Richard snorted. “The birth mark, of course. The one you think no one knows about, but I used to swim with you in the lake.”
“About Portugal,” Darcy broke in. “How did you know to look there, unless you had some involvement?”
“Oh.” Richard blew out a huff and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced about, and without waiting for an invitation, dropped into a chair.
Darcy lifted a brow and observed him in silence.
Richard bridged the fingers of both hands and stared at them before he began. “It was back in ‘09. I was stationed in Porto, do you remember?”
“Clearly.”
“Well, I met this young Portuguese lieutenant—Noronha was his name. We saw one another around the card tables, that sort of thing, but during the Battle of Porto, his horse was shot. I was near at hand, and I went back for him.”
Richard’s mouth worked, his face contorting with a myriad of memories. “We were both wounded in the battle, just seriously enough to take us out of the action for around a month. Noronha was the son of an old noble family, and was permitted to return home while he recovered. I think it was more to keep up civilian support than anything else, but he managed to secure a release for me as well.”
Darcy turned back to the window. “Then you spent a month in this Noronha’s household. So far you have said little to reassure me, Richard.”
“Does the name not comfort you somewhat? He was the man to secure your release, was Captain Rodrigo de Noronha.”
Darcy snapped his gaze back. “He—and others—told me there was some old connection with you, but suggested it to be of a more personal nature, and not limited merely to you. The implication was that you were acting with your father.”
“My father?” Richard shook his head in apparent puzzlement. “The only contact Father ever had with them was that Senhor de Noronha sent Father a fine box of cigars. He never even smokes them. No, their connection is but an incidental one.”
Darcy turned about in agitation. “Then who else was there? Did this Noronha have an associate?”
Richard seemed to sneer, and looked abruptly at the floor. “Vasconcelos. I remember him.Heis the monster. Noronha is just a puppet.”
Darcy straightened, his back to his cousin, and drew a long shuddering breath. “I met him,” he answered shortly.
“I do not doubt it. I was told they wanted some deed from you, but I had no idea what they were talking about. Do you?”
Darcy could not answer the question directly. He stared out at the shrubberies, his fingers twitching. Richard, wisely, did not press him for an answer.
“Who told you?” he asked in a weak, breathy voice.
“Who? Noronha, of course.”
“And you have never yet told me how you connected him to my disappearance.”
“Well,” Richard sat back and crossed one leg over the other knee. “I did what any self-respecting earl’s son does. I hired a private investigator, because I wanted to find out who had killed you and run him through myself. Believe you me, it would have been far less trouble to leave you in the grave.”
“And?”
“Noronha has a small shipping line, a family business for at least a couple of generations. My investigator turned up the name of one of his ships. That is all.”
“All! You cannot honestly tell me that you would abandon Georgiana and set sail for Portugal on so slight an inducement!”
“I did not abandon her! I found Miss Bennet, did not I? She has done better with her than I could have, for Georgiana was starting to take on the business of the household before—”
“Before someone attacked her!”
“I was about to say, ‘before Aunt Catherine returned,’ but yes, I suppose that was the same day.”
Darcy hissed and turned back to the wall. “Our aunt has made no secret of her ambitions. She wants Pemberley as a jewel in her cap, and could not get it through me.”
“Darcy! You do not mean to suggest that our aunt would conspire to have you taken. Naturally, it has occurred to me as well, but what could she gain by it?”
“Control, of course. It would matter little to her that you are not her natural son; she would have ruled you utterly.”
