He walked to the window. The autumn sun was bright and merry. The festive season was upon them. For the first time in many years, he would be able to spend it with his family. And next year, he would be spending it with his wife.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Theeveningafterheshared his discovery with the other inhabitants of Darcy House, Darcy had another surprise.
“You are answering your own door?” asked an elderly man with a full head of white hair. Elderly, but not frail. He was only slightly shorter than Darcy himself and was built on a similar frame. When Darcy took a closer look at his visitor’s sneering expression, he was caught by the man’s eyes. They were the same eyes he saw each morning in his looking glass.
“I am without a butler at present.” Darcy was suddenly grateful that while Bennet had returned from Gracechurch Street before dark, Miss Elizabeth had remained to dine with the Gardiners. “Mr. Theophilus Darcy, I presume? Come in. We have been searching for you.”
As the man passed Darcy in the entry, Fitzwilliam poked his head out of the library down the hall. Darcy met his gaze and then inclined his head in Theophilus Darcy’s direction. His cousin disappeared back into the room.
The man frowned. “Your men have been chasing me. I am tired of running.”
“You have earned it,” Darcy said darkly as both Bennet and Fitzwilliam approached in some haste. He ushered his great-uncle into the study and shared an incredulous glance with the other men before they, too, entered the room.
Theophilus Darcy was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips.
“We know what you have done,” Darcy said. “Mr. Evans was remarkably garrulous.”
The man frowned but did not offer a denial.
“I ought to kill you here,” Fitzwilliam said coldly, stepping forward. “Had you actually harmed my cousin, I would not hesitate.”
The man was unaffected by Fitzwilliam’s threat, which made his cousin even angrier. Darcy held up his hand to stay him.
“What do you want?” Darcy asked.
Theophilus sat, though Darcy had not invited him to do so. “I need money. As this should all have been mine, I believe I am due a little assistance.”
“I see,” Darcy replied.
“I see you are quite mad,” Fitzwilliam spat. “Why in the blazes would we give you any money?”
Theophilus Darcy ignored him. “You are not the only ones who wish to find me,” he said to Darcy. “I owe men who are becoming . . . demanding.”
“I fail to see how that is my concern,” Darcy said. “Did you expect that you would have access to my funds once you had me murdered? They would have been completely out of your reach.”
His great-uncle met Darcy’s glare. “You are a field officer. You should know how anger can ruin a man. My brother betrayed me. I was very, very angry.”
“I have been very angry,” Darcy replied. “It has not incited me to plan a murder.”
“I was my brother’s heir for more than twenty years. Had I known I would not inherit, I would not have sold my business, and everything would have been different.”
Bennet had been silent, but now he spoke. “Forgive me, sir, but did your brother tell you to sell your business? Did he tell you to squander what you gained from that sale?”
Theophilus Darcy frowned. “Who are you?”
“It matters not,” Darcy said. “For you will not be here long enough for introductions.”
“I did not squander my funds. My wife died.”
Darcy looked up. This must be the loss Horatio Darcy had mentioned in his journal.
Fitzwilliam was clearly furious. He would as soon toss Theophilus out in the street and in front of a carriage as listen to him. Bennet’s grimace held no heat. He met Darcy’s silent inquiry with a sympathetic expression.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “would you mind waiting outside? It appears my great-uncle and I must have some conversation.”
Fitzwilliam crossed his arms over his chest, but Bennet tapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the door. Darcy knew he would have to speak with his cousin and deal with his disapproval later, but he was prepared for that.