Free The Plight of the Darcy Brothers by Marsha Altman

rejoining his wife, who was waiting for him on a bench. “Darcy? Are you all right?”
    How would he explain this to her? How could he possibly— “I don't know. This has become complicated. Please, I'll explain back at the manor.”
    The ride back was brief, and Elizabeth stroking his hair did nothing to relieve his frustration. In fact, it made him feel downright guilty. They retired to their own quarters, and he spelled out what he had heard at the banker's.
    “1797,” Elizabeth said. “Your father died—”
    “In November of 1797. He was ill for about a year before.”
    “And you were at Cambridge?”
    “No. I had graduated two years prior and…” But he had already done the calculations when he heard the sum granted and that a woman was involved. He just didn't want to hand those calculations over to Elizabeth. “… I had just spent a year traveling the Continent. I returned the previous fall.”
    “To begin your formal training? I mean, to be master of Pemberley.”
    “Yes.”
    “You did not accompany him on this trip—to set up this account?”
    “No. He made mention of the trip, but to be perfectly honest, I have little recollection of it. It was brief, and I was busy with other things. I think Bingley was up from University and had come in for the shooting season. So—I took no notice, and my father did not talk much about it when he got back.”
    Elizabeth paced in front of him, which terrified him, because he knew she would reach the same conclusions he had if she tried hard enough, which she would. “So a year or so after your return from your year abroad, some of which you spent here—”
    “—A small amount, at the beginning—”
    “—Your father goes to France and sets up an extremely generous account with an anonymous woman for someone who is obviously her son.”
    He could not bring himself to answer her. His silence said everything anyway, and he could see the anger rising in her eyes.
    “You think it's yours,” she said with such a lack of emotion that it was positively frightening.
    “It is within the realm of possibility.”
    “So you knew her?”
    “The last name means nothing to me, but—”
    “—That doesn't matter, does it? Do you even remember her first name?”
    He softened his expression. “Elizabeth—”
    She responded by slamming their bedroom door in his face.
    “Elizabeth!” he shouted, pounding on the door. There wasno noise from inside, other than the door soundly locking. “I—cannot further explain myself. And we have no confirmation! She could have been a family friend!”
    Still nothing. Darcy knocked his forehead against the door. “Lizzy,” he said, in a whisper that he judged loud enough for her to hear. “I love you. Please.”
    He almost fell forward as the door came open. Elizabeth's expression was of stone. “Then we will go to Mont Claire and get confirmation that there lives an old friend of your father who deserves a generous living.”
    Then she shut the door again. This time, he did not have the strength to protest.

    It was late in the evening when the messenger came to the Maddox townhouse, but this was no surprise. As both a doctor and a surgeon, Dr. Maddox was often called at all hours, as illness had no particular time schedule. His wife was quite used it and kissed him as he went off to work, as if he were doing so at a more proper time.
    He did not tell her where he was going. His patient list was confidential, to the point of most of it being in his head. Before marrying Caroline, he had been practically destitute for years, with nothing but a shabby apartment and a collection of books he had managed to save from the people who came to collect everything that belonged to his profligate brother, and thereby, to him.
    Maddox had saved many books by sneaking them out in the night. Those books were precious treasures that kept him company and were his only solace as his brother fled the countryto avoid his debtors. Maddox had