she said with a laugh, unable to resist teasing him.

  "Five pounds for them then, will that suffice?" he asked, knowing she would not be at all amused by his retort.

  Elizabeth would not look at him. She gazed at the horizon and maintained her expression of deep contemplation. "No money will ever pay for them. Only something precious to me might release the thoughts in my head."

  "Elizabeth Darcy," he whispered, "would that be something or someone? And whilst I desire to know what goes on inside your head, there are other matters in mine which are far more pressing. I long to kiss you but I am not certain if you would think it quite precious enough a something."

 
Elizabeth turned her head. "One of your kisses is worth more to me than anything else in the world. Take one if you really wish to find out what I am thinking."

  Mr Darcy took her in his arms. The moment was sweet and their exchange of kisses and thoughts were the happiest they had ever known.

  Chapter 33

  Longbourn, September, 1803

  Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair with an air of self-satisfaction. He waved the letter in his hand, addressing his wife as he spoke. "I always told you she was a clever girl, did I not? And now she has surpassed all my expectations."

  Mrs Bennet looked up from her cup of morning tea. "What nonsense are you talking, Mr Bennet? The only girl I ever recall you declaring to be clever is our daughter Lizzy, but not only is she now a married woman, but I also doubt she is in much of a mind to be witty and smart in her present condition. What is it all about? Who is your letter from, my dear?"

  "Mr Darcy!" Mr Bennet replied, returning to his missive without another word.

  "Mr Darcy! Mr Darcy! Good heavens, what does he say? Is Elizabeth near her time? Does he want me to go? Quick, Mr Bennet, we must harness the carriage. Oh, Lord! I knew it would be like this, with not a moment to prepare myself. I haven't a thing to wear! Mr Bennet! Stop sitting there opening and closing your mouth like a codfish. We must go to Pemberley."

  "'Tis too late, my dear Mrs Bennet. Indeed, you are not needed."

  "Too late! What can you mean? Is Elizabeth ill, or worse? Oh, I knew no good would come of it, to be confined so early in her marriage. Tell me... no, don't tell me, I do not think I can bear it."

  "Then I shall keep Mr Darcy's news to myself." Mr Bennet folded the letter and placed it on one side before picking up his newspaper.

  "Oh, you delight in vexing me. Well, do as you please. If it does not concern me I am not interested anyhow. I do not want to learn that he has bagged a hundred pheasants since last Tuesday; indeed, I do not. I cannot think how you can enjoy corresponding with a man who has so little to say on any matter except his sport."

  "You are not interested to hear about your grandson then, I take it?" Mr Bennet asked, peering over his glasses at his wife.

  "Grandson, my grandson?" repeated Mrs Bennet, whose countenance displayed the shock she felt.

  "We are grandparents, Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth has been duly delivered of a fine infant boy in the early hours of this morning."

  "Well, why in heaven's name did you not say so earlier? A boy, Mr Bennet. That is splendid news. But it does not alter the fact that I shall be needed instantly. Elizabeth will be fretting for her mother. Come, Mr Bennet, make haste!

  "Mr Darcy has invited us to go in a fortnight's time," Mr Bennet replied. "He insists there is no need for us to go rushing up there immediately, and I daresay our young parents would wish to spend their time getting to know the little fellow without an army attending them in the first instance."

  "And not have her mother for advice and counsel? How will she know the best way to hold the babe if I do not show her? And if he is colicky, as some newborns are found to be, who will recommend a little warm wine and water on a spoon?"

  "I am sure they already have several nannies in place if they are needed. Mrs Bennet, let us wait until the proper time. We have been invited, after all, and I daresay we shall be as instructive as Lizzy wishes once we are there."

  "Perhaps you are right," said Mrs Bennet grudgingly, helping herself to another piece of toast, "but babies soon lose that look of just having been born, and I should so like to see him."

  "Have patience, my dear; we'll see him soon enough."

  "Kitty will be so excited. It is all she has talked about ever since she went to Pemberley in the summer. She is sure to want to dance with him again."

  "I think the little lad will be too young for dancing a while yet."

  "Oh, you are ridiculous, Mr Bennet. I am talking of her dancing with Mr Lloyd, the rector."

  "Well, there'll be a christening, no doubt. I expect there'll be some chance to dance then."

  "I shall have to tell Kitty and Mary to come home at once. They have been with Jane quite long enough. I need them here."

  "But we are not due to leave for a fortnight. Leave them where they are. I'm sure I do not want them back again just now."

  "I do not want them tiring Jane out. It is early days and if she wants to have a healthy baby like Elizabeth she must learn to put her feet up and stop gadding about Netherfield."

  "I'm sure Jane knows what she is about. Your fussing will do more harm than good."

  "Let me remind you, Mr Bennet, that my fussing has been very productive. If I had been content to let my daughters follow their hearts willy nilly, they would not have made the matches they have. Jane and Mr Bingley, Lizzy and Mr Darcy, Lydia and Mr Wickham, Kitty and Mr Lloyd..."

  "I see you have married off Kitty already. Does the rector know of your plans for his future happiness?"

  "He ought to be sensible of them, but if not, I shall soon give him a push in the right direction. If only Mary could find a suitor, how happy I should be."

  "Now that would be a joyous occasion for us all."

  "Mr Bennet, we are grandparents, can you imagine? I wonder whom he will favour. Do you think he has Lizzy's eyes and Mr Darcy's nose?"

  "They'd look a little out of place on a baby, my dear," Mr Bennet drily observed.

  "And what will they call him, Mr Bennet, does it say?"

  "Ah, yes, I was just coming to that. Fitzwilliam, of course, after his father, and George after his grandfather before him, and then he is to have my name."

  "Oh, my dear, what an honour. The heir of Pemberley is to bear your name. Let us raise our teacups to the little cherub. Fitzwilliam George Henry Darcy, welcome to the world!"

  THE END

  About the Author

  Jane Odiwe is an author and artist. She is completely obsessed with all things Austen and is the author of Lydia Bennet's Story and Willoughby's Return, and author and illustrator of Effusions of Fancy, consisting of annotated sketches from the life of Jane Austen. She lives with her husband and three children in North London and Bath, England.