Free A Peculiar Connection by Jan Hahn Page A

former glory. A family named Whitby had purchased some of the property and built the newer house.
    “They have two suitable sons, Elizabeth,” Georgiana announced. “I am sure one of them will please you.”
    I did not even bother to protest, for her brother growled enough for both of us. It did little to temper the young girl. She entreated Mr. Darcy to drive by the home of yet another family of young men in the area. He, instead, turned off the main road and onto a country lane that led us directly through the woods. When Georgiana questioned him as to our destination, he cautioned her to practice patience.
    We rode for some time, allowing my mood to lighten. It proved insupportable to remain melancholy on such a beautiful day, in the company of a cheerful, chattering girl and nestled snugly against the warmth of the body next to mine.
    “Here we are,” Mr. Darcy announced as he pulled off the lane onto a narrow drive. I looked in the direction he indicated and saw a small, well-kept church hidden well back within a shady glen. No sign indicated its name without, but a solitary cross adorned the steeple.
    “What church is this, Wills? I do not recall ever visiting here.”
    “It is not one of our persuasion.”
    “What do you mean?” Georgiana held out her arms for him to lift her down from our high perch.
    “It is a Papist church, is it not?” I said, climbing out the other side, unaided.
    “Papist? Here in Derbyshire?”
    “The religion is not outlawed, Georgiana,” Mr. Darcy said.
    “Certainly not prevalent, though. We know no one of that faith, do we, Wills?”
    His eyes met mine. Evidently, he had not shared the secret of our grandmother with his young sister.
    I was surprised when we found the door unlocked. Inside, we were greeted by the smells of incense mingled with lemon oil and old wood. One would never guess the beauty of the interior from the simple stone structure without. Georgiana marvelled in awe at the statues of the Madonna and Child and another saint, whom I did not recognize. As she and I crept silently about the sanctuary, Mr. Darcy disappeared through a side door at the front of the room. It seemed such a reverent place that both Georgiana and I spoke in whispers.
    “Is not the altar magnificent?”
    I agreed as we approached the table covered with a lace cloth and containing various religious emblems, among which I saw the Celtic cross.
    “Is it true they worship idols?” she asked.
    “I doubt it,” I said. “But I am not acquainted with their rituals other than I believe they confess their sins to the priest.”
    “All their sins?” Her eyes grew wide.
    “Do you find that shocking?”
    “I do. I should not like that to be a requirement of my faith.”
    I smiled. “I am certain you are a sick and wicked person.”
    Her lip trembled, and tears formed in her lovely eyes.
    “Oh, Georgiana, I did not mean it. I am simply teasing you. Forgive me.”
    “You might be surprised to learn how wicked I have been. I fear you would no longer think highly of me if I were forced to confess it.”
    I assured her that nothing she did would ever lessen her reputation in my eyes, but I could see it did little to comfort her. Mr. Wickham’s escapade with her had robbed her of her innocence. I put my arm around her and led her into the pews to sit beside me.
    “Georgiana, I know what happened at Ramsgate.” A look of horror covered her face. “It was not your fault. I know Mr. Wickham; he married my youngest sister, and he is a man who deserves to be branded wicked, but not you.”
    “I should never have entered into the alliance. I was such a fool.”
    “You were young. You are still young, much too young to recognize the man is a scoundrel.”
    “Your poor sister! How will she manage in a marriage to such a man?”
    I looked away, a cloud descending over my expression. “It is sad, but there was nothing to be done. Her name would have been ruined had she not married him. Thank