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breaking through a dam, the words gushed forth. When finished with the tale, I gasped, shocked that I had blurted out the truth and yet strangely relieved, as though a tight rope had been loosened from around my neck.
    Obviously shocked, she did not react in hysterics as Mamá would have done but kept her voice soft while attempting to use words that were sensible and comforting. “What else could he do, Lizzy? You have lived a sheltered life here in the country, but be assured these sorts of things are all too common. Mr. George Darcy might have disavowed any responsibility for you—many gentlemen do—but at least he provided for you.”
    “And that makes it right?” My voice rose in spite of my best efforts to curb my disapprobation. “A gentleman may betray his wife and desert the poor woman he takes as mistress as long as he provides for the result and keeps the good name of his family free from scandal?”
    She reached out and held my hand. “Dearest, your anger has made you distraught. I hope you will come to peace with it in time.”
    “I have known of it but a brief time, Aunt.”
    “Yes, and ’tis true that the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children.”
    “How apt that the word ‘ fathers’ is plural in Scripture, for when I allow myself, I find I also am somewhat angry with the father who reared me.”
    “Thomas should have told you.”
    “Did you know, Aunt? Were you privy to the secret all these years?”
    “I knew that you were an orphan and passed off as your mother’s babe, for she stayed with us in London during the very time she supposedly gave birth to you. Naturally, Thomas had to take your uncle and me into his confidence to support the story, and Fanny also needed someone in whom she might confide her fears and misgivings. Thank God it was your uncle and I who shared her confidence and not my sister Philips.”
    I closed my eyes at the thought of my Aunt Philips’s loose tongue, but when I considered it, I changed my opinion. “Perhaps it would have been better had Aunt Philips known the truth, for then I would have been told at a much earlier age, and this entire situation could have been avoided.”
    “Why would you say that, Lizzy? Neither Thomas nor Fanny knew your real father was the late Mr. Darcy. In truth, if Lady Catherine had not felt it necessary to inform you, none of us would know it to this day. I still do not understand why she revealed such a tale. Surely, she knew it would only bring scandal upon her nephew’s name. Why did she tell you?”
    I felt my face grow warm. I did not wish my aunt to ask me that question, for what was I to answer?
    “I…I do not know.” I fumbled about for words. “She seemed to fear an association between our family and that of Mr. Darcy…perhaps because his close friend is marrying Jane.”
    “Surely, she did not think you had designs on Mr. Darcy. Everyone knows your account of the man, although I did observe a softening of your attitude toward him when we visited at Pemberley. But you never cared for him, did you, Lizzy?”
    “Of course not,” I said quickly. I turned away and busied myself with a basket of dried blooms. Carrying them across the small room, I paid strict attention to sorting them into separate stacks by specie and colour.
    “I assume your position toward him did change to one of gratitude when you learned of his assistance to Lydia.”
    “I have expressed my thankfulness to him on our family’s behalf. At the same time, I do not wish to be further obliged to the man, so you see, it is best that I refuse his offer and remain as I am.”
    I looked up to see whether my aunt believed my reasoning, but her expression appeared clouded. However, she agreed to share the true circumstances of my birth only with her husband and assured me he would not speak of it, a fact I trusted and for which I was grateful.
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    The night before Jane’s wedding found me as nervous as the bride-to-be. My head ached anew at