Happy Thursday, friends! I really must say again how very happy I am to see so many new favorites and follows - even if you're not commenting on the story, that means you're reading and enjoying it, and that is ultimately what matters the most. I love that you're happy with it. Extra thanks go out to all the wonderful people who did leave a few words - yes, the truth is finally coming out! - you all rock. I'm always so chuffed.
Real quick, before we get to the next chapter, I want to address something that was brought up in a couple of comments I received after the last chapters were posted. Truth be told, I feel like I shouldn't have to say anything, but I will because more than one person brought this up. A Promise of Forever, while some few elements are strikingly similar, is in no way a copy of nor has it been inspired by enragefemme's Duty and Deceit. While I have heard of the story, I had never - and still have not - read it, though after the second comment popped up, I did look it up to skim the first and last posted chapters. Again, while there are some few strikingly similar elements of both stories, the particulars are quite different. The author and I are actually friends on Facebook and we had a conversation about it, discussed the similarities and differences, and had a few laughs. We've both of us used the same trope for our stories, nothing more. That they are being written at the same time is entirely coincidental.
Now, onto the next chapter, in which Darcy arrives in Hertfordshire! ~ CC
The letter had been received on Tuesday evening, and by dawn on Thursday, Darcy's carriage was pulling up outside of Netherfield.
Fitzwilliam was soon summoned to the drawing room, and he brought Bingley with him. For a moment Darcy considered sending his friend out again, but then decided against it—he would learn the truth behind his sudden decision to visit soon enough.
"Bloody hell, Darcy, you must have run down two or three pair of horses," his cousin observed.
"I changed them out at nearly every post," he replied, then glanced between the other two men. "Did you tell him?"
His cousin shook his head. "No, only that I knew you'd be coming. I didn't think it was my place to say anything else."
Darcy drew a ragged breath, then pulled his hand over his face as Bingley said, "What's happened, Darcy? You don't look well."
"Have you any horses available for riding, Charles? I do not want to speak anywhere near the bloody servants until I have my head in order," Darcy replied.
"Of course," Bingley replied, moving immediately toward the bell pull. "I'll have three horses saddled at once."
Darcy could not help but pace while they waited the short time it took Bingley's staff to prepare their mounts, and even when they were at last underway, it was some time before he'd gained control enough to speak.
He told them everything—not just what Theodore already knew, but also the earl's deeper, darker involvement. His cousin was quite naturally shocked to hear that his highly respected father could be so underhanded.
"What I don't understand the most is why," Bingley said. "I mean, I get his reasons for separating you from Mrs. Woods—er, Mrs. Darcy I suppose she is. Not that I agree at all, let me assure you. A man loves who he loves, fortune or no fortune."
"Then what about this unbelievable mess escapes you, Charles?" Fitzwilliam asked.
"Lord Disley knew when Mrs. Woods'—Mrs. Darcy's—father came to him after her son was born that the child was a legitimate Darcy," Bingley said. "Why would he not want Will to know?"
"I expect," Darcy spat angrily, "that it was to prevent our discovering the truth."
He stopped his horse suddenly and jumped down, walking over to lean against a post of the fence they were riding along, his head in his hands.
"My God, Theodore, how can I tell her?" he wondered aloud. "How in the world do I tell Elizabeth that it was our parents and my trusted friend who betrayed us, not that we betrayed each other as I'm sure both of us led to believe? How the bloody hell do I tell her we're still married?!"
Fitzwilliam and Bingley had also climbed down at this point, each of them standing on either side of him as he bemoaned his misfortune.
"I think the first thing to do is meet with her," his cousin suggested. "Meet with her and establish trust. The way she held that boy the other day, Will… I'm almost certain she's terrified you'll try to take him away from her."
"I wouldn't do that—not now that I know the truth," Darcy said. "I don't even know that I could have done it had I still believed her to have betrayed me for money."
"Do you still want to be married to her?" Bingley asked.
Darcy loosed an exasperated sound. "I honestly have no idea, Charles," he replied. "While I cannot deny that she is my wife, I have been angry and resentful for so long… I do not even know how I am supposed to feel about her now."
"Like I said, establish trust," Fitzwilliam said. "When she is assured of not being separated from her child, tell her the truth—all of it. No doubt it will break her heart to learn of her father's part in the scheme, but the truth needs to come out, Will. Family reputation be damned—it's not as if you haven't reason enough to stay at Pemberley all year round like I know you'd prefer, so what's one more? After that, who knows? Maybe you and Elizabeth will be able to patch things up after a while."
"If scandal breaks, it could damage you as well, Theo. Your brother's family," Darcy pointed out.
Fitzwilliam drew a breath and sighed. "As much as it would pain me to hurt Philip, it must be done," he said. "I'm sure he'll recognize that Father is to blame for whatever trouble arises."
"And you?"
His cousin glanced over and held his gaze. Flashed a grin. "I'll get by," he said with a shrug. "I always do. Maybe we'll get lucky and somehow manage to keep the ruddy mess quiet, after all—I seriously doubt that your wife's family will want this nightmare to go public anymore than yours or mine."
Darcy nodded his agreement. "True enough. Seems that was your father's aim, to keep quiet the scandal that his nephew dared to fall in love and elope with a girl whose condition in life was so decidedly beneath his own."
He turned suddenly and faced both of his companions. "Tell me about her," he said. "Whatever you know—everything you know. I need some sort of foundation on which to start a dialogue with her. I need to try and replace four years of hurt in order to be rational when we meet."
Bingley and Fitzwilliam looked to one another. "Don't really know much about her, I'm afraid," said Bingley. "She goes by the name of Woods. Story is that she was very young and very naïve, and eloped with a soldier who was immediately sent to war and died on the battlefield."
"She works as a dressmaker to support herself and her son," Fitzwilliam added. "Lives with her father's relations, a family called Bennet—the father's sister is married to the gentleman—on a neighboring estate about three miles from here, on the other side of Meryton. The eldest daughter, Jane, has caught our friend Bingley's eye."
Bingley grinned wide at the mention of the girl's name. "She's an angel, Darcy. Wait until you meet her—Miss Bennet is truly the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld."
Darcy scoffed, but offered a smile. "Well, at least one of us has chance to be happy, Charles," he said, then looked to his cousin. "What of her parents? Why are they not with her, or she with them?"
At this, Fitzwilliam reached up to scratch the back of his neck as he said, "I'm not entirely certain—I only danced with her once at an assembly before I knew who she was to you, and she wasn't exactly forthcoming with information. I surmise she suspected my relationship to you and didn't want me knowing anything I could pass on that might tell you where she was."
"Miss Bennet did mention something to me once about her cousin's parents living in London, if memory serves," offered Bingley. "I believe her father has some sort of business there."
Darcy snorted with disgust. "No doubt financed with Lord Disley's money," he said.
"And Elizabeth was brought here to live after they left Derbyshire in order to prevent any chance of her meeting you there," Fitzwilliam observed, "despite how very large London is, not knowing you were closeted away at Pemberley with your mother. I've been meaning to ask…how do she and Georgiana get on these days?"
"It was difficult to leave my mother, though she was braver on my departing than she is most days—I should send her a letter express to let her know I arrived in safety. Georgiana was in her room, as she is most days, and I did not take the chance of saying goodbye to her, I'm afraid. I was so galvanized by your letter, I could only think to discover what your father could tell me regarding the child's legitimacy before coming here."
He blinked then, realizing that he did not even know his own son's name. "What is he called, Theo? You never told me. Your letter didn't say how you'd met him."
Fitzwilliam smiled. "His Christian name is Edward, probably after her father. She calls him Ned."
He went on to describe the circumstances under which he had met the boy, saying, "I realized immediately that the reason she hadn't wanted me to accompany her was because she was afraid I'd glimpse the child and know him to be yours, that her lie would be revealed to me. And I did know, the moment I laid eyes on the lad. Like I told you, Will, there's no mistaking you for the father."
Darcy groaned. "Which in itself presents an entirely different problem," he said. "If you recognized the boy as mine, others are sure to. Her reputation could be ruined, and her family's."
"Won't telling the truth help?" Bingley asked.
"I don't know, Charles," said Fitzwilliam. "She's been lying about her husband's identity for four years, and this is a small town where everybody knows everyone else, or near enough to it. Even going so far as to tell them my father paid her father to take her away from Darcy may not excuse her deceit in their eyes. And she has family here, don't forget. The Phillipses and the Bennets. Life here could become difficult for them—her parents may never be able to set foot here again without some trouble arising."
Darcy dragged his hands over his face. "Bloody hell, this is a nightmare!" he cried.
Fitzwilliam stood off from the fence. "As I said before—trust. Start by rebuilding trust between you and Elizabeth, then together you can decide how much to reveal or not reveal to the neighborhood gossip mill."
For a moment Darcy could only stare at his cousin, then he inclined his head toward him. "Thank you, Theo. Your advice is truly sound. Of course, now I have to figure out how to meet with her."
"I could invite her family to dine with us," suggested Bingley. "Netherfield could serve as neutral ground, so to speak."
"That's a fine idea, Charles. Who of her family do you think would recognize a resemblance between me and Ned?" Darcy asked, smiling a little at finally getting to say his son's name.
"Miss Bennet, definitely," his friend replied. "Her father, maybe."
"And Miss Mary, the second of the four girls," added Fitzwilliam. "She's a quiet, observant girl, and not unintelligent."
"You say there are four girls in the family?" said Darcy. "What of the mother and the two youngest?"
Fitzwilliam snorted, and Darcy could tell that Bingley suppressed a laugh. "Mrs. Bennet and her two youngest daughters are rather silly and empty-headed," said his cousin. "They're the sort that care for nothing but their own happiness, which in their case is focused on girly things like ribbons, gowns, shoes, balls, parties… Oh, and they all of them like a fellow in a red coat. I brought my uniform along on this trip, and am certain to have the lot of them gushing over me should I wear it. Those three are not likely to notice a thing."
"That's at least half of them to deal with, then," Darcy mused. "We'll start with Elizabeth and those she lives with first—the other aunt and uncle, and everyone else who knows her as Elizabeth Woods, can wait."
He felt the tightness in his shoulders relax a fraction—it helped that he now had a course of action to follow, a plan to set in motion. Trouble was, he didn't know if he could wait very long to see Elizabeth, to get a look at the child they'd created together.
"When do you think we might have this intimate dinner party?" he asked.
Bingley scratched his head. "Well, I can certainly send a note and invite them for this evening, but it may be too soon, or they may have other engagements."
"She knows that I know who Ned's father really is, Darcy," said Fitzwilliam. "This is likely to warn her you're here."
"I know—but that much, at least, we cannot avoid," he replied.
In unspoken agreement, the three men mounted their horses again and started back toward Netherfield. Darcy determined that he would clean himself up when he arrived and write to his mother, though neither activity was likely to distract him for long. He considered it might be a good idea to pen a letter to his solicitor as well, explaining the situation and asking his advice—surely there were some legal matters regarding his marriage that had not yet occurred to him.
His marriage. It still stunned him that he had been married these four years and was completely unaware. That was on him, he mused, as he dismounted and followed the others into the house on their arrival—he'd been foolish enough and broken-hearted enough to believe his uncle when he'd said he would take care of everything. That he needn't worry.
It had never occurred to him to question the man. All his life he had known Richard Fitzwilliam as an honest, hard-working, trustworthy gentleman. His mother's only brother, who was devoted to the family and his duty to the Crown. He was very highly regarded by all who knew him, as far as Darcy was aware, and his wife and children adored him—he and Georgiana adored him. Never once in all this time had he ever suspected his uncle could not be trusted.
Well, I won't be making that mistake again, he thought darkly as he climbed the stairs and was shown to the room that had been prepared for him.
After refreshing himself and writing his letters, then sending them with Vincent to the post, Darcy wandered downstairs in search of Bingley or Fitzwilliam. He found his cousin in the billiard room.
"Fancy a game, Will? Might take your mind off things," Fitzwilliam suggested.
He declined with a wave of his hand. "I don't know that I could concentrate with everything rolling around up here," he replied, gesturing toward his head.
"I do wish I could help you, but I don't know what to say."
"You've already done enough," Darcy said. "You led me to the truth, in a roundabout way, and I do thank you for it. Thank you also for listening to my mad rantings out there."
"You've every right to feel a little daft—there's not a lot that's sensible about this situation, cousin," Fitzwilliam observed.
Darcy paced over to the window and looked out of it as he crossed his arms. "Now that I know the truth, now that I am here, I just wish… I wish I could see her and get the telling over with. The awkwardness. I want to get through the anger and the hurt and the pain," he said slowly. "And not only mine. I've no idea what was said to her—what lies were told to her. I can only imagine that her parents told her some Canterbury tale concocted by my father or yours—I doubt they told her about the money, if she's been living with relatives and working to support herself."
"Do yourself one favor, Will," his cousin said, and he turned to look at him. "Don't hate the dead. Whatever part Uncle George had to play in this, it's long over. Being angry at your father when he's not here to defend himself… You don't want that on your conscience."
Darcy smiled ruefully. "More sound advice—when did you become so wise, Theo?" he asked.
Fitzwilliam chuckled. "You haven't an older brother, Will. Someone has to play the part," he said. "Besides, war changes a man. Makes him think of things he might not have done otherwise."
Laying the cue stick he held on the table, Fitzwilliam then moved to stand beside Darcy and mirrored his posture, though he stood with his back to the window. "If you truly do not think you can wait to speak to Elizabeth, her deception of being a widow may actually give you a means of doing so."
"How so?"
"Think about it—as a widow, she's not entirely bound by the same strictures of behavior that unmarried young ladies such as her four cousins are," Fitzwilliam replied. "You might send her a note by way of a servant, asking her to meet you here, or perhaps somewhere in the village. Meryton has a teahouse, I think. She and I have been in company together, so it would only be polite that I would speak to her were I to meet her on the street, and should I have a friend with me… Well, we could go for a walk together. I don't know—whatever you think to suggest."
Darcy drew a breath. "In all honesty, I believe a private meeting would be best, at least to get the first out of the way," he said. "Do you think the garden here would suffice?"
"Certainly. There's a shrubbery that would provide some privacy for your conversation, and I could do a soldier's duty and patrol the perimeter—keeping out nosy busybodies like Bingley's sisters."
"Oh, please do," Darcy said with a roll of his eyes. "Bad enough I shall have to endure Caroline Bingley's simpering attentions until such time as I can announce I'm already married."
"You, uh… You don't sound as displeased by the notion as one might think," said his cousin after a moment.
"Believe it or not, Theo, I did love Elizabeth when I married her," Darcy began.
"I know you did. You told me that when you first shared the secret with me."
The hundredth or thousandth sigh of the last day and a half escaped him as Darcy turned around himself and said, "Even though there are all these emotions related to what I thought I knew still boiling under the surface, knowing the truth has me now considering whether still being married to her might not be such a terrible thing. I have a wife who I know deep down is a good woman. She would do wonders for Mamma and Georgiana, don't you think?"
"Absolutely!" said Fitzwilliam with enthusiasm, though in the next moment his smile faltered. "But what if your mother knew about what our fathers did?"
"No," Darcy said with a firm shake of his head. "I don't doubt that she knew my father followed us to Scotland and collected yours on the way, but I cannot believe her complicit in the scheme to separate us. She would have been disappointed by our elopement, certainly, but I recall she was rather fond of Elizabeth. Georgiana was shy even before Wickham blinded her with his lies, and Elizabeth…"
He paused and took a moment to consider his words. "I knew her less time than they, but my mother wrote of her often—hell, it was probably my mother's glowing compliments that attracted me to Elizabeth before I'd even met her. Point is, Elizabeth was one of the few people that Georgiana trusted enough to be herself with. Mamma appreciated that more than you know, so I don't believe her a part of the deception."
"I can see that about her," Fitzwilliam said. "Elizabeth, I mean. I saw something of her warmth. Her wit. I believe I even saw a hint of the spirit that first made you fall in love with her, so as I said, I absolutely believe she would be a good influence on Aunt Anne and Georgiana.
"But the Elizabeth I met is also… a little abrasive. Resentful. She'll be defensive, so prepare yourself for a fight even though I'm certain neither of you wants one. She told me that her husband abandoned her almost as soon as they were married without a second's thought—and that was before I met your son. Given everything you told me about what my father did, I know now that she was referring to you. You're not the only one harboring a lot of pain and anger, Will, so… Just remember that when you speak to her."
Darcy nodded solemnly, then suddenly feeling the need to re-establish some semblance of balance in his relationship with his cousin, shot a hand out and shoved him playfully. "You've really got to stop this habit of being so sagacious, Theo. I find it terribly unnerving."
Fitzwilliam laughed. "You're just used to our positions being reversed, with you the more rational of the two of us while I'm more apt to be emotionally unbalanced. I'm an excitable fellow, what can I say?"
After he stepped back to the billiard table and picked up his cue, he added, "Go and write your note. I'd say have Vincent deliver it, as you no doubt trust his discretion, but you said earlier you intended to write to your mother."
"I did, yes, and sent my man off with her letter and one to my solicitor, asking his advice," Darcy replied.
"Now who's the wise one? I daresay that was a smart move, so long as you can trust his discretion," said Fitzwilliam as he lined up a shot. "The question is, who can you trust here to deliver a note without drawing unwanted attention when handing it to the intended recipient?"
The answer to his query stepped into the room then. Darcy and Fitzwilliam glanced at one another, then Darcy asked, "Bingley, have you penned that dinner invitation to the Bennets we talked of?"
"I was delayed by some business with my steward and was just about to see to it, though I wanted to see how you were first. Why do you ask?" his friend wondered.
"Because I'd like you to deliver it personally."
Next chapter comes the reunion!