A Baby at Pemberley Read online

  Heart in mouth, she followed him, her head swimming with a thousand desperate thoughts.

  Why was he reacting so fiercely? She had never seen Darcy look so angry. She hadn't known he was capable of such anger.

  Had he been hurt by her accusations? Was it because he was guilty?

  Would he come back?

  When?

  She clamped a shaking hand to her mouth. Heavens, what on earth would she do about the ball?

  He was striding quickly into the bedroom and, from the doorway, she watched as he wrenched the top drawer of his dresser open. With rough movements, he snatched up a bag and swept the contents of the drawer into it. Then he opened his wardrobe, ripped some shirts from their hangers and tossed them in, too.

  Elizabeth sagged against the door frame, watching him in horror. "William, don't do this. What can you achieve by going?"

  "I've told you exactly what I'm hoping to achieve." Hefting the bag onto one shoulder, and setting a few others aside for the footman to gather, he sidestepped around her, back through the doorway.

  "But you can't go now!" she cried after his retreating back.

  He continued on down the hall to the front door. "Just watch me."

  She couldn't let him go like this. She would have to tell him about the ball. If Darcy knew there were so many people coming for his birthday...

  Their carriage was parked in the front drive and he jumped down the three front steps and threw the bag into it's back.

  "Darcy!" Elizabeth cried. "What about tomorrow? It's your birthday."

  Ignoring her, he pulled the door open and swung his long body into the seat. He held the door open as he looked back at her for a brief, wretched moment. Then he slammed the door shut and shouted for the driver to leave.

  Elizabeth couldn't believe he was going just like that.

  No goodbye...

  She couldn't bear to stand there and watch him ride away. With a broken sob, she spun around and staggered back into the house, so blinded by tears that she banged her hip hard against the door frame. Behind her, she heard wheels spin on the gravel as Darcy's carriage took off.

  And from inside the house came the sound of Finn crying.

  She stood stock-still in the middle of the hallway and wanted to die. Darcy had left her. In a handful of heartbeats, her beautiful, wonderful man was gone. Instead she had a baby.

  How ludicrous was that? All these years she'd wanted a baby and now she had one. But at what dreadful price?

  Her legs threatened to give way completely now and she was forced to lean against the wall. How had it happened that she had a baby instead of Darcy?

  She'd gained a baby and lost a husband.

  Lost a husband!

  The terrible truth was so suddenly, blindingly obvious, she moaned aloud. A deep, agonizing sound. How could she have been so foolish as to have missed it till now?

  Darcy meant more to her than any baby.

  All those years she'd felt empty without a baby were nothing compared with the ghastly, deathlike hollowness that opened inside her now.

  She loved her husband. Why, without Darcy, there was no point in living. No point at all.

  She didn't care what he'd done. She couldn't go on without him.

  That shocking realization sent her sliding down the wall until she ended in a crumpled heap on the hall floor.

  Chapter Six

  "Darcy! What are you doing here?"

  Stretched out on the sofa in his uncle's sitting room, Darcy looked up to discover his cousin filling the doorway and looking predictably surprised to see him.

  "I am enjoying the comfort of the Earl's delightful sitting room."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a disbelieving roll of his eyes as he walked into the room.

  Darcy jumped to his feet and extended his hand to his cousin. "Good to see you, Richard."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam returned the handshake, but as he eyed Darcy his expression remained distinctly puzzled. "How long have you been here?"

  "I arrived last night, but obviously you were not at home." With what he hoped was a placating smile, Darcy settled back onto the sofa.

  But Colonel Fitzwilliam remained standing. A little shorter and burlier than Darcy, he stood with his feet wide apart in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. His dark brows and eyes, not quite such a deep hue as Darcy's, were fixed in a sharp frown.

  "Been busy?" Darcy asked, wishing Colonel Fitzwilliam wouldn't make it so darn obvious that this sudden visit was completely out of character. "I figured when you weren't here that you must have been called away on urgent business and needed to stay away overnight."

  "Since my brother's death, I have been quite preoccupied. Been away from Matlock for just over a week, actually." Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to frown at Darcy. He moved to the fireplace before he asked, "But why did you not write to tell me you were coming to visit? What's going on?"

  For the past twenty-four hours, Darcy had been trying to come up with the best way to answer this question. He knew it was inevitable and completely justified that Colonel Fitzwilliam would demand an explanation. He was hoping his cousin might hold the solution to all his problems.

  It was too painful to go into details about leaving Elizabeth, but there was no use in stalling. "I was hoping you could help me."

  For the first time, Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. "I'm flattered." Cocking his head to one side, he pulled an exaggerated grimace as if he was pretending to think hard. "I don't remember you ever needing my help before. Correction—ever asking for my help before."

  Darcy managed to crack a grin. "You know what they say about a first time for everything."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam headed for a lounge chair. He was about to take a seat when he looked at his pocket watch then swung around, staring at Darcy strangely. "Hang on," he said. "You shouldn't be here, Darcy. It's six o'clock. Damn! I haven't got time to sit here with you, either."

  "Sorry," said Darcy quickly. "If you have somewhere to go, pray, do not let me hold you up."

  "If I've got somewhere to go?" Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated. "You're the one with somewhere to go. You're the guest of honor!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's mouth opened and his light brown eyes rounded. He stood gaping at Darcy. His mouth remained hanging open for five full seconds before he snapped it shut again. "Hell. I forgot it's a surprise. You don't know."

  "What don't I know?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sank into the chair and, with an elbow propped on its arm, rubbed his temple while he stared at the yellow rays of the setting sun as they slanted through a window and lit up portions of the room.

  "Richard," Darcy said. "I've had a pretty rough time of it in the past twenty-four hours. Don't mess me about. What is going on?"

  "Er..." Colonel Fitzwilliam hesitated. "You said you wanted some help. You'd better tell me what's the matter, Cousin. I've seen wounded men on the battlefield that look in better shape than you do right now."

  "Are you sure you've got time to talk? What's this thing you have to go to?"

  "I'll explain in a minute. First things first. You fill me in about your problem."

  Letting his hips slide forward, Darcy settled a little lower on the sofa with his arms spread along its back and his legs stretched out in front of him. He wanted to look as relaxed as possible. No mean feat when he'd been in a complete tail-spin all day.

  "It's not a problem exactly. But I need to track down Lydia."

  "Lydia?" Colonel Fitzwilliam suddenly sat very straight, as if he'd been switched onto high alert.

  The reaction didn't surprise Darcy. In fact it gave him hope. "You know who I mean. Elizabeth's sister. Lydia Wickham."

  "Yes," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, swallowing. " Of course... But why do you want to find her?"

  "Well... you know this baby of hers..."

  "This what?" Colonel Fitzwilliam's face paled visibly and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the a
rms of his lounge chair.

  "The baby. A little boy—Finn."

  "Lydia had a baby?" Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice was almost a whisper.

  With mounting dismay, Darcy watched his cousin's shocked face. Maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. He'd been putting two and two together. Lydia had seen Colonel Fitzwilliam several times last winter. He'd been so relieved when it had struck him that Finn could well be his cousin's son.

  "He was born nearly a month ago."

  "Dead set? A month ago? Where?"

  "I don't know where he was born, but he is at Pemberley now. Lydia more or less dumped him on our doorstep."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam looked as if he was having trouble breathing.

  "You well, Richard?" Darcy asked.

  He watched as his cousin ploughed tense fingers into his thick dark hair. "I—I'm fine," Colonel Fitzwilliam said. After a while, he seemed to give himself a mental shake. "So Lydia's palmed her kid off onto Elizabeth, has she?"

  "Elizabeth's looking after him," Darcy admitted. "But, actually, Lydia's given him to Elizabeth—to us. It's all Lydia's idea. Some idea of a gift—because we haven't been able to have a baby of our own. And now that she's a widow, doubtful she can care for the child on her own."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam managed a weak smile. "I can imagine Lydia coming up with a scheme like that."

  "Problem is she's disappeared and, well—we need to get a few things sorted out. It's all a bit—messy."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam jumped to his feet and began to pace the floor. "Let me get this straight. Lydia's had a baby and she's handed it over to you and has taken off. And now you're looking for her."

  "That's it"

  "I've got that, but what I don't understand is why you're looking for her now? Why tonight? Couldn't it have waited till tomorrow? What does Elizabeth think about you running out on your birthday?"

  Darcy shrugged. "I have a birthday every year. Finding Lydia is more important."

  "But you don't have a huge ball with half the district invited every year."

  "Of course not," Darcy responded snappily. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam's words sank in. "Half the district? What are you saying?"

  "Elizabeth has been planning a ball for months. You're supposed to be at Pemberley now, dressed up and welcoming the first of your guests."

  A ball? The thought made Darcy dizzy. He remembered last night. Elizabeth running after him, calling out that it was his birthday. "Don't worry," he said dully. "Elizabeth will have canceled it."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a snort of disbelief. "Believe me, Darcy. She won't have canceled this party. It's been too important to her. She's written to me several times to arrange my parent's arrival and, I could tell by the tone of her letter, she's been as excited for weeks."

  "Well, she won't be excited anymore. I walked out on her last night." The words seemed to echo in Darcy's head and trample on his heart as he said them.

  "Walked out?"

  Colonel Fitzwilliam lowered himself onto the arm of the sofa and leaned close to take a long, hard look at his cousin. "Good Lord," he whispered. "You don't mean you walked out—as in left her?"

  Had he? Was that really what he'd done?

  He'd jumped into the coach and scorched off the property, too hurt and too damn angry over her crazy accusation to sort out emotion from reason.

  It hadn't really occurred to him that he'd been racing away from his marriage, but he'd been too full of steam to think clearly.

  Twenty-four hours later, he still couldn't make sense of what had happened. He certainly couldn't come near explaining to Colonel Fitzwilliam what it had felt like when Elizabeth had thrown her mistrust in his face—as if three years of fidelity suddenly meant nothing.

  He grimaced. "I'd say Elizabeth might be under the impression that I've left her. I told her not to expect me back for some time."

  He couldn't meet Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes, but in his peripheral vision he saw the way his cousin tossed his head back and he heard his shocked, almost scared laugh.

  "You cannot be serious, Darcy. You couldn't leave Elizabeth. Anyone could see that you two are made for each other. And she's absolutely mad about you. You two have the kind of relationship they write books about."

  Darcy closed his eyes. He didn't need his cousin to tell him what he could be losing by walking out on Elizabeth. He'd had a night and a day to think about it.

  It would be like losing his own identity. Several times he'd almost jumped on a horse and raced back. He wanted to charge into that house and explain in no uncertain terms just how badly she'd misjudged him on this.

  But, hell! If she couldn't trust him, she wouldn't believe anything he said.

  So he'd stayed here sweating, waiting for Colonel Fitzwilliam in the vain hope his cousin could help him find Lydia. Even if he wasn't the father, perhaps he had a clue. On this matter, he had no one else to turn to.

  But it had been a hell of a day. Beating off memories was the worst. He kept remembering so much... Too much...

  Right back to the day more than four years ago when he and Elizabeth had reconciled their differences and she agreed to be his wife.

  Full of apologies, they'd turned to face each other.

  And that was all it had taken.

  There had been a startling, unmistakable moment of instant awareness. Darcy had found himself immobilized by dark, chocolate eyes. Elizabeth had stared straight back at him and smiled. Good Lord! What a smile that had been! It had clinched a moment of connection. He was lost. Bewitched, body and soul.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam's noisy swearing brought Darcy back to the present with a lurch of raw pain.

  "I told Elizabeth not to expect me back till I find Lydia and get everything sorted out," Darcy told him. "So, if she was planning a ball for tonight, I'd say she'll go ahead and have it without me."

  Colonel Fitzwilliam let out his breath on a long, ragged sigh. "I cannot imagine what's going on in your mind, Darcy."

  Darcy's jaw hardened. "It's not half as mad as what's going on in Elizabeth's. Now, tell me, can you help me find Lydia?"

  Chapter Seven

  Beneath a slender new moon, the new courtyard at Pemberley rippled with conversation. Guests were seated under a white pergola that had been transformed into a fragrant fairyland of climbing roses and strings of tiny lights.

  They were dining at long tables covered with snowy white Italian linen. In the middle of the tables stood candles in glass holders and silver urns spilling with plush roses, deep red, as rich as burgundy velvet.

  The glassware gleamed as guests sipped wine. Laughter tinkled. From the lake, a pleasant breeze drifted. Everyone was enjoying their marinated roast lamb or braised veal shank served with wine.

  Everyone except the woman sitting at the head of one table.

  Elizabeth looked exquisite in the gown she'd ordered from an exclusive shop in London. Its neck and waist were richly embroidered with gold beading and the bodice and skirt were dotted all over with tiny gold sequins.

  When she'd seen her reflection in the mirror earlier in the evening, she had been stunned by how well it suited her. It had looked so good she'd almost ripped it off and pulled out something else. Anything would do. She'd bought this outfit for Darcy.

  For weeks she'd been looking forward to seeing his eyes when she first appeared in it. She knew she'd never worn anything before that showed off her good points quite so well. Somehow the gown’s subtle, delicate color blended with her complexion, her eyes and her hair to flatter her beyond expectation.

  Her guests had all remarked on how lovely she looked and what a dreadful pity it was that Darcy had been called away at the last minute.

  Of course, it had been too late to call off the party. By the time she'd gathered her wits and wondered if she should cancel, she'd realized that, to travel the long distance to reach Pemberley in time, some guests would have left home already.

  Mrs. Reynolds had insisted that the party must go on. She'd been dread
fully upset when Elizabeth had told her that she and Darcy had quarreled and that he'd gone away, but once she'd recovered she'd urged Elizabeth to tell her guests a white lie.

  "You can make up a story about that sickly young cousin of his. You know—the one in Kent. She could have died suddenly and Mr. Darcy had to go away to the funeral."

  "Oh, Mrs. Reynolds, I'm already in a mess. I can't tell a lie as well. It could get out of hand. Just imagine if it was to reach Lady Catherine. It would be terrible."

  In the end, she told her guests that her idea for a surprise ball had flopped. Darcy had had to leave on urgent business and, by the time he'd learned that he would miss his own party, it had been too late to change his plans. It was almost the truth.

  People had been very understanding.

  "Such a pity."

  "Poor Darcy. What difficult timing. And when you have a new baby to care for."

  "Bad call. But not much you could do about it, lass."

  She quickly directed the conversation to happier topics.

  "What a good season we've had this year."

  "Have you seen the courtyard? I'm so pleased with the way it's turned out."

  But now the opening pleasantries were over. The guests had met and mingled and mellowed with the help of champagne. Curious women had been satisfied by a peek at the baby, asleep in his cot, bless him. They'd been politely lacking in curiosity about his parentage and had wished her well with the guardianship process.

  After a few turns around the ballroom, they all settled in to enjoy the meal and the evening.

  And Elizabeth was left with her misery.

  She couldn't enjoy any of it. The food seemed dry and tasteless and the wine bitter. The beautiful canopy of stars above them lit the lazy lake so that it glowed with a pearly radiance, but the very beauty of the evening seemed to mock her.

  What kind of fool are you, Elizabeth? You go to all this trouble. Your garden, your clothes. You are surrounded by beauty — the countryside, this perfect night... But what does it matter? You've thrown away the only thing that mattered. You've thrown away Darcy. Fool...you silly little fool!

  She wanted wings. To fly away. To leave her guests. To abandon Mrs. Reynolds and her nieces working stalwartly in the kitchen.