With love,
Your father, George Frederick Darcy
His eyes were wet when he looked up and saw Reynolds watching him. At his acknowledgment, she reached out her hand. Opening his, she dropped George Darcy’s signet ring in his palm and stepped back.
He stared at it before sliding it onto his finger, where it had been a lifetime ago. “Mr. Bainbridge, would you excuse us?”
“Of course.” The two men stood to leave the room, closing the door behind them.
At once, Darcy asked, “How did you come to be entrusted with this confidence?”
“I was born on the Pemberley estate and played with Mr. George Darcy as a child. He was a good friend to me, my brothers, and to…and to other tenant children.”
“Would you tell me about my parents?”
Mrs. Reynolds wiped a lone tear from her eye. “You look just like him. Even down to the dimples.” She swallowed again. “But not a stitch of Clara in you.”
“Clara? Clara Smith? The spinster aunt of the shepherd? That cannot be right!”
“Clara Smith died giving birth to you twenty-eight years ago. She never told a soul who the father was, not evenher own family. They were so ashamed, they retrenched to Australia.”
Darcy’s head was spinning. “My mother was the daughter of the shepherd? My father bedded a tenant’s daughter?”
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. “George did not see Clara as such. He loved Lady Anne but had always loved Clara from the time we were children but knew he could never marry her.”
He recoiled at her words. “She was his mistress?” He felt ill, as all he believed he knew of his father crumbled around him.
“No, she was not. Your father cared for Lady Anne.” She looked down at her hands and began fidgeting. “But it was shortly after Lady Anne delivered the first of two stillborn sons. Your father, overwhelmed with grief, had gone riding. He came upon Clara in the woods. His sorrow overcame him. He was weak. And he took comfort in her arms. You, William Fitzroy, were born nine months later, hours before Clara’s death.”
There was no sound––all noise had ceased, save the pounding in his temples.Was I, Fitzwilliam Darcy, that lost son?
“And how do you know those details?”
“As I said. I grew up with George and Clara. We played in Pemberley’s woods as children. Your…father taught us to read. As we grew, he became the master, but Clara and I remained who we always were—dear friends.”
“And how did I come to reside at Pembrook with the Fitzroys?”
Reynolds exhaled a deep breath before she began. “Herbert Fitzroy was a long-time friend of your father from their youth at Eton. He and his wife were childless, and he needed an heir. Your father contacted him, and you were gone before Clara was cold in her grave.” She took out a handkerchief and sniffled. “There are two graves at Pemberley. One for Clara and one for William Smith, the child that all were told died in childbirth. I believe only your father, myself, and the Smiths knew you did not die, but they have no notion what became of you.”
“The letter says Sir Lewis knew as well.”
“Sir Lewis was a good friend to Mr. Darcy…your father.” She quietly scrutinized him before proclaiming with finality. “You…Mr. Darcy, are the true heir of Pemberley, and as such, I will do all in my power to help you regain your rightful place if that is what you desire.”
He was taken aback and had to keep his emotions in check.I am called Darcy. For the first time in many days, I am able to be who I truly am.
“How did Lady Catherine come in possession of Darcy House?”
“Wickham sold it to her shortly before losing Pemberley to pay off debts. Miss Darcy’s—excuse me, Mrs. Wickham’s dowry is paid in installments because of the elopement.”
“She eloped?” His voice thundered through the room as he struggled to calm himself, standing and beginning to pace. “Forgive me, but Mrs. Wickham does not appear the type of girl who would knowingly go against the wishes of a beloved guardian. She must have been…coerced. Did she not have a companion to guide her?”
The small smile Mrs. Reynolds had attempted to display fell. “Her companion convinced Earl and Lady Matlock to allow Miss Darcy to take a cottage by the Lakes. Her spirits were so low after the death of her father, His Lordship agreed at once. He was to join her when his business with the Darcy estate was concluded, but Mrs. Younge—”
“Mrs. Younge?”
“Yes, do you know her?”
He stopped mid-stride; his jaw clenched. “All too well.”
