Page 39 of Missing

Mr. Darcy was a little uneasy because Lord Matlock had chosen to attend his birthday.

Though their relationship was cordial, they had never been friends.

John Fitzwilliam had always believed himself superior to Mr. Darcy simply because he bore a title.

He had long presumed to dictate the course of Darcy's life, demanding free access to his fortune, and was in some measure dependent upon his support.

Unlike Mr. Darcy, Lord Matlock had no investments in trade. To him, it was a degradation to acquire wealth in any pursuit unconnected to his land. Yet he had no such scruples when compelled to solicit aid from others.

Fortunately, his wife, Lady Edith, was a most agreeable lady, which made his company more tolerable.

Viscount Roger Fitzwilliam and his wife could not attend the celebration, as their second child was soon expected, but he sent a letter to his uncle with warm wishes for his health and happiness.

Mr. Darcy was particularly fond of his nephews, who had always been affectionate towards him, Georgiana, and his late son.

Georgiana had meticulously planned her father's party and had invited one of his oldest friends. Mr. Thomas and his wife had long shared in both his joys and sorrows, and their presence was most welcome. She had also invited the Bingleys, who arrived first.

Caroline and Louisa were beside themselves with delight at the prospect of passing an evening in company with the Earl and Countess of Matlock.

Charles, Mr. Hurst, and Jane listened quietly to the conversation around them; the only one who included them was Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was already much engaged with his uncle.

Mr. Wickham, for his part, stayed near Mr. Darcy. He had kept his promise to stay away from Georgiana, yet he was too wary of Richard or Mr. Thomas to stray far. Conscious that he was not well regarded by Darcy's closest family and friends, he remained close to his godfather in conversation.

It was in that moment that Gibson ushered William and Elizabeth into the room. Wickham tried to continue speaking, but no one heard a word. His heart sank with fury: the attention of the entire company was fixed upon Dalton, not him. At once, silence fell.

"Thank you, Lizzy—and Mr. Dalton—for coming," Georgiana said warmly, unaware of the astonishment that had seized her father's guests.

"Thank you, Miss Darcy, for inviting us," William replied with solemn courtesy.

The Daltons approached Mr. Darcy, offering him their congratulations. He received them with kindness, though his gaze lingered on William with some curiosity.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, thank you for joining me on my birthday," he said. "Mrs. Dalton, I had the pleasure of meeting your husband some months ago at Mr. Gardiner's office. You recall the occasion, I believe, Mr. Dalton?"

"Indeed, I do, Mr. Darcy. It was the day uncle Gardiner introduced me to Fitzwilliam," William answered.

Mr. Darcy then presented them to his other guests. Wickham seethed with rage, resenting that his godfather gave Dalton so much attention. There was something about that man that unsettled him, something that threatened his schemes for the Darcy fortune.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas, as well as Lord and Lady Matlock, regarded the young man with open curiosity.

At first, they assumed he must be the son of Patrick or Jonas Darcy, George's cousins.

But when it became clear he was no relation, they were left to suppose the striking resemblance was but a coincidence.

"Son, who is that gentleman?" the Countess asked Richard softly.

"He is my friend and associate, William Dalton. I invested the inheritance aunt Maria left me in his business, and it has prospered exceedingly," Richard explained.

"Richard, do you not see how remarkably he resembles your uncle in his youth? It is astonishing—one might mistake them for father and son," she murmured.

"Mother, you exaggerate," Richard replied. Yet, upon observing his friend more closely, he was obliged to admit, "Indeed! Now that you mention it, the likeness is undeniable."

Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Thomas spoke of their days at Cambridge, with Elizabeth listening attentively and offering questions.

William, however, could hardly follow the conversation.

His eyes were fixed upon a great painting that hung directly opposite: a stately mansion beside a lake, encircled by forest. It was the very image that haunted his dreams, and he wondered why it seemed so familiar.

"Mr. Dalton, you appear much struck by the painting of Pemberley," Mr. Darcy remarked curiously.

"Pemberley? … Pemberley…" William echoed under his breath.

"Yes, that is the name of my estate," Mr. Darcy explained with a smile.

"I see. It looks a most beautiful place, Mr. Darcy," William replied.

"Dalton, the painting does not do it justice. You see only the lake here, but the mansion is surrounded by vast forestland," Richard added.

"And is there a river within that forest?" William asked, his eyes still fixed upon the painting.

"Yes, there is," Mr. Darcy replied gravely.

"I am sorry, Mr. Dalton, but your name is unfamiliar to me. Where is your family from?" Mr. Thomas inquired, as though suspecting some hidden truth.

"My family is from Manchester, Mr. Thomas," William answered with equal seriousness.

"Are you the son of a landed gentleman, or of a tradesman?" asked Lord Matlock, scrutinising him.

"My father was a tradesman—and the best man I have ever known, my lord," William answered firmly. He did not care for the disdain in the gentleman's tone.

"My lord, Mr. Dalton is still in trade, and he is proud of it," Caroline interjected with a false smile.

"Yes, Miss Bingley. I am the rightful heir to my father's business and legacy," William said with composure.

"It is far better to accept what one is, and one's proper place in society, than to pretend to be something one is not," Lord Matlock observed. Yet he was impressed; Dalton's bearing and intelligence betrayed a superiority beyond mere trade, and he could not help but be curious about him.

"And I find it commendable that you speak with such affection of your father, Mr. Dalton," added Mr. Darcy. He could not help wishing that his own son had lived to look upon him with such admiration.

Elizabeth, observing her husband's unease, chose not to leave his side. She also noticed that Jane sat silently beside her husband, avoiding conversation with anyone else. Plainly, she had no wish to speak with her sister.

After Lord Matlock and Mr. Darcy had spoken in William's defence, Caroline fell silent, while Louisa confined herself to talking with her husband and sister.

Jane, however, watched Elizabeth. She saw how others gathered eagerly around her, how Mrs. Thomas and Georgiana were engrossed in her conversation, while no one attended to herself.

Caroline and Louisa, also slighted, poured forth their resentment against the Daltons—and Jane could not help but feel a bitterness toward Elizabeth, though she knew, deep down, that such feelings were unjust.

◆◆◆

Violet felt weak, her throat sore, and her spirits low. Left alone in the house, she missed her dear Aaron, and in her melancholy, she opened the old trunk where she kept all his treasured mementoes.

Within lay the letters he had written to her when they were newly married and he was obliged to travel on business. Aaron had always been industrious and conscientious, ensuring that she never wanted for anything.

Tears came to her eyes as she recalled the many years they had waited in vain for children. Though her husband had never once blamed her, Violet had carried the silent weight of guilt for not being able to give him an heir. All that sorrow had changed on the day they found William.

In the same trunk where she preserved her husband's tokens, she had also placed the relics of that lost child discovered by the river.

She drew out the little shawl with which she had first covered him, and within it lay the threadbare garments he had worn that day, together with the small gold medal engraved with the letter F .

As she thought of her son, so elegant in his attire that afternoon, she could not help but notice once more the distinction in his countenance and bearing.

She had often wondered whether her William might be of nobler origin than that of a poor peasant's child, yet she had never dared confront the possibility.

She and her husband had done all they could to trace his parents, yet no one had ever come to her door in search of a missing boy.

'Perhaps I should show this medal to William,' Violet reflected, but she quickly dismissed the thought. She would not burden her son with doubts. At present, he was content and in love, and she could not bear to trouble his happiness with mysteries for which she had no answers.

◆◆◆

After conversing for almost an hour, the guests proceeded to the dining room to enjoy an excellent dinner.

Mr. Darcy listened with interest to his friend Horace Thomas, yet he could not prevent his eyes from straying continually to Mr. Dalton.

Something about the young man held his attention.

Although he wished to converse with him, he did not know how to begin; whenever he attempted to engage him, William replied with politeness, yet always concisely.

Across the table, Charles Bingley spoke animatedly with William, entirely unaware of his wife's conversation with Elizabeth a few days earlier.