Page 55 of Pemberley's Imposter
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The interview with his uncle was as unpleasant as he had imagined, but when they both went down to the cellar, the Earl of Matlock met his son at his worst. There was no denying the colonel was not in his right mind. It was like a dam had broken, and what was left of his reason had all but vanished.
The colonel fought the restraining ropes with all his might when Darcy opened the door to his cell. A string of curses thundered in his face, in between a renewal of the accusations he had made against Elizabeth, but he did not stop at that. Richard boasted about marrying Georgiana and becoming the master of Pemberley. Threatening to kill Darcy like he had murdered his superior officer—slowly and painfully. He did not notice the earlbefore it was too late. Too much had been said to retract his statements with any credibility.
The Earl of Matlock did not take the fact that Richard had killed his colonel in Portugal lightly. The superior officer had been a dear friend.
In the end, it was decided upon a hushed-up affair. Bedlam was too public; they found a physician in Scotland who accepted dangerous patients and treated them humanely.
Darcy stifled a sigh of relief when the Matlock carriage left Pemberley with both his relations. He immediately went to find his sister and pulled her into a fierce hug.
“Would you like to wait another two years before coming out into society?”
“Oh yes, I would like that very much, but why have you changed your mind? Did Cousin Richard persuade you?”
“Yes and no. There is something I need to tell you. Something so sinister it is as if it were taken out of one of those horrid gothic novels.”
Darcy told his sister a portion of what had happened the previous night—their cousin’s attack on Elizabeth and how he had tried to put the blame upon his wife.
“You know that while a gentleman is judged by his honour, a lady is judged by her reputation. It is not fair, but that is how it is. I would like to see you more confident and less persuadable before you brave the marriage mart. I happen to have married a wise lady who is the perfect teacher, but she cannot be expected to work her magic in a matter of weeks. She has trainedmefor nigh on a year, yet I am by no means fully educated.
“Jesting aside, I am of no mind to lose you so soon to any gentleman, no matter how honourable or distinguished he mightprove himself to be. You already have rank, connections, and fortune—you need not marry at all if you are not inclined to. Wait until you are certain you have found the right man for you, Georgiana. I promise it will be worth the wait…”
Chapter 18 Happily Ever After
Pemberley, August 1813
Darcy rocked his baby girl in his arms. Elizabeth was sleeping peacefully in the bed beside them after a long and arduous birth. It was to be hoped he would manage to keep the babe quiet for as long as possible to allow his wife her much-needed rest.
He had sent Georgiana to bed and shooed the housekeeper, midwife, and maids out of the room to be alone with the precious bundle in his arms. He allowed a single tear that he had fought so valiantly to contain to escape its confinement. The thought that he might have missed this miracle if he had believed his mad cousin terrified him. But that was all in the past, and this was unfathomable happiness.
His daughter’s vivid blue eyes fluttered open, and the sweetest whimper escaped her lips. He increased the rocking, which only elicited a louder mewl.
“Do be quiet. Your dear mother needs to rest,” he pleaded with his child.
Her unfocused eyes rested on his face before her bottom lip jutted out and began quivering.
“No, no, no!” he whispered fervently.
As soon as he spoke, the lip retreated, and a serene expression yet again suffused her countenance. She enjoyed listening to his voice. Elizabeth had mentioned something to that effect whilst the child was still in her womb. She asserted the baby liked his voice, because it could be kicking and punching, but when he spoke, all movements ceased. He searched his mind for something to say when the babe wailed her displeasure loud enough for Elizabeth to shift in her bed. Time was of the essence, and he looked his daughter deeply in the eyes.
“I have dreamt this, dear Elysande.”
Elizabeth had yet to name their child, but he could not call herdaughter. It felt too formal in this intimate setting, and the name felt natural.
“I have dreamt about this day, but not in this blissful state of happiness. Oh no, it was rather wretched. It was the same night my reprehensible cousin accosted your mother.”
The image of his wife giving birth to their child in a hovel with only a midwife and a young maid to help her made him shudder in revulsion. The second he went silent, her lip quivered.
“I know what would have happened if I had distrusted your dear mother, and that fate did not tempt me. One might say the repercussions of believing my cousin would have been intolerable.”
Darcy trailed his finger from Ellie’s cheek to her chin and adjusted her head so he could gaze upon her sweet face when he related the tormenting dream he had awoken from. The chubby cheeks and alert expression calmed his soul and soothed the terrorising memories. He gave her a summary of the dream and the vastly different outcome to the argument inthe library compared to the real event. The long separation and the struggles they had fought had resulted in a reconciliation as a decidedly different couple from what they were today. The description of the daughter he had imagined elicited a gasp from the bed—Elizabeth was awake.
“How did you know about Elysande? Did my father tell you the story?” she enquired.
“No, is it true?” he asked in bewilderment.
“Yes!”
