Elizabeth, still engulfed in deep emotions, changed her tone when she answered. “I see you already have some complaints to make about your future wife!”
“Yes, absolutely!”
“I see,” she said, and Darcy recognised in his arms the young lady with her gown soiled at the hem, appearing before him one November morning at Netherfield—spectacular and defiant. “Then, Mr Darcy, please begin to tell your future wifeabout all the ladies you have loved in the past. And hurry up, we have only one month at our disposal.”
His laughter filled the room. Elizabeth, again terrified, covered his mouth. “Be silent, you fool, or you will drown out the music with your laughter.”
“And all the guests will come to discover you in my arms!”
“Yes!”
“Then let me dishonour you properly, to give them a good story!”
Elizabeth broke free from his arms.
“What a thought, sir. Here? Now?”
“Yes, my love, here we are in your future parlour and behind that door is your bedroom and then my bedroom. You can choose!”
She thought he was joking, but then Elizabeth realised that his face was severe.
“You are not joking.”
“I never do when it is about you.”
“I want to see my bedroom,” she said courageously. “And then your bedroom and we will have one month to decide where—”
“Where?” he insisted on knowing.
“Where I will become yours!”
∞∞∞
It was very late when they finally left. As soon as the carriage began to move, Elizabeth fell asleep leaning on her mother. Lydia and Kitty were still giggling when Mrs Bennet made a gesture to silence them. She took Elizabeth into her arms under the loving eyes of Mr Bennet, and together they watched over her sleep, perhaps for the last time.
Chapter 28
“It is late, but please join us for one last drink,” Thomas invited Mr and Mrs Bennet when they arrived home. “We want to share the whole story.”
It was the first time that Mr and Mrs Bennet had entered the duchess’s apartment and her elegant parlour. Mrs Bennet cast a glance around, wondering how many apartments there might be in that enormous house.
“Please sit,” said the duchess, her countenance far from peaceful.
“My dears,” Thomas began, “we are sorry to spoil what has been a marvellous evening with an unpleasant story, but it cannot be postponed.” Seeing the concern growing upon their faces, he added hastily, “It does not concern any of our young ladies!”
“It concerns Mr Kendall,” said the duchess, her voice sinking almost to a whisper, as though she feared they might be overheard.
“Let me tell them. Please, my dear!”
The Bennets already knew part of the story, as Thomas had hurriedly shared the news whilst they were alone upon the terrace.
“He is not your grandson,” Mrs Bennet said impatiently, whilst Mr Bennet attempted to calm her agitation in the face of the duchess’s evident distress.
Thomas nodded. “Yes, unfortunately, he is not. I had no suspicions at first, yet wishing to avoid future problems or dangers, I sent my man to Scotland to learn more about Henrietta’s family and her grandson. Then, living with him, my doubts gradually increased. Even though Sophia died many years ago, she had ten years in which to raise a different sort of man—a gentleman. Kendall knows a great deal, yet he remains a common man. Even Sophia’s husband came from a prosperous trading family; he was educated and received into higher circles, where he met Sophia. Unfortunately, my doubts grew with every passing day, though I could do nothing until proof arrived. Yesterday, Mr Haskett finally returned from Scotland. The news is bad, yet there is also a silver lining.”
“He is not my grandson,” said the duchess, a trace of sadness in her voice. “I wished so much to see Sophia, or at least one of her children, that I was prepared to believe anything.”
“So who is he?” Mrs Bennet asked, displaying her well-known appetite for extraordinary stories.
