An Æthiop and a slave, is nobly born.
Darcy put out his lamp and lay back on his bed, his hands crossed over his chest as he gazed up at the dark ceiling. For over four hundred years, his forebears had watched over and given honour to the Darcy name. For nearly nine hundred, his heritage traced proudly to William the Conqueror, and that was not even to mention the royal blood that had birthed the Fitzwilliam line on his mother’s side. If any had cause to boast in his pedigree, it was himself, but…
But was his family truly greater than, say, a Wyoming rancher’s? Such a man could claim as his progenitors pioneers and warriors, men who carved life and home out of savage wilderness. Lack of pedigree or wealth did not eliminate generations of strength and love and honour.
Darcy turned over to face the window, searching the cold, moonless night beyond for some clue to ordering these peculiar notions rattling his mind. How much of life had he missed out on, while he was so busy tending to appearances and dignity? And how could he break loose from that rut?
It was not as if he could cut everything away, sling a pack over his shoulder and strike out across the continent on foot. Nor would he even desire it—his was a spirit tied as much to its roots as any could be. But was there something simple, some small act of rebellion or nonconformity he could undertake? Something to mark him, to remind him that he need not remain a slave to the past. He scratched his chin in thought, and then, inspiration struck.
Quick as lightning, he was out of his bed and donning his dressing robe, then knocking at the adjacent door to call for his valet. “I beg your pardon, Wilson. I hope I have not wakened you.”
“Not yet, sir,” Wilson replied smartly, but he would not have confessed even if Darcy had dragged him from the best slumber of his life.
“Good, then, I have a rather odd request. I would like for you to shave me.”
Wilson blinked, betraying the first hint of surprise Darcy had ever witnessed from him. “Now, sir?”
“Yes, I have a rather odd notion, and I will not sleep until it is carried out. I would like to do away with the moustache, please.”
The valet’s brows twitched once, then he was all business. “I will call for some hot water, sir.”
Chapter 30
Matlock
Elizabethsignedhernameto the bottom of the letter and read it over again. She had hoped to have some word from her family by now, but nothing had come.
“It is nothing to worry about,” Jane consoled her. “I have heard of mail becoming lost or delayed when the weather is bad, and you do remember what the wind and snowstorms were like back home.”
Elizabeth bobbed her head in silence and sealed the letter to be sent off with the post. Jane had a letter from Mr Bingley, and even Billy had a letter—this one regarding his quest to become a British national.
“It is everything splendid!” he cried, waving it so excitedly under Elizabeth’s nose that she could never have read it. “Beyond even my wildest imaginings! My Canadian citizenship qualified me for everything I had hoped for!”
“I thought you always meant to go back home,” Elizabeth said. “To Wyoming.”
He shrugged. “It was never truly home, you know. I only lived there three years, and I was never able to gather a church like I hoped, or find work that was not more out of charity than anything else. You know how it was back in Wyoming. No one ever had any use for me—they put up with me, but here, Ifit.”
Jane smothered a sympathetic smile. “All that matters is that you are happy. We would not stand in your way for the world, but I hope you are sure of this.”
“Surer than I have ever been of anything in my life,” he affirmed, with eyes all aglow and that letter clasped like a talisman. “I am to send a reply—Lizzy will you help me write it up? I must particularly note my six years in Halifax and my father’s place of birth. The earl and Miss de Bourgh are travelling to London tomorrow, and they said they would take it to Mr Darcy for me.”
“Mr Darcy? What has he to do with it?”
“Oh, did you not know? He was the one who is conducting the matter on my behalf. You know, since he was already in London, and he has the proper connections.”
“It is very kind of him,” Jane declared.
“Yes,” Elizabeth echoed. “Very kind.”
“Ah,thereyouare,Elizabeth.” Lady Matlock rose from her writing desk when Elizabeth came to her sitting room.
Elizabeth dipped her head. “You wished to see me?”
“Not I, but my husband. He stepped out for only a moment, so make yourself comfortable. How have you been faring, my dear?”
Elizabeth accepted the offered seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Very well, my lady.”
“Now, now, I’ll have none of that ‘Very well,’ nonsense from you. We are of the same stamp, you know—well, perhaps not entirely the same, but do not think you must put on a stoic face for me. You have hardly been eating, and Mildred tells me you sleep but fitfully.”
