A Baby for Mr. Darcy Page 2

  Each word appeared to strike him in the chest until his back was pressed against the squabs. His eyes looked everywhere but at her.

  “I see,” he mumbled as he began to slowly shake his head from side to side. “You do not love me?”

  “I do not even like you.” Because of his prior disapprobation, she had no reason to hesitate in telling the truth.

  “You were not seeking to attach yourself to me, not even for my wealth?”

  “Mr. Darcy, let us be clear,” Elizabeth clamped her jaws tightly and pressed her eyelids together before exhaling so she could continue. “At a ridiculously early hour this morning, my father’s cousin, Mr. Collins, the heir to Longbourn, proposed marriage. Had I sought the security of a home and a husband I would have accepted him as my mother desired. However, I refused. He could not have made me happy, and I know I would have made him miserable. As with my response to Mr. Collins, had you asked me before approaching my parents, I would have gladly refused you as well. Since my youth, when I realized how miserable a bad choice of a mate could make a life, I determined to marry only where there was love and mutual respect. I feel neither of these sterling qualities for you and sincerely doubt you feel them for me. Therefore, I ask what is your purpose, Mr. Darcy? Why have you, who could have the choice of the ton’s debutantes, tied yourself to a country gentleman’s daughter who lacks a proper dowry, education, connections, or looks? Why me?”

  Elizabeth was proud of herself. Despite her inclination, her voice had not risen. In the silence inside the carriage, she quickly rethought her words. Yes, they were harsh, something she would never have uttered under normal circumstances. But this man had yoked himself to her for her lifetime. She deserved to know why.

  After a lengthy pause, he met her eyes with his own. Where she had expected them to be as dark and cold as flint, they were stormy, as if the turmoil in his mind overflowed his self-imposed barriers. “I cannot speak of this now.”

  And, that was it—all he offered to ease the agitation in her own head.

  Crossing her arms, she harrumphed. She could play this game.

  Glancing outside the window, she noted they were approaching Meryton. Had they traveled only one mile since Longbourn? It felt like they had already been enclosed in the carriage for at least an hour or two.

  As the seconds passed, Elizabeth’s mind began to focus.

  Why had her father refused Mr. Collins and then, almost immediately, accepted Mr. Darcy as a son? What did one have that the other did not? Why the rush? And, what gave a man of the world the impression that she was in love with him? Had she acted the flirt when in Mr. Darcy’s company? Certainly not!

  Jane, her eldest sister and closest confidant, would be devastated at the news of Elizabeth’s hasty marriage. Mary would worry there had been some indiscretion. Undoubtedly, she would seek comfort in the moral platitudes from Fordyce’s Sermons which ruled her thoughts and actions. The youngest two Bennet girls, Kitty and Lydia would find some reason to joke and laugh about Elizabeth’s attachment to a man they concluded was an arrogant boar, or rather, bore.

  As they drew close to the White Swan Inn, the driver pulled the team to a stop. Elizabeth was puzzled. The carriage horses had appeared fresh, so they should not need to be rested. Possibly, his valet and luggage needed loading before they could proceed with their journey.

  Whatever the reason, she was not one to waste an opportunity. Gathering her reticule, she moved to exit the coach behind Mr. Darcy. When she began to lower her foot to the step, he turned back towards her.

  “Remain within,” he commanded, his tone chilling her from the inside out. “I shall return shortly.”

  The nerve of him! How dare he keep her hidden away while he did who knew what in the small farming town she had grown up in! Dropping the window glass, she stretched her neck to search the street. A smaller carriage containing a pile of trunks had pulled up behind them. Elizabeth had never laid eyes on Mr. Darcy’s valet. Yet, she honestly could not deny the man was talented at his craft, for Mr. Darcy never appeared to have a wrinkle in his garments and was always well-turned out. It must have been he who was overseeing the transfer of her hastily packed luggage as it went from the more luxuriant coach to the one that had just arrived.

  Glancing in the other direction towards the haberdashery, she scanned the storefronts and those areas in between for a hint of someone who might possibly come to her aid. Nothing or no one.

  Unwanted tears filled her eyes, blinding her to her surroundings, and distorting her vision. How had her life come to this? What had she ever done to earn such a dreadful future?

  Opening her reticule, Elizabeth wiped her eyes on the handkerchief she retrieved and moved back to the door. Grasping the handle, she pushed down, freeing the latch. If only she could slip away while he was engaged with his business inside the inn, Elizabeth could run as far as possible to hide from her misery.

  She stopped. Where in the world could she go? Her closest relatives were in London, too far for her to walk. Elizabeth had only a few coins in her reticule, surely not enough to purchase passage on the mail or post coach. Considering each acquaintance who lived far from Hertfordshire, she realized her one available option was ridiculous. For the only person she had been introduced to who had offered to host her for a lengthy visit, a close friend of her Aunt Madeline Gardiner, lived in the village of Lambton, which was but five miles from Mr. Darcy’s estate of Pemberley. That would simply not do!

  If she attempted to return to Longbourn, her mother would refuse her entry, demanding she remain with her wealthy husband who, she had proclaimed following the ceremony, would throw her remaining daughters into the path of other rich men. And, her father? If she could somehow get by her mother and slip into his personal library, how would he react?

  Sadly, Elizabeth could not know. For the man who had always been her refuge from the storm of a household teeming with feminine emotions had turned into the worst traitor. Instead of supporting his favorite daughter as he had done when Mr. Collins had sought Elizabeth’s hand, he had quickly and easily accepted Mr. Darcy as his son-in-law not thirty minutes later.

  Why? What could have possibly motivated her sole sensible parent to turn her over with no more care than he took for which pair of breeches to don in the morning or which field horse to hitch to the plow?

  In retrospect, where her father should have indicated some sign of sorrow at the loss of Elizabeth from his household, there was firm acceptance, even relief. Certainly, she would not have been surprised at his feeling those emotions once his youngest two daughters were safely wed, for they were, by his own proclamation, silly girls.

  At a noise behind her, she glanced back in time to see Mr. Darcy escort a young woman from the inn. A maid accompanied them, stepping quickly into the smaller carriage, being welcomed by the valet within. Footmen were attaching a traveling case to the top of the coach, while Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth’s own husband, gently handed the lady into the interior.

  What froze Elizabeth in place was not the lovely countenance of the woman, the fine fabric of her garments, nor the fashion of her bonnet and lovely auburn hair. Rather, it was the baby she carried in her arms.

  Oh, my heavens! Disgust churned in Elizabeth’s belly until the breakfast she had eaten an hour before threatened to make its presence rudely known.

  Elizabeth’s mind spun. The female was not Miss Darcy, the only sister of Mr. Darcy. For Miss Bingley had gushingly described her as not yet sixteen, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, almost the same height as Elizabeth. This woman was very petite with a thickness around her middle that spoke of a recent birth.

  Anger boiled as the situation unfolded before her.

  Mr. Darcy, the man who had arrived at Longbourn not an hour past, who had sequestered himself in her father’s study with a common license and a purse full of coin, had a mistress and child.

  Chapter 2

  From his infancy, Darcy understood what it meant to be honorable. A good na
me, opinions that merited respect, and a keen sense of ethical conduct were as fundamental to him as the need to breathe to sustain life. Nonetheless, from the moment he had arrived at Darcy House in London and entered his private sanctuary the night before, he would live a lie.

  His cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was his closest and dearest friend. He, too, was an honorable man who understood Darcy like no other. Thus, when confronted with the most untenable of circumstances, the colonel had known whom he could trust.

  The journey from Hertfordshire to town had been made as quickly as possible. Richard’s summons had demanded speed and silence.

  At each turn of the carriage wheels, Darcy’s mind considered potential threats. Richard was co-guardian to Georgiana Darcy. Had he learned the location of the evil rake who had attempted an elopement with Darcy’s innocent young sister? Had Richard done as he had threatened, running George Wickham through with his blade the next time he laid eyes upon the rogue? The man, who had arrived in Meryton to join the militia less than a fortnight prior, should have been at Bingley’s ball. Yet he was not. Was it another threat to his sister prompting this writ?

  Or, was Richard’s wife in danger? Anne de Bourgh had grown up with ill health, finding the simplest tasks unachievable. Since Anne had reached her majority, she had been eager to wed, to escape the domination of a mother with no understanding of frailty. Upon her marriage to Darcy’s cousin and hers, her joy at having the affections of a good man had put roses in her cheeks for the first time in Darcy’s memory. Both Anne and Richard knew the risks of bearing a child. Nevertheless, Anne had desired the chance to become a mother in the worst way. When she had announced the quickening, confirming the pregnancy, Richard had been both horrified at her failure to practice the measures to prevent a child and joyful at the idea of becoming a father. However, the baby was not due to be born for several weeks. Had the child come early?

  Had Richard received word from his commander that an invasion of England by Napoleon was imminent? Was the Frenchman looming with a fleet of ships in the Channel waiting to attack?

  Whatever the reason, Darcy knew his cousin well. Richard would not request his immediate presence unless the need was of serious concern.

  The miles moved slowly by. Even in the late evening, the traffic entering London was congested. With each jangle of the harness or brisk contact of a hoof on the hard ground, Darcy’s worry increased.

  Checking his timepiece in the light of the carriage lantern, he was unsurprised it had reached the midnight hour.

  Upon arrival at Darcy House, instead of finding his cousin, a lady—a stranger—rocked a tiny babe back and forth while quietly muttering tender words of solace. On the table next to where she was seated was a sealed missive with Darcy’s name scrawled on the front in a familiar hand. When he started to speak, to demand an explanation, the woman put her finger to her lips, stopping him. Gathering the folded parchment, she held it out to him. As soon as he took it, she returned her attention to the infant.

  Quick strides took him to the heavy leather chair behind his desk. On his way, he spied a maid seated behind the door, a fresh tray with a pot of tea, a plate of meat, cheese, and cakes, and warmth from a roaring fire. His staff had seen to his uninvited guest’s comfort.

  Anxiously breaking the seal, he read, his jaw dropping further with each paragraph.

  Darcy,

  As I write these words, my heart is leaden. Anne is upstairs struggling to bring our child into the world. Her expectations for this babe have lightened her heart. She would laugh at my worry in light of all she hopes to gain by the possibility of holding a baby of her own in her arms. But I cannot share her joy. I fear for the lives of both—my Annie for not having a strong enough constitution, and the child for being too early and a Fitzwilliam.

  In my deepest heart, I yearn for a daughter. For then, and only then, will my father and Lady Catherine leave the child alone. Should my Annie deliver a son, I shudder at what my family will do. Darcy, you know them. With the exception of your dear departed mother, the Fitzwilliams are a hard lot. Brother and sister would battle for supreme control as they seek every legal means to strip my child from me to be used as a pawn in their political games and power struggles.

  I will not have it, I tell you! The months since Anne shared the news of her increasing have been plagued with my father’s or her mother’s unending barrage of plans for this child if it is a boy. The last time her mother visited, she taunted Anne with reminders of how poor her health had been. In the midst of her bitter words, Lady Catherine’s purpose was revealed—that she would, out of service to her weakling daughter, remove our son from our home and raise him at Rosings. Bah! That woman is a menace. My father is no better. If only my own mother were still alive. She was the only restraint to Father’s insatiable quest for power and his burning ambition.

  How could my sweet Annie have lived all of those years at Rosings under the thumb of our aunt? I cannot imagine her misery. Darcy, if you ever have the hope for the love of a good woman, grasp it with both hands and hold on tightly. The joy is unexplainable. There are no words.

  The sounds from upstairs have stopped. So has my heart. I cannot...

  NO! NO! NO!

  Dear Lord in Heaven! I have lost her, my dearest sweet bride. I cannot...Darcy, my worst fears have come to fruition. Anne is gone and I have a son.

  For the past five months, since the quickening, I have pondered what needs to be done should this come to pass. Cousin, you must take this child, hide him. Keep him from my father and Aunt Catherine. He is the next in line for the earldom after my brother and me. If they learn he is alive, any prospects for a good life for the babe will be forfeit.

  With the loss of Anne’s life and the birth of my son, my path has been chosen. Should I remain in England, I would have no peace, nor do I have the means to protect him. Therefore, I go to the War Office as soon as I deliver my son and the wet nurse Anne chose to your house. I cannot risk being seen with a babe.

  Oh, Lord! This is far more difficult a task than I had imagined. I need to hurry but the thought of never holding my son, not watching him grow, and seeing you raise him as your own once I return from the continent is ripping my heart to pieces. But, needs must, Darcy.

  Hold him. Love him. Find a compassionate woman who will be a good mother. Rear him as your own.

  My God! I pray you never feel the pain of having your flesh torn from you out of necessity. The emptiness...the depth of my sorrow. I will not have my son threatened by my staying here, Darce.

  Write to me should my brother have an heir. But do not write other than as normal, I pray you. Both Father and Lady Catherine have spies. I want nothing to give them a hint that the boy is mine.

  Pray forgive me for presuming on the bonds that have long held you and me together as friends. In truth, there is no other I trust like you, Darcy.

  I have made arrangements for Anne. She did not want to be returned to Rosings for...burial. Blast! I hate this!

  The woman currently holding my son acted as an assistant during the birth, covering my son in rags so the midwife and physician believed him gone. I have sent a note to Father and Lady Catherine that mother and child are both deceased. The funeral will be on the morrow.

  Should you remove yourself to Pemberley immediately, they will think you to be still in the north. Neither would expect you to return to London for the service. You can safely mourn my wife and child from a distance. Do not take it upon yourself out of a sense of duty to attend the funeral. Anne would have insisted you do all within your power to protect her babe. Do not attempt to contact me, Cousin, until you are settled in Derbyshire and you hear the news of my wife and son from Father. Allow them to believe both Annie and our son died, I pray you.

  Now, go! Leave at once! Mrs. Milford, the wet nurse, is the wife of a good man who serves in my regiment and who recently lost a girl child. She is ready to travel. I have known the Milfords for almost a decade. She can be counted o
n to do everything within her power to protect my babe.

  Do not delay, I beg you.

  I will never forget your kindness and sacrifice in doing as I ask. Just, love him, please. He is the best parts of Annie and me. He is my son.

  Richard

  Dampness covered his cheeks. Darcy wanted to rest his forehead on his arms and weep for the pain his cousin was feeling. But, he could not.

  As he stood, so did the woman. Within an hour, he was back in the carriage heading north. When they left the cul-de-sac where he resided to make a sharp right to head out of town, a solitary man standing in the light of a lantern lifted his head, silently watching the carriage depart.

  Richard.

  So badly did Darcy want to stop the coach to invite the man inside. He did not. Under the circumstances, his cousin’s request was reasonable. Both his uncle, Lord Matlock, and his aunt, Lady Catherine had not one ounce of compassion between them. They were avaricious adults, intent on their own desires. In as much as Richard’s son would forever change Darcy’s life’s path, Darcy knew the course his cousin had outlined was the only one to take. Never would he sacrifice an innocent baby on the altar of the Fitzwilliam family’s greedy ambitions. Never!

  It was not until he entered the north road that the finer details of this arrangement came to him. He needed a wife, a woman who would raise the child as her own. A trusted female who would nurture and cherish the newborn.

  He had not looked upon the babe. Not only was the darkness of the night filling his carriage, the woman, babe, and maidservant rode with his valet, Parker, in the carriage behind him.