A Baby at Pemberley Read online

  "No luck at all so far," he admitted with a loud sigh. "I can't get a clue out of anyone local. My steward said she left Brighton and hasn't left a forwarding address. I've tried your family. None of them seems to have a flaming clue. It's like she's vanished into thin air."

  "We'll just have to be patient," Elizabeth surprised herself by saying. "Lydia said in her letter she wanted to give us time to adjust."

  Darcy shrugged his reluctant agreement.

  An attitude of patience and calm was what Elizabeth desperately longed for, but over the following week she discovered that it wasn't something she could simply switch on.

  Not when Darcy seemed preoccupied and eager to take off to the far ends of Pemberley each morning. Not when poor little Finn continued to be unsettled and most especially not when there was so much to think about.

  While she completed the final preparations for Darcy's birthday ball, she also had to divide her days between caring for the baby and trying not to think about his parentage. After years of desperately longing for a baby, she didn't dare complain to anyone that coping with Finn was difficult.

  ***

  What would they think of her? Society would nominate her as the most ungrateful host of the year. After planning the ball for so many months, she could not back out of it now. Darcy's friends from London and his family from Matlock were looking forward to next Saturday night's celebration.

  There was still so much to do. She still hadn't decided on the best way to light the garden paths that led from the front of the house around to the party area in the new courtyard.

  Final decisions had to be made about floral decorations and Elizabeth elected to use Darcy's favorite deep red roses from the garden. There were masses of them in bloom at the moment and she could arrange them informally in bowls and silver beakers. Fallen rose petals could be scattered on the serving tables for a romantic touch.

  Mrs. Reynolds had already ordered special napkin rings made from gold tassels and cord. Now, while Finn slept in his little capsule on the floor beside them, two maids washed the best fine white and gold china and set it aside in a spare room ready for use. The silver needed polishing and the gilt-tinged crystal glasses had to be rubbed with soft cloths until they were sparkling.

  Mrs. Reynolds's husband bought all the last-minute perishable items for the party. The footman collected Darcy's dinner suit which Elizabeth had sent out to be cleaned so it could be ready for the event.

  Elizabeth and Mrs. Reynolds kept a close eye on the weather and they made lists of all their last-minute tasks and allocated a time schedule for each job.

  But instead of going about the tasks of preparation in a flurry of excited anticipation, Elizabeth had to work with the weight of a constant gnawing sadness. The question of Finn's father loomed larger in her mind all the time.

  She found that her days were exhausting but almost manageable.

  The nights were more of a problem.

  It was harder to push her dark doubts and worries aside at night. The nights brought Darcy.

  When he climbed into her bed, nude, his long, strong body looking as gorgeous and sexy as ever, she wanted so much to reach out for him, to touch him and to feel the reassurance of his answering touch, of his arms enfolding her.

  But she couldn't.

  Not when she kept seeing him in her sister's bed.

  When, for the third night in a row they went to bed and, once again, Elizabeth avoided any physical contact, not even a hug and a kiss, Darcy demanded answers. His patience was obviously worn to threads.

  "What is it, Elizabeth? You've got to tell me what's wrong."

  She gripped the sheet tightly to her. "I think I'm going through some kind of nervous reaction," she told him. "I know I didn't give birth to Finn, but I am constantly in a state of vexation."

  It was hard to tell if Darcy believed her, but he didn't push the issue at first. He just lay with his hands stacked under his head, staring at the ceiling and frowning.

  Finally, he gave a huge sigh and said he thought she'd sleep better if he was in another room. Elizabeth's heart seemed to shrink in her chest, but she let him go without trying to stop him. She didn't want him to hear her crying.

  Each night the tension grew worse.

  She suspected she was behaving very badly. She knew she should confront Darcy, get the whole problem out in the open, deal with it and work out where to go from there.

  "I'll talk to him after the ball," she whispered to her white-faced reflection in the mirror. "I couldn't go ahead with the ball if I found out he'd been with Lydia. And I've been planning it for so long..."

  Once, when Finn cried for his early-morning feed, she couldn't summon the strength to get out of bed. She lay there listening as the baby's cries crescendoed and felt very sorry for herself. It was ages before she finally forced her legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled out to fetch his milk which a maid prepared.

  Darcy was already there.

  "I'll look after him," he told her. "Go back to bed. You need to sleep. You've been looking very tired."

  She should have thanked him, but was hit by an unexpected thought. Why should I thank him? It's his baby. Hardly believing she could be so ungrateful, she hurried back to bed without a word.

  And so the week continued. The worst seven days of her life.

  Elizabeth knew the close-knit fabric of their marriage wasn't just fraying, it was unraveling at frightening speed. She didn't have to push Darcy away any more.

  He was already distant. It wasn't just their lovemaking that disappeared, but all the little things, too. The loving glances, the brief but tender touches, the sharing of news at the end of the day. All the tiny stitches that had been gathering and securing their lives together.

  Over the years, these moments had supplied them with a thousand reassurances that they loved each other. As well as the sustained passionate edge that had always kept them alight and on fire for each other, there had been a deeper, stronger love.

  It had begun gently in the early years of their marriage, the way dawn arrived lighting the treetops and the rooftop of Pemberley till it filtered through to strengthen and warm the whole land.

  Like the sun, their love had become the source of light and energy that strengthened their lives. Now, in a matter of days, they'd reached the point where they were both so distant, so cold, so exhausted, they could no longer reach each other.

  Every night, life became more unbearable.

  The storm broke when Darcy came home on Friday evening to find Elizabeth in the library weeping over a book as if her heart would break.

  She slammed the book shut as soon as he entered the room, but when she looked at him she couldn't hide her face and she knew it was red and swollen from crying.

  "I've had as much of this as I can take." His voice was cold with anger as he walked stiffly towards her. "I know there's something really upsetting you and I'm sick of having you fob me off with stories about nerves and vexations. I'm sure that's not the problem. It's something to do with me, is it not?"

  Her heart thundered as he waited, stony-faced, for her answer. She wanted to shake her head, to deny it. This was the moment she'd been avoiding. Did she have to do this now? She'd been hoping to find more strength before the confrontation.

  "Time is up, Elizabeth, you must tell me."

  "This is not the night to talk about it," she protested.

  His arms rose slowly. Crossing them over his chest, he squared his wide shoulders and eyed her steadily. "It's got to be tonight."

  "But it's your birthday tomorrow."

  "My birthday?" he almost shouted. "It won't be much of a celebration if you are upset." He unfolded his arms and stepped forward to touch her tear-stained cheek with surprising gentleness.

  "Oh, William," she sobbed. "I'm sorry."

  He pulled his hand away and shoved it in his jacket pocket. "So am I. We seem to have ourselves in a bloody mess." Both hands safely in his pockets now, he stepped away
and stared through a window to the lake. He cast her a bleak glance over his shoulder. "Maybe I could handle this better if I had even a tiny clue as to what is bothering you."

  "I cannot believe you do not know," she whispered.

  Chapter Five

  Darcy's head was pounding as he turned away from the window and faced Elizabeth. "Believe me. I cannot for the life of me work out why this has happened to us."

  This time he wouldn't give in until he had the truth out of her. No matter how painful her revelation was, he was certain it couldn't be any worse than what he'd been going through for this past gut-tearing week.

  Every muscle in his body seemed to be clenched in an agony of tension; every nerve ending jarred as he waited for her response.

  She unclasped the hands that had been tightly held in her lap and pushed herself out of the chair. Without looking at him, she said, "You cannot pretend you do not know who Finn's father is."

  Finn's father!

  What the hell was she talking about?

  "What do you mean?"

  "Oh, William, for God's sake. Don't pretend. It's so obvious."

  Elizabeth was twisting her hands together again, but her dark eyes smoldered with accusation.

  His heart booming in his ears, Darcy felt thoroughly alarmed, as if he'd been cornered by a wild-eyed steer. He recognized the familiar tension in his body as it prepared for conflict, but his mind simply wanted to escape from this nightmare. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm sure you don't need me to spell it out."

  "You think—you think I am the father?" Is that what this is all about?"

  Her chin came up defiantly. "Yes."

  The shock caught him as if he'd been punched. He'd never heard anything so insane. He felt sickened by waves of conflicting emotion...disbelief...anger...frustration. "Elizabeth, that's completely and utterly mad!"

  "You didn't think it was so crazy when you sat in the study with Lydia last winter having a nice early-morning chat."

  He forced his mind back to her sister's visit. To his conversation with Lydia. "You're saying Lydia is my mistress?"

  Surely not. He searched Elizabeth's face for a response, a denial, an assurance of her trust in him.

  The only thing he saw was dark, unmistakable suspicion.

  He took two steps towards her, both arms outstretched, ready to shove these foolish doubts out of her mind.

  But when he saw the way Elizabeth almost jumped behind the chair, as if she needed a physical barrier between them, he stopped short.

  In dismay he watched as Elizabeth suddenly went limp. She gripped the back of a chair for support and turned her head away.

  "Elizabeth, tell me."

  His heart clattered wildly when he saw her nod.

  This was beyond insane. "I cannot believe you think that!"

  She made no response.

  "You really believe I've been—"

  Slowly, Elizabeth's tear-blotched, wretched face turned his way. "You tell me, Mr. Darcy."

  "Hell, no!"

  Her eyes closed and he thought she was going to be sick.

  He couldn't believe the choking hurt in his throat, the weight of grief in his chest.

  "You think we were lovers? Me and your little selfish sister had it off behind your back?"

  He checked his hands, sure that they were shaking with emotion, but they were gripped tightly by his sides. "Is that what all this has been about?" he asked.

  But Elizabeth slumped back into the chair and, leaning forward onto the desk, buried her face in her hands.

  Darcy rushed closer. "Don't go silent on me now, Elizabeth. We've got to finish this."

  He almost grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her around, forcing her to face him. But he was afraid that if he touched her, he might hurt her. He'd never laid a hand on Elizabeth in anger and he wasn't about to start now.

  After an agonizing stretch of time, she lifted her face to look at him.

  "William, I think I know why you did it..." the new calmness in her voice was a fresh shock "...but it's time for some honesty." Her brown eyes were surprisingly steady as she added, "I know how much you wanted an heir, but you should have told me..."

  "Maybe there was nothing to tell."

  "Everyone knows little Finn is the spitting image of you."

  Everyone? Was it possible to detonate on the spot? This was going from bad to worse to absolute fiasco. "What do you mean everyone knows? You talk like the whole bloody district is in on is... everyone except me! He knew he was shouting now, but this latest news was beyond the pale.

  "Mrs. Reynolds has seen the resemblance. William, anyone who looks at little Finn can see you staring back at them... It's only...it's only to be expected."

  "Oh, that's great." Darcy laughed bitterly. "Oh, that's rich, Elizabeth. The whole district would expect your sister's child to look like me."

  She ignored his logic. "It's the secrecy that has hurt me most. I thought we were so close, William. After all we went through with Lydia and Wickham and then his death, I never imagined there would be any secrets in our marriage."

  With a curse, he paced away from her, across the room. How mad can life get? Without even asking him, Elizabeth had taken it upon herself to assume he had bedded Lydia.

  He clamped spread palms to his temple as he shook his head... If he'd ever had any fantasies about his sister-in-law, they had never surfaced. But Elizabeth's imagination must have been working overtime. She'd been picturing Lydia in bed with him. She'd convinced herself it had really happened. Lydia surrendering her body so Elizabeth could have a baby. His baby.

  He moaned and slid his palms lower, pressing them into his eyes.

  No! This can't be happening to us.

  He felt drained, more exhausted than he'd ever known. A week's travel in rough country, long hours sleeping in a carriage, nothing could compare to the emotional exhaustion that engulfed him now.

  "Elizabeth, Finn is not mine. There's no way Lydia and I—"

  "Don't say any more. It's so unlike you to—"

  "To lie to you? You know I've never lied to you, Elizabeth, and yet you don't believe me."

  For a moment, he thought he'd made a connection. She frowned and her dark chocolate eyes were shadowed with uncertainty, but then her mouth pursed and she shook her head.

  "I want to believe you. Until now there has never been any reason to doubt you, but how do you explain the amazing resemblance...the family resemblance?"

  Her fingers shook as they traced the edges of the book in front of her on the desk. "Whenever I look at Finn, I can't help but see you at the same time... It's eating me up, Darcy. I mean, the only rational explanation is that you and Lydia—"

  "You call that rational?" Darcy couldn't hold back. "If the poor little boy really does look like me, it's just a coincidence, a million-to-one, or a zillion-to-one chance."

  With an angry snap of her wrist, Elizabeth flipped open the book she'd been fiddling with. It was a portrait album. Darcy hadn't seen it in years, but now he recognized it as his parents' album. Quickly she flicked past pages of wedding portraits until she reached a collection of prints of a mother and a baby.

  Fine hairs rose on the back of his neck. He took a step closer and then another.

  He stared at the baby lying in his mother's arms. Finn's little face peered back at him and his mouth turned dry as dust.

  Dimly, he was aware of Elizabeth looking his way. Her eyes were tallying a clinical assessment of his features, from his dark hair to the cleft in his chin. There was no warmth or emotion in her gaze.

  "Would you like me to turn side on for another angle?" he asked coldly.

  She flushed red, then shrugged her shoulders. "What are you going to do about it?"

  "What am I going to do?" he shouted, incredulous. "What can I do?"

  Elizabeth shouted back just as loudly. "You take it up with Finn's mother first. Have a long heart-to-heart talk with that little sister of mine... That shouldn't
be so hard considering how close you are."

  Stunned, Darcy stared at the woman he loved. The woman who meant more to him than life itself. The woman he once thought he had lost forever when she had refused to marry him the first time he proposed. Then she had a valid reason. His stubborn pride, his conceit and disdain for others was obvious. He had tried to separate her older sister from his friend Mr. Bingley. But now? This accusation of infidelity was maddening.

  He'd always considered meeting Elizabeth Bennet at the Meryton assembly to be the best thing that had ever happened to him. The very best thing.

  "Do you realize what you're saying?" he asked. "You don't trust me."

  She closed her eyes and sat very still, her mouth pulled in tight and pale.

  Elizabeth had always been The One. The Grand Passion in his life. But this hard, embittered creature was not the woman he'd married. This woman who shrank from his touch as if she detested him was someone else completely. How little she must have thought of him that she believed he could cheat on her like that.

  Where had his Elizabeth gone? How the hell had he lost her?

  Facing disaster, Darcy did what he'd always done. He considered his options and made a decision. There was really only one path he could take.

  It was an unthinkable, unbearable solution, but Elizabeth left him no choice.

  "If you insist," he said and he felt sick to the stomach, as if he were facing death, as if he were speaking to her for the very last time, "I'll go find your sister. But don't expect me back for a while."

  Spinning on his heel, he marched straight out of the room.

  "William, wait a moment. Come back!"

  Elizabeth jumped to her feet, but her legs shook so badly that she could hardly stand.

  He kept walking briskly away from her.

  "Darcy!"

  There was absolutely no sign that he heard.

  Horrified, Elizabeth stumbled after him as he marched, stiff-backed, through the lounge and down the hall to their bedroom. He was going to leave her. Oh, God, no! This couldn't be happening. She needed to know the truth about Finn, but she didn't want it at this price. She'd never wanted Darcy to leave.