Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

May 1814, Pemberley

D arcy left his steward's office and walked to the terrace on the west side of the house. It had been a long day, but he was satisfied with what he had accomplished. He was going to sit and enjoy the late afternoon sun until he heard the dinner gong.

The terrace had a marvellous vista that sloped to the stream before it widened into the small lake. A brisk wind was pushing small white clouds through the clear blue sky, their shadows rapidly moving over the green lawns and verdant fields beyond. He paused to imagine how much Elizabeth would have admired it; she should have been enjoying Pemberley and its terraces for two years already.

Oh, Elizabeth. Where are you?

Darcy had been true to his word in searching for her. He had hired investigators to travel to Hertfordshire. They had encountered unusually closed-mouthed residents in Meryton and were able only to determine that Mr Bennet was still the master of Longbourn. The daughters were married, but their whereabouts and married names were unknown. His solicitors had also written to Mr Philips, only to have the letter returned to them unopened. It appeared the man no longer had an office in Meryton.

Wickham's grave had been found in the potter's field, but there had been no graves marked Bennet in the graveyard around the church, though that was not unusual; many estates had private cemeteries or mausoleums on their grounds.

He had conversations about the efficacy of searching for one sailor's wife, surname unknown, in the teeming port cities. The investigator countered with a plan to go through the records of the Admiralty but was unsuccessful in obtaining access to what he sought.

Blinking away his disappointed thoughts, he saw Georgiana was already on the terrace, seated with Mrs Annesley and Mr Fielding. Mrs Annesley was quietly knitting as the two young people enjoyed each other's company, laughing and chatting. Over the months since his doomed wedding, his sister had found her confidence again, supported by her brother, her companion, and her neighbours and friends in Derbyshire.

That evening in February when Georgiana had shared the dinner of lamb stew with his friends, she had taken particular notice of Mr Fielding. He was a good man, a few years younger than Darcy. He had inherited Birchwood Grange after an exhaustive search for a male heir, the ninety-year-old incumbent having been widowed and childless. Although the son of a gentleman, he had been educated to earn his own living. The Cronies had seen to his education in estate management, and he had taken to it readily, showing himself to be a careful manager and thoughtful master.

Lady Anne would never have permitted her only daughter to receive attentions from the owner of a small estate, and especially one who had practised a trade. Most likely she would not have permitted more than a distant nodding acquaintance, and that only locally, certainly not in London. Darcy was unsure whether even his father would have allowed it. It had taken Darcy himself some time to accustom himself to the idea; old habits die hard. But after all that they had been through together, he wanted to let his little sister have every opportunity for happiness in marriage, the happiness from which he had so foolishly distanced himself.

After the horrible experience of his cursed wedding, Darcy was inclined to approve the match. He was certain it was only a matter of time until the younger man requested his permission. And Fielding, with his intelligent mind, his kindness, ready wit, and smiling eyes, sometimes reminded him of another. No wonder Georgie loved him so.

Mrs Reynolds brought in the express, her face etched with concern. Darcy stood from behind his desk and took it from her. It was written in the earl's hand and sealed with the Matlock crest. A thick black border had been inked around its edges. His heart seized. Richard!

He opened it carefully, skimmed the lines, and sank back into his chair in relief. The deep, fearful breath he had taken rushed out of his body. He noticed Mrs Reynolds still waiting.

"Is all well, sir?" she asked hopefully.

"I am happy to say that Colonel Fitzwilliam is well," he answered. "It is my aunt and my wi—." He stumbled over the word. "And my…my wife who have lost their lives in an accident."

The housekeeper seemed to sag a little in relief herself, but she instantly straightened. "My sincere condolences, sir. Will you be travelling to Rosings?"

"I shall," Darcy said grimly. "At first light tomorrow. I shall notify them by express today."

He arrived at Rosings four days later to find his aunt and uncle Matlock waiting for him. They took him to Sir Lewis' study and closed the door.

"What has happened?" Darcy asked, unnerved at their grim faces.

"It is a bad business, my boy," said the earl gravely. The older man paced a few steps and turned to face him. "After the wedding, the animosity between Catherine and Anne increased exponentially. Catherine would not leave Anne alone. She refused to remove to the dower house or listen to anything Anne said. She kept raging that Anne must go to Pemberley and take her place as mistress there. Anne would then swear that she would never leave Rosings, and she grew increasingly unchecked in her madness. She refused to honour her marriage vows, insisting that she had never been out in society and that she had a right to experience it. Her idea of what constitutes society was distorted, to say the least. She drank heavily in public and dressed in an immodest, disgraceful manner.

"They fought continuously and bitterly." The earl heaved a deep sigh. "A week ago, they were quarrelling. Anne turned her back on her mother and was walking up the staircase somewhat unsteadily, likely due to drink. Catherine would not relent and pursued her, and Anne physically attacked her. They both fell down the stairs and sustained grievous injuries, dying within hours."

Darcy, appalled and grieved, nodded numbly.

"This was of course witnessed by several servants, and they have testified before the magistrate. Anne and Catherine have already been interred in the family crypt."

Lady Matlock spoke up. "There will of course be further scandal." She exchanged glances with her husband. "Your uncle and I have chosen not to hide these events. Too many people already know about what went on here, and we have no interest in trying to protect the reputations of either of them. Your name, Darcy, and the Fitzwilliam name will stand, I believe. It is well known in society that Catherine was…" She paused, searching for a word.

"A monster," put in the earl.

"Difficult and detested," said his wife.

Darcy realised that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it. "Poor Anne! What a dreadful end!" He sank into a chair next to his aunt. "She was trying to gain a semblance of control over her own life. It is Lady Catherine who has been insane from the beginning. Only a madwoman would treat her only child as a soulless possession, dosing her with laudanum and Lord knows what else to use her as a pawn in her schemes."

"Yes," said Lady Matlock sadly. "Who knows what kind of a happy life Anne might have lived if she had only had the chance."