Mr. Hill stared at the blankets on Mr. Bennet’s desk. He pressed his lips together. “My father told me not to say.”
“Both our fathers are dead. I am telling you that you must.”
The butler hesitated but ultimately nodded. “My father worked for yours, as you know.”
“I do.”
“I was twelve when a woman from the church’s orphanage came to me carrying a babe. She said that as far as they knew, your mother was a wealthy woman who had been conducting a scandalous affair with a footman, and that the family had cast you out.” He shrugged. “It explained the rather fine blanket you were wrapped in. She said a vicar was sure to find the babe a good home, one that might be more in keeping with his parentage.”
“But he kept me.”
Mr. Hill shook his head. “Your father had suffered the loss of his wife and babe only a few days earlier. He believed he wassavingyou, and so did we. When he received word about his brother, you were churched right away so that we could travel south as soon as possible. He performed the service himself. The curate stood in as your godfather.”
“Were you there?”
“I was.”
Darcy was stunned. All the information they had needed was in front of them the entire time in the person of Mr. Hill—there had been no need to check the parish registers, visit all the local families, make a mad dash to Warwickshire. Of course, had they not gone to Warwickshire, had he not falsely believed he was in the clear, he would not have had the courage to court Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, who loved him.
“Thank you, Mr. Hill,” Mr. Bennet said quietly. “I will ask that you remain silent about all of this.”
Mr. Hill nodded gravely. “I have never told anyone until now, sir, and unless you ask, I never shall again.”
“And there is no possibility of error?” Mr. Bennet asked sombrely, once the butler had withdrawn.
“These,” Darcy said hoarsely, pointing out the trees in the corners of each blanket, “are the Spanish oaks that line the approach to Pemberley.”
“Why would the midwife abscond with a child?” Mr. Bennet exclaimed. “It makes no sense!”
“I am afraid I do not know,” Darcy replied. “I suspect if her reason was ever discovered, my father would have informed me.”
The last vestiges of doubt drained from Mr. Bennet rather suddenly. He sank into his chair, one hand running through his greying hair. “When you first reappeared in December, I thought you and your cousin were merely asking questions about Jane’s connections on behalf of your friend, and later, that you were uncertain about pursuing Elizabeth for yourself.” He shook his head. “Why have you told me this, Mr. Darcy? I might have gone my entire life in ignorance, and you could have kept Pemberley and all its wealth for yourself.”
Darcy’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. “It is the truth. You deserved to know.”
Mr. Bennet closed his eyes, his expression pained. “I see now why you insisted on my promise to keep your sister’s fortune untouched, Mr. Darcy, and of course I will abide by my word. But why did you ask nothing for yourself?”
“I would not ask for that which is not mine. My sister cannot earn her fortune. I have some money put away, and I am capable enough. I shall make my way.”
As he spoke the words, Darcy knew that they were true. He had studied law at Cambridge, the better to manage his own estate. He could do very well for himself as a barrister. Had his great-uncle not been a judge? There was a path for him, even if it no longer led to Pemberley and its vast wealth but a far humbler life.
Mr. Bennet studied Darcy with a keen eye. “You are willing to give it all up, then—Pemberley, your fortune, your place in society?”
“’Willing’ may not be the correct word,” Darcy replied ruefully. “But my honour demands it.”
“Your honour,” Mr. Bennet repeated. His fingers tightened around the edge of his desk. “And you intend to ask for Elizabeth's hand in marriage, despite the fact that her father will now take your place? Are you not bitter?”
Darcy inclined his head. “I intend to ask Miss Bennet whether she still wants me, for my position is very different now. As is hers. But if you and she allow it, yes.”
Mr. Bennet was still visibly struggling to process the enormity of the revelation. “You have given me much to think about, Mr. Darcy. I never knew I was not a Bennet by blood, but in hindsight, it does makes sense. My father was always doing something to support the orphans in the village or in Meryton, and I often wondered why he never spoke of my mother.” He let out a slow breath. “This knowledge has created a quandary for me.”
“Sir?”
“You do not wish to give up Pemberley.” He held up a hand when Darcy made to speak. “Your honour does not allow you to keep it, I know,” he said. “But you do not wish to give it up.”
“That much is true,” he admitted.
