Here it is - your bonus for being so patient with me: Darcy returns!

12 November 1811

Pemberley

"This express just came for you, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy looked up at Mrs. Reynolds, the longtime Pemberley housekeeper, with a smile. "Thank you," he replied, and took the folded paper from her.

She turned wordlessly away as he studied the handwriting. It was his cousin's, and it was with some interest in finding out what was necessary to send by express that he broke the wax seal and unfolded the missive.

Netherfield, 11 November 1811

Fitzwilliam,

I do hope you are sitting when this letter reaches you, for I have some startling news—which, I am told, you should already know, but I feel certain you do not. If you did you would have told me.

You have a son. I am as sure of it as the days grow long. That girl you ran away to Gretna Green with four years ago—was not her Christian name Elizabeth and her maiden name Gardiner? I ask because I believe I have met her here in Meryton. She lives with some relations whose estate is near to Bingley's.

You might recall my mentioning a Mrs. Woods in one of my previous letters—I did not know that she and your Elizabeth were the same person until today, when I first set eyes on her child. He looks exactly like you, Will, save for the eyes, which are hers. Did I not already know better, I'd think she was an adventuress who had intended to pass another man's child off as yours, but I'm telling you, there's no mistake. Perhaps she married this Woods fellow whose name she bears immediately after she took the money your father offered her, but based on the way she has spoken of him, I cannot help but wonder now if the fellow ever existed at all.

I beg you would forgive me for putting such delicate information to paper, but I knew a letter would reach you by express far sooner than I could by post. I know you'll come as quickly as you can to verify my claim; I've told Bingley to expect you.

Your faithful servant,

Theodore Fitzwilliam

Shock held him still for several minutes. Darcy read the letter again, and a third time, before it really sank in that his cousin believed not only that he had found Elizabeth Gardiner, but that she had borne him a son.

He had a child. An heir, he realized, for if the boy was indeed his—and he did not have any reason to doubt Theodore's assertion that he was—then he had been conceived during the one and only time he had lain with his former wife:

The consummation of their hasty wedding vows.

It occurred to him as quickly as it did that the child was legitimate that the chance also existed he was not. If his uncle had achieved a divorce for him, as he had promised, then he could rightly claim his son as the future Master of Pemberley. If his too-short marriage to Elizabeth was annulled, however, then it would be as though they had never married at all and the child's birth would be considered as occurring out of wedlock. The potential for a very serious scandal now loomed over their heads, and he needed to get to the truth of why he was just now learning a child had been born.

Seeing her again after four painfully lonely years was no incentive, he told himself firmly as he went to the bell pull to summon a servant. He did not care if she remained as beautiful as she had been at sixteen or if her bloom had grown or faded—his interest was solely in determining the legitimacy of his son. Of course, if it turned out he was not due to annulment, Darcy knew he would still take the boy. He deserved to be with family, even if he could never bear the family name.

Impatience to be doing something led to his meeting the servant who responded in the hall. "Go to Vincent and tell him to pack a trunk for me, and then get word to the stables to have my carriage made ready. I expect to be gone several days."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," replied the maid, who quickly spun about and hurried off.

"Fitzwilliam, where are you going?"

Darcy turned at the sound of his mother's voice. Lady Anne Darcy was just coming out of her room, which was right next to his study.

He walked to her and knelt next to her wheeled chair. "Forgive me, Mamma, but I must go to my uncle in Disley, and then on to Hertfordshire. The business is rather urgent."

He hoped to keep the reason for his journey thither from her as long as possible; she did not need any further distress, given what their family had so recently endured.

"But son, your sister… We need you here," Lady Anne implored him.

Darcy sighed. "I know that Georgiana is very troubled, and I assure you I would not go were it not absolutely necessary."

His mother studied him. "You mentioned Disley… Has something happened to Theodore?"

"No, Mamma. Please, do not make yourself uneasy," he replied, reaching for her hand. "It is my cousin who brought the matter to my attention. I need only to verify some information with my uncle before joining the colonel at Netherfield."

Lady Anne frowned. "Netherfield? Is that not the name of your friend Bingley's new estate? You said Hertfordshire—that's too far away from here."

Darcy sent a silent prayer to the heavens that his mother would remain calm. Ever since the carriage accident which had taken his father's life and her ability to walk, she had become a particularly anxious creature. Loud noises frightened her, horses and large bodies of water terrified her, and she disliked it intensely when one of her children left the house. Georgiana's near-elopement only two months ago had taken her condition on a turn for the worse—anytime he spoke of traveling, his mother tended to become inconsolable.

"Yes, Mamma, Netherfield is the name of the estate that Bingley has leased, and it is in Hertfordshire," he said slowly. "I do not mean to upset you, dearest, but I really must go. The business requires my personal attention."

"You'll come back, won't you? You'll come back as soon as you can, Fitzwilliam? We need you here. We need you here," said Lady Anne in a pleading voice.

It tore at his heart to hear the desperation in her tone. Darcy lifted the hand he held and pressed his lips to the back of it. "I swear to you, Mamma, I will come back to you."

Lady Anne took several deep breaths as he slowly rose to stand beside her. When she looked up, her eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"I'm so sorry, Fitzwilliam," she whispered, gripping his hand tightly. "I wish I were not so terribly—"

"Do not apologize for what you cannot control, Mamma," Darcy reassured her.

She drew another breath, held it for a moment, and released it. Lady Anne straightened her spine and held her shoulders back, and for a moment she was the formidable earl's daughter once more. "Go, son, and handle what you must. The sooner you leave, the sooner we can celebrate your return."

Darcy chanced a smile. "That's the spirit, ma'am. Plan a hearty dinner for me, I am sure I shall have need of it."

"Yes… yes, a dinner party sounds lovely. Perhaps one or more of our neighbors can come," said his mother absently.

"Perhaps," he agreed, though Darcy knew it was unlikely that anyone beyond their family and most intimate acquaintances would ever be invited again to Pemberley. Lady Anne's condition, even after three years, was still too terribly fragile to have a large party of guests in their home. Such numbers of people made her far more nervous than a crowded ballroom had ever made him.

"Come, Mamma," he said then, giving a soft tug of her hand. "I have a few letters I must write while my things are prepared. I would have you sit with me and keep me company."

She looked up again, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Yes. Yes, I think I'd like that."

Moving behind her chair, he took the handles and pushed it into his study, situating her beside his desk. Darcy sat and made quick work of writing instructions for his steward, butler, and housekeeper. He was pleased when the nurse he had hired to tend to his mother—who now had a second charge in his sister—came looking for her patient, as he was able to inform her directly of his plans to be away.

"If you have need of anything, Mrs. Annesley, you have only to tell Mrs. Reynolds, and she'll see that you get it," he told her as he put his pen away at last and stood.

"I believe I have all the medical supplies I need at present, but I will do an inventory to be sure, sir," Mrs. Annesley replied.

"Excellent," he said, and started around the desk as she took command of his mother's wheeled chair.

In the hall he was met by Vincent, his valet, who informed him that his trunk was packed and loaded and the carriage was already waiting. Mrs. Annesley, at Lady Anne's insistence, pushed her chair alongside as Darcy walked through the grotto room and the great hall around to the North entrance.

After donning the greatcoat his man had been carrying for him, Darcy turned and bent to kiss his mother's cheek. "Please do not be too concerned for me, Mamma," he said. "I will come back. Apologize to Georgiana for my not seeing her before taking leave, and give her my love."

"I will, son," Lady Anne replied. "Just please come back soon. We need you here."

He offered her a smile. "I know. I promise you, I'll be back before you know it."

With one more grasp of her hand between his, Darcy jogged down the steps and climbed into the waiting carriage. He waved to his mother, smiled, and then knocked on the roof.

Leaving her, knowing how fragile she was, was difficult for Darcy. Compounding the sense of guilt that plagued him was concern for his sister—Georgiana's disappointment in learning that her fortune was all George Wickham had really wanted had left her deeply depressed. His mother and his sister were so terribly broken, and he hated that there was so little he could actually do to help them except be present, and even that was not a guarantee of equanimity for either of them.

Six to eight hours, depending on the road conditions, and he would be at his uncle's house. Darcy pulled Fitzwilliam's letter from his pocket and read it over again, trying to imagine what the boy he spoke of—who would be a little more than three years old—would look like. Theodore had spoken of a strong resemblance, but he could hardly remember his own appearance at that age.

He tried not to think too much of the boy's mother. They had known each other only three months when they eloped to Gretna Green, theirs a quick-burning, passionate love that had turned to ash as soon as his father and uncle and her parents had caught up with them in Scotland. While he had been out of their room shopping, hoping to surprise her with a gift, they had swept in and offered a small fortune as a bribe to leave him. He never could understand why Elizabeth had accepted it, when she'd have had so much more over the lifetime they had promised to share together.

I hope it was worth it, he mused bitterly, his thoughts turning once more to the child. Why hadn't she told him? Fitzwilliam's letter claimed he was supposed to already know, but he had received no letter from her informing him she'd conceived. No letter telling him she'd borne a son. Even as angry and resentful as her leaving had made him, he would have opened any letter addressed in her hand.

Of course, now that he thought of it, around the time his son would have been born, he and his family had been down to Rosings, visiting his aunt Lady Catherine and her daughter. Heavy rains had fallen for several days of their visit, and while attempting to cross a footpath bridge over a wide creek, a flash flood unexpectedly tipped his father's carriage and carried it violently downstream for a quarter of a mile. Only his mother and the footman had survived—his father and the driver, and the two horses, had all drowned. The footman had once recalled the terrible screams of the frightened animals as the bridge, barely wide enough for any vehicle, was swept away beneath their feet.

Darcy—who had remained at Rosings with Georgiana instead of joining his parents on their outing—could only imagine the animals' terror, though it certainly explained why any nearness to horses or water now paralyzed his mother with fear. That long, arduous journey from Kent to Derbyshire was the last time she had ever been near to a carriage or a horse since the accident, and her nurse had to bathe her while she sat in a chair, as she refused to be put into the tub in the bathing room at Pemberley.

When the stone edifice of Disley Court was before him at last, Darcy alighted from his carriage almost before it had stopped. He was eager to get on with it, to know the truth…to see his son. Before he could do that, he had to know what position the boy would hold in his family: illegitimate by-blow, or heir to the family fortune?

Sommerset, the Disleys' butler, looked almost affronted that he had arrived outside of accepted calling hours, but Darcy ignored the man's improper display of displeasure and only asked after his uncle's whereabouts.

"I believe Lord and Lady Disley are in the process of retiring for the evening, Mr. Darcy," he said pointedly.

"I did not ask you what they were doing, I asked you where I could find the earl," said Darcy.

"I am here, Fitzwilliam," said his uncle from the first floor landing of the grand stair. "What is this about?"

Darcy waited until Richard, the Earl of Disley, had descended to the ground floor to speak again. He took in the flannel banyan he wore and offered an apologetic smile. "Forgive me disturbing you so late of an hour, Uncle, but I am afraid a matter of some urgency has arisen for which I require information now only you possess. Might we go somewhere we may speak privately?"

His manner and choice of words clearly intrigued Lord Disley, whose eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

"Of course, let us go to my study," said the earl, who started in that direction but suddenly stopped and turned to the waiting butler. "I trust there is still a fire in there, Sommerset?"

"I believe it has been banked, my lord, but the coals should still be hot."

"Good enough. Come, Darcy," said Disley, who turned again and led the way.

When the door had been shut behind them, Disley walked over to the burning embers in the fireplace and stoked them, then added a piece of wood from the pile to one side. On standing, he walked over to a sideboard where several bottles of alcohol sat in etched crystal decanters.

"Am I going to need a drink?" he asked, his hand hovering over a bottle Darcy knew held whiskey.

"You might, yes," he replied, refusing a drink of his own when it was offered. After pouring two or three fingers' worth, his uncle moved to the front of his large, ornate desk and leaned back against it.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this cryptic late-night visit from my favorite sister's son?" he asked, then took a drink. "I trust your mother and sister are well?"

"As well as can be expected," Darcy replied. "I am come to ask you, Uncle… Did you acquire a divorce for me, or an annulment?"

The glass of amber liquid he held froze halfway to the earl's lips. "Say again?" he asked.

Darcy suppressed a groan of exasperation. "I need to know, sir, whether my unfortunate mistake of four years ago ended in divorce or annulment."

"Why are you asking about that, Fitzwilliam? Did I not promise you I would see to it?" He took another sip of his drink, then suddenly brightened. "Oh, I get it! You've met someone, and are concerned that your marriage may not be legal—trust me, you've nothing to worry about. I handled everything."

"Oh yes, Uncle," Darcy said, his irritation now seeping into his tone. "You and Father followed us and handed my wife a great deal of money to leave me, I am well aware. Now I will ask you one more time—did you get the marriage annulled, or did you manage a secret divorce as you promised?"

He shouldn't have been able to do either without some noise being made, Darcy knew, unless a very large sum of money—other than the bribe to Elizabeth—had exchanged hands. That literally nothing had been said in the last four years among their social circle, or in the society pages of the newspapers, began to disturb Darcy very much.

His uncle's gaze narrowed. "Tell me why you want to know," he demanded.

Darcy reached into his pocket for the letter his cousin had written and handed it over wordlessly. Lord Disley, after quickly scanning the page, suddenly downed the rest of his drink in one swallow.

"Dear Lord, I had scarcely imagined that," he said as he handed the letter back, then went over to the sideboard again and poured himself another glass. He then took a second glass and filled it, holding the latter out to Darcy.

"Trust me, you're going to need it," he said.

He took the glass skeptically, making no move to drink, with increasing irritation watching his uncle now round the desk to sit in the large leather chair behind it.

"Fitzwilliam, I never thought I would need to tell you this, but…you're still married to Elizabeth Gardiner."

Darcy was aware that his jaw opened and closed like a fish gasping for breath several times before he managed, "Could you say that again?"

Lord Disley downed the entire volume of whiskey in his glass and thumped it on the desk. "You're still married to that little strumpet—I never applied for an annulment or a divorce."

When the sudden urge to throw the glass in his hand at his uncle's head flashed into his mind, Darcy very slowly and purposefully carried it over to the sideboard and set it down. "Why not?" he asked, then turned to him. "Why the bloody hell not?!"

His uncle stood. "Do keep your voice down, Darcy," he admonished. "And I am certain you're intelligent enough to discern why—either an annulment or a divorce would have been a drawn-out expensive mess, not to mention the scandal that would have ensued. I wanted to save the family the embarrassment, so I did nothing."

"And what if I had met someone else I wanted to marry?" Darcy asked angrily. "Nothing about it would have been legal, Uncle! Not the marriage articles, not the legitimacy of my children—how could you, of all people, be so unbelieveably naïve?"

Disley scowled. "I'd consider your attitude very carefully if I were you," he said. "Remember who you're talking to, and show me the respect I am due."

Darcy scoffed. "Right now, I'm not sure you're due any," he rejoined. "How could you do nothing to free me from her? For that bloody matter, how could you destroy what little happiness I had found by bribing her to leave me in the first place?"

"Fitzwilliam, her family had no fortune, no connections!" his uncle cried. "Her father ran a bloody shop and the chit was your sister's paid companion, for goodness' sake! You could do so much better—you've only to say the words, and you know your Aunt Catherine would be more than happy to give you Anne for a wife."

Darcy shook his head in disgust. "I've never been interested in marrying a woman too sick to leave her own home, Uncle! How could someone with Anne's constitution ever be expected to provide me—or any man—an heir?"

He turned away and paced back and forth, at last coming to the sideboard to pick up the glass of whiskey and down it.

"Tell me why you did nothing," he said as he set the glass down again.

"Because frankly, I didn't see the point of bothering," Disley replied archly. "While I am perfectly well aware that anvil marriages are foolishly considered legal in this country, there was not one person involved, besides yourself, who could not be persuaded to say it never took place. Your blushing bride's father took the money I offered him. Wickham took the money I offered him. I didn't even waste my time with the blacksmith or the boy who stood witness, because no one we know would bother to go there and make sure you'd not married someone else, not with our family's reputation in society."

The earl shook his head. "Fitzwilliam, there's no license to prove the marriage even took place—for all intents and purposes, it never happened. You are a Fitzwilliam and a Darcy—you can have any girl from any respectable family that you want, and they'll never know about your little mistake if you keep your mouth shut! So the chit had a baby. Have you any idea how many men in our position have by-blows as well as legitimate heirs? You can have other sons. Let her remain in her little country hamlet out of sight, and put her back out of your mind. Take your mother and sister to London next Season. Find yourself a girl from a good family—for that matter, find that sister of yours a husband! She's old enough."

Darcy found he could only stare in stunned disbelief at the man before him. A man he had trusted, loved, looked up to… It was as if he didn't know his uncle at all.

"Did you know about this?" he asked, gesturing with the letter still gripped in his right hand. "Theo says I'm supposed to already know about my son—why would he say that? I never received any letter from Elizabeth."

"Of course you didn't, I made sure of that," said his uncle with a snort. "There were some letters came for you from that damned adventuress, but Wickham intercepted and burned them on my orders. I told you you could do better—I'm sure she only married you for your money. Her dear daddy took mine easily enough when he came along and told me she'd had a child shortly after your father died."

Those words, and something he had said before, clicked together in Darcy's mind, and he began to tremble with rage. "She never took your money, did she?" he asked. "Elizabeth never betrayed me, it was all you. My father—her father. Wickham. All of you betrayed me and destroyed the purest thing I had ever been given."

He turned abruptly and stalked over to the door. Turning back to his uncle he scowled, his righteous indignation and fury on full display as he said, "I cannot believe my own blood would do something like that to me. You're no uncle of mine."