Page 97 of The Same Noble Line

Your servant,

The Reverend Thomas Morton

Darcy had nearly forgotten that cold, hasty journey to Warwickshire early in the year twelve. His hands trembled slightly as he opened the small packet. Inside was a note from a pastor in Liverpool and a single letter containing a dictated confession. The paper was aged, the ink faded, but still legible. As he read, his breath caught in his throat, and when he finished, he sat quietly for a time before reading it again.

“Fitzwilliam?”

He looked up to find Elizabeth in the doorway, her expression shifting from cheerful to concerned as she caught sight of his face. “What is it?”

“We have found her,” he said quietly. “The midwife who took your father.”

Elizabeth crossed the room swiftly, settling beside him on the sofa. “After so many years?”

“A confession, made to a priest in Liverpool before she sailed for the Americas. It was lost all this time.” He passed her the first letter. “Her son had incurred gambling debts. The men he owed threatened his life. She had arranged to say the babe had died and sell him to a man who desired an heir. It so happened that your father was the first male infant she came across, and being a twin, she thought it would not be so difficult for the mother to lose him.”

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth. “But how did Papa end up with Grandfather Bennet? You do not mean to say that he was the one who paid . . .”

“No.” Darcy kept reading. “She discovered the man who had engaged her was cruel, particularly to his wife. She could not bear to leave the child in his care. Nor could she return to Pemberley, for fear her son's creditors would find them or she would be caught and imprisoned.”

“So she took him to Reverend Bennet.”

“To the orphanage, yes. She thought the fine blanket would ensure he was well cared for, and later expressed her hope that her confession would lead to his recovery.” Darcy's jaw tightened. “She and her son booked passage to Boston and were to leave the day after this was dictated.”

Elizabeth was silent for a long moment and then she placed a hand on his arm. “We must tell Papa.”

Darcy gathered the letters carefully. “He will want to read these himself.”

They found Bennet in his usual chair by the fire, surrounded by his grandchildren. He was regaling them with what appeared to be a highly edited version of Perseus and Medusa. When they entered and met his eyes, his smile faded.

“Elizabeth, Darcy. You look uncommonly serious this morning.”

“Papa,” Elizabeth said gently, “might we speak with you privately?”

Bennet studied their faces, then turned to his eldest grandson. “Richard, my boy, would you take everyone to the nursery? I believe Mrs. Carlson mentioned something about fresh biscuits after luncheon.”

Once the children had departed with their governesses and nursemaids, Darcy handed over the letters.

He watched as Bennet read through the confession, his hands gripping the paper more tightly with each passing moment.

Finally, his father-in-law set the letters aside and removed his spectacles, polishing them with more attention than they required. “Well,” he said at last. “I suppose that answers the question that has troubled us these ten years.”

“Are you well, Papa?” Elizabeth asked softly.

“Quite well.” He replaced his spectacles. “Though I confess, I find myself rather grateful to that desperate woman. Had she completed her original scheme, I might have been raised by acruel man, been badly abused, or become cruel myself. Instead, I had a father who loved books and learning.”

“She might better not have taken you at all,” Elizabeth said quietly. “But I do not know what would have happened to Jane and me if she had not.”

Darcy’s heart beat a staccato rhythm in his chest. If Bennet had not been there to save Elizabeth, his own family would not exist. He did not like to think on that.

Bennet picked up the letters again, his expression thoughtful. “I suppose we ought to add these to the family papers. Future generations might enjoy realizing that our history was not so dull after all.”

A shout from the hallway interrupted them, followed by the thunder of many small feet running in the hall and Thomas’s cry. “Grandpapa! Jane says therecannotbe biscuits because we have not yet eaten luncheon, but Mrs. Carlson says we must only ask permission first!”

Bennet's eyes twinkled as he handed the letters back to Darcy. “It seems I am needed elsewhere. There is an urgent matter of biscuits to attend.” He placed a weathered hand against Elizabeth’s cheek. “I would not have changed a thing, my Lizzy, except that I should have liked to be a better father to you all.”

Before he or his wife could reply, Bennet had gone to meet his grandchildren. As the children surrounded their grandfather, Darcy slipped his arm around Elizabeth's waist. The final part of the mystery was solved at last, but the series of desperate choices and missed connections that had begun and ended here at Pemberley had led them all back to this moment, to this family.

He could not be more grateful.