William stared between Richard, Elizabeth, and Lady Catherine with a look of overpowering bewilderment, and then he staggered onto the sofa. “Can it really be possible?”
“I must ask myself the same thing,” Lady Catherine drawled. “I might also inquire as to how I could have possibly given the Almighty such great offense.”
Elizabeth let out a peal of laughter as she rushed to sit beside her beloved. “So you are really Mr. Darcy, after all. It is astounding!”
Lady Catherine rubbed at her temples, and Elizabeth relished the sight of her mother realizing she could not possibly deny her consent to a union between her daughter and Lady Anne’s son. “Have you any knowledge, sir, of how you came to be in the possession of Sir Thomas Grey, and why he did not come forward and answer any of the advertisements posted in several of the major London papers?”
William only shook his head in bewilderment, but Miss Annesley cried out. In examining the old handbag that had been so serendipitously retired to her, she withdrew an aged-looking letter from one of the pockets. “This is addressed to you, Mr. Worthing.”
William took the letter, muttering admonishments to himself for never examining the pocket of the handbag, and Elizabeth peered over his shoulder to look at the letter as he read it aloud.
Dear William,
If you are reading this letter, it must mean that I have died before you reached a suitable age for me to explain to you the mysterious circumstances of how you came into my custody. It is a sordid business, which I do not believe right to share with you at your present tender age of nine, but I do think it a right thing that you should someday know the truth.
Nine years ago, I was on a short trip to London, where I had business with my solicitor. I was staying at a small hotel in Marylebone, and preparing for my departure when I chanced to look out the window. Though it was early in the morning, in the dim light I saw one woman attack another in the street. The woman assaulted had been pushing a perambulator up the lane when she was attacked, and I instantly rushed outside to her aid and cried out for help.
The woman was bleeding from her head, and had fallen unconscious. Her assailant, a fair-haired young woman with a distinctive mole near her lip, fled before I could detain her. I brought the woman into the hotel and sent for a physician to attend to her injuries, though to my great regret, I had pressing business at home and could not remain present to see her recovered.
When I reached Wildewood a few hours later, my valet unloaded a handbag that I did not recognize as my own. More startling than this was the sound of a baby crying within the handbag. I again summoned a physician to ascertain that you were in good health – he estimated that you were about six months of age, and perfectly hearty.
And now I must confess my own selfishness, for I had always wanted a son. I did make some endeavor to discover your origins, inquiring both in London, and in Guildford, where I had stopped along my return home. The only clue I had to your identity was the ornament affixed to the handbag, which bore the letter W. My initial search yielded no results, though after a couple months I came across a notice in the Times – a family called Darcy had lost a child of about your age, and near the same time that I found you. They hail from the north of England, and of course they have nothing to do with the letter W, but I did contact them.
I received an uncommonly hostile reply from their relation, the Earl of Matlock. Apparently his sister’s family is exceedingly prosperous, and their notice had received a large quantity of fraudulent responses. In short, he refused to see me. I continued my search for a few months more, but when I discovered nothing useful, I resigned myself to the joy you had already brought to my life, and I married a respectable young woman who I had hoped would be a good mother to you. I am very sorry that this has not proven to be the case.
The years I have had with you, and the years I hope yet to enjoy raising you have been the finest of my life, but when I am gone, son, I give you my heartiest blessing in doing with this information what you will.
I only pray that you never read this letter, and that a dozen years hence we might discuss the matter over a glass of brandy in your favorite corner of the library.
I will leave off now, lest I require a second page. I will only add, God bless you, my darling lad.
Yours faithfully,
Sir Thomas Grey
Miss Annesley looked at him with astonishment. “Your guardian was my savior? I owe him my life – and yet how I have failed you, Mr. Worthing – that is, Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth gently took the letter from her beloved Mr. Darcy – trulytheMr. Darcy of her wildest dreams – and she examined one passage in particular. She looked over at Jane with a sudden recollection nagging at her. Putting aside her sister’s uncommon bellicosity in the parlor, Elizabeth appealed to her energetically.
“Jane, your drawings from London…. Did you not take the likeness of a woman remotely connected with the Darcys, a woman with a mole near her lip?”
Jane’s mouth fell open. “But I have my sketchbook in the carriage! I brought it with me to show our half-sister some drawings I made of our relations. I will fetch it at once!”
Jane ran out of the room, and a few minutes later she returned with her sketchbook. She found the portrait in question and presented it to Miss Annesley, who gasped. “I know her face! That is….” She broke off, looking at Lady Catherine.
Elizabeth looked questioningly at her mother, a strange presentiment churning in her gut. “Mamma? I fear there is something sinister in this.”
“Yes, your new Aunt Gardiner, formerly Mrs. Wickham, was then the wife of George Darcy’s steward. You would not have known her as such, Miss Annesley, for I recall you were only employed by the Darcys when they came to London, after my sister’s confinement. But I suppose you may have seen her at Darcy House. I know that the vile adventures came to London that spring, for I called one day to find my sister absent, and George’s mistress in his lap. He fled to his study as I rebuked his gauche display, and then I exchanged a few words with Mrs. Wickham. Good God, that was but a week before… surely I could not have provoked her….”
As Lady Catherine sat down heavily on the nearest chair, Elizabeth rushed to her mother’s side, their previous discord forgotten. “You cannot blame yourself for what that evil woman did! Do you think she meant to abduct him.”
“Perhaps – she may have thought there would be some advantage in it for her own son, sired by your uncle. I cannot guess how the handbag ended up on Sir Thomas’s carriage, but I know she must have been glad to have disposed of the babe. She could not even properly feign remorse in the aftermath of the Darcys’ devastation.” Lady Catherine shook her head sadly and clasped Elizabeth’s hand.
“You whimsical girl, you have done this – you have likely made your favorite aunt happier than she has ever been in the whole course of her life. I must write to her at once. As you, my nephew, have followed my discerning advice and acquired a parent, you may come here and let me look at you properly. Ah, give your aunt a kiss, then.”
William stood before Lady Catherine and swept into a very charming bow before taking her hand and kissing it. She pulled him closer, stood, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Well, in light of this new information, I believe we shall have another wedding to plan.”
Epilogue
