A Peculiar Connection (29 page)

“I am sorry to intrude. I had not anticipated the brunt of the rain.”

“Sure, my dear, but the stoop offers slight protection when water from Heaven truly falls. You had much better sit in here and tell me all about yourself. From your speech, I sense you have travelled a long way.”

“I have, from England.”

“England? My, my, that is a great distance. I was born in England, you know.”

“Oh? In what part, Father?”

“What part? Why, the prettiest part, of course—Derbyshire. Oh, forgive me, for I have not introduced myself—Father Darcy.”

Darcy? Had I stumbled upon my uncle all on my own?

Amazement rendered me unable to observe the slightest civility and tell him my name. With the black clouds blocking the sun and dimming the already scarce light coming through the tiny windows, he rose to stoke the turf fire and to light a candle on the table next to his chair.

“Pray, sir, could you be Father Peter Darcy?”

“I am. Sure, and has someone told you of me? Step closer, child, into the light.”

I removed my bonnet and smoothed my frock before crossing the room. The priest held up the candle as though his sight had dimmed. He squinted at me, blinked several times, shook his head, and peered closer.

“Ah, if me eyes are not playing tricks again, or is it me feeble mind? I never know these days.” He inclined his head in my direction, and then, his mouth gaped open. He clutched at the arm of the chair and sank down upon it. “Eliz…Elizabeth? Is it you? No! She is dead. Do I see a vision?”

“I…am Elizabeth, Father. How did you know my name?”

“You cannot be! Child, who are you?” His hand shook with such violence that I stepped forward and took the candle from him. “But it is you, my…my own Elizabeth.”

His words frightened me. His ill health evident, I wondered whether the priest might collapse before me. What should I do? Whom could I call upon for assistance?

“Sir, I am Elizabeth Bennet.”

“No, not Bennet…Willoughby. You are Elizabeth Willoughby…Darcy.”

Elizabeth Willoughby Darcy! The old man does not make sense. I have no right to the name Darcy.

I took a step backwards. “I…I fear that you are confused, Father. My name is Elizabeth Bennet.”

He shook his head, and a tear slid down his cheek. “You are my Elizabeth, returned to me after all these years. You are come back from the grave.”

“Sir, you do not know what you say. You must be ill. May I fetch something for your distress?” I scanned the room, wondering where he might keep medicine.

“No, stay before me, I beg of you. Do not leave. I must know from where you have come.”

I glanced over my shoulder, hoping the rain had ceased. I had the strongest urge to flee the cottage, for I doubted this man was in his right mind. “I…I—”

“Lass, tell me!”

He had evidently known Elizabeth Willoughby in the past, but I had to make him understand that he was mistaken. Did I dare tell him I was her daughter? Oh, why was Mr. Darcy not with me at that moment? I took a deep breath.

“Father, pray listen carefully. I am not Elizabeth Willoughby, for you spoke the truth. She died long ago.”

He leaned forward and tugged at my hand until I knelt before him. Reaching for the candle once again, he searched my face. “You have her face, her smile, her beautiful curls, but the eyes—no, the eyes are not hers. The eyes are those of my mother.”

I swallowed. “I have been told that I am the natural daughter of your neighbour in Derbyshire, Elizabeth Willoughby.”

“
Natural
dau— What are you saying? That is not possible. You are mistaken, for Elizabeth had no child. And yet…your every expression is hers. I cannot comprehend it! This could not have happened as you say.”

Shame washed over me, and I felt the heat of a blush overtaking my cheeks. “It grieves me to bring you alarm, sir. I assumed that you knew of your brother’s connection with my mother and of her death in childbirth.”

At my words, he sank back against the chair, his face turned deadly white. “What do you say such things? My brother? Which brother? I do not understand.”

“Your oldest brother, Father: George Darcy.”

“George? Insupportable! What would make you utter such a falsehood?”

Now, my mouth gaped, and I felt the room begin to spin. “George…George Darcy is my natural father. Lady Catherine said— She gave me his note. Why should you doubt it, Father?”

“Catherine? Catherine presumed to say that you are George’s daughter! I cannot take it in. Why? It defies all reason.”

I sat back on my heels. “What are you saying, sir? Am I not George Darcy’s daughter?”

“Of course not! Some monstrous trick has been played. You must be Eleanor’s daughter and…perhaps Henry’s. Did he return to Pemberley when little Eleanor grew up?” His voice quavered. “Tell me, child, when were you born? The date…the year…when?”

“1791—the sixth of December.”

He looked away as if he was counting. “The same year. Nine months later.” His face turned ashen, and his breathing grew shallow. “No, no, it cannot be. Oh, dear God, she must have been with child when I left Pemberley…with child when I was told she was dead!”

I began to tremble. “Father, what are you saying? Forgive me, but I care not when you left Pemberley. Have mercy and tell me, who is my natural father? Could it be Henry Darcy?”

He lifted his clouded, green eyes from the floor to meet mine, and I felt a chill of recognition.

“No, not Henry… No, it can only be me. You must be my daughter, Elizabeth. And I am not your
natural
father. I am your father. I married Elizabeth Willoughby before you were conceived.”

My stomach lurched violently, and I feared that I would be ill. Frantic that I would disgrace myself, I jumped to my feet and looked for an escape. Without another word, without explanation, reason, or regard for either manners or the priest, I bolted from the room and out into the rain.

I cannot tell you what happened thereafter, for all reason left me. I must have run down the path along the river a great distance. Hours later, I came to myself sitting beneath a tree, staring out at the rippling stream, not knowing where I was or how I came to be there.

Two phrases echoed round and round my head.
I am
not
a bastard! I am
not
his sister!

Chapter Fifteen

When at last I regained my wits on the banks of the River Bandon, I realized that the rain had evidently ceased sometime earlier, for my clothes were but slightly damp. I shivered, aware that the sun sat low in the sky. Rising to my feet, I glanced at my surroundings, thankful to see that, although I had run far from the cottage in my disturbed state, I had not strayed from the river.

I must return. Aunt Gardiner will worry,
I thought, taking several steps toward the path, but then, the realization of what I had learned in the priest’s cottage flooded my mind once more, and I stopped. I stood absolutely still.

I am
not
a bastard! I am
not
Mr. Darcy’s sister!

The loveliest feeling I could imagine swept over me, and I began to smile. I smiled and smiled and smiled.
I am
not
his sister!
The words swirled around me like snowflakes, and I stared in wonder. Instead of feeling chilled, a delicious warmth filled my heart.

I looked about for my bonnet but then realized I must have lost it somewhere along the way. I examined the place where I had sat, making sure I had not left my reticule behind. No, it hung from my wrist. I turned back to the path and raised my head, determined to return, but I did not take a step. Instead, I caught my breath.

Mr. Darcy stood before me, his hat in his hand. “Elizabeth!”

“Sir,” I whispered, for my voice had somehow vanished.

He did not move toward me nor I toward him. We simply gazed at each other as though we might never drink our fill.

He swallowed. “I am not—we are not—brother and sister.”

“I know.”

And then, he dropped his hat. Before I had time to blink, he crossed the distance between us, clasped my face between his hands, and covered my mouth with his! Hungrily, he kissed me, greedily prodding my lips until they parted. I felt a heat well up from deep within that I had never known before.

Just as suddenly, he released me and stepped back. I watched his chest heave as he struggled for breath. I underwent my own struggle, attempting to grasp what had just passed between us. He lowered his chin and raised his eyes to stare at me from under his dark brows, as though he dared me to lash out at him in rebuke.

“What I did was improper.” He took a breath. “Was it not?”

I nodded, frowning a bit.
Is that all he can think of—impropriety?

He closed his eyes, a tortured look about his countenance. “I suppose you expect me to beg your forgiveness.”

Do I dare speak honestly?
I swallowed. “No.”

His eyes flew open, incredulity therein. “No?”

“No.” I took a step toward him, hoping he could see the light in my eyes.

“Elizabeth, may I dare to hope?”

“You may.” I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling.

He turned his face away to the river, and then with a great sigh, he turned again as though he would gaze at the trees. Instead, he lowered his head to the ground below. Finally, he allowed himself to meet my eyes as though he could not believe the words I had spoken. He shook his head.

“You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were in April a year ago, tell me so at once.
My
affections and wishes have only multiplied, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

I closed my eyes and looked away, struggling not to weep, but he misunderstood my actions.

“I would not have you under obligation to me because of what just transpired between us,” he said quickly. “There are no witnesses, and I swear that no one shall ever know of my transgression.”

I turned back to meet his gaze. “I do feel under obligation.”

“You do? But why?”

“Be…because I wanted it to happen.”

The nerve in his forehead twitched. He opened his mouth and then closed it. Inclining his head, he repeated, “You…wanted it to happen?”

I could not help but smile. “I did.”

“Dearest Elizabeth, I have loved you for so long, and I hope—I pray—that you will be mine, for I simply cannot go on without you.”

I took another step toward him. “William, I will.”

Delight overspread his face. He gathered me into his arms and gently touched his mouth to mine. Soft, undemanding, caressing, his kiss awakened my desire even more. My arms reached up to encircle his neck, and I could not keep from entangling my fingers in his curls. My body yielded to his with a need so fervent that it overwhelmed me. The fires we had banked for so long would not be denied.

His lips moved across my forehead and my cheek as he pulled my head onto his shoulder. “Oh, my lovely, loveliest Elizabeth…I cannot breathe without you.”

][

Fortunately, or unfortunately—however one chooses to look at it—our good sense eventually returned before we gave in to our passion there by the river. The sun had almost disappeared over the wood behind us by the time we returned to the bridge and, consequently, to the house where our companions awaited.

While passing Father Darcy’s cottage, I asked whether we should make certain he was well. William ran up the slight hill while I waited below. He spoke briefly to a priest at the door but did not go in. It took but a few moments before he returned to my side.

“The priest was Father Rafferty. He had come shortly before I concluded my earlier visit. I asked him to tell Uncle Peter that I had found you and that you are well. The priest said he insisted that my uncle retire, but he has not yet fallen asleep, so Father Rafferty will inform him. I fear Father Darcy was quite overcome with the day’s revelations. He expects us on the morrow, though, for he has much to say, and I have questions to be answered.”

“As do I.”

We had talked without ceasing during the walk back to the village. William told me that he and Georgiana had returned to the house from Castelaine mid-afternoon to find Mrs. Gardiner alarmed at my lengthy absence. She feared that I had been caught in the heavy downpour.

Immediately, William had gone to search the village, eventually learning at the pub that someone had seen me walking in the direction of the river. He followed the path, discovered the priest’s cottage, and inquired therein, whereupon he found his uncle and heard the shocking news. They had spent no little time attempting to grasp what had happened before Father Rafferty arrived and saw that his friend and advisor was ailing. Leaving the younger priest to see to his uncle, William had resumed his search for me.

I was amazed that I had run so far, obviously in a stupor.

“If I had not found you, Elizabeth,” he said right before we reached the house, “I could not have rallied.”

“You must not say such things.”

“Perhaps not, but it is true. I have never feared any man, but my need for you—” He broke off and took my hands in his. “Oh, my darling girl, the strength of my need for you is so great that it frightens me! Promise that you will never leave me.”

“I will not leave,” I whispered just before the servant opened the door for us.

Inside, we struggled to conceal our emotions, but my aunt’s curious expression upon greeting us showed that we failed. While walking, we had decided to refrain from informing Georgiana of what we had learned until after we had spoken to Father Darcy again. After all, the story was not just mine but his as well, and we knew that it would affect not only his standing in the church and the parish but also his very life. I feared for his fragile health and prayed that the shock would not cause him serious harm.

Before our meal, I enjoyed a warm bath and washed my hair. I chose my brightest gown, and the maid nodded in approval when she finished my hair.