Page 147 of Mr. Darcy’s Diamonds

“Sir, what I learned in Yorkshire will not remain hidden. We arrived last night, and I came as early as I could, but the truth will follow.” Mr. Darcy looked at him, willing him to see the honesty in his eyes.

Mr. Bennet swallowed. “You did not know what you would find in Yorkshire?”

Darcy shook his head, brows furrowed. Was this his concern? If Mr. Bennet thought he already knew about Elizabeth’s connection to the duke…Darcy was pulled from his thoughts before he could make sense of them.

“Then why would you go?”

“My cousin and I went to offer information to a man grieving his son. We learned more about his family, including that he deeply regretted his mistake that separated him from that son years earlier than it should have. He had planned to heal their relationship as soon as his son returned to England.”

Mr. Bennet wiped a tear from his cheek. “So, this man…did you tell him all you set out to reveal?”

“That and more, sir. After learning of his situation and his great love for his family, my cousin and I decided to tell him all we knew the next afternoon. I have never seen a happier man, sir.”

Mr. Bennet nodded, cleared his throat, and pulled out his handkerchief to brush his face. “Very well. You may tell Elizabeth, as well as the Gardiners. We will then decide how to proceed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Darcy turned to Elizabeth. She looked completely confused, as did the Gardiners. He reached out to squeeze her hand and led her to sit beside him on the settee. The others would be in the room for his revelation, but he was telling Elizabeth. This was her story.

Chapter Sixty-One

Elizabeth had known Fitzwilliam had found a few diamonds in his sister’s companion’s room. She had not known the companion was French and had stolen those and far more diamonds from Lord and Lady Rowe. She had felt a twinge in her heart when Fitzwilliam said Lord Rowe’s wife had also been in Antwerp and had been killed with him.

They had all listened, rapt, as Fitzwilliam told them about the Rowes, who turned out to be working for the Crown to help the war effort in several ways. The Gardiners were as eager as she was, excited to hear an adventure story better than the one they had been anticipating for weeks.

She saw Uncle Bennet had tears streaming down his face, though. Still, he smiled to hear of the bravery of the Rowes, as well. As much as it was obvious he knew some of this story, he did not know all. Fitzwilliam told them about letters and visiting Mrs. Younge and then going to Yorkshire to tell the elderly duke what had really happened to his son.

Elizabeth was grateful her aunt had taken the seat on her other side. Her fingers were still in Fitzwilliam’s firm grip, despite Uncle Bennet’s presence, but she took her aunt’s hand, too, when he mentioned the poor, sad duke.

“As my cousin and I sat and talked with His Grace, we discovered he had been estranged from his son. He had known nothing of Lord Rowe’s work for the Crown, and he asked us to tell him every detail we knew. He also wished to know about Lady Rowe. The duke had never met her because he had not approved of his son’s marrying her.”

Elizabeth gave him a sad smile and a light squeeze to his hand. They were attempting to avoid an unsanctioned marriage, unlike the Rowes.

“While Lord and Lady Rowe were in Antwerp, or perhaps even preparing to depart England at the start of their voyage, a painting was delivered to Rowe Manor in Yorkshire. The duchess had not cut off ties with her son, and she had recently visited him and commissioned a painting of him and his family.”

Uncle Bennet gasped. Elizabeth turned to him. He covered his mouth with his hands, and tears flowed freely.

“Are you well, Uncle? What is it?” She had never seen her uncle cry before today.

He waved away her question and nodded at Fitzwilliam to continue.

“As my cousin and I sat in the duke’s study, talking about his memories and of his love for his son, he kept looking behind us. Finally, I turned and saw the painting.”

Fitzwilliam hesitated. He looked at her as though waiting for her to tell the rest of the story, but she did not know it. She gave a faint shake of her head and offered him a smile to help him continue.

“Elizabeth,” he breathed. She was surprised her aunt and uncles did not say something about his informality, but she could not look away from his face to gauge their reactions.

He broke their eye contact and looked down.

“What did you see?”

He looked back into her eyes, studied her face.

“You. Elizabeth, I saw you.”

Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. Fitzwilliam pulled the miniature of her mother from his waistcoat pocket. He held it in his fingers so she could see it, but she quickly looked back to him and his eyes trained on her.

“The painting was of this woman and a man with your eyes…and of a baby girl with her father’s sparkling eyes and her mother’s dark curls.”

Elizabeth sagged back against her aunt, who released her hand to wrap her arms around her. Fitzwilliam held her hand even more tightly, as though afraid of allowing her to slip from his grasp.