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Chapter 1

Pemberley

October 1, 1813

To Fitzwilliam Darcy, known as William to family and friends, the scene seemed dreamlike. A misting rain had blanketed the land for days and that, along with the dreary autumn skies, made the small cemetery look as bleak as his heart felt. Moreover, the wind had picked up, causing the few remaining leaves and twigs on the ground to whirl about in endless circles.

The funeral had been organised swiftly, per his wishes, so few were in attendance. Glancing about surreptitiously at those near the gravesite, his eyes were met by Lord Matlock’s, and William’s gaze quickly returned to the labourers waiting to shovel dirt onto his wife’s casket.

Though he had not wished her dead, he supposed God would not hold him blameless for feeling nothing but relief to be released from the bonds of marriage to a woman who had made his life a living hell for the past eighteen months. Moreover, he cared not if those in attendance suspected his relief or might agree with the Almighty.

The pretence of mourning someone he had grown to despise finally reached a breaking point when the vicar began to read familiar scriptures over the grave. William turned on his heel and left the setting. Praying his uncle would heed his wishes and leave Pemberley as soon as the service concluded, he stepped into his carriage at the foot of the hill; however, before a footman could shut the door completely, his cousin Richard forced it back open, climbed inside and sat down opposite him.

“I am going with you,” he said.

William sighed heavily. “I thought you, of all people, would respect my request. At present I do not feel up to hearing any of my family tell me what I should have done or what I should do next.”

“Father and Leighton are staying at the inn in Lambton tonight and returning to London in the morning. I, however, am not leaving Pemberley until I get answers to my questions … answers that satisfy me.”

William did not reply, and they rode back to Pemberley in silence.

Once they reached Pemberley, William exited the carriage, entered the house, and stalked past his servants, going directly to his study without even so much as a greeting. Undaunted, Richard shrugged at the shaken servants and followed his cousin to the study, where he took a seat in front of William’s desk.

Before William settled into his own chair, he reached for the cord to summon his housekeeper, saying, “I have much work to do if I am to fetch my sister from your parents’ guardianship in a timely fashion. It would be kind of you to leave and let me get on with it.”

“Fetch Georgiana?” Richard’s laugh was hollow as he declared wryly, “If you bothered to talk to me, you would know that she is still too traumatised to tell Mother what happened between her and Anne, much less to leave Mother’s side.”

Suddenly there was a knock on the door, interrupting their conversation.

“Come!” William cried.

As soon as the door opened and the housekeeper stepped inside, William began issuing orders. “Mrs. Reynolds, I want everything that Anne de Bourgh changed since coming to Pemberley undone … down to the smallest detail.”

If the servant noticed, as Richard had, that William did not refer to Anne as Mrs. Darcy, she did not show it.

“See that all the rooms are repainted in their original colours and replace every counterpane, pillow and drape—anything she touched—with something as close as possible to those she tossed aside. In addition, have the footmen load a wagon with the furniture and paintings she brought from Rosings Park, as well as all her personal goods. I intend to ship them back. Find the original furniture and portraits she consigned to the attic and install them where they belong.”

“Certainly. Right away, sir.”

As she turned to leave, he added, “It is important that Pemberley is back to normal as quickly as possible.”

“I understand. I shall have the servants begin right away.”

The instant Mrs. Reynolds quit the room, Richard spoke. “Now that that is settled, shall we discuss why I am still here?” When William did not answer, he added, “I wish to know exactly what happened after your marriage that changed Anne into a complete stranger, traumatised Georgiana, and made you act like someone I no longer recognise.”

Richard knew well the expression that crossed his cousin’s face. It was the same look he had seen for the past year and a half any time he had tried to question William about Anne’s sudden transformation. The drumming of fingers upon a book lying on the desk filled the silence. Out of patience, Richard reached across the mahogany surface to grab the book and lay it in the chair next to him. Annoyed, William stood, walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured two glasses of brandy.

After being handed one, the colonel said, “Come now, Cousin. I am not your enemy. In fact, I am on your side. I always have been and always will be.”

William’s eyes met Richard’s and held until he replied, “I have had to keep silent so long now for Georgiana’s sake that I am finding it hard to believe that the threat no longer exists.”

“Did Anne threaten Georgiana? Please, enlighten me. After all, I am her guardian, too.”

William’s mind flew to the scene that would forever be engraved in his memory.

The afternoon of their wedding, he had walked into the mistress’ suite at Darcy House to find the wheeled chair Anne always occupied, even as recently as their wedding that morning, being rolled out of the room by a maid who would not look him in the eye. His wife was on her feet, as any healthy person would be, walking about the room whilst she instructed two other maids where to put her things. When Anne suddenly noticed him, she smiled defiantly.

After ordering the servants from the room, he had asked incredulously, “Anne, how is it that you are able to stand without any assistance?”