by J Dawn King
Darcy was devastated. The others were equally so. Mrs. Mansfield, who had been holding Jem, squeezed him tightly to her until he emitted a squeal.
“I shall go to London immediately to see how I can assist Uncle Hugh in negotiations for Richard’s release.” Darcy was already making arrangements in his mind. To Elizabeth he said, “You must remain here where I know you are safe. I pray you all give attention to one another’s care. The staff knows what to do should a tenant or someone here at Pemberley have a need. For anything else, do not hesitate to send an express.”
He heard no words of complaint from any of the three. Georgiana cried for her favorite cousin. Darcy completely understood. Richard had suffered far more than Georgiana knew. Mrs. Mansfield had to be deeply concerned about Major Milford. But it was the look in Elizabeth’s eyes that would haunt him during the days it took him to arrive in London. He saw longing, fear, and a desperate desire to have him stay with them. Yet, nothing came from her mouth to keep him from going. He sincerely appreciated her silence on the matter. She knew what he had to do was the only course for him to take.
Their parting felt like it was ripping flesh from his insides. Caring not that their final embrace could be viewed by Pemberley’s staff, Darcy kissed her, tasted her lips, drank from her until he thought he might lose his resolve to leave.
Tears slipped down Elizabeth’s cheeks yet still she said nothing other than “safe travels and come back soon.” Just before the footman closed the door to the carriage, she slipped a note from her pocket into his hands, whispering, “I love you most thoroughly, Will.”
His longing to step back outside and clasp her to him needed to be ignored. With a final wave, the coach began to pull away from all he loved the most. Opening the parchment, he read:
To my dearest husband,
I know why you are leaving, and I heartily approve of your going to London to help your cousin. Please know that you are taking my heart with you. In caring for your own health and happiness, you will be taking care of mine too.
Thank you for marrying me, Will. Thank you for bringing me to your home to create a bond like my aunt and uncle enjoy. In doing so, you made my dream come true.
Best wishes for success in locating Richard and arranging for his return. I cannot wait to meet him, this man you consider a brother. Return to me, my husband. Return my heart so I can be whole again. Without you, I am without peace.
I love you with my whole heart and soul,
Elizabeth
Instead of being broken, instead of feeling the pain of separation, he was complete. Her love was what he had been missing all of his adult years. Thank heaven he chose her to be his wife. His heart eased knowing she was at Pemberley.
All the lonely hours he spent in his carriage, he worried about who would comfort Jem when he was upset. Who would help Georgiana overcome her fears? Who would reassure Mrs. Mansfield? Mostly, who would ease Elizabeth’s burdens now she was in charge of Pemberley?
Darcy resolved to act as quickly as possible to secure Richard’s freedom. Only then could he return to those whom he loved.
It was not to be.
Richard was given a private room at the end of a long hallway in an old traveling inn outside Caen, which was currently serving as a prison of sorts for captured officers. His quarters were bare, containing only a bed and a small bedside table.
Those confined with him were a motley group consisting of military men from several enemy countries. Nonetheless, they did not suffer in their confinement. Carriages were provided so the prisoners could partake in the entertainments in the small town. French officers routinely invited their British and Spanish counterparts to their homes for meals and shared vices.
Richard remained in his room, which became a cell without bars. His men had been disbursed into various forms of service to the French, so he had no contact with them. There were no books to read nor English newspapers to scrutinize. He was alone and bitterly lonely as he awaited his future.
That changed when letters for him arrived that had actually made it through the French customs. All of the letters had been opened and read. This surprised him not.
Two were from Darcy, one thin and the other fat. Georgiana had written as had his father and Aunt Catherine. Despite wanting to read Darcy’s first, he dutifully opened the one from his father. Checking the date, he found it was penned a full ten days after he had left for the war.
Hugh Fitzwilliam, Lord Matlock
Matlock House
Richard,
What foolishness have you committed in light of what your cousin has done? Darcy married a nobody from Hertfordshire. We are investigating her origins. I am expecting no good to come of it.
Pray, do your duty and return to England as quickly as possible. Anne is gone and buried, as you well know. Thus, it is time to find a new bride, a healthy one this time who can bear you enough sons to enrich the Fitzwilliam line.
I shall expect no less from you.
Your father,
HF
His letter from his aunt was little different. Her demands were the same. Fools!
As he unfolded Georgiana’s letter, he considered how the changes at Pemberley must have affected her. He hoped she loved the baby. Richard knew she would cherish Jem if she knew the infant was, in fact, his. But she could never know. It would be an unfair burden to a young girl like her. Her brief note expressed her sympathies at the loss of his wife and son. No mention was made of her brother’s marriage nor the guests in their home.
Darcy’s first letter told of his marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet and the settling in of Mrs. Mansfield and Jem at Pemberley. The clues his cousin left him were priceless. His son had survived the trip north. Darcy had done as he had requested, including naming him appropriately. Richard had to agree with the ruse of having the major’s wife be a temporary mother. It would secure a place at Pemberley for the babe with little fuss or gossip.
Then, he opened the fat parchment packet, only to have the drawings tumble out. The one on the top was the major’s wife. Richard’s heart ached at her finding out about her husband. The letter he had written to her would take weeks to arrive, if ever. He knew what she would suffer.
Ahh! His icy cold heart melted as he unfolded the picture of the new Mrs. Darcy with the baby. While the sketch of her had been quickly done, the one of the babe was...Richard’s eyes blurred. Throwing his head back until it hit the wall behind the bed where he sat, he struggled to contain his sorrow. Without success.
Hot anguish surged through him as his chest throbbed. Wiping the tears away, he studied every single line, each stroke of the pencil. Afraid to touch it in case the charcoal smeared, he gazed in wonder at his son.
What a... could a boy be considered beautiful? He was. Little Jem was the...Richard was at a loss.
His hands found the bound piece of linen as his eyes stayed glued to the picture. In the back of his mind he wondered what Darcy could have sent. If it was money, it would be long gone. Customs agents were greedy beggars on both sides of the English Channel.
When his eyes finally moved from the picture and saw what was in his own hands, he wept. Holding the wisp of his son’s hair and the picture to him, he curled up on the bed and sobbed.
Chapter 19
The weather turned harsh on the third day of travel, making it five long days until the Darcy carriage arrived in London. His first stop, after refreshing himself, was Matlock House. He was unsurprised to find his Uncle Hugh, Aunt Catherine, and cousin Henry in the drawing room, cloistered together in a private conference. Darcy felt no embarrassment at not waiting to be announced. He would take every advantage he could get.
He was not there to defend his marriage or any decisions he had or had not made in the past month and a half. His purpose was to see what could be done to rescue the colonel.
“What actions have you taken to secure Richard’s release?” Darcy asked when the other three were sputtering and posturing for position. �
�I am here to offer my services and whatever assets might be needed to bring him home.”
His uncle responded first. “You dare come to Matlock House after what you have done?”
His aunt added, “How could you?”
Darcy looked to his cousin to see what he had to say, only to find him lounging in one of the armchairs, smirking with glee.
“What is the meaning of this?” Darcy asked. “Why are you challenging me about my marriage when we have a crisis with Richard? Again, I repeat, what has been done to secure his freedom?”
Lord Matlock refused to reply. Instead, he rang for a footman. As soon as the servant arrived, he barked, “Send for Oscar Huggins, the constable, and extra men. Do it immediately!”
Glancing from one relative to the next, an unsettling nervousness filled Darcy’s gut. What was happening? Were they not concerned about Richard?
“Take a seat, Darcy,” his uncle commanded. “We need to talk.”
“If this is about my marriage to Elizabeth...”
“Your marriage has nothing to do with our discussion. Now, sit!”
Perplexed, Darcy did as ordered, realizing once he took his seat that he had obeyed as readily as one of the hunting dogs at Pemberley. The thought increased his ire. Something was very wrong.
“Explain yourself, Uncle.” Regaining his composure, Darcy stood and moved to the fireplace. Leaning against the mantel, he awaited the reply.
“Earlier today we received a report from Inspector Huggins indicating you have sinned grievously against the Fitzwilliam family.”
“I am ashamed of you, Darcy,” his Aunt Catherine muttered. “Your mother would have suffered had she known how her son would turn out.”
“What?” Darcy was shocked at this mistreatment. Then, it hit him. Jem. Somehow, they had found out about the baby. His hands quivered. He stuck them into his trouser pockets. Removing his right hand, he wiped at the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip. Breathing deeply, he said a quick prayer for calmness.
“Before you make accusations against me for this unknown crime, I ask you again, what has been done to help Richard?”
Henry finally stirred himself to attend the conversation. “Oh, do not worry about my brother. As soon as the Little Frenchie becomes aware that he has offended the house of Matlock, he will return Richard with no harm done, I imagine.”
Darcy wanted to roll his eyes. Of all the arrogant comments that could have come from an educated man’s mouth, this was the most ridiculous.
“Have you begun negotiations for his release?” Darcy demanded, hoping to gain the information before the constable and Mr. Huggins appeared.
“In fact, we have not,” Lord Matlock stated. “A matter was brought to our attention a few days ago that pushed the future of my younger son into the background. The facts were confirmed only this morning. Oh, not that we are not concerned about Richard, of course. He is my child, and I will see he eventually returns to England. But he needs to suffer for his choice to leave British soil so soon after losing his wife. He can remain in captivity for another month or so until he has learned his lesson.”
“Uncle!” Darcy was horrified at the mistreatment of Fitzwilliam’s only loyal son.
“Darcy, our priority on this day is seeing justice is served due to a breach made against the Fitzwilliams that will affect the current and future generations. This breach, nephew, involves you.”
They did know about Jem. But, how much did they know?
He wanted Elizabeth—at the same time he was eternally grateful she was not with him in London. Had she been, she would have brought the baby with her. He shuddered at the thought.
Darcy wanted to leave but now knew his uncle would see him restrained before letting his nephew walk out of Matlock House. He felt like an animal tethered too tightly to a post. Any movement would shorten the leather straps holding him in place.
His uncle was holding the reins. Darcy loathed not being the one in control.
As they awaited the men, he ignored the others in the room. Recalling Elizabeth’s note resting in his pocket, he drew strength from her words of tender affection. She trusted his decision-making ability. She had confidence in him. Even Georgiana was regaining her faith in him more and more each day. Nevertheless, it was the memory of sweet little Jem that straightened his spine and lifted his countenance. That tiny little baby calmed down from his young troubles each time he was in Darcy’s arms. In truth, Darcy felt invincible when the infant quieted while under his care.
When Oscar Huggins and the other men entered the room, Darcy seated himself on the only chair facing the doorway. This left his back to the wall. He wanted no other surprises.
The constable and the footmen remained standing as Huggins was invited to sit next to Lord Matlock.
Clearing his throat, the Inspector flipped his notebook open towards the back. Then, he began, each word damning Darcy to a bleak future.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, during my thorough investigation, I came upon several individuals who had extensive knowledge of the case being built against you. With little effort, they were willing to share what they knew. In doing so, it became evident that you, in partnership with your cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, willingly and unlawfully falsely claimed and actively promoted the belief that the infant son of Richard and Anne Fitzwilliam died at birth. Accomplices who aided and abetted this deed were Major and Mrs. Abigail Milford, who you are apparently calling Mrs. Mansfield, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, now Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, your valet Mr. Stephen Parker, and possibly your young sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
Huggins paused to again clear his throat. “In addition, a character witness who has been verified by your own family to have been regularly in your company since your youth has testified that this is not the first time you, Mr. Darcy, have engaged in vile acts against man and the law. Because of these facts, Constable Blodget is prepared to take you into custody.”
Through much effort, Darcy kept his voice calm. “Who is this witness? What are the charges against me?”
The Constable stepped forward to respond. “There is no law against child stealing that is punishable by death for an infant from a common family. With that said, the fact that you stole the grandson of an earl, Lord Matlock; the grandson of the daughter of an earl, Lady Catherine de Bourgh; the nephew to a viscount, Lord Smithton; and the son of Anne de Bourgh Fitzwilliam, the granddaughter of an earl; in a pre-meditated, planned theft makes your crime more serious. Additionally, that you forcefully ripped this child from his loving family to pass yourself off as the father of this child is fraudulent. These additional factors, when weighed against the loss to the child’s grandparents and extended family make your crime worthy of seeking the death penalty—you will be held at Newgate until your trial. After sentencing, you will hang by the neck until dead.”
“What?” Hanging? Him? How could this... “I need to speak with my solicitor, Mr. Shaw of Shaw, Baker, and Jones.”
“You are free to do so at your earliest convenience, Mr. Darcy,” the constable said. “In the meantime, you will be a guest in the stone hold until this Mr. Shaw can arrange to pay for your upgrade to better quarters, if allowed.”
My Lord! How was this happening?
Thinking quickly, he inquired, ignoring the taunts from his aunt and cousin. “Might we stop at Darcy House long enough so that I can retrieve a bank draft to care for my own expenses? A note can be sent to Mr. Shaw to meet us at Newgate and Old Bailey.
The constable looked to Lord Matlock for how to respond. That brief gesture signaled the involvement his uncle had in the events that were currently occurring. These men were nothing more than his uncle’s puppets. Hugh Fitzwilliam was the puppet master.
Where Darcy was confident in the reputation of his family name, he knew that being from a long line of Darcys was not going to make his life any easier. With the Fitzwilliams as his enemies, he would be alone.
Standing, he walked across the room to the
constable. “Shall we go?”
He would never give his aunt or uncle the satisfaction of seeing him ruffled. To do so would feed their self-importance. Darcy would rather lose everything including the shirt off his back than give them fodder to laugh at him.
Perhaps it was arrogance motivating his actions. Elizabeth had accused him of both pride and prejudice. Yet, she then realized his facade was not the true man. He cared not whether his Fitzwilliam relatives ever discovered the same. As far as he was concerned, that portion of his family were now dead to him.
Gathering his great coat and hat from the Matlock’s long-time butler, Darcy walked out of the door with his head held high. At all costs, his actions would preserve the dignity of the Darcy family.
It was upon his arrival at Darcy House when his countenance fell. Constable Blodget entered his study with him. So did the footmen hired by his uncle to guard him. Removing a cheque from his accounting book, he inquired about the amount of funds needed.
“One-hundred quid, Sir,” the constable replied. “That will see you kept from the stone hold and moved to one of twelve rooms in the State section where you will pay for your room and food but have your own bed to sleep in.”
Darcy filled in the amount and signed the cheque, leaving the area blank, so whoever required the money could insert his own name. Quickly, he wrote to Mr. Shaw, briefly outlining his situation. Before the constable could complain, he penned a note to Elizabeth.
On the way from Matlock House to his residence, he had marveled that not once had either Lord Matlock or Lady Catherine inquired as to Jem’s location. Neither had asked about the health or condition of the babe. That, more than anything, told him their concern was not for the child itself. It was who and what the baby represented that was important to them. Also, nothing had been mentioned about taking any of the other ‘accomplices’ into custody. They wanted Darcy removed from society for some reason. He was determined to find out that reason as soon as he was able.