“No, indeed – you must wait and speak with William. I know he wishes to talk to you about emigrating.”
“Emigrating? Good Heavens! Does he mean to flee the country?”
“He said last month before he went away that you must choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.”
He screwed up his face. “That certainly sounds like what he would say. But are those my only options? How perfectly dismal they all sound. I should like to stay here with you, cousin.”
He stopped and took in the scenery as they reached the old willow tree. A small stream ran along the side of the property, curling and twisting about along the gnarled, exposed roots of the tree. Kitty came here as often as she could, but she allowed her companion to assist her in walking over the uneven ground as if she had not long since mastered the careful footing required.
She held one finger to her lips in a motion for him to be quiet as she gingerly approached the ladder to the treehouse, which rested six or seven feet up, along the lowest branch of the tree. “Take a step back,” she hissed, drawing her skirts closer about herself. “You have hardly earned such a view!”
“I desire only the sight of a happy reunion between fair maiden and wicked feline,” He quipped, taking a few steps back. “And yet, if you should fall, I shall certainly catch you.”
“I shall only fall if you make me, with your distracting gallantry, cousin.” Kitty climbed the ladder with sure footing, and she was not at all surprised to discover Duchess inside the treehouse, for this was just where they had found her last time the maid let her out of the vicarage. She was, however, astonished to find the cat nursing half a dozen kittens.
“Well?” Her cousin called out from below. “Have you found what you were looking for?”
Duchess meowed smugly at Kitty, who turned around on the ladder in a pose that she hoped was as beguiling as it was triumphant. “Yes; seven times over! Come and see for yourself.” She scrambled into the treehouse, earning a cautionary hiss from Duchess when she got too close.
Her wicked cousin clambered up behind her, and remained at the top of the ladder while Kitty sat at the entrance to her treehouse, which was still a favorite haunt of hers. “Is itnot remarkable? I do hope Mr. Chasuble will let me keep one of the kittens!”
“It would only be right, for you are like a kitten, cousin. Besides, you have found his cat; you ought to have pick of the litter.”
They remained where they were for a little while, admiring the kittens, cooing over their tiny features, and praising the mother, who looked every bit as proud as her name entitled her to be. And, as was right and proper in Kitty’s estimation, her cousin looked exceedingly handsome as he marveled at the sight alongside her.
Until he nearly fell off the ladder.
But this was excessively charming, and Kitty decided it was time they put Mr. Chasuble at ease and tell him they found Duchess. Unfortunately, this would likely mean that her time with her cousin would come to an end, and she would be forced to resume her lesson with Miss Annesley. Kitty began to think it most unfair that she should curtail her governess’s enjoyment of the vicar’s company so soon, and after leaving Duchess the offering of bacon she had stuffed into her pocket, she led her companion the long way around the house, not quite in the direction her friends had wandered.
Kitty was pleased at the chance to acquaint herself with the man of whom she had heard so much from William. Though he only ever lamented Will Darcy’s profligate and chaotic extravagance, Kitty had always imagined the man to be just as she found him now – jolly good fun.
Over the next two days, she had the sublime delight of furthering her acquaintance with Will Darcy, despite Miss Annesley’s wariness at permitting him to remain at the manor. Kitty was sure it would all come out well, and the cousins would be reconciled when William returned. She also cherished suchhopes as her open disposition made it impossible to disguise, for she had over the past year given a great deal of thought to what might happen if she ever actually met the man who had inspired a great many fantastical entities in her diary. He did not disappoint.
***
William returned to Wildewood after suffering two days amongst the Hursts and Miss Bingley, without the company of his friend to make it bearable. Miss Bingley was unaccountably familiar with him, and took every opportunity to imagine some shared sense of disappointment between them, for they had both been abandoned by the earl and his relations, who had gone off to Kent.
In addition to his dejection at parting with Elizabeth – a sentiment he was convinced the shallow Miss Bingley could never dream of comprehending – William was also stymied by his own fruitless efforts to discover the truth of his origins. He had applied to several major newspapers and magazines with a request to comb through their records, but had either been ignored, forestalled, or denied by most of them. He visited the offices of the Gazette, where he was disappointed by their incomplete records; several months of the year he was found were missing from the archives – taken, according to a clerk, by the wife of a merchant who had promised to return them but failed to do so.
He was at least satisfied in his efforts to put an end to his masquerade as Will Darcy. He confessed his dilemma to Sir Rolland Moore, who sympathized with his predicament and consented to pen a letter addressed to William Worthing, informing him that Will Darcy had died of a sudden apoplexy. This would put an end to any curiosity about his reprobatecousin at Wildewood, and he would confess the truth to Elizabeth when next he saw her. He prayed it would be soon.
As his carriage came up the front drive, he observed most of his household assembled near the willow tree by the stream, and he alighted before the carriage reached the manor, curious what all the fuss was about. Miss Annesley and Mr. Chasuble were standing together near the tree, and Kitty came down the ladder of her treehouse to retrieve some milk brought by the butler, while the housekeeper offered her some linens. Kitty climbed back up to her youthful refuge, laughing merrily.
“Mr. Worthing,” Miss Annesley cried as he stalked over to them. “Mr. Chasuble’s cat has had kittens in the treehouse. Miss Cardew has decided her French lesson today shall be satisfied by speaking only in French to her guests.”
William could indeed hear the dulcet tones of Kitty’s excellent French accent coming from aloft in the branches, and he smiled. “How charming.”
Miss Annesley smiled tightly. “And your cousin….”
“A sad business,” William replied gravely.
Mr. Chasuble came forward to greet him exuberantly, but then he observed William’s mourning attire. “Oh dear, Mr. Worthing – I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity.”
“Unfortunately it does, sir. I have had a letter from some friends of Will Darcy’s, with whom he had been staying in London – he was carried off by a sudden apoplexy last week.” William produced the letter from his coat pockets and showed it to the vicar and the governess, who only gaped at him with disbelief. “It is a sad, sad blow,” he told them.
“But that is quite impossible,” Miss Annesley gasped, exchanging a queer look with Mr. Chasuble.
“Is that dear William I hear?” Kitty peeked her head out of the treehouse, displayed one of the kittens to him, and then replaced the tiny creature before bounding down the ladder to greet him with an embrace. “William, you will never believe what has happened!”
