When Hugh returned to Cleremont, Holly was sitting alone in the library. Luncheon had come and gone, and so had their appointment to select their wedding invitations at the local stationer’s.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ Hugh told Holly contritely as she informed him of the missed appointment. ‘Did you reschedule?’
‘No, I didn’t. I had no idea when you might return. It’s obvious you have no interest in this wedding.’
‘That isn’t true.’ He sat beside her on the sofa and took her hands in his. ‘I was so damned furious when I saw that photograph in the newspaper, I had to get to the bottom of it.’
‘We had plans today, Hugh! We were meant to choose our wedding invitations.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘But the minute you saw that story in the papers, you forgot about us… about me, and you took off for Litchfield Manor, and Lizzy.’
She began to cry in earnest, scarcely aware of Hugh’s arms coming around her or the words of apology and comfort he offered her.
‘Perhaps it’s all a m-mistake,’ she choked out a few minutes later. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t go through with it.’
He drew back, perplexed. ‘What do you mean? Not go through with what – the wedding?’
Holly nodded miserably.
‘Darling,’ he said firmly, ‘don’t be daft! I forgot an appointment to choose our wedding invitations, that’s all. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry you.’
She blinked. Her eyelashes were matted together with tears. ‘If you have any doubts…’
‘I haven’t a single doubt.’ His words were firm as he took her hands once again in his and squeezed them gently. ‘I love you, Holly. I’m sorry I let you down.’
‘I love you, too.’ Another tear escaped and slid down her face. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m acting like a hormonal cow.’
‘No, you’re not. You’ve a perfect right to be angry with me.’ He eyed her in contrition. ‘I’ve an idea. Why don’t we go into Torquay and spend the rest of the afternoon shopping? We can choose our china, or a silverware pattern, or whatever else you like.’
‘I’d love that.’ She gave him a teary smile. ‘Let’s do it.’
He leaned forward to kiss her, then straightened. ‘I’ll go and bring the car round. Meet me out front in ten minutes.’
She got up from the sofa and kissed him again, long and lingeringly. ‘I’ll be right there, Mr Darcy.’
***
‘Have you seen this morning’s papers?’ Lord Darcy asked as Hugh and Holly came downstairs and into the dining room the next morning.
Holly, dressed for riding, felt her heart sink down into her wellies. ‘Not another Bennet scandal, I hope?’
‘Oh, no. This is good news, for once. The regatta committee have disqualified the Meryton from the race due to…’ He picked up the paper and began to read. ‘“Due to irrefutable evidence of unsportsmanlike behaviour.”’ He looked up with a smile. ‘Ciaran Duncan and his crew have been stripped of the title and the Pemberley is now the official winner of the Challenge Cup.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Holly exclaimed. She glanced at the table to congratulate Hugh’s brother, but he wasn’t to be seen. ‘Where is Harry, by the way?’
‘He went into Torquay earlier,’ Lady Darcy said. ‘Something about collecting the prize money and the regatta cup from the committee.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘He was rather excited,’ she added with a smile. ‘“Chuffed”, as you young people say.’
‘Yes, Harry told me the news would be in the papers this morning,’ Hugh said as he held out a chair for Holly. ‘I’m glad the committee saw fit to disqualify Ciaran. He wasn’t best pleased about it.’
‘I’m not surprised to hear it,’ Holly began, and cast her fiancé a curious glance, ‘but how could you possibly know that?’
Hugh told them about the excitement at the marina the previous morning, when Billy fell overboard and Harry dived in to rescue him. ‘Ciaran was there when Harry told us the committee’s decision. He was livid.’
‘Not as livid as you’re about to be,’ Harry said, his expression grim as he entered the dining room with a newspaper in hand. He held up a copy of the Daily Mail. ‘I saw this at the newsagent’s in Torquay just now. I bought every copy they had.’
Everyone looked up to stare in astonishment at the huge, bolded headline.
DARCY LOVE CHILD!
In slightly smaller type – above a photograph of Harry, Hugh and Billy taken on the dock the day before – the text read, ‘Hugh Darcy’s Shocking Secret! Full Story and photos, p. 3.’
Holly, wide-eyed with astonishment, looked at her fiancé. ‘What – what does this mean? Billy’s your son?’
Hugh thrust back his chair and turned, white-faced with anger, to his brother. ‘This is outrageous! Give me that newspaper.’
He didn’t wait, but snatched the paper out of Harry’s hand and tossed it down in front of him. He began to read as his brother wordlessly passed out copies to Holly and his parents.
With a sinking heart, Holly began to read the story.
Hugh Fitzwilliam Darcy, Inner Temple barrister and heir to the Twelfth Earl of Darcy, is facing allegations that he fathered an illegitimate son, William Edmund Clarke, seven years ago.
The boy’s mother, Imogen Clarke, currently receives no financial support from the wealthy Darcy family and struggles to make ends meet; until recently, her son William allegedly lived aboard a boat docked at the Longbourne marina.
A paternity lawsuit is expected to be filed forthwith.
A DNA test will be ordered and, if Darcy is found to be the natural father, a petition for financial support for the child will follow. Clarke and her son temporarily reside with her mother, Lady Georgina de Byrne, Mr Darcy’s godmother.
Neither Darcy nor Lady de Bryne could be reached for comment.
Holly felt the blood drain from her face and thought, for a moment, she might faint. She touched Hugh’s arm. It was rigid under her fingers.
‘It’s not true, is it?’ she said, and turned an anxious gaze on him. ‘Billy isn’t your son. It’s obviously a pack of lies. Isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is!’ Lady Darcy exclaimed, shocked. ‘How could you even think Hugh capable of such behaviour?’
‘I don’t,’ Holly said firmly. ‘I’m sure it’s all just a – a mistake, a shameless attempt to slander the Darcy name…’
‘No.’ Hugh, pale and shell-shocked, lifted his face from his study of the paper. ‘It’s…’ He stopped, and drew a deep breath. ‘It may – it might be possible.’
‘What the devil do you mean?’ his father thundered. ‘You’re either the boy’s father, or you’re not!’
Hugh glanced at Holly and away again. ‘It was stupid and ill-considered,’ he muttered. ‘A party, eight years ago, in London… Imogen was there… we…’ He ploughed a hand through his hair. ‘We slept together.’
His mother dropped her fork with a clatter. His father sputtered and struggled to form a coherent sentence. Harry stood silently by the door.
Holly removed her hand from Hugh’s arm and stood up. ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said to no one in particular, ‘I’m going riding. Please excuse me.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Hugh said, and stood.
‘Alone,’ she said.
‘But, Holly, you know what happened last time – you were thrown, and hurt. Let me go with you,’ he urged.
‘And I was thrown,’ she flung back, ‘because Lizzy insisted I ride that beast Thor.’
‘We needn’t talk. Just let me go with you…’
‘No! I need to get away from here. I can’t deal with this – with you – right now.’
‘I’ll go,’ Harry offered, as she brushed past him and made her way grimly across the entrance hall. He glanced at his brother and back at Holly. ‘Hugh’s right – you shouldn’t ride alone. You’re upset.’
But Holly didn’t answer. She was already out the door and on her way to the stables.
***
Lizzy Bennet lowered the Daily Mail to the kitchen table in disbelief.
Hugh Darcy had a son? And with Imogen Clarke, of all people…? She could scarcely get her head round it.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she muttered, and picked the paper up once again. ‘It’s not possible.’
‘What’s not possible?’ Emma asked, yawning as she came in and took a mug down from the cupboard.
Lizzy folded the paper and drew her mug of tea closer. ‘Nothing. It just seems that the entire world’s gone topsy-turvy. Nothing makes sense any more.’
Emma sat down across from her. ‘Such as? And don’t tell me “it’s nothing”,’ she added, and sipped her tea. ‘I always know when you’re lying.’
‘I never could keep anything from you.’ Lizzy sighed and pushed the paper towards her. ‘Look at the front page. Go ahead.’
For some minutes there was no sound but the ticking of the clock and the rustle of newsprint as Emma, her expression ranging from shock to disbelief, turned to page three to continue reading.
‘A DNA test will be ordered and, if Darcy is found to be the father,’ Emma read aloud, ‘a petition for financial support for the child will likely follow.’
She laid the paper aside. ‘Can you imagine? I’m sure Lady Sarah and Lady Georgina are having absolute seizures. When Imogen told us she once had a crush on Hugh, she wasn’t kidding, was she?’
‘Oh, I can certainly believe such behaviour from her,’ Lizzy retorted. ‘I’m sure she got with Hugh at the first opportunity, hoping she’d get pregnant and he’d marry her.’
‘But he didn’t.’ Emma frowned and sipped her tea. ‘It’s odd, really. He didn’t marry her, and she didn’t tell him he had a son. So why did she – for I’m assuming Imogen’s the one who’s bringing these allegations forward – why did she wait seven years to do it? It makes no sense.’
‘No,’ Lizzy agreed, and scraped her chair back with a grim expression. ‘It doesn’t.’
‘Where are you going?’
Lizzy bent down to retrieve her mug. ‘To Cleremont, to talk to Hugh. I intend to ask him straight out what’s going on.’
‘But – you can’t do that! Daddy’s forbidden us to go there, or have you forgotten?’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’ She paused. ‘But we’re grown women, Em, not little girls any longer. I can make my own decisions. And this is important. Daddy will just have to understand.’
And before Emma could say another word in protest, Lizzy hurried upstairs to get dressed.