Page 141 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

“If it is acceptable to you, Your Grace, yes, we would like to speak to you about Lord Rowe.” Darcy spoke gently. This conversation may prove too much for the elderly man. They would need to tread carefully.

“One week from today it will be nineteen years since he died. Did you know that?”

The younger men nodded. The newspapers had listed January 25th as the day of Lord Rowe’s murder, although the information sent to Etches indicated it could have happened a day or two later.

“Do you know how your son died, Your Grace?” Richard asked gently.

He waved his hand through the air to dismiss the question, and he looked past them to the door, as though waiting for someone else to arrive.

“The newspapers said something about buying diamonds for investments and then some thieves, but I cannot believe my son would risk his life for money. And especially not that of his wife. He loved her dearly, and it makes no sense that he would allow himself and his family to be killed for such a transient thing as money. Oliver was a good son. A very good son. I forgot it for a while, but my dear wife reminded me before she died.”

“I am sorry for your great losses,” Darcy said. He understood how the death of a family member could affect those left behind. To lose not only his son and hope for a continuation of his family line but his wife so soon afterward must have been devastating.

“Yes, well. What can you tell me of Oliver? Do you know why he really died?”

“Darcy has something to show you, but it is only a small part of your son’s story. We would like to tell you all of it.”

With that, Darcy withdrew a red silk reticule from his coat pocket and set it on the desk before him. From another pocket, he pulled out a black bag about the size of an egg and placed it beside the other. Finally, he set a gold pocket watch on the desk.

By the time they had finished telling the duke about the diamonds, war plans, paintings, and the rescue of a girl who had turned traitorous, the duke had tears streaming down his smiling face.

“I knew he was a good boy. He was always such a good boy. I did not give him permission to marry as he chose, but my wife loved the girl like the daughter we never had. I was going to meet her and their baby when they returned from their last voyage, but I waited too long. Still, I know he was a good boy.”

The duke’s gaze traveled again toward the door, as it had several other times throughout their recital of events. Darcy turned to see if perhaps someone stood there and realized a large painting hung by the door. It had been behind them since they entered the room, but as soon as he saw it, Darcy could not help but stand and approach it.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed. The woman was perhaps a little older than Elizabeth and her clothes of an earlier fashion, but it looked like her. Except for the eyes. His Elizabeth’s eyes matched those of the man standing beside the woman in the painting, his hand on her shoulder. And those of the infant girl on the woman’s lap.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“That is my son, Oliver, and his family.”

Darcy was startled, not having heard the duke and Richard come to join him before the painting.

“Oliver married Susannah without my permission, so we did not speak for some time. My wife had this painting done only a month or so before they died. As soon as I saw it, I wrote to Oliver, begging him to forgive my stubbornness, but they had already left England.” The duke laughed without humor. “This painting is my most prized possession. Along with this one of Eva, my wife.” He indicated a small painting of a middle-aged woman.

Susannah had been Elizabeth’s mother’s name. She had spoken to him of Susannah and Papa Oliver. Oliver was a common enough name, but he had never realized Lady Rowe’s name was Susannah. She must have been Susannah Bennet.

“Your Grace.” Darcy cleared his throat. “Your Grace, what was your granddaughter’s name?”

“Elizabeth.” He beamed like the proud grandfather he would have been.

“And…er. Your son’s wife. Do you know…do you know anything of her family? Her name before marriage?”

“Oh. It has been such a long time. I do not recall. She was from somewhere in the south. Hampshire or Hertfordshire or some such place. Her father was a gentleman but only a minor country squire. I thought her far beneath my heir. My wife told me she was compassionate and intelligent, though. Eva assured me Susannah did not marry Oliver for his money and title. I did not believe it at first, but I do now. Eva told me stories of their love and their happy little family. You can see in this painting how happy they were, do you not agree?”

Darcy turned pleading eyes on Richard, not knowing what he wanted from him but knowing his mind was too jumbled to work properly.

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Richard looked at Darcy, and at the painting, and then back to the duke. “Do you know what happened to your granddaughter, Your Grace?”

He looked confused. “She died in Antwerp with her parents. Did you not find evidence of her death, as well?”

“We did not actually look into the baby, Your Grace. We did hear bits and pieces indicating your son had a baby, but we found no concrete evidence that she went with them to Antwerp.”

“She did not go? But then, where was she?”

“She may have gone. We will have to look into the matter further. This Miss Baudains we told you of spoke of your son and daughter-in-law⁠—”

“But she said she only heard stories of the baby,” Darcy interrupted, eyes frantically searching between the other two men. “Do you remember, Richard? She said Lady Rowe comforted her with stories of her baby, but she never said she saw the baby or heard her cries. If the baby had been in Antwerp, where was she when her parents went to the opera or the auction? They must have left her behind, perhaps with her mother’s relations.”