Alias Thomas Bennet

by Suzan Lauder

  “I wish you would try one of our other plans. I do not like this idea of your compromising her,” she whinged.

  “The other plans will not work if she is in Darcy’s care on the trip,” he said tersely.

  “What will happen if she does not report it to her father? I think I should be there as a witness.”

  “I disagree. There should be no witnesses,” was his retort.

  “How can you be assured that he knows you have retaliated against his ill-use of you? Someone has to tell him, else how will he call you out?”

  “I do not wish to duel him, just to have satisfaction.” The exasperation showed in the tautness of his facial muscles.

  “Do you want the satisfaction of revenge or the satisfaction of having Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Jealous, my dear? Do not worry; as much as she is a delectable creature, I do not plan to fully bother her. Just a little cuddle, maybe a torn dress—enough for her to be compromised.”

  “I would be witness to that.”

  “No. I will not risk anyone seeing you or me,” he said, with a warning in his voice. “I want her to blame Darcy for the liberties taken against her.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “I will accost her from behind, wearing Darcy’s coat and cuff links. Even if she turns, she will see Darcy’s handkerchief over my face. I will drop the handkerchief nearby when I make my escape.” He was self-satisfied with his devious plan.

  “So Mr. Bennet will call out Mr. Darcy?”

  “When she tells her father of the assault, the man will not be able to keep his mouth shut, just as he abused my reputation in Meryton. He will confront Darcy and insist on a marriage. Darcy’s blasted pride will never take the insult, and he will call out Bennet for the slander against him. Then I will have my revenge on both, and Miss Elizabeth will be ruined for her part in it.”

  “What happens if she pulls away the handkerchief and sees that it is you? Mr. Bennet will surely call you out, and Mr. Darcy may as well if he knows you were trying to impersonate him.”

  “I have no reason to hide from them,” he boasted. “I can best either man with pistols or swords, and they know it. So there is nothing to worry about. Now, can you get her to walk out alone tomorrow morning?”

  “I will suggest it to her. She will be in need of fresh air or to say goodbye to the lovely Kent countryside or some such thing.”

  “That is a good idea.”

  “I could bring her here myself and stop walking with a complaint of a stone in my shoe,” she suggested. “Then I can accuse Mr. Darcy of having accosted her.”

  “No, we do not want Darcy challenging you; his word would be taken over yours. Darcy’s handkerchief will be telling enough. Just make sure she walks out and comes here alone. No one will see us here.”

  “As no one can see us now, my darling.”

  “You would like me to compromise you again, my dear?”

  She giggled as he started to kiss and fondle her.

  “I would, dear Wickham!”

  ***

  10 April 1812

  Hunsford, Kent

  Elizabeth felt all the close quarters of the parsonage as she finished packing her gowns for the trip back to Hertfordshire. She was uneasy about dinner that evening and the likely queries from Lady Catherine regarding her hasty return home a week before her intended departure, particularly because she could not respond with any degree of composure given her limited knowledge of the situation at Longbourn, her unannounced betrothal, and her dear wish to hide any and all facts from Lady Catherine.

  So with this weighing heavily on her mind, she decided to go for one last stroll through the park. She also hoped to encounter Mr. Darcy. Perhaps they might have a chance to share some furtive kisses before they were to depart.

  She looked about her at the budding trees and thought how much spring had taken over the landscape during her short visit. She strolled more slowly than was her wont, taking it all in so as to preserve the memory. She enjoyed the beauty of the park as she ambled along, daydreaming about a warm set of eyes and kisses full of the promise of future passion. She looked about casually for signs of his coming to join her, but saw no trace of him.

  She was just out of sight of the parsonage when she heard quick footfalls behind her. She turned, anticipating her betrothed, and recognizing his coat, she smiled but was puzzled that he held a handkerchief over his face. She had no time to process the thought as, in an instant, he darted towards her, and she realized his movements were not familiar.

  Elizabeth was caught unprepared by the realization that this was not Mr. Darcy. She narrowed her eyes and automatically stepped back, her hands out in a defensive manner. As her attacker advanced, she turned to run but lost her balance and started to fall. He grabbed her from behind, wrenching her arm as he pulled her backwards, trapping her against his body.

  Elizabeth’s mind whirled with terror as she struggled for release, grasping and pulling at the arm around her waist, but her attacker held fast. Pain shot through the arm held behind her back, and her fear escalated as she understood the precarious position she was in. She cried out for help without realizing if she were caught in this position, it could compromise her. Thrashing about, she suspected that her attacker was Wickham.

  “Unhand me, Mr. Wickham!” she said in a panicked voice, in hopes of frightening him off when his identity was revealed. This had the intended effect, startling her attacker into loosening his hold on her waist, but only for an instant. As she twisted in his arms, Wickham grabbed at her, roughly catching her wrist once more and tearing her spencer. She fought back, scratching at his face and trying to back away, but he captured her other wrist painfully. Her mind was racing, frightened of what he would do next.

  “Please, Mr. Wickham, please let me be!” she cried, her face contorted with fear and pain.

  “You cannot get away from me so easily, Miss Elizabeth,” he growled lasciviously. “Do you think I would let you return to Hertfordshire without my satisfaction? It will go easier if you are quiet.”

  Elizabeth was frantic and tried even harder to pull away, the heels of her half-boots digging into the stones of the path, but his grip on her wrists was ferocious. Tears streamed down her face, so she barely saw Darcy jump from his mount and bound towards them.

  “Mr. Darcy!” she screamed, while at the same time relaxing her struggle, in hope of redirecting Wickham’s attention.

  In his shock, Wickham turned his head abruptly. In a final effort for release, Elizabeth urgently jerked her hands down and fell backwards as she became liberated from Wickham’s cruel grip, hitting the ground with brutal force. This allowed Darcy to knock the off-balance Wickham down. Darcy fell alongside him, but the scoundrel scurried out of reach and was quickly on his feet. Before Darcy could right himself, Wickham was off into the woods. Darcy took several steps to follow him when he heard Elizabeth’s sob.

  “Elizabeth!” he cried as he rushed to her side and dropped to his knees. “My love, are you well? Did he hurt you?” He gathered her into his arms.

  Her body was shaking uncontrollably as tears streamed down her face. Unable to catch her breath, she gasped, sobbed, and clung to him fiercely while he held her close and stroked her back, dropping soft kisses on her hair. At length, his whispered words of endearment achieved some small amount of calm in her distraught state. He took out his handkerchief and offered it to her to wipe her eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked softly.

  “My wrists are sore, but I am embarrassed to say that my bottom has suffered the worst of it,” she said. “I do not know how I am to manage a carriage ride to Hertfordshire tomorrow!”

  “Well, he did not harm your sense of humour.” A relieved Darcy rose and helped her to her feet. “Come, my love, I must deliver you back to the parsonage and then arrange for a party to search for Mr. Wickham.”

  Suddenly, her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, no! Please do not try to find him, else everyone will
know I was compromised!” She started to sob. “Fitzwilliam . . . Mr. Darcy . . . if you wish it, I will release you from our engagement.”

  He quickly captured her in his arms, kissed her temple, and reassured her. “No, Elizabeth, I do not want to end our engagement. As soon as we return to Longbourn, I will go to your father, and then you will have no escape from marrying me.” He pulled his head back and lifted her chin. Her eyes evaded him, then they fluttered hesitantly to meet his, and she saw him smile.

  Elizabeth took a shuddering breath as her tears subsided, and she tentatively returned his smile. He kissed the sides of her lips and then enticed her into a deeper kiss. He hoped to encourage her belief that he would keep her safe, though he was not sure how he would accomplish it with Wickham’s continued success at escaping incarceration.

  Chapter 16:

  Bennet recalls his past and gives his consent.

  Midmorning, 13 April 1812

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire

  A simple question from Elizabeth after his proposal made Darcy think.

  ‘But what has my father told you?’

  When she said the words ‘my father,’ he immediately assumed she was referring to Lord Shelton but then realized she meant Mr. Bennet. At first, he thought it was a mental mistake, made because he had read the letter from Thomas Bennet many times that day. But from their first meeting in Hertfordshire, Darcy had always felt that Bennet reminded him of someone he had known in the past. After careful consideration of his recollections of his father’s best friend, he realized that Bennet bore an uncanny resemblance to Lord Shelton. Surely not . . .

  With four days of contemplation, it was not at all difficult for Darcy to comprehend that it was not coincidence. He doubted that anyone else privy to the information would think that Bennet was actually Shelton; one had to know both men well to make the connection. It had been a long time, and faces blur as memories fade.

  “Good day, Darcy. How do you do?”

  “I am well, my lord. And how are you and all your family?”

  “Darcy, dispense with the formalities,” he said as he motioned his friend to sit in a large wing chair near the fire. “You know me as Bennet, and it is the name I have become accustomed to. Lord Shelton is no more. I have not been that man for a long time. As to my family, we are all in good health, thank you.”

  Darcy was anxious and knew Bennet would sense it. Although he had been summoned to discuss the business issues related to Lord Shelton’s will, he had an undoubtedly more important errand that morning—asking Bennet’s permission for Elizabeth’s hand. He felt a justifiable level of confidence that he would be successful given their friendship, but he also knew Bennet could raise multiple objections if he so desired.

  Darcy was also interested in the circumstances behind his correct deduction that Bennet was actually Lord Shelton. With Bennet’s lack of denial, Darcy now was curious as to what his friend would disclose. That Bennet was not making eye contact indicated a disquiet equal to his own, thus Darcy hesitated to start the conversation. Thankfully, Bennet broke the silence by suggesting a glass of brandy, and Darcy gratefully accepted. When they were settled, Bennet took the conversation in hand.

  “You are likely curious as to how all this occurred and want an explanation of how I could be both Thomas Bennet and Lord Shelton.”

  “I am, sir.” Darcy adjusted himself in his chair. “I have thought much about it these few days. You could not have simply changed your name.”

  “No, the story is much more complicated than that,” said Bennet. “Where to start?”

  Darcy patiently waited while Bennet steepled his fingers and blew out a breath. A strange look passed over Bennet’s face as he tried to find the words, but then his brows folded together, his jaw clenched, and his expression became stormy.

  “In 1792, my first wife was attacked in my home while I was away. Her attacker’s intentions were quite clear: he had arranged for a fire in the kitchens to distract the household staff while she received him in the parlour. As he attempted to assault her in the most indecent manner, he was intercepted. She fell and struck her head against the sideboard, and shortly thereafter, Lady Shelton died from the concussion she received. You cannot imagine my pain. Your father brought the scoundrel the news that I was challenging him to a duel and acted as my second.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened. This was not at all the answer he was expecting. Bennet leapt abruptly from his chair and briskly paced the floor of his library, quite distracted. He finally stopped and leaned against the mantle, gripping it fiercely with one hand, and continued speaking with a fury that Darcy had never seen on the countenance of his otherwise calm and collected friend.

  “Her attacker, Lord Malcolm”—Bennet spat out the abhorrent name—“was a marquess in his own right and the son of a very influential duke. Both were dissolute libertines of the worst kind, known for violently assaulting women using the pretext of seduction, but usually the victims were of lower rank, and their protectors were unable to retaliate. Because the Duke of Ellisbury owned property in both Derbyshire and Gloucestershire, their debauchery was known there and in every county between.

  “Father and son were also immoral gamblers and schemers with the reputation of over-imbibing spirits. On the day of the duel, Malcolm showed up totally foxed. I offered to defer the challenge to another day, but Malcolm would have none of it. His drunkenness did little to alter his skill with a pistol, and his shot grazed my left arm. I had only intended a leg wound, but my shot hit an artery, thus causing Malcolm’s death in vengeance for Lady Shelton’s. Days later, your good father overheard a conversation at White’s that there were wagers being made on whether the Duke of Ellisbury, Malcolm’s father, would influence the House of Lords to force a heavy penalty on me for murder while engaged in a duel.

  “Darcy, the blackguard would never end his persecution of me. Even in death, his revenge was complete because my two very young daughters would be tainted by the scandal. I was left with no choice but to exile myself. Friends of your father helped me to quickly board a ship bound for Bermuda with the girls. I had taken all the money I was able to free up, but I had to travel incognito.”

  “And it was then that you became Bennet?” asked Darcy.

  Bennet shook his head. “No. I used an alias of John Miles, taken from my real name of Miles Lydon, Earl of Shelton.”

  “I’m not following.” Darcy’s brow furrowed.

  “During the voyage, I met the real Thomas Bennet along with Bennet’s new wife, Fanny.”

  Darcy’s lips formed a grim line as he considered the possibilities of how Shelton had taken Thomas Bennet’s identity. He quickly realized that his face reflected his train of thought when Bennet uttered words of reassurance.

  “Do not distress yourself, old man. The real Thomas Bennet died from pneumonia during the trip to Bermuda. Prior to his passing, it was he who proposed the identity exchange. He and I were very nearly identical in appearance, and it was unlikely anyone would recognise me in Bermuda where neither of us had acquaintance.”

  “So you lived in Bermuda for some time,” Darcy said, and Bennet nodded.

  “Bermuda was good to us,” he said reflectively as he dropped into the chair across from Darcy. “We became a family there.”

  “Bermuda has a reputation for being a centre of slave trade,” Darcy said with a scowl. Although he could not imagine his friend’s involvement in such a business, he had already been shaken by the revelation of the identity exchange.

  Bennet waved a hand. “The slave trade was—is—a lucrative business for men who live in the West Indies, exporting Africans for unpaid lifelong indenture in the Americas. I became involved in a group that was trying to eliminate it. I purchased freedom for a number of slaves and found them respectable employment in my home as well as in the homes of other anti-slavery English colonists. When we returned to England, we brought our most trusted African servants, Mr. and Mrs. Akuete, who were high-born in their home co
untry of Nigeria. You know them as our steward and housekeeper.”

  “But how came you to live at Longbourn?” asked Darcy.

  “Two years into my exile, I received a letter informing me that Thomas Bennet had inherited an estate called Longbourn in Hertfordshire. I had a choice to make—return to England as Thomas Bennet or forfeit Longbourn and take back the Shelton name. The latter choice would disclose my deception and shame both families. Mrs. Bennet feared that not enough time had passed, and my enemies would still try to get revenge regarding the duel. We decided it would be best to keep the identity of Thomas Bennet.”

  “So hiding as a country gentleman was your safest choice at the time.”

  Bennet acknowledged the comment with a simple nod. “We are quite content with our modest life in Hertfordshire. Mrs. Bennet has told me many times how she prefers it to her previous homes in Bermuda and Gloucestershire. There is something about the simplicity of our lives and the warmth of our neighbourhood that give us extraordinary sources of happiness.”

  Bennet clasped his hands, placed his elbows on his knees, and leaned in to speak earnestly.

  “I am well aware of my dishonesty towards society, and I still do not know clearly whether my actions were sound. While it is of no little importance to me that my daughters have been spared the spectre of my crimes haunting them, I know I have denied them a life with the respect they were due from society, especially Jane and Elizabeth. The younger girls also would have benefited from exposure to the best circles.

  “But I must ask you not to share this conversation with others. It could affect my family detrimentally were society to find out that I have deceived them for so long.”

  Darcy recalled the reason he had been summoned—to answer to his responsibilities as stated in Lord Shelton’s will. Even though that was a straightforward matter of apprising his friend of the state of the lands and finances, an inevitable question arose.

  “Are you going to tell Lady Jane and Lady Elizabeth more than just their identities and fortune?”