Mr. Darcy's Daughters by Elizabeth Aston Read Free Book Online Page A

little woman, according to Mr. Roper at least, and he strikes me as being a young man with an eye for beauty.”
    Fanny rang the bell to give directions for when Dr. Molloy arrived and to order a glass of wine for herself and Camilla: “To soothe our shattered nerves, my dear; a little wine will do you good.”
    While Fanny settled herself on the sofa to flick absentmindedly through the pages of the Morning Post, Camilla sat down to her task at the writing table. The sooner the letter was written and despatched, the better. She tested the pens laid out for use, drew a sheet of paper in front of her, dipped her nib in the inkstand and began to write.
    My dearest Papa and Mama.
    That was easy enough, as were enquiries about their journey, how long the stages had taken, where had they stopped, what sights they had seen. She wrote about how they had settled in at Aubrey Square, the kindness of the Fitzwilliams, the pleasures of new clothes and well-stocked libraries and every day making new acquaintances. The Gardiners were all in sound health, she added for good measure, although much taken up with the preparations for Sophie’s nuptials.
    She bit the end of the quill as she came to the heart of the letter, looked out the window for inspiration, found none and returned to her writing.
    Belle and Georgina arrived in London this very day, in excellent spirits and escorted by an amiable young man called Mr. Roper, who had also been staying with the Downings in Oxford—he is a connection of theirs, I believe. He brought the strangest news, which has cast Letty into some considerable depression of spirits, as you will understand when I tell you that Tom Busby—our neighbour, Tom Busby, of Derbyshire—is not dead at all, but alive and in Belgium, where he has married the elder daughter of a Count de Broise. You will say that it is no more than a malicious rumour, but indeed it is not. Mr. Roper was formerly at school with Tom and knows him well. He—Mr. Roper—was in Brussels not a fortnight ago, and was strolling across the Grande Place when he saw Tom, as large as life, walking with a pretty young woman on his arm. He immediately addressed him, as you may imagine, calling out his name and exclaiming with wonder. Tom did not recognise him at all at first, but on Mr. Roper repeating his name and reminding him of school and other times spent together, he seemed to come to some recollection of the friendship.
    This was the point when Letty had let out her first faint scream—“With a woman on his arm?”—and collapsed on to the nearest sofa.
    The three of them then repaired to a nearby coffee-house, with Tom, Mr. Roper said, in a state of some agitation, and the lady also appearing to be very startled by the encounter with Mr. Roper. Tom remembered nothing of his life in England or in the army, although he did have some vague notion of hearing gunshot. He had come to his senses to find himself alone in a wood, with a dreadful wound to his head and with no recollection of who he was and why he should be there and dressed in little more than his shirt. He wandered about for some considerable time and in the end came to a house, that of the count, where they assumed he had been attacked by thieves and left for dead. He fell ill of a fever and spent many weeks hovering between this world and the next, during which time, of course, the battle of Waterloo had been fought and won, and his name posted among those slain in the conflict.
    The count knew him for a gentleman, from his manner of speaking and the quality of his few clothes and his dimly recalled life at school and at home. However, he remembered neither his name, nor the place of his birth or his family’s residence.
    Camilla had heard of blows to the head depriving a man of his memory. Falls caused by hunting could have such an effect, with someone brought home on a hurdle, and coming to with no recollection of anything that had occurred since breakfast. But in such a