Chapter 1

Derbyshire, 1796

"How could you?"

Fitzwilliam Darcy's eyes flew open as he heard his mother's distressed voice coming from the corridor outside his bedroom. At twelve years old, he would be attending Eton shortly, so his father had moved him from the nursery to his own bedroom in preparation for departure.

The fact that his mother was about to give birth to a second child also play a part in the decision, as Fitzwilliam had little desire to share the nursery with a crying infant. He was happy that one of his mother's many pregnancies had been able to last as long as it had, but he knew from one of the boys in the village that a new baby brother or sister often woke up at night frequently, crying loudly to be fed.

The rooms in the family wing of Pemberley often allowed voices to carry, so Fitzwilliam could hear his mother's sobs clearly through the wall between their rooms. He sat up in bed, ready to go to her aid. Where is Father? Is he not aware that someone is causing my mother distress?

The sound of George Darcy's voice halted Fitzwilliam's movements. "It was so long ago, Anne," he said pleadingly.

"Not when I just found out the truth, it's not!" she cried in anger.

Is Father the one causing her distress? Darcy wondered. His parents were not a love match, but they were always very fond and affectionate towards one another. He could not remember the last time they spoke to one another in anger.

"How long has the lovely Mrs. Wickham been your mistress, George? Before she was married, when she was my lady's maid? That's when it would have occurred for her son to be yours as well!"

Fitzwilliam's mouth fell open in surprise. Georgie is my father's son, not his godson?

He knew it was not gentlemanly, but he could not help himself. He crept out of bed and walked quietly across the room towards the door so he could hear better. Knowing his parents would be furious if they caught him eavesdropping, he remained silent as he pressed his ear against the wall.

"Never, Anne! I swear it to you!" George exclaimed vehemently. "That woman has never been my mistress."

"Then how could she claim tonight at dinner that Fitzwilliam will be gaining another sibling? You did not deny it, did you?"

"Anne, will you please calm down and just listen to me, for God's sake!"

"I'll thank you not to invoke the name of our Lord while you defend your adultery," she snapped at him.

"Then for our son's sake, Anne. Please, I beg of you, listen to me," George said in a broken voice. "I promise you, it's not what you think at all. Please, Anne."

Fitzwilliam held his breath as he awaited his mother's response.

"Very well, George," she said coldly. "I will hear what you have to say."

George sighed in relief, as did Fitzwilliam.

"Do you remember when Fitzwilliam was born? How you almost died?" George asked his wife.

She gave short laugh. "How could I forget? I was the one giving birth, remember?"

Ignoring her sarcasm, George continued, "When the doctor told me the baby was fine, but your bleeding would not stop and you would most likely die, I lost my mind."

"And apparently, your honor," Anne snapped. "You sought to replace me with my own maid!"

"No, Anne. Never. I went to my study, trying to distract myself. The doctor refused to allow me to see you or the baby, and I was desperate to forget his words. I filled up a glass with brandy. Again and again, I drained it until the man's foul words of your demise ceased to exist."

Anne gave a snort of indignation. "I daresay my memory ceased to exist as well."

"It wasn't like that," George protested. "I don't remember anything after that. All I know is when I awoke, I found Mrs. Wickham in the study with me. My clothes were undone, and she was disheveled. She claimed I had forced myself on her and threatened to tell you, but I begged her not to do so. In your fragile state, it could only cause harm."

"So instead you installed her right next to Pemberley?"

"I could not very well terminate her employment without giving cause, and there was also the very real threat that she would tell you. When she came to me a few months later, however, to tell me that she was pregnant with my child, I could not do nothing. She demanded a large settlement. I was tempted to give it to her, but Wickham convinced me I should not."

"You told Wickham, but you didn't tell me?"

"Anne, you were still very ill! You had not left your bed since giving birth to our son. I could not burden you with this information!" George's voice rose as he spoke, but then he softened his tone and continued. "Wickham could tell there was something bothering me, and being the good friend and steward he is, he questioned me until I had told him everything. He said I should not pay her off, but that he would marry her and raise the child as his own."

There was silence for a few moments. "Why would he do that?" Anne asked suspiciously.

"I asked him the same thing. He told me that he had been quite taken with her, Molly Jones as she was called then, and that the two of them had been sharing a bed for the past six months."

"What?" gasped Anne in shock.

"I was just as surprised then as you are now. Wickham assured me that he had no knowledge of her infidelity towards him, but given the circumstances, he could not be sure if the child was even mine. There was a much greater likelihood of the boy being his. Since he was fond of her and had first compromised her, he said he would be the one to take the responsibility. He even offered to find employment elsewhere."

"Then why are they still here?" Anne asked in frustration.

"Because he is my friend, and he is the best steward Pemberley could ask for. And," he hesitated, "the child could have been mine."

"But it is unlikely?" Anne asked.

"Extremely unlikely," George confirmed, "especially as I have no recollection of any congress on my part."

"You think she lied?" Anne asked in a surprised voice.

"I think her to be very opportunistic," he said firmly. "I also know I would never betray vows I made to you before God. I take them seriously."

"I know you do," Anne said in a quiet voice.

"I would have denied it immediately, but I simply have no memory of that night. There is no way to be certain. If there is even the slightest chance that young George Wickham is my son, then I have an obligation as a gentleman to provide for him. A man should never, ever avoid meeting his obligations and caring for that which is his responsibility."

"Your sense of duty has always been one of your greatest strengths," his wife replied.

There where several minutes of silence, then Anne asked, "Why did you not tell me this before? Why did I have to hear it from her?"

George let out a sigh of frustration. "I meant to tell you. Once your health had recovered, I did not want to upset your joy over our son. Then you were increasing again, and I did not want to endanger your health. When you lost that babe, I thought you would never smile again. How could I have told you?"

"I never thought I would smile again, either," Anne admitted. "Those were dark times."

"And they continued with each subsequent loss. Each time you recovered, I would tell myself that it was the time to confess, but I could not bear to be the reason you were no longer smiling again. With each pregnancy and loss, the cycle began again."

"Would you have ever told me?" she wondered.

"Only if it would not endanger your health or the health of a babe," George answered.

Another several minutes passed in silence before Anne finally said, "I think I understand. That doesn't remove the hurt or pain of betrayal, but I understand the position you were in."

"In fact," she continued, "the more I think on it, the more my anger is directed towards Molly Wickham. How could she have betrayed me this way? Even though she was my lady's maid, I truly thought we were friends. At least, as much as we could be as mistress and servant."

"I don't know, my dear," George said sadly. "I, too, thought she was loyal to you. Until she demanded a large payment and Wickham confided in me about their relationship, I thought I had forced myself on her while deep in my cups. How I hated myself for the longest time. I would not blame you for hating me now."

"I don't hate you," Anne said softly. "I wish things had been different, but I do not hate you."

"You will not ask me to send them away?" George asked.

After a pause, she replied, "No, I will not. It would be unfair to our son to have his friend taken away so cruelly. It would also be unfair to Mr. Wickham and little George. No, they should remain."

"Thank you, Anne. I know this is not easy for you. I promise, I will never give you any cause to doubt me again."

Fitzwilliam sighed in relief on the other side of the wall where his parents sat embracing one another. Could Georgie really be my brother? he wondered as he crept back into bed.

Several minutes later, Fitzwilliam came to the conclusion that there was no way to know for sure. Young George Wickham took after his mother in appearance; there were very few features that could be compared to a father. He looked neither like George Darcy nor old Mr. Wickham.

I wonder if Georgie knows? Either way, that experience had taught Fitzwilliam a very important lesson: one should always be in control of their behavior. I will never take a drink of alcohol, he vowed to himself as he fell asleep. I will not make the same mistake my father did.

Hertfordshire, 1796

Mr. Bennet set down the letter he was reading with a frown. As he contemplated the news, he heard a shriek of laughter come from the hallway outside his study. A moment later, the door burst open and four-year-old Elizabeth flew into the room.

"Papa, Papa, you will never guess what happened!" she shrieked, a broad grin on her face. Shortly behind Elizabeth was seven-year-old Jane, who followed her younger sister at a more sedate pace. "Lizzy," Jane admonished, "a young lady does not run, nor does she shout."

Elizabeth gave her sister an unrepentant grin and responded, "But I had to tell Papa the news right away!"

Mr. Bennet chuckled and patted his daughter fondly on the head, saying, "It's quite alright, Jane. What did you wish to tell me, child?"

"Kitty said my name!" Elizabeth cried in delight, clapping her hands.

"That is quite an accomplishment for a two-year-old," Mr. Bennet responded solemnly, a slight twitch of his lips being the only hint of the inner amusement he felt.

"And I can read!" Elizabeth cried with delight. "Jane taught me! I can read 'see Jane run' from my little book!"

Jane nodded solemnly at her father. "She asked me what I was doing, and I showed her the words and told them what they were."

"Excellent work, Jane," her father praised. Jane gave a shy smile in return, which faded slightly as he continued by asking, "Where is your mother?"

"She is in bed," Jane said with some concern. "She said she was feeling unwell today."

Mr. Bennet frowned in concern. "She is still in room? It is past lunch! Have you girls had anything to eat?"

Jane hesitated to answer, but Elizabeth declared, "No, and Mary is crying that she is hungry."

"We cannot allow a three-year-old girl to be hungry!" Mr. Bennet declared. "Else she will remain three years old forever!"

Elizabeth giggled in delight, while Jane gave a small smile.

"Come, girls," Mr. Bennet said. "Let us find Mrs. Hill."

"She is with Mama," Elizabeth said. "I tried to tell Mama that we were hungry, but she was being sick in the chamber pot," she added, wrinkling her nose.

Mr. Bennet's frown of concern deepened. "Let us all go together, then," he said.

The three climbed the staircase, and Mr. Bennet could indeed hear Mary's cries from the nursery. He knocked once on the door to his wife's chambers, then entered without waiting for a reply. Looking around the room, he saw his wife in bed with Mrs. Hill mopping her brow with a damp cloth.

"Mrs. Hill," he said sternly, "please find the children's nurse and discover why on earth they have not yet had their lunch."

Mrs. Hill looked up at him in alarm. "I was on my way to tell you, sir, that the nurse left sometime during the night."

"Excuse me?" Mr. Bennet said in astonishment. "Do you mean to tell me that the nurse has disappeared without any word of explanation? Without requesting a reference or even collecting her quarterly pay?"

Mrs. Hill grimaced and said, "It may have something to do with the fact that I caught her drinking the mistress's sherry when she was supposed to be tending the children yesterday."

Mr. Bennet's eyes widened in surprise. "Why on earth would she do that?" he demanded.

Biting her lip, Mrs. Hill looked from her complaining mistress to her master. "May I speak freely, sir?" she asked quietly.

"Please do," Mr. Bennet responded, "as I would prefer the truth."

"The children are too difficult to manage for just one nurse who is underpaid for the number of charges she tends," Mrs. Hill blurted out. "The girls are all very good girls, but Miss Elizabeth is so lively and Miss Kitty so fragile with her cough that it is impossible for just one girl to tend them all."

"I see," Mr. Bennet replied gravely. Seeing Mrs. Hill open her mouth again, then close it with hesitation, he asked, "Is there more?"

Mrs. Hill looked again at her mistress, who had fallen asleep and was oblivious to the entire conversation. "It isn't my place, sir, but I believe the nurse had the impression that there would be yet another child to care for in a six-month."

Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose. "Ah," he finally said after opening and closing his mouth a few times. "And would this impression be an accurate one?"

Mrs. Hill nodded mutely at him, pressing her lips together tightly.

"Well," he said after several moments of silence, "that certainly changes things."

Mr. Bennet looked around the room, taking in his sleeping wife, the tired housekeeper, and his hungry daughters. Letting out a tremendous sigh, he said resignedly, "Mrs. Hill, I will take over caring for Mrs. Bennet for the next few hours. Would you please help the girls get lunch? After they are settled, please rejoin me here so we can discuss the situation more thoroughly."

Mrs. Hill nodded in relief at someone taking charge and ushered the girls from the room. Alone with his wife, Mr. Bennet sat on the end of her bed. The weight of the day's unexpected information weighed heavily on him. He sat in silence until Mrs. Hill returned, contemplating the position in which he now found himself.

When the housekeeper returned, Mr. Bennet gently awoke his wife. "Mrs. Bennet," he said kindly, "I believe we have some things we need to discuss."

Mrs. Bennet blinked at her husband dazedly, then began to cry. "Oh, Thomas," she said, "I don't think I can do this again. Not so soon."

Mr. Bennet tenderly put his arm around his wife as she cried on his chest. Each pregnancy had been like this: frequent tears and strong emotions. It had been that way ever since the early birth and subsequent death of their son six years prior. The babe, born sometime in between Jane and Elizabeth, had come into the world too early and was unable to take more than a few breaths before he died.

"I know, my dear," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I have some news that I think you will want to hear," he said.

Mrs. Bennet sniffed loudly and looked up at him. "What news?" she asked, wiping tears from her face with the handkerchief Mrs. Hill had placed in her hand.

"I have received word that my cousin, Mr. Collins, has passed away," he said solemnly.

Mrs. Bennet gasped. "That awful man is dead? Why, that is wonderful news!" she exclaimed. "What a fine thing for our girls, especially Jane!"

Mr. Bennet shook his head at her. "No, my dear, the entail is carried on through his son, Mr. William Collins."

Mrs. Bennet slumped back into her pillows, disappointed. "What will become of us if this child is not a boy?" she whispered.

Mr. Bennet patted her arm and said, "With the death of my cousin and his wife, their son and the heir of Longbourn is now an orphan. I received the letter today informing me of their passing, as well as the fact that they will be sending the boy by post to our home, seeing as he has no other family left."

"The boy? How old is he?" Mrs. Bennet asked curiously.

"I believe he is only about ten years of age," Mr. Bennet said.

"Oh, the poor child!" cried Mrs. Bennet. "To be all alone in the world! Why, of course he should come here! Who else should care for your heir if not the current owners of his future estate?"

Mr. Bennet smiled at his wife kindly. "I thought you might feel that way. If he stays with us and is raised as our own son, then perhaps when he inherits the estate, he will look on you and our daughters kindly. Provided this child is a girl."

"What if it is a boy, though, Thomas?" Mrs. Bennet asked. "What will the lad do then?"

"He will still be part of our family," Mr. Bennet said firmly. "He would not inherit the estate, but we could help him find a profession that would best suit him."

At this news, Mrs. Hill cleared her throat and looked at Mr. Bennet pointedly. "Another child, sir? Who shall tend all of these children with the nurse gone?"

"The nurse is gone?" exclaimed Mrs. Bennet in alarm. "Who is caring for my babies?"

"Not to worry, my dear," Mr. Bennet said. "I will take care of it. With the heir of Longbourn residing here at the estate, we should be able to afford two nurses to take care of all the children together. In a few years, the young man will go to Eton for his schooling. I only hope his character does not take too much after his father. The late Mr. Collins was an illiterate, miserly man, which was the cause of the separation between our two lines."

"What if he does? Will our girls be safe?" Mrs. Bennet whispered concernedly.

"Then we shall keep them separate until he goes to school and have him remain there over the holidays," he replied calmly.

"I must admit, it would be wonderful if the heir of Longbourn were to be on good terms with us. It would do much to ease my mind about our children's futures."

"As it would mine, Mrs. Bennet."

The couple sat in silence for a minute, each pondering the possible futures in front of them. Much would depend on young Master Collins and whether or not he had inherited his father's viciousness.

"Well then," said Mr. Bennet, patting his wife's hand fondly, "I had best send our letter and the carriage to fetch the young man. It is my understanding he was somewhat injured at the time of his father's death, although the letter did not share all the details. I would hate for him to travel by post at his young age all alone with injuries."

With that statement, Mr. Bennet returned to his study to compose the letter that would change his family forever.