Mr Darcy's Legacy, page 4
“First of all, I want to thank you for your struggle to find me. Each of you had an important role and together you reached this outcome: my being here at the table next to my beautiful wife to be.”
Darcy smiled mostly at Elizabeth, who was sitting next to him and kissed her hand. Elizabeth had tears in her eyes and even his butler turned away for some moments, not letting anyone see his own emotion.
“I know, yesterday, I may have proffered some unjust words towards your actions regarding the search party you organised, but please understand that it took me some time to see all the struggle you went through to find me. But you must agree that at this time all my acquaintances need an explanation. What I am asking you all is to decide on the story we will pass along to anybody interested.”
Mr Bennet nodded, followed by all the others.
“I do not see any advantage in another story other than an unexpected, difficult illness that prevented me from informing my family and fiancée where I was. Here in London, Bingley had already talked to his sisters, and I will speak to the Duke of Blandford and then at my Club. The rest will be informed by others. We cannot stop gossip but my presence in the next days will, eventually, curtail most of it. Fortunately, life goes on and another scandal will appear, as we speak, to end of this one.”
Mr Bennet was the only one at the table, who was obviously nervous.
“Well,” he said, “I may have made a mistake. I wrote a letter to Mrs Bennet, with some details, so she knows many circumstances regarding our adventure. I am so sorry… now I see it was wrong to write those letters before talking to you!”
There was a considerable silence around the table, as no one could tell how Mrs Bennet had been reacting to her husband’s disclosure and if she had already spread the news.
“I am truly sorry to say that, knowing my wife as I do, she may have already repeated her knowledge to friends in Meryton.”
There was nothing to be said. Elizabeth felt sorry for her father because he had remorse, but it was not his fault.
“My dear father,” she said, “I am sure that mama is well-intentioned and the news that we will get married, after all, will overcome other details she might have!”
“Of course!” Darcy said, but he wasn’t pleased about that letter. “Anyway, no matter what the talk will be in Meryton, here we will give the variant I told you. There will be time before the Meryton gossip arrives in London. I hope that it will create confusion, and in the end, all will be forgotten.”
“Well,” Darcy added, “yesterday evening Bingley told me about the happy gathering in Mr Hurst’s hose he had found; the good man wanted to warn me that London is already talking!”
Mr Bennet’s letter to her mother, Elisabeth agreed, was a mistake, but compared to London’s appetite for gossip it was just a drop in the ocean. She felt so sorry for Darcy who, in the past, had seldom been the subject of malevolent rumours. She knew how important his name and social status were for her future husband, and the present situation made him angry and frustrated. Suddenly she understood that for the first time in their life, she had to be firmly by his side, to support him, showing not only her love but, also, her unconditional trust in him.
“I am staying here in London with you!” Elizabeth said in an admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering tone. “We will confront and defy any difficulties together; and I am sure Georgiana will help us!”
It was an unexpected decision, so unconventional that it made Darcy’s heart race.
Georgiana silently nodded.
Darcy looked at Elizabeth with a smile that warmed Mr Bennet’s heart. He was so sorry for his mistake but so proud of his daughter. It was an excellent decision to be near her future husband and a very bold one, but his Lizzy was a young woman who knew her way; she was not a disoriented lamb like Lydia, nor a beautiful girl living in the clouds like Jane. She was a person of trust and courage, who could assume her destiny and put her man’s wellbeing above any social conventions and personal gain.
“Thank you, Elizabeth!” Darcy said. “We will also ask Mr Acton to stay as our guest here in London, if it is not a nuisance for him!”
The young man was so happy that he wanted to jump from his seat and dance, but instead, he looked with a serious mien to Darcy and responded properly:
“I will stay as long as you need me, sir, and…” he smiled and continued reluctantly. “I would be happy to help you in any way you consider it necessary…just like your secretary!”
Darcy smiled and after kissing Elizabeth’s hand, he said good-bye to Mr Bennet and Bingley, who were leaving for Hertfordshire.
Chapter 5
Darcy was astonished, once again, by his betrothed. Only a few hours ago she refused to marry him in haste, but she was ready to stay in London, near him, unmarried just to help him face the world. Her attitude made him forget the difficult appointment he was going to have. He wondered for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hours, what the Duke might want from him. He remembered the Duke from different parties or gatherings, but they had never had any close encounter. He did not even recall sharing more than a respectful greeting or being closer than ten feet from the Duke.
One of the things he loathed the most was the scandal around him. Any scandal. During all his years, even when he crossed some lines with his friends, he always tried to find a decent solution avoiding malicious gossip and scandal. His youthful adventures were still looked upon like dares, admired not condemned. And now he had to face this circumstance that could plunge him into London’s villainous mouth. He imagined there could be people around to think he wanted to avoid marring and the decision to return to London was made under some pressure coming from the future bride’s father. There were so many stories that could be invented so he decided to keep his calm and face the crowd.
As he entered the Club’s large hall, the first person he saw was a certain baronet, well-known for his cruel delight in vicious gossip. If Darcy had a choice, he would have turned and run like a child, far from the Club; but instead he composed an amiable face and headed towards the slanderer. The baronet was in a group of three, obviously gossiping. Darcy even had the impression that the subject was him, but to his great surprise, they all turned to him and bowed with an obliging look on their faces, no trace of malice so usual in their society, in the face of a scandal.
All the men wanted to shake his hand. As shaking hands was not so much a sign of greeting but more a mark of unusual affability or intimacy, it meant a single thing: they all knew he had been missing, and his coming back was seen in a benevolent light and not a subject for gossip. At least that was the impression they gave to Darcy. They exchanged some polite words when the Club’s superintendent, Mr Crosby arrived in haste. He positioned himself rather far from the group, but from his attitude Darcy found the excuse to quit his acquaintances. He turned to the superintendent who spoke in a clear voice that could be heard by anyone in the lobby:
“His Grace is waiting for you!”
Darcy bowed, happy to leave, but his state of mind was not so peaceful, he still wondered what the Duke could want from him; but so close to the encounter he had to compose his attitude and master his feelings.
***
The Duke stood up the minute he entered the parlour and did not even let him bow; he took his hand in such a friendly manner that Darcy made an effort to recall all his memories to try to understand the Duke’s benevolence. But there was nothing beside the occasions he had already remembered, when nothing significant happened.
“Do sit, my boy!” the Duke said, addressing Darcy in a warm manner that only close family would use. If Darcy expected a sort of confrontation, it became clear the encounter was quite the opposite.
“Thank you, your Grace!” Darcy said most respectfully.
“Forget the protocol, just call me, sir!”
The steward prepared the drinks and he retired, leaving the two men face to face with a glass of brandy in their hands.
“I know it is very early for brandy, but we have to celebrate your safe return. I was very concerned about your disappearance and I felt a huge relief when your secretary, that excellent young gentleman, announced you were back in London. Now, I need to know everything that happened. Indulge an old man with a gripping story.”
Darcy hesitated for a short moment; was it wise to let the man in front of him know the details of his story? And what could be his interest? The Duke was arguably one of the most influential aristocrats in London: he could defend or destroy anybody’s reputation. Yet, the warm reception and his friendly attitude made Darcy trust him.
“I understand your reticence in telling such an intimate story to a stranger, but please believe me that I have only good intentions regarding you! In fact, the best!”
Darcy, usually so reticent in society, decided that the Duke could really help him in more than one way, but mostly to stop the rumours. People will gossip but those chats would be only in close families and little groups and will not affect his reputation in the least.
So he smiled and said:
“Your Grace…”
But the look in the Duke’s eyes made him smile again, recommencing:
“Sir, it is not a dramatic story. I fell ill, I was delirious for some days and the people that took care of me did not know who to inform in my family… or did not want…”
He let that sentence hang in the air, as it was nearer the truth; those attending to his illness wanted to take a benefit from him and from his state of mind and body!
“Enough stories!” smiled the Duke, “you are here and I see you are in good health now. It is all that counts. It is a blessing knowing you have loving people around you!”
“You speak in truth, sir! I have family and friends and… future family!” he smiled with bright eyes that told the Duke all the story.
“My betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, my sister Georgiana, my dear friend Mr Charles Bingley and my future father in law, Mr Bennet searched in London at first, but Elizabeth and Georgiana followed my trail and found me.”
“Good for them; I am so pleased you have people of such high virtue and courage around you. Do not worry, London will talk about what we want to.”
He made a grand gesture of reassurance as he stood up and strolled to the windows. As returned, with the sunlight strongly coming from outside, Darcy was hit by an epiphany. He could not tell for sure, but the Duke’s majestic posture was an image he knew so well. He tried to chase away the vision. It was not at all unusual, as at Pemberley he had a full gallery of paintings of his ancestors, almost all in martial posture. Still, that image seemed stronger than a mere resemblance to a painting.
The Duke assured him once more as he sat on his armchair that he would not allow any gossip to circulate. They could not control the familiar chatter, but in society, no rumour would be spread. Darcy understood how significant the Duke’s influence was in London; and, for the first time in days, he had a sense of relief, as his life and Elizabeth’s were finally entering a calmer realm.
As in the morning, with the party he met in the Club’s hall, London would treat his story decently if not benevolently. How the Duke might achieve such results was a mystery to Darcy, but it appeared that he had the means to influence the world around them.
“I am grateful sir for your support and I hope I truly deserve it.”
“You deserve it, my boy,” said the Duke, “I assure you!”
And just as Darcy prepared to leave, the Duke stopped him by taking his elbow in a very familiar manner:
“You and the ladies of your family will do me the favour of attending a party I am hosting in a few days in your honour. I hope you will be fully recovered, by then.”
It was a privilege Darcy did not expect. He was startled by the Duke’s amiable manners and cordial tone; his more than benevolent perspective on Darcy’s family and his desire to help became more than puzzling.
He could not fail to observe that his one-hour discussion with the Duke had contributed to his status in the Club; as he passed through the main chamber, he was greeted with curiosity and more deference by all those in attendance.
But somewhere in his mind, no more than a shadow of an idea continuously bothered him. It was so insistent that he could hardly concentrate when collecting his Marriage License. He had to attend the Office of the Archbishop of Canterbury at Doctors’ Commons in London and cost him £14 12 shillings, a fair price that gave them the right to marry in any fashionable or imposing places, such as abbeys and cathedrals, or at home, at a time of the family’s choosing. He was happy to have his license in his pocket as he intended to use it at the slightest sign something or someone would try to infiltrate between Elizabeth and him.
***
As his solicitor’s home was in the Club’s neighbourhood, he presented himself to announce his soon to be wedding. Darcy knew from his mother’s will that there was a codicil to be revealed only at his marriage. When his mother died there was so much pain that he did not give a single thought to that codicil. He was 18, then, and marriage looked like an event from another world. But in the last months, since he began to admire and then to love Elizabeth that secret his mother saved for his marriage became a sweet question that he kept posing in his mind. What did his dear mother think of his marriage? Did she have some special recommendations for him and, perhaps, for his wife, too?
The solicitor was a gentleman in his forties, partner in the profession with his father, who decided to let his son continue their work. Possibly the old solicitor his mother knew was more rigorous but his son tried to make things easy for himself. Legally he should have waited to see the marriage consent signed before revealing the codicil, yet the Marriage License proved to be enough for him. Although surprised, Darcy did not protest as it was in his interest to read, as soon as possible, his mother’s legacy for his marriage.
He received a thin package, tired up with an old and delicate ribbon that his mother had taken from one of her dresses. Darcy experienced a moment of profound emotion as he imagined his mother tying the white ribbon while thinking of her son, who was only a boy then.
He felt an irrepressible urge to be alone for some a moment, alone with his memories. He would share all his treasures with Elizabeth, but first, he had to discover solely what his mother left him. He asked his coachman to lead him to a park where he could sit on a bench and open the package.
In the package he found two papers and a key, which fell to the ground. He looked with curiosity at the key; he could not imagine what it belonged to. It could be from any drawer in her rooms in London or Pemberley. It was a secret to be unveiled later, most probably after reading her letter.
He recognised the first paper as a part of her last testament with a new provision: his wife was to receive from Anne Darcy’s personal money a certain sum. Darcy bent his eyes to the ground to hide his emotion. His mother, so thoughtfully, had supplied an important gift to his future wife. It was a gesture that impressed him more than he could say. He intended to assure Elizabeth’s independent future as soon as she became his wife and yet, his mother had the same idea. He tried to conceal his emotion and read her words:
I decided to provide this stipend to my future daughter in law, so as to obtain her independence and be sure she becomes a good wife for my son out of love and not material interests.
He read the codicil over and over; even if it was written in legal terms he could feel between the rigid lines his mother’s care for his future, her wish for him to find a woman he would love and she, in her turn, to marry him for love.
He closed his eyes and told his mother that he, indeed, had found such a woman.
After a while, he decided to read the letter. He imagined Anne Darcy writing it in her parlour in London. H could see her in front of her secretaire; but once this image appeared the fog that had floated over his mind for the last two hours, violently dissipated. He knew what the epiphany he had in the Duke’s Club parlour meant. He was sure. Sudden cold sweats ran all over his body and a huge shiver took him with equal violence. He knew.
Darcy ran to the carriage shouting to the coachman to hurry; it seemed the road to his house took an eternity. Not even waiting for the carriage to stop in front of the house, he jumped out and ran up the stairs to Elizabeth’s door. He knocked impatiently and entered to find her at the secretaire. He stopped for an instant, in surprise, to see the secretaire was no longer at its usual place his mother loved, but just in front of the windows. Elizabeth stood up to find her betrothed sweating with a reddish colour on his face that made her heart stop. Something distressing had happened again; she was certain of that. A moment later, her concern increased, as Darcy said:
“The secretaire, you moved the secretaire!”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, “did I do something wrong?”
“No, no!” Darcy absently said but forgetting about Elizabeth he ran to a wall covered wooden panels that had stood in front of the secretaire. After some efforts and struggle, a panel slid, revealing a painting behind it. Elizabeth was in a state of shock, her initial fears reassured - it was not about their marriage - but something else, something regarding the hidden painting which affected Darcy most profoundly. Darcy sat on a chair like all his strength had abandoned him, repeating:
“It is he… It is he…” over and over, until Elizabeth put her hand on his cheek, tenderly trying to calm him.
“Who, my love? Who?”
Attracted by all the noise her brother made, Georgiana appeared at the door. She looked in complete disbelief at the painting and as her brother did before, she stood on the nearest chair facing the picture.
“My God!” she said, “What is this painting doing in mama’s room? Who is he?”
Both equally interested, the two women turned to Darcy, whose dark expression disclosed that he knew the answer.
