An Unwavering Trust

by L. L. Diamond

  “Then shall we?”

  She held his eyes while she placed her hand on his arm, her eyebrow arched and a mischievous smile upon her lips. She followed his lead to the entrance hall, where Hobbes and a maid met them with their gloves and hats.

  “Have you decided to ignore me for my penance?” his grandmother asked from behind them. “Or are you simply too busy flirting with your wife to say farewell to your poor, old, and decrepit grandmother?”

  “Do not use the poor, old, and decrepit act with me, Grandmamma!”

  The pink blush that now was spread across his face gave Elizabeth a great deal of amusement, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from making a sound.

  “You have always enjoyed me calling myself poor, old, and decrepit.”

  “Because you have never resembled that description.” He stepped over to her and took both of her hands. “Thank you for all that you have done for us this past week—well, almost all that you have done.”

  His grandmother shook her head with a chuckle. “I enjoyed it. I only hope I will be around for the fireworks when your father and Lady Catherine come to call!”

  At that, Elizabeth relinquished control and allowed an unladylike burst of laughter.

  Her husband’s lip quirked in amusement as he shook his head. “As long as I am not part of that confrontation.”

  “Safe travels.” The dowager’s face straightened into an earnest expression. “And do not forget to send me a note now and then.” Fitzwilliam kissed his grandmother’s cheek, and she had him escort her the few steps to Elizabeth.

  “I will expect you to correspond with me as well. How else am I to know if he is telling me the truth?”

  Elizabeth grinned. “I will be pleased to write.” She leaned forward and kissed the older lady on her cheek, taking her hands. “Thank you for all your help. I do not know if I would have made it had you not been there for me.” The dowager opened her mouth to respond when Elizabeth interrupted with an impish grin. “Even if I could have done without this morning’s help.”

  The lady squeezed her hands. “I only want what is best for you and my grandson. I would have never exposed something so private if I had not felt it necessary.”

  “The carriage just pulled around front,” said Fitzwilliam, holding out his arm.

  His grandmother gave her a quick hug before she and Fitzwilliam made their way outside. He handed her into the equipage, took the seat across from her, and rapped his walking stick on the ceiling.

  “Grandmamma never mentioned you having problems in the carriage around London. Will you be well for the day in here?”

  “The idea may be nonsensical, but during a short trip, it is much easier knowing you will make your escape in a few minutes.”

  He smiled and swapped seats to sit alongside her, with his hand resting open and upward upon his leg. “My hand is yours should you require it.”

  She placed her palm atop his and smiled. “Thank you.”

  With an expression of genuine pleasure that she accepted his offer, he entwined his fingers with hers. “Shall we go home, Mrs. Darcy?”

  “By all means, Mr. Darcy. Lead the way.”

  The music room at Pemberley had always been Georgiana’s favourite room. She often spent hours playing her pianoforte while her father worked on estate business. This morning had been no different, until a crash from outside the room resulted in an inadvertent strike of a discordant note. Another crash followed, emanating from her father’s study.

  She leapt up and hurried to the entrance hall as her father stormed through. “I want my carriage readied! I am leaving for London at once!”

  “Father! What is the matter?”

  “Your brother has defied me—has made a colossal error. I must travel to London as soon as possible to salvage the situation.”

  “Might I go with you?” It could not hurt to hope. “I could work with my piano master and possibly see Fitzwilliam. The last time he was here, he had no sooner arrived than he had to leave again.”

  “No, of course not! I forbid it! You are to have no further contact with your brother unless I inform you the circumstances have changed. Do you understand?”

  She cast her eyes to the floor. “I understand Papa.”

  Fitzwilliam must have defied their father regarding the marriage to their cousin. He would not have been so furious otherwise.

  “I will return as soon as I can, Georgie. I promise.”

  She hugged her father and sighed. He would never accept that Fitzwilliam had no desire to wed Anne, but she could not fathom his demand for the betrothal in the first place. Her father had deeply loved her mother. Why would he not desire the same for his son?

  He strode from the room in long, angry strides, and at the close of the door, Georgiana exhaled with a great puff. She returned to the pianoforte, took a seat, and began to play again. Between songs, the carriage pulled around to the front of the house, and with a shout from the coachman, it departed.

  Almost ten minutes after her father left, Mrs. Reynolds bustled into the room. She closed the door behind her, and rushed over with a letter in her outstretched hand.

  “Fitzwilliam?”

  “Yes, Miss. I delivered one to your father earlier, and after his reaction, I felt it best to hold this one until he had gone.”

  Georgiana’s grin covered her face as she took the proffered note and her arms flew around the motherly housekeeper. “Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds!” Georgiana held her tight as tears flooded her eyes but did not fall. “Thank you!”

  Mrs. Reynolds chuckled as she pulled back. “Well, I for one am curious as to what news he sends. Your father swore, and did not give one hint as to what his contained.”

  Georgiana broke the seal, poured over the first few lines, and let out a squeal.

  “Well?” asked Mrs. Reynolds.

  The young girl cleared her throat, but did not stop smiling as she read,

  “My dearest Georgiana,

  My apologies for not writing sooner, but I hope you will forgive me when I tell you how my time has been occupied at every moment for the last fortnight. There is much to explain, but first, I must tell you that I will not marry Anne. By the time you read this, I will be married to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”

  “Thank goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Reynolds. The two ladies hugged and twirled around laughing. “Thank goodness.”

  Chapter 10

  The pump room bustled with activity as people gathered with their glasses of water, mingled, and traded gossip. Elizabeth stood to one side with her husband, observing all and sundry as they passed or stopped to greet an acquaintance.

  They had been in Bath for a few days, but one day in public was all she needed to ascertain how very uncomfortable Fitzwilliam was in public settings. The couple happened upon several acquaintances of his, and each time, he was stiff and formal, hiding his true self behind an adherence to propriety; however, Bath, despite her husband’s reticence, was diverting. Elizabeth enjoyed their walks in Sidney Gardens, as well as the performance they had attended the night prior. The soprano’s voice was divine, and well worth the effort her husband had made to procure the tickets.

  Overall, she had no cause to repine. Her husband had been very solicitous of her since their arrival, even ensuring that she tried the women’s baths, which had not been comfortable, yet she had been willing to make the attempt in order to improve the ache in her injured leg. She was simply not comfortable bathing with a number of other women in a large and scalding hot pool of water, even with the dark coloured flannel she wore.

  Her husband had also insisted they venture to the pump rooms twice a day to take the waters, since they were considered part of the treatment as well. She finished the last of the glass she was drinking and shuddered. Fitzwilliam took the now empty glass and placed it upon the end of the bar beside him.

  “Would you like more?”

  “No.” She cringed and attempted to swallow the remainder
of the foul flavour. “I have never before tasted anything so revolting.”

  “If the baths helped your hip more, perhaps we should concentrate on those and not bother with drinking the waters.”

  Elizabeth wrapped her hand around his arm and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should procure some of those biscuits we heard mentioned yesterday.1 The gentleman who spoke of them claimed they removed the bitter flavour.”

  He nodded with a smile. “I will send out for some when we return to the house, then.”

  They were about to make a circuit about the room, when they heard a familiar voice behind them.

  “I cannot understand why we had to travel to Bath. It is the end of the season, and all of the best families are leaving for their country estates, unless they are aged or infirm.”

  “You never listen to a thing Charles says, do you? When Mr. Darcy’s wedding announcement was in the paper, he slipped, and mentioned Bath.”

  The other woman scoffed. “Charles had no idea to travel here until you pushed for the holiday.”

  “No, he would not. But do you not see? Mr. Darcy brought his new wife here on their wedding trip.”

  “Caroline!” her companion reproached in a loud whisper.

  Of course! Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst! The poorly concealed reprimand was reminiscent of her own mother, who had never been the model of propriety in public.

  “Please tell me that you did not berate Charles into this trip because you wanted to follow Mr. Darcy!”

  Disdain dripped from Miss Bingley’s tongue. “No, it was because I wanted to see the little trollop he chose over me.”

  Elizabeth was not troubled over the jealous musings of Miss Bingley, but her husband must have been, since Fitzwilliam’s hand covered hers. She peered up to see him watching for her reaction, and rolled her eyes, which prompted him to give a tight smile.

  Mrs. Hurst continued, “You met her in London, or did you not pay attention when the Dowager Lady Matlock introduced Miss Bennet that day in the tea shop? She even indicated Mr. Darcy was in London to prepare for his wedding, but you were resolved that he would arrive on our doorstep any day to ask for your hand.

  “His family must have sanctioned the match. Between the rumours about his betrothal to his cousin, Miss de Bourgh, and now his marriage to Miss Bennet, you never had any possible chance of becoming Mrs. Darcy. Charles tried to tell you…”

  “Charles is useless,” seethed Miss Bingley. “He could have persuaded his friend if he was not such an imbecile.”

  “Well, that useless imbecile brought you to Bath when you demanded it, and we are fortunate he had friends who were not using their home, else we would have been relegated to an inn.”

  Fitzwilliam moved as though he might lean down to speak, but before he could open his mouth, the women began to bicker once more.

  “You cannot attempt any untoward action related to either of the Darcys, or consider shunning his wife. Charles requires Mr. Darcy’s help to purchase an estate. He has no idea how to manage a property and all it entails. You would also offend Lord and Lady Matlock, as well as the dowager countess. You would alienate us from society!”

  “But I must see them together for myself, Louisa! Did you hear the story Mrs. Grey heard from Lady Selwyn?”

  “Which rumour was this? The one where Lady Catherine de Bourgh travelled to Mr. Darcy’s estate in an attempt to annul the marriage, or the one where his new wife is the bastard daughter of Lord Matlock?”

  Elizabeth’s astonishment was so great as to almost overcome the bounds of decorum. She held back a guffaw, and gave a rather unladylike snort in the process. It was difficult to keep herself from burying her head in her husband’s shoulder in order to laugh uproariously. The entire notion was preposterous! Aunt Elinor and Grandmamma would have found an enormous amount of amusement in such a rumour. What a pity they were not present, so they could giggle and ridicule it together!

  “No!” blurted Miss Bingley. “I meant the fact that they shared a bedchamber for the entirety of their wedding night.”

  “That, I would imagine is not so uncommon, Caroline, especially, if he desires an heir straight away.”

  “I would call any woman who puts up with such behaviour a wanton, one who has no place in good society.”

  “As if you were familiar with the marriage bed!” Mrs. Hurst muttered under her breath.

  Fitzwilliam could hear them speak of her this way! Elizabeth bit her lip in mortification.

  “What did you say, Louisa?”

  “I told you, Caroline, that Mrs. Darcy is obviously familiar with the marriage bed.”

  Elizabeth’s face was aflame. She was riveted to the spot as she listened to every last word until Fitzwilliam led her away. She almost faltered, but fell in step with him as he steered her towards the doors.

  “Caroline Bingley is finished!” Her husband was so furious he walked at a faster and faster pace as he led her in the direction of the booksellers. “I would have never asked for that harpy’s hand!”

  “Fitzwilliam,” she called, out of breath, “can we perchance take a slower pace?”

  He glanced behind him and made an abrupt halt, so she could take an extra step to catch up. “I apologise. I have never liked Bingley’s sisters. They are the ones who do not belong in good society.

  “Hurst required his wife’s dowry, and I hope someone will come along who requires Miss Bingley’s—for that is the only way her brother will ever rid himself of her. Otherwise, she will continue to be a lead weight attached to his foot, dragging him down into the depths.”

  Elizabeth began to giggle and Fitzwilliam regarded her in puzzlement. “I am astounded by the creativity of some of the rumours. I mean, me, a child of your uncle’s? Anyone who has observed him with Aunt Elinor knows that he is besotted, even after all these years. Not to mention, I do not resemble any of the Fitzwilliam clan in the least.”

  Her husband nodded and one side of his lips curled in amusement.

  “I am also embarrassed to know that people have, indeed, gossiped about our wedding night, but do remember, it was your grandmother who ensured our sleeping arrangements would be bandied about. Just now, we heard the fruits of her labours.”

  Fitzwilliam stared at her for a moment before they both began laughing. “The fruits of her labours? I do not know if I would put it that way.”

  “But you laughed, did you not?” She sang in a triumphant voice. He placed her hand upon his arm, and began to stroll along once more.

  She had restored his temper, which was what was important. There was no use allowing such ridiculousness to ruin their day. Caroline Bingley would not spoil their time in Bath!

  “That I did, love. That I did.”

  The Dowager Countess of Matlock was seated in her favourite drawing room when there was a commotion in the entry, followed by the face of a harried Hobbes peeking in the door.

  “Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and Miss Anne de Bourgh, ma’am.”

  She groaned in irritation and stood, her body complaining as well. Of course, they would make an appearance, sooner rather than later, but why that evening? Hobbes stood to the side as Lady Catherine pushed George Darcy and her daughter out of her path to enter first.

  “Madam,” Lady Catherine began, with no attention given to a greeting or even a curtsy—no adherence to formality. “You can be at no loss to understand the reason of our journey hither.”

  “You have come to make peace, so we can be friends at last.” The dowager spoke with cheerful optimism in her voice for a simple reason: it would anger her husband’s eldest child.

  “Rebecca,” reprimanded the elder Darcy with a stern demeanour. “I do not think your sarcasm is necessary. We must know where to find Fitzwilliam.”

  “I am sorry, George. He and his bride are entitled to their solitude.”

  Lady Catherine struck her walking stick on the rug; however, the pitiful, dull thud could not have been the impressive sound she expected. “That
woman is not his wife! You are well aware that, from their infancy, he and Anne have been intended for each other. It was the favourite wish of his mother, as well as of hers!”

  “Which would be why my Anne counselled him to follow his heart and marry for love before she died.”

  “She what?” gasped George Darcy.

  Rebecca almost took pity at the shock displayed on his countenance. Had he listened to her after Anne’s death, rather than close his heart to matters too painful for him, he may have been aware of more than his own grief.

  She placed her hand on the back of a chair as she regarded him with empathy. “Anne asked for Fitzwilliam to be brought to her the day she died. I escorted him to her bedchamber and remained in the sitting room while they talked. He was with her for over an hour, and later, confided that he had waited for her to fall asleep before he left her side. She ensured he understood that she wanted him to marry for love and no other consideration.”

  “Anne was spineless.” Lady Catherine was unmoved by the revelation, but no one had expected her to become any more sympathetic now than in the past. “No doubt because she was your daughter. Everyone these days claims to marry for love, but no one does so in truth, because love has no place in marriage.”

  She shook her head and faced her husband’s daughter. “You missed out on a great deal, Catherine. I pity you.”

  “I do not require your pity!” roared Lady Catherine.

  A smaller voice came from behind Lady Catherine, and Rebecca shifted to the side to find Anne, who struggled to be recognised by her mother. “Mama, I have no wish…”

  “You will be silent, Anne. You do not know what is best.”

  The dowager rolled her eyes as she stepped forward. “Anne is four-and-twenty and a bright young lady. When will you allow her to express her own thoughts?”

  Lady Catherine sniffed dismissively. “Nonsense. She will think the same as her mother until she marries, and then she will think as Darcy tells her.”

  “My son has forgotten what he owes to himself and to all his family,” interjected George Darcy.