Chapter 18

Before Darcy could make his planned visit to Mr. Bennet to inform him of the eight thousand pound restitution received from Robert for his family, Elizabeth arrived unannounced at his townhouse, accompanied by her maid, Margaret. Her cheeks were flushed with anxiety, and her usually composed demeanour was unsettled.

"Fitzwilliam," she began, when they sat away from Margaret. Her voice trembling as she addressed him by his given name, though decorum hardly permitted it, "Lydia has disappeared—with George Wickham."

Darcy froze, the paper he had been reviewing slipping from his fingers. "What? How could such a thing happen?" His voice was sharp with concern, his expression darkening.

Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly, her fingers trembling. "I was not to leave the townhouse," she confessed, "but with my father gone to Gracechurch Street to consult with Uncle Gardiner about Lydia's disappearance, I could not sit idly by. I thought—" She faltered for a moment. "You know the parties involved better than anyone. I was sure you might assist." She reached into her reticule and retrieved some paper. "This is a copy of the letter Lydia left behind."

Darcy took the letter and began to read, his brows knitting in deeper concern as the words unfolded:

Dear Mother,

I have had enough! How could Father fail to secure a betrothal contract for me? Asking Robert and me to wait three months was the height of folly! It gave that scheming Ms. Caroline the perfect opportunity to steal him away right under my very nose. It is utterly unforgivable!

And now Elizabeth flaunts her engagement to that mad Darcy as though to mock me. I am the eldest! Mary marrying before me was insult enough, but to sit idly by while Elizabeth makes lovesick eyes at mad Darcy is beyond endurance. It is insufferable! And I am certain he will not press Robert as hard as he could for the reparation money.

Mrs. Younge, Lady Georgiana's governess and a most shrewd and informed woman, has confided in me about a peculiar mystery surrounding Robert's mother. It involves a parishioner in Kent where George Wickham's father once worked. I believe this could be my opportunity—my key to everything.

I have enlisted the Wickham boy to assist me, and we have gone to Kent to uncover the truth. There is a secret here, and I am determined to find it. Once I do, Robert's family will have no choice but to answer for their lies—and I will ensure they pay dearly, far more than I have ever asked of them.

This will be my triumph. I shall carve out my own fortune, and then gentlemen far superior to Robert Ferrars will vie for my hand.

Do not attempt to stop me. This is something I must do. Wickham and I will solve this mystery and prove my worth. Just wait and see!

Clenching my teeth,
Lydia

Darcy frowned deeply as he folded the letter, his jaw tightening. "A connection to Mrs. Ferrars? And Reverend Wickham involved… This is most troubling."

"Indeed," Elizabeth said, her voice low with worry. "We must find them before they do something reckless."

Darcy stood and paced the length of the room, his mind working quickly. "Wickham was in London only once, brought here under a pretext from my sister, Georgiana. But how Mrs. Younge became involved is a mystery."

Elizabeth hesitated before adding, "Lydia mentioned Mrs. Younge in her letter. Do you think she might have conspired in some way?"

"I mean to find out," Darcy replied firmly. He turned and rang the bell for a footman, who appeared promptly at the door. "Bring Lady Georgiana to me at once, and locate her governess, Mrs. Younge."

The footman bowed and retreated.

Darcy sat down beside Elizabeth. She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I don't know what I would do without you."

Darcy's expression softened, his gaze full of understanding. Gently, he took her hands in his, his touch both comforting and sincere. "You need not face this alone, Elizabeth," he said, his voice steady and warm. "We are united in this, and whatever challenges lie ahead, we shall meet them together."

Elizabeth's breath hitched slightly as she leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest. The warmth of his embrace steadied her fraying nerves. "I just hope we can find Lydia before it's too late," she whispered.

Darcy tightened his arms around her, his voice resolute. "We will. I promise you, Elizabeth—we will bring her back safely, no matter what it takes."

At that moment, the door opened, and Lady Georgiana entered. Her youthful elegance complemented by an eager smile as her gaze fell upon Elizabeth. The engaged couple stood.

"Fitzwilliam," she began, "is this a formal introduction I sense?"

Darcy stepped forward, his expression softening slightly as he gestured toward Elizabeth. "Georgiana, allow me to present Miss Elizabeth Bennet. We are engaged."

Elizabeth offered a polite curtsey, though her posture betrayed a hint of nervousness.

Georgiana's eyes sparkled with excitement, her curiosity piqued. "Miss Elizabeth? Wait—don't tell me. Is this the 'perfect woman' you couldn't stop mooning over after cousin Fitzwilliam's ball?"

Darcy shot her a mild glare. "I wasn't 'mooning,' Georgiana."

Georgiana ignored him entirely, clapping her hands together as her gaze darted between them. "Oh, this is wonderful! So you've gone and proposed, have you? I suppose miracles do happen. Miss Elizabeth, you must tell me—how did you manage it? Did he trip over his words? Look positively grim while asking?"

Elizabeth smiled, her initial nerves fading in the face of Georgiana's effusive energy. "He was perfectly composed, Lady Georgiana." She wouldn't share with Georgiana more about the circumstances when Darcy announced the engagement.

Georgiana laughed, her tone full of playful dramatics. "Perfectly composed? That doesn't sound like Fitzwilliam at all! But I suppose he does try to act the part of the noble, brooding gentleman." She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I assure you, Miss Bennet, he has far less composure when I'm involved. Isn't that right, dear brother?"

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience visibly thinning. "Georgiana..."

"Oh, don't look at me like that!" she teased, spinning to Elizabeth with a theatrical sigh. "He's dreadfully overbearing at times, isn't he? But I must say, you've done us all a great favour. I couldn't bear the thought of him turning into a lonely old bachelor."

Elizabeth chuckled softly. "I'm sure I'll manage his overbearing tendencies."

"Well said!" Georgiana beamed, her tone brimming with mock seriousness. "If you ever need an ally, Miss Bennet, you have only to send word. We rebellious spirits must stick together."

Darcy exhaled sharply, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "That's enough, Georgiana. Perhaps we can save the dramatics for later."

Georgiana grinned unabashedly, clearly enjoying herself. "As you wish, Brother. But really, I'm delighted for you both. Miss Bennet, welcome to the family—heavens knows we needed someone sensible to join it."

Darcy's tone became more reserved as he added, "The arrangement still requires Mr. Bennet's formal approval, of course."

"Ah, a mere formality, I am certain," Georgiana replied brightly. Then her expression shifted slightly, a trace of irritation creeping in. "But I presume this happy occasion is not the sole reason for summoning me here so urgently."

Darcy nodded, his demeanour grave once more. "Indeed. I have a pressing concern. Tell me, Georgiana, where is Mrs. Younge? I sent for her as well."

At that moment, the footman returned and bowed. "My lord, Mrs. Younge seemed to have departed. She left a letter addressed to Lady Georgiana."

Georgiana's brow furrowed as she accepted the letter. "A letter?" she murmured, breaking the seal and unfolding it. As her eyes scanned the contents, her expression grew puzzled. "She claims an urgent matter at home has called her away," Georgiana explained, her voice tinged with confusion. "But she provides no details, only vague apologies for leaving so suddenly."

Darcy exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, his frown deepening. "Without applying for leave? That is most irregular. Tell me, Georgiana, what do you recall of Mrs. Younge's dealings with George Wickham?"

Lady Georgiana tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "George, is it? Why such interest in him, brother? Don't tell me you're enlisting him for one of your noble crusades."

Darcy's glare deepened, but he let her flippant tone and the use of Wickham's first name slide.

Georgiana smirked, clearly pleased with herself. "Well, I do remember Mrs. Younge listening to his tales about Kent last summer. She seemed utterly enchanted by him, though I can't imagine why. I suppose even dull stories sound exciting to her."

"And what of Elizabeth's sister, Miss Lydia Bennet?" Darcy pressed. "She was previously engaged to Robert Ferrars. Did you happen to notice any connection between her, Mrs. Younge, and Wickham?"

Georgiana's playful expression sobered slightly. She paused, lowering her voice as if sharing a delicious secret. "Now that you mention it, there was something. When I visited my modiste last month, Mrs. Younge struck up a conversation with Miss Bennet. She overheard her mentioning the engagement to Robert Ferrars and started asking her all sorts of questions—far too many, if you ask me. At the time, I thought it was idle gossip, but now…"

Elizabeth's brows knitted together in concern. "Could Mrs. Younge have encouraged Lydia in this mad scheme? It seems unlike her to act alone."

"Mad scheme?" Georgiana perked up, her tone tinged with theatrical curiosity. "What sort of madness has your sister concocted?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Lydia has gone missing, and it appears she sought George Wickham's help—possibly at Mrs. Younge's urging."

Georgiana's eyes widened with exaggerated delight. "Missing? A mystery? How utterly thrilling! I had no idea your family harboured such intrigue!"

Darcy's patience snapped. "This is no jest, Georgiana. Lydia could be in danger, and we need ways to find her, not your theatrics."

Unfazed, Georgiana threw up her hands in mock surrender. "Very well, very well! But honestly, Fitzwilliam, you must admit—it's all terribly thrilling. A missing sister, secret plots, meddling governesses! Truly, it could rival a gothic novel. Perhaps you should don your knightly armour." She smirked. "Now, I'll leave you to your serious business and return to my real novel."

"Just make you do not utter one word about it to anyone else," Darcy said and shot her a withering glare, but Elizabeth had to bite back a smile, the corners of her lips betraying her amusement despite the gravity of the situation.

Once Georgiana had flounced out of the room, Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "We will find Lydia, I assure you. But we must tread carefully. This matter may be far more complex than it appears."

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and worry. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I trust you will do all in your power to bring her back safely."

Darcy took Elizabeth's hand firmly. "I will. But let us talk to your father and uncle first. "

As they prepared to leave for Gracechurch Street, Darcy couldn't help but wonder about the connection between the Ferrars' mother and his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Reverend Wickham had worked as a temporary curate for Lady Catherine in Hunsford for a few years, and it seemed likely that there could be some connection there.

"I can't help but think that there might be more to this than we realize," Darcy mused aloud.

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth asked, looking up at him.

"Reverend Wickham worked for my aunt, Lady Catherine, in Hunsford before," Darcy explained. "There might be some connection between Mrs. Ferrars and my aunt that we are unaware of."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "Do you think Mrs. Younge knew about this? Oh, I remember now, Robert was born in Kent."

"What a coincidence," Darcy said thoughtfully. "Mrs. Younge seems to have a way of knowing things that she shouldn't."

Elizabeth nodded. "Then we must be even more cautious. If there is a connection, it could complicate matters further."

Darcy squeezed her hand reassuringly. "We will navigate this together, Elizabeth."

~0~

Darcy regretted that his first meeting with Elizabeth's father was under such circumstances. Mr. Bennet was astonished that Elizabeth had defied his order not to leave the townhouse. However, once she explained what Darcy had uncovered about the connection between Lydia, the Wickham boy, and Mrs. Younge, Mr. Bennet welcomed Darcy's assistance.

Mr. Bennet was clearly overwhelmed by Mrs. Bennet's hysterics. She had descended into a state of near collapse, sobbing uncontrollably and expressing her fear that Lydia was in grave danger.

Mr. Bennet sighed deeply, looking torn. "I wish I could go, but I cannot leave your mother in this state."

Elizabeth's uncle, Mr. Gardiner, then took the lead. He had been quiet throughout the conversation. "I'll go with Lord Ripley," Mr. Gardiner declared. "You must stay with your wife, Brother. I think Elizabeth should come with us, as she may know how to speak to Lydia when we find her. I'll ensure Elizabeth and Darcy's journey proceeds without issue."

After several more minutes of discussion, Mr. Gardiner was able to convince Mr. Bennet to allow Elizabeth to join the search party.

Elizabeth squeezed her father's arm reassuringly. "Father, pray keep Mother calm. I'll go with Lord Ripley and Uncle Gardiner, and we'll find Lydia. I promise."

Darcy, ever mindful of discretion, added, "May we travel in your carriage, Mr. Gardiner? We must keep this quiet for now. If my Aunt Catherine learns of our plans, she may cause a stir. And if she knows Mrs. Ferrars, she may alert her unnecessarily. I can meet her once this business is resolved, but for now, it's best she remains unaware."

And so, it was decided. Mr. Gardiner would accompany them the next morning, while Mr. Bennet remained behind to look after his wife.

~0~

The party's first search led them to Hunsford Church, a centuries-old structure nestled among the Kent countryside. Beneath its austere stone walls and weathered pews, the pair discovered a narrow staircase hidden behind a loose panel near the vestry.

Mr. Gardiner had stayed behind at the entrance to the church, uneasy about venturing further into the shadowed depths. His age and prudence weighed against descending into the darkened undercroft. "I'll remain here and keep watch," he had declared. As Darcy and Elizabeth descended into the cool, musty depths, Mr. Gardiner's presence faded from view, his silhouette swallowed by the darkened nave.

The air grew damp as they continued their descent into the secret chamber below, with the faint flicker of lantern light guiding their way. The sound of hushed voices reached them as they approached. Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged a tense glance before stepping closer, the conversation becoming clearer with each step.

"I'm telling you, George, these records mean something," Lydia's voice said, brimming with determination. "If we can figure out what it is, we could—well, I could—get what I deserve. Why should Robert get everything while I have nothing?"

Wickham, seated on a wooden crate, held an old baptism register open in his hands, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not saying you're wrong, Miss Bennet, but I can't make head or tail of these scribbles. It's all dates and names. Besides, isn't this a bit much for, er, a bit of extra money? I thought this was meant to be a fun adventure."

"Fun?" Lydia scoffed, her voice sharp. "This is no mere amusement, George. This is about justice. It's about proving I'm not some silly girl to be discarded while Robert Ferrars struts about as though he owns the world." She leaned over his shoulder, jabbing a finger at the page. "Look here. This must mean something important!"

Before Wickham could respond, a voice, firm and cool, sliced through the chamber. "I'm not certain that enlisting the help of a mere boy will aid you in solving this puzzle, Miss Bennet."

Both Lydia and Wickham started, Wickham nearly dropping the register as Darcy and Elizabeth entered the room. Lydia quickly masked her surprise with a defiant glare.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her tone defensive. "You had no right to follow me."

"We had every right," Elizabeth said firmly, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. "You've been reckless, Lydia. Do you know how Mother has descended into hysteria with your disappearance? Do you have any idea what people would say if they knew you were here in Kent, alone with a boy who isn't even related to you?"

Lydia flushed but crossed her arms stubbornly. "George is harmless, and no one knows we're here. Besides, it's not like we're doing anything wrong. We're simply… investigating."

Wickham, sensing the tension, stood quickly and held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean any trouble, Lord Ripley. Honest. Miss Bennet said she needed help with finding Father's old records, and I thought—well, I thought it'd be a bit of an adventure."

"Adventure?" Darcy's eyes narrowed, his tone cold. "This is no game, boy. You're meddling in matters you don't understand."

Lydia bristled. "Don't talk down to him! George was only helping me because I asked him to. Robert told me he was born in Kent, and Wickham said his father mentioned Mrs. Ferrars before. And for your information, I do understand. We've found these records of Robert's birth, the third of April, 1789. But I don't understand why Mrs. Younge keeps harping on about some great mystery."

Elizabeth silently examined the place Lydia had pointed to, then suddenly paused, her fingers hovering over a particular entry. Her eyes widened as she read it again, disbelief creeping into her voice. "Wait a moment," she said softly, a ripple of confusion crossing her features. "This isn't right… Robert… Could Robert Ferrars actually not be a Ferrars at all?"

Lydia whipped around, a flicker of anger flashing across her face. "What do you mean? Of course, he is! The records prove it!"

Elizabeth, her voice firm, pointed to the dates. "No, Lydia. Look here—Robert's birthdate, the third of April, is written earlier than the next entry, the fourth of March, for Theodore Burgor. How could Reverend Wickham have made such a mistake? Did he amend the dates, or did he exchange the names?" But the register was so old that any smudge or blot couldn't be determined as having been made at the time or caused by age.

Lydia stared at the page, her defiance faltering, confusion beginning to seep into her expression. "That can't be true," she muttered, but the doubt had already crept into her voice.

"Burgor... doesn't sound very real," Wickham muttered, his brow furrowing in thought. "It sounds like something French, doesn't it? Like... 'Bourg' or something... Maybe it's just the way the letters fit together. I'm not sure, but it doesn't quite add up." His words hung in the air, a puzzle left unsolved for now, though the hint of a revelation loomed just beyond his reach.

Darcy, who had been listening intently, stepped closer, his brow furrowing in thought. "The Fourth of March, or the Third of April, 1789?" he murmured, the dates stirring a sense of familiarity. He had always enjoyed history, especially with his father, and fond memories of their discussions came rushing back. Two historical events immediately sprang to mind. The Fourth of March marked the day Christopher Columbus returned to Lisbon after his voyage to the West Indies. The Third of April, on the other hand, was the day Edward the Confessor ascended to the throne of England.

But then another conversation with his father resurfaced in his mind. Darcy recalled his father's sardonic remark about the quality of Hunsford's new bell. He had jested that it had sounded discordant within just five years, questioning the value of the hefty donation made for its purchase. Darcy's father had mentioned that it was on the Fourth of March, 1789, that Sir Lewis, Lady Catherine's husband, made a substantial donation to Hunsford Church—an endowment for a new bell. The memory clicked into place with startling clarity.

"Elizabeth may be right," Darcy continued, his voice heavy with realization. "Reverend Wickham might have used Theodore Burgor's entry. Robert Ferrars may very well be the illegitimate son of Lady Catherine's husband, hidden away by Mrs. Ferrars. But even if we are right, this information is not yours to wield, Miss Bennet. It's not a tool for revenge or leverage."

Lydia's bravado faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her chin lifting. "Why shouldn't I use it? Robert doesn't deserve any of it. He's cruel and selfish. Why shouldn't I expose him?"

"Because it won't hurt him as much as it will hurt you," Elizabeth said quietly. "Think about what people will say. A young lady, alone with a boy, sneaking into churches and rummaging through records. Even if your intentions are noble, no one will see it that way."

Wickham looked down, shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly, he said, "Robert, Burgor, Robert. The letters of Theodore Burgor can be rearranged to become Robert de Bourgh…"

Lydia felt a surge of elation at Wickham's accidental discovery. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "What a genius, Wickham! Now we have proof that Robert is a bastard of this Lewis de Bourgh!"

Elizabeth shook her head at Lydia's improper behaviour. But her mind was racing. "Then Mrs. Ferrars has no right to make Robert the heir, bypassing Mr. Edward Ferrars, the eldest son from the first Mrs. Ferrars, even though her husband left her money in his will."

Darcy agreed. "Let's borrow this register and return to London."

As they made their way back up to the church, Darcy's thoughts turned to another unanswered question. "Where is Mrs. Younge?" he asked suddenly.

"She came with us only as far as Bromley," Lydia answered.

"Could she be lurking outside the church, waiting for Lydia to appear with the records?" Elizabeth speculated.

Darcy frowned. "She must have known someone would come looking for Lydia. I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to disappear."

"Likely," Elizabeth agreed grimly. "She's opportunistic enough to want these records for herself. If she thought she could use them to blackmail Mrs. Ferrars, she wouldn't hesitate. But now that we've intervened, she'll want to cover her tracks."

Darcy said, "Let her run. I can deal with her later. The less she meddles for now, the better."

Dear lovely readers, Thank you for the wonderful reviews. It seems Lydia and Mrs. Younge have taken to meddling with my plot as if it were an old church register in Hunsford. Let's see if they will finally make their exit! I look forward to your comments.