Darcy.”
“But his own brother’s likeness does not exist? Come now, Mrs. Reynolds, did he turn into a brigand?”
“Oh no, Miss Bennet, ’twas nothing like that.” She stepped closer and spoke in a whisper. “You must not let anyone know I told you this: Mr. Peter Darcy immigrated to Ireland.”
“To Ireland? Surely, that cannot be so shameful. Why, his own mother was born there.”
“True, but ’twas the manner in which he left. Mr. Peter Darcy just disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
She nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight little line. “He up and vanished without a word to anyone. The family did not know his whereabouts for a long time. It caused Mr. George Darcy and my lady much anguish. Years later, they finally learned his destination, but he has never set foot on Pemberley since that time. ’Tis unfortunate that he ran away before his likeness could be taken.”
I turned back to the portrait of the young brothers. How sad to lose one’s place in a family, to simply give it up as though it did not matter. What had that done to his mother? I determined to ask Mr. Darcy the particulars. I would not discuss the family further with the housekeeper, but I found it all quite curious.
][
The date of the Whitbys’ ball coincided with Pemberley’s first crocus blooms. I know because I spent no little time awaiting their arrival in the gardens. Scattered throughout the vast beds, hidden in front of the hyacinth and daffodil bulbs, they emerged from the dark soil like soft, delicate treasures of pink, white, and lavender. The gardeners had planted them in abundance in the more prominent plots of ground, but I had discovered a hidden trove secured within a small alcove behind a brick wall at the rear of the house. It became my place of refuge.
Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to avoid his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings and errands for which she might employ her cousin.
Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father’s youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his dreary silence and avoidance of me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons were broached, and no further forays into Pemberley’s attics were suggested. In truth, Mr. Darcy said scarcely more than was necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming much of his attention.
I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening’s consumption of spirits diminished his enjoyment of the morning light.
We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.
“Will you not accept one paltry gown from me?” he demanded.
“Shall I shame you in the gown I wore to the Netherfield ball last year?”
“Of course not. You were lovely…but would you not like something new? It has been my experience that most women do.”
“I do not.”
We stared at each other as though waiting to see who would give in. “Very well. Attend the ball in the frock you have on, for all I care.”
He turned and stalked from the room. I felt as though he had slapped me.
And so, I spent a great portion of each day in that hidden alcove awaiting the crocuses. A stone bench sat in the shade, and it proved an agreeable haven in which to read and to think. I could not account for the change in Mr. Darcy. I knew an excess of strong drink produced adverse effects on a person’s behaviour, but what had precipitated this new habit? I had known him well over a year now and had never before seen him
“But his own brother’s likeness does not exist? Come now, Mrs. Reynolds, did he turn into a brigand?”
“Oh no, Miss Bennet, ’twas nothing like that.” She stepped closer and spoke in a whisper. “You must not let anyone know I told you this: Mr. Peter Darcy immigrated to Ireland.”
“To Ireland? Surely, that cannot be so shameful. Why, his own mother was born there.”
“True, but ’twas the manner in which he left. Mr. Peter Darcy just disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
She nodded, her mouth drawn into a tight little line. “He up and vanished without a word to anyone. The family did not know his whereabouts for a long time. It caused Mr. George Darcy and my lady much anguish. Years later, they finally learned his destination, but he has never set foot on Pemberley since that time. ’Tis unfortunate that he ran away before his likeness could be taken.”
I turned back to the portrait of the young brothers. How sad to lose one’s place in a family, to simply give it up as though it did not matter. What had that done to his mother? I determined to ask Mr. Darcy the particulars. I would not discuss the family further with the housekeeper, but I found it all quite curious.
][
The date of the Whitbys’ ball coincided with Pemberley’s first crocus blooms. I know because I spent no little time awaiting their arrival in the gardens. Scattered throughout the vast beds, hidden in front of the hyacinth and daffodil bulbs, they emerged from the dark soil like soft, delicate treasures of pink, white, and lavender. The gardeners had planted them in abundance in the more prominent plots of ground, but I had discovered a hidden trove secured within a small alcove behind a brick wall at the rear of the house. It became my place of refuge.
Since overhearing Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suggestion of marriage, I had done all in my power to avoid his presence. I practically threw Georgiana into his company, suggesting all kinds of outings and errands for which she might employ her cousin.
Even though I wished to satisfy my curiosity about the fate of my father’s youngest brother, Mr. Darcy had not proved approachable. He continued his dreary silence and avoidance of me. Obviously, he had little desire for my companionship. No more riding lessons were broached, and no further forays into Pemberley’s attics were suggested. In truth, Mr. Darcy said scarcely more than was necessary at the dinner table. And each evening after dinner, he sat on a corner of the sofa like a brooding wolf, a bottle of brandy claiming much of his attention.
I did not see him at breakfast even once during the days leading up to the ball. I assumed the effects of the previous evening’s consumption of spirits diminished his enjoyment of the morning light.
We had entertained only one brief conversation during that time, and it led to harsh words. Georgiana prevailed upon him to order me a new gown for the ball, and when I refused, protesting that I would wear the gown I had brought from Longbourn, his temper flared.
“Will you not accept one paltry gown from me?” he demanded.
“Shall I shame you in the gown I wore to the Netherfield ball last year?”
“Of course not. You were lovely…but would you not like something new? It has been my experience that most women do.”
“I do not.”
We stared at each other as though waiting to see who would give in. “Very well. Attend the ball in the frock you have on, for all I care.”
He turned and stalked from the room. I felt as though he had slapped me.
And so, I spent a great portion of each day in that hidden alcove awaiting the crocuses. A stone bench sat in the shade, and it proved an agreeable haven in which to read and to think. I could not account for the change in Mr. Darcy. I knew an excess of strong drink produced adverse effects on a person’s behaviour, but what had precipitated this new habit? I had known him well over a year now and had never before seen him
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