Elizabethturnedthepageand flipped it back and forward again. Three or four pages out of the journal had been torn out, and not recently. She fingered the frayed edges of the missing pages, noting how yellowed they were.
Curiously, she scanned the following journal entries. Here and there, more pages had been removed, and then the narrative would resume with mundane details of the household. She was nearly through the volume, and found that the remaining pages contained very little about Lady Margaret or her husband, the former earl. There was one curious entry, near the end, that caught her attention.
14 March, 1759
I am pleased to note that the dreadful business seems to be behind us. Mr Darcy assures me that we shall nevermore hear the name Vasconcelos, and he thinks he shall not have to return to that cursed piece of ground again. My brother, I fear, has nearly ceased speaking to us. I am quite satisfied with that, but Mr Darcy is rather distressed. He insists that we must maintain solidarity with our family, regardless of their perceived errors.
George has not turned, or so my midwife reports. The news is of some concern, for she informs me that if he is born ill, I may find it difficult to carry another child. That matters little to me, for George is to be the heir my husband requires. Childbearing is a tedious affair, and I shall be pleased to have done with it.
I have grand plans for the London house, and as soon as the talk about that poor dead fellow cools, I intend to hire the very best decorator to be had. Mr Darcy agrees that I must show myself a gracious hostess, and naturally I must present myself at court next season. I have confidence that in time, all shall be forgotten.
I have decided that once this volume is complete, I shall give up on journaling. I shall have weightier duties, and it has become rather bothersome to secrete this from the maids. Every corner of my habitual chambers are regularly cleaned, and it does not fit within my desk, so there is no place readily at hand to keep it. Perhaps one day I shall remove certain passages and give this into the keeping of my son, so that I no longer have the bother of keeping it hidden away. I must close for now, Mr Darcy has been wanting me this half hour.
Elizabeth dropped the old journal, eyes wide. A dead man! And the mentions of Portugal were too staggering to dismiss. Hurriedly, she flipped back to one of the first entries she had read. There it was, a reference to the earlier Mr Darcy visiting Portugal and conducting some business. How had she not noted it before?
Her hands tingled, then felt numb as she feathered through the pages. Oh, she must show this to William! Stumbling out of her chair, she raced from the library.
Matlock House, London
“JamesFitzwilliam!Iwouldspeak with you in private!”
The earl of Matlock had just been raising a glass to his lips when his sister forcefully invaded his study. His hand jerked, splashing amber liquid over his trousers. Annoyed, he lurched to his feet to brush off the troublesome stain. “Catherine? What the devil are you doing here?”
She slammed the door herself and whirled about in a storm of black mink and silk. “I will thank you to speak in a civilised manner! And why would I not have come, if my niece is deceased?”
“I had not thought you interested in leaving Kent. What is this all about, charging into my study like a harridan? Why can you not wait to be received properly?”
“Did you honestly think that I would not notice that monstrous announcement you had printed in the papers? I never thought you capable of something so foolish, James. Of all the preposterous notions! We settled that Georgiana was to marry a viscount, not some penniless second son who cannot be got out of his uniform!”
“Perhaps we have,” the earl smiled. “I have come to see the matter quite your way, Catherine. A viscount Georgiana shall have.”
“And Anne is to be wed to her cousin. This we agreed!”
He gestured dismissively. “Whatever pleases you, Catherine. You may have Richard for Anne.”
She lifted her cane, shaking it in his face. “I am not speaking of Richard. I have waited for you to confess your knowledge of it, but I can see that you do not intend to do so. Darcy has returned! I have seen him myself. There, now what have you to say to that?”
He had resumed dabbing the drink stain from his trousers, but stopped to gape at her. “Darcy? Are you consorting with spirits now, Catherine?”
She sneered. “Blasphemy! I speak of our nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy, perfectly alive and residing at Pemberley at this very moment!”
“I would tell you to see the physician, if one could be found willing to attend you. Darcy has been gone half a year! What do you mean, coming to my study and crying out about dead men walking about their former estates?”
Fuming, Lady Catherine de Bourgh committed one of the least lady-like acts of her life. She twisted her mouth into a tight scowl, grasped what remained of the earl’s drink, and flung it in his face. “He is not dead, James! I saw him with my own eyes, and conversed with him at length until he ordered me out of his house.Heorderedme!”
Matlock ground his teeth, murder in his eyes as the liquid ran down his face. “I always said the boy had sense. I ought to have ordered you out of my house years ago!”
“He accused me of conspiring to have him killed! I have never been so insulted in all my life. I insist that we make answer to this, James! I will not bear the brunt of whatever you have wrought with your scheming.”
“Scheming? I have done nothing against Darcy! Why are you so hasty to turn this on me? Where has he been all this time, if he was not dead, and why does he suddenly return? Had he some scandal to conceal?”
She blew out an impatient breath, rolling her eyes at his dullness. “He was in Portugal. Do not employ your arts with me, for I know you must have been involved in some way.”
“Well, I was not. The last word I had of Darcy, before I was escorting his body to the grave, was that he was in Town on business and intended to call in a few days. I never even had an opportunity to send a reply! Where does this ‘Darcy’ of yours claim that he was?”
“Did you not hear me? He was inPortugal, James. He was taken from the street, placed on a ship, and held captive for months, and you and I both know the reason!”
An uneasy expression passed over the earl’s face. His brow furrowed and his jaw fell almost slack. He put a finger to his lips and paced behind his desk. “Portugal?” he asked in a low voice. “I thought—”
