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The swift, steady click of purposeful footsteps echoed hollowly down the long halls of Pemberley. Laura Darcy heard the distant rhythm from her comfortable seat in the window of the sun room, and raised her head from her novel to listen.
The quick footsteps grew louder. She closed her book and swung her slippered feet onto the carpet.
The footsteps were almost outside the door. Laura stood up seconds before it slammed open, and her father strode into the room.
"Who is he?" He demanded furiously, brandishing a handful of letters in his right fist.
"Hello Papa," Laura replied calmly, "I see you've found my letters."
"Answer me, Laura! I will not stand for any of your blasted impertinence in this matter. I will not stand for it!"
Having no desire to incense her father further, Laura repressed a small wry smile at his manner. How he would hate to be told just how much he sounded like Great Aunt Catherine. It seemed to happen all too often these days...
"Very well, Papa," Laura acquiesced with uncharacteristic compliance. "I suppose you would like to know the whole story of Alexander and me?"
"Alexander!" Darcy practically pounced on the word. "Is that the villain's name, then? Alexander who?"
"I'll come to that. May I start from the beginning, please?"
Darcy's fury faltered, and he eyed his daughter suspiciously. She gazed back at him with clear, calm blue eyes, her demeanour entirely composed. This was quite unlike the angry, tearful scene he had expected from his fiery and headstrong offspring.
"What's going on here?" He asked, his face darkening in a heavy frown. "I have here proof of an illicit affair you have been carrying on under my very nose these past three months at least! Are you so debauched as to be beyond remorse, beyond distress even?"
Now Laura really did smile. "No, and no again," she replied. "First of all, our affair has hardly been illicit for Alexander is far too honourable for that." She stiffened slightly when she heard her father's disbelieving snort. "It's quite true, father. He would have come to you months ago if I had only allowed it."
"If you had allowed it? Why the devil wouldn't you allow it?"
"Because you would have turned him away from our door without giving him a chance," Laura replied simply with a loose shrug. She plunged on without giving her father a chance to respond to that. "It was only because of Alexander's insistence that you be told about us that I let you find our letters."
"Let me find..."
"Yes, I let you find them. And that answers your question as to why I am not surprised or distressed by your discovery or subsequent behaviour." She sighed. "I quite expected you to come storming in - I could almost have timed you. You see, I know you well, Papa. You reacted just as I anticipated."
"So... You would not have come to me at all..." Darcy struggled to take in his daughter's unexpected treachery.
Laura's voice softened. "You know, Papa, I would gladly have spared us both the pain of this meeting. To be honest, I wanted to elope, and it was Alex who wouldn't allow it. He said that was the coward's way out. He was right." Laura's eyes took on a misty, far-off look, and she smiled faintly. "He's always right."
Darcy sat down heavily. Laura was at his side in an instant, her eyes brimming with instant concern. "Papa, are you well? I am sorry to distress you Papa, truly, but you must understand..."
"Understand?" He barked suddenly. "Understand? At present, young lady, I understand nothing at all! One second I have a perfect daughter, a little stubborn perhaps, but otherwise as good a child as a father could wish for..."
"Oh, Papa, that was never true and you know it!"
Darcy ignored her. "...And the next moment, I find she is nothing but a - "
"Don't say it!" Laura cried, stepping quickly away from him. "You know nothing of us, Papa, don't dare say what you are about to say!"
The cruel, hurting words of a father betrayed were swelling in his throat, and Darcy never did deduce what kept him from saying them aloud as his anger demanded he should. But as he looked at his girl, her breath coming unevenly and her bright eyes burning with fiercely defensive pride, so clearly masking a daughter's pleading vulnerability, that suddenly the anger fell away from him and his shoulders slumped forward. He raised one hand to rub his forehead in a gesture of despair.
"God how I wish your mother was alive," he muttered, not expecting her to hear him.
But she did. She placed her hand gently over his. "So do I, Papa. But it would not change this. Alexander was meant for me. You must understand. Nothing can change our destiny."
Darcy raised his head, confusion showing in his eyes. "I've never heard you talk like this," he said quietly, bewildered. His fingers closed around the hand she had placed on his, and he looked down at it for several seconds. He lifted his gaze once more and whispered, "When did you grow up?"
Laura smiled at him, conscious that her eyes were stinging slightly. "I'm nineteen, Papa. I'm not a little girl any more."
"But you are, Laura. You've seen so little of the world, you've always lived among good people. You don't know how treacherous the world can be! This young man - how do you know he's not pursuing your fortune?"
"He's not!"
"Oh?"
"He doesn't even know I have a fortune. Papa, he only knows me as 'Laura'. He doesn't know I'm a Darcy."
"It would be easy enough to find out. Has he a fortune of his own?"
Laura paused. "No," she admitted, reluctantly. "But would he have made me come and see you if all he sought was my fortune? Wouldn't he simply have eloped with me?"
Darcy glowered. "Your inheritance is in my hands. He probably did not want to risk an elopement in case you and I become estranged."
"Oh Papa..." Laura threw her hands up in exasperation. "I don't know what I can say that will convince you. He loves me! I know that. And he is a good man - the best of men - and he is the one for me. Didn't you ever - " She stopped herself, but it was too late.
Darcy raised one eyebrow. "Go on," he said, but she was silent. "You were going to say, 'Didn't I ever feel that way about any one?' Why did you stop?"
Laura fidgeted miserably. "I - I didn't want to remind you of... I know you didn't... You and Mama..."
"What about your mother and I?"
Laura gave up. "I know you weren't in love with her, Papa," she said softly. "I was old enough to see that."
Darcy felt as though someone had kicked him hard in the chest. Winded, all he could mumble was, "You were only eight, Laura..."
She shrugged. "It was enough. I remember... I remember you were always polite to each other. Kind. And I saw you cry when she died. I think... you were friends. Is that right, Papa? You did like each other, didn't you?"
Darcy nodded dumbly. "Yes," he agreed distractedly, "Friends..."
Laura's shoulders slumped in strange relief. Her father could have no idea how it had worried at her over the years - the thought of her vaguely recalled, gentle mother and her beloved father having been miserable together. She didn't know why it should make such a difference, especially since it was all so long ago now, but somehow it did.
Meanwhile, Darcy was still recovering from the shock of hearing that his daughter had sensed the lack of passion his relationship with his wife and had carried the memory of it with her for all these years. In an instant, Laura's words had stirred up an unexpected maelstrom of recollections and emotions which had lain dormant for years.
"...Papa. Papa, will you give me an answer, please? Papa?" The voice at the edge of his consciousness came slowly back into focus. He looked at Laura.
"What?" He asked weakly.
She frowned slightly. "I asked if you would agree to meet Alexander. Get to know him. Give him a chance."
"A chance."
"Yes."
Darcy shook his head, feeling dazed and disbelieving. His little girl? The only light in his life for nineteen years? Wanting to marry? Wanting to leave?
For a long moment, he sat silent. Then at last, he let out a loud breath. "Very well," he said, a trace of hard determination in his voice, "A chance."
Mrs. Kirkpatrick stood leaning against the doorframe of her husband's office, a dreamy smile on her face as she watched her son at work. He was bent intently over some paperwork relating to the family's shipping business, but even in the midst of such concentration he kept whistling under his breath. It was the same joyful little tune over and over again. The same tune he'd come home humming after that day by the docks, three months ago. Mrs. Kirkpatrick knew she had every right to be well and truly sick of the melody by now, but she couldn't find it in her heart to be irritated by evidence of her son's happiness.
"Well, you're in yet another despicably good mood," She observed aloud, her smile evident in her tone, "Has the mail come already this morning?"
Alexander's head jerked up at the sound of his mother's voice. "Mother!" He cried, getting swiftly to his feet. "Mother, it's wonderful!"
Mrs. Kirkpatrick raised both eyebrows. "Well I have to confess I never found totaling the accounts quite so stimulating, but if that's what fires you up, who am I to argue?"
Alex rolled his eyes, grinning. "Yes, well, besides that... Don't you want to know what her letter said?"
"Oh, did you get letter today?" Teased his mother, "I'd never have guessed."
"You won't be so flippant when you hear what she has to say. Mother, you're going to meet her, and her father! Tomorrow, if it suits us."
Alex was right - surprise did render his mother speechless, but only for a moment. It was probably a record.
"Well, will wonders never cease!" She exclaimed, "Miss Mysterious is finally going to unveil herself?" Her eyes sparkled with humour, and with pleasure for her son, "Does this mean I even get to learn her name?"
"It's Laura."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes," Alex looked faintly uncomfortable, "Well you know the reason for that, Mother. All she will say is that she wants to be loved for who she is, nothing more and nothing less."
"And did you make the same stipulation? Did you give her your name?"
"She knows I am Alexander Kirkpatrick, and that I am... in trade."
"Well that's enough information for her to link us with your uncle, and his fortune." Mrs. Kirkpatrick's brow furrowed. "Alexander, do be careful. Fortune hunters can be so clever, so good at disguise. I just - "
"Mother, she is no fortune hunter. She is lovely. Wonderful. An angel." He laughed softly, and his eyes took on a far away look. "Most of the time," he amended, smiling. "Trust me Mother, you'll learn to love as much as I do."
Mrs. Kirkpatrick half-smiled, and walked forward to ruffle her son's hair and kiss him on the cheek. "I think that would be difficult," she said quietly, "But I can assure you: I am very much looking forward to meeting the girl who stole your heart. Whoever she is."
Darcy sat alone at his desk, his face thrown half into shadow by the light of a single candle which rested beside him. He was leaning back, and his eyes stared absently into the darkness. In his hands he held an open letter, the creased and discoloured appearance of which bespoke its age.
Fitzwilliam Darcy might have appeared to be sitting alone in his study at Pemberley, but it in reality he was miles away, standing in a crowded assembly room, surrounded by faces buried twenty years deep in his past. Very gently, unconsciously, his index finger was rubbing backwards and forwards over one word near the top of the letter in his hands.
Idly, his daughter's unfinished words came back to him. "Haven't you ever felt that way about anyone?"
He let out a long, slow breath. It was not a sigh. After all, he had hardly even thought of her for years. Long since stopped wondering what might have been, if only the letter he now held had reached another's hands. What good had it ever done to wonder? He was forty-eight now - far too old to go delving so far back into the past. "If only" was a phrase for dreamers and fools and he had no time for either.
It was Laura who had plunged him into this mood. Laura and her ecstatic, dreamy-eyed joy over her Alexander. Youthful passion paraded before him every hour of the day. Stirring dim memories which he would much preferred to have left forgotten.
"Haven't you ever felt that way...?"
The study door slammed open and Darcy jumped, swiftly stuffing the letter inside his coat pocket.
"Oh good, you're up! I was afraid I'd have to wake you. Well? Are you quite ready to leave?"
Darcy blinked at his daughter. Even in the dim light he could she see was fully dressed and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.
"Laura, the sun isn't even up!" He exclaimed, his voice rough from long hours of silence, "You can't mean to leave already."
She regarded him in astonishment. "Why not? The coach is ready, my things are packed, and you appear to be up and dressed."
"That's only because I couldn't sleep."
"Why on earth not? Oh, never mind. We can talk in the coach. Come along, Papa. We want to be in London as early in the evening as we possibly can, don't we?" She grinned suddenly. "Well, I do, anyway. I suppose you'll be dragging your feet all the way. Don't worry, Papa, I just know you're going to love Alexander, and his mother too, I'm sure. Though it will doubtless take you some time to admit it."
"I resent that implication," Darcy replied stiffly, but his reluctance was no competition for Laura's enthusiasm.
Producing an almost ceaseless stream of excited chatter, Laura managed to herd her father into the carriage before the sun was very far above the eastern horizon.
But Darcy's lack of sleep the night before took its toll on him, and they were barely ten miles out of Lambton before his head dropped to his chest and he began to snore, very softly. Laura watched him sleep, smiling fondly.
Her smile faded slightly as she thought of the task that lay ahead of her. Much as she loved her father, she really had no idea how she ought to tell him the one thing which he would no doubt consider the most crucial snippet of information. He would have to find out some time, and when he did, Laura suspected there would be no placating his fury at not having been told from the outset... But if he were told now, then there was a very good chance that he would turn on his heel and refuse to hear the name of Alexander Kirkpatrick spoken in conjunction with theirs ever again.
For Alexander - clever, honourable, gentle, funny Alexander - was in trade.
She remembered the day she had first met him, down by the London docks that winter morning. The air had been sharp, pinching at her cheeks and turning them pink and numb with cold, but Laura had delighted in the sensations. Even the stink of the wharves was welcome to her starved senses. Living in London with Mrs. Sheridan as a chaperone was like being wrapped up in cotton wool - bland, suffocating, frustrating, and deadly boring. Thank the Lord she was free of her - for a few hours at least.
Of course, Mrs. Sheridan would be outraged when Laura's escape was discovered, and would certainly pass on all the details of her misdeeds to her father, who would be equally furious to hear of her reckless insubordinance. But none of that could be helped. She was quite certain she could not have survived even one more minute of pouring tea, nibbling cakes and stitching cushion covers. It had been a clear choice: escape, or death by embroidery.
Escape had definitely been the right selection, she felt, as she dodged a rattling cart, ignoring the mud that lightly splattered her skirts. Who cared about a silly morning gown when the docks of London were spread about her in a charming, smelly, exciting, rickety, swarming sprawl? There was so much to explore, and so little time to waste!
Alexander Kirkpatrick had never had much cause for care before Laura Darcy came spinning into his life.
His father, John Kirkpatrick, had run a moderately well-to-do shipping business which he had inherited from his own father, who had inherited it from his father before that. John had been a kind and gently-spoken man, and not really cut out for the merchant business, but he was thoroughly respectable and well able to provide a comfortable life for his wife and son. Alex had enjoyed a happy childhood, attended a good school, graduated well, and then taken a job in the family business.
It was not long after this, however, that serious tragedy struck his little family for the first time - his father had gone to work complaining of pains in his chest, and had never come home again. John's only brother Richard had been left the painful duty of breaking the news to his sister-in-law and nephew.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick had not dealt well with the news. At first, her grief had crushed her, and she had been unable to believe that her dear husband was really gone forever. It took some time, but gradually the intensity of her sadness faded, and now when memories crowded her empty room late at night they were accompanied by a wistful smile. She knew then that she and Alex would be all right.
Alex felt his own grief lift somewhat when he saw that his mother was smiling again. He had always loved his father, but his real adoration was reserved for his bright, spitfire mother. It was with her that he had the most in common. He even shared her looks: dark hair, fine dark eyes, and features not quite handsome, but certainly very agreeable. His lively sense of humour and easy good-naturedness made him many friends. And he enjoyed life, despite the twist of fate which many of his acquaintances insisted had cheated him of his rightful inheritance. Alex, however, disagreed.
This 'twist of fate' was revealed to the world when, contrary to everyone's expectations except those of Alex and Mrs. Kirkpatrick, John's will did not leave the Kirkpatrick Shipping Co. under Alex's control. It stipulated instead that the firm be signed over to Richard, John's brother, whom John had always felt it should have gone to in the very beginning. He had known very well that of the two of them, Richard had been the brother with the head for business, and the knack for trade, while quietly-spoken John had never really excelled in either field. But he was the elder son, and their father had insisted that the conventional codes of inheritance be followed.
Alex knew that his father had lived almost all of his life with the feeling that he had somehow cheated his younger brother out of what should have been his. Alex understood, and for this reason, he disagreed with his friends when they told him that he should have appealed against the entailment. He told them to look up the profit figures for the company from the last three years of trade, which had been transacted under Richard's direction. The man had finally been allowed to fulfil his true calling, and the formerly 'well-to-do' Kirkpatrick Shipping Co. was now turning over small fortunes every month in profit. Alex felt that his father had done the right thing.
Besides, it was hardly as though Alex and Mrs. Kirkpatrick had been left destitute by the diverted entailment. John would never have allowed that to happen, and he knew that his brother would never allow it either. Richard was quite John's equal when it came to acting with honour, and besides, he was deeply fond of his brother's little family. But just to make things clear and legally binding, John left the stipulation in his will that in order to inherit, Richard must surrender 20 percent of the company's annual profits to his brother's wife and son, and upon his own death, the business must be entailed back to Alex, and only in the event of Alex's premature death could it go to Richard's own son. Richard, who had no children anyway, was only too happy to agree to all the provisos. And so it was that John's family grew wealthy, and Alex became the sole, much sought-after heir to an ever-expanding fortune... all of it made in trade.