These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  Lady Catherine permitted herself a nostalgic sigh and a flutter of her aging lashes. “He was always so faithful to Anne! It is only a pity she was too ill for marriage for so many years, but I was very put out that he did not affirm their engagement last spring. She is perfectly strong now!”

  Richard coughed slightly. “It is a pity,” he agreed diplomatically.

  “Which is why it is all the more important that your marriage takes place as soon as possible. Anne must produce an heir, and her health—”

  “Aunt!” he cried in astonishment. “You are not suggesting that I marry Anne!”

  She blinked slowly, as one compelled to explain patently obvious matters to a child. “I have sent a letter to my solicitor. He is to print the announcement as soon as Anne’s half-mourning period for Darcy is complete. A full mourning shall not be necessary, for their engagement was never announced publicly. As for the date, April would be in poor taste, but May shall still suit. Young brides are more successful at conceiving an heir in the spring months.”

  Richard felt his forehead beginning to sweat. “Aunt, there has never been any symptom of regard between my cousin and myself, beyond what is proper for near relations. I have never held any inclinations toward marriage—”

  A bored hiss escaped the lady’s lips as she fairly rolled her eyes. “Regard! Do not trouble me with such callow notions. Richard Fitzwilliam, it is for you to step into Darcy’s place! You must see to Georgiana’s upbringing and the well-being of Pemberley until she is decently married, and you will fulfill your duties to Anne. Heaven and earth, you would not leave her another year on the shelf. Rosings requires an heir, and Georgiana is in need of a woman’s guidance!”

  “Feminine advice I shall not deny her, Aunt, but for me to marry Anne—”

  “Fitzwilliam, I tolerated Darcy’s delays for years. He put off my advice regarding Georgiana, and he dallied with Anne’s sentiments, but no longer shall I remain silent! I will see Anne with child and Georgiana engaged to a suitable candidate by this time next year. I will not be dissuaded!”

  Richard could command himself no longer. He caught shaking fingers in his collar and tugged for dear life, as though his cravat were the only thing cutting off his supply of air. How did Darcy ever prevail against our aunt? Never once had his cousin capitulated on matters of import. He simply adopted that “Darcy” stance, returned deadpan for outrage, and carried his own point. How?

  “Aunt,” he croaked, affecting to turn and pace so that he was not required to look Lady Catherine in the eye, “there are so many other matters that require my immediate attention, my head can hardly sustain such schemes. Perhaps we may defer talk of… alliances… for a few months.”

  She drew in a measured breath, lifting her chin and lowering her gaze like a hawk. “Naturally one might expect the transition from military life to civilian duties would be a difficulty. Pemberley is, I think you understand now, a much larger concern than your few boys in uniform. None managed Pemberley better than George Darcy, though his son had begun to show promise. You will require a great deal of assistance in your endeavours, Fitzwilliam.”

  He caught that idea with relief. “Indeed, I shall, Aunt! I have an appointment with the steward in half an hour to talk over plans for spring planting and the breeding stables,” he hinted, hoping that notion might sooner draw this interview to a close.

  “The steward! What can he know? I shall send word to Rosings for my trunks. If Georgiana is not to return to London, Anne and I shall remain here indefinitely to advise you.”

  Fitzwilliam yanked once more at his cravat, his face turning a few shades of red. “I assure you, Aunt, that will not be necessary, I—”

  “And you will take yourself to London at once to see to the relinquishment of your commission! Shameful that you should so long neglect such a matter. I no longer wish to see you appearing before me in uniform, Richard Fitzwilliam! It was all well and good when you had no proper responsibilities, but you have more important concerns now than to play with your swords and guns.”

  There was nothing else to say. Any argument of his would have prolonged the discussion until he was battle-sore and his aunt carried the victory flag. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was wise enough to know when he was beaten, and he raised the white handkerchief in surrender. He began slowly backing toward the door, bowing a little hastily. “I will attend to the matter, Aunt Catherine.”

  He fled to the outer hall, nodding briskly to the footman to close the door. His heart was racing, his collar damp, and his head light from lack of proper air. Lady Catherine to take up long-term residence at Pemberley! Georgiana might never recover from the invasion! His trembling hands brushed self-consciously at his shoulders as he gasped and stumbled for the stair.

  Darcy would have put a stop to it. For the thousandth time, his heart ached at the loss of his cousin. Darcy had been like a brother, an adviser in many ways and yet a pupil in so many others. So many times in the past two months had a clever notion or amusing circumstance come to him that he thought to preserve to share with Darcy, only to be followed by the crushing emptiness of knowing that he never again could.

  If only…. He groaned, clasping the stair railing along his slow ascent. There was something—a number of things, really—about that whole situation that still sat ill with him. The villains still at large, the prostitute with Darcy’s money, that bloodied body identified as Darcy…. Something was missing, but he could not yet put his finger on it. Perhaps his investigator would help assemble the pieces for him, but he could not let the matter rest until then. He narrowed his eyes, his vision again turning inward to the perfect picture of his memory.

  Scholars and politicians might have counted it a blessing, but there was no greater curse for a soldier than a memory such as his. Every broken body, every dying face brought clearly to mind at a mere breath; and as if that were not agonising enough, he could not help also recalling the light of life borne by the same man only moments before. There was some detachment between the uniquely powerful aura that had belonged to Fitzwilliam Darcy and the contracted, lifeless body shown him by the inspectors.

  Even in the moment, Richard had sensed some mystery at work, but he had not dared voice such a doubt without better evidence. The bloody, swollen abrasions disfiguring the dead man’s face seemed too strategically placed, the clothing somehow too haphazardly fitted. The body could have been a decoy—it would not be the first time he had seen such a thing, but to raise the alarm about his suspicions before learning more would be to jeopardise the real Darcy, if he still lived. And if Darcy had been in danger, Georgiana might be as well….

  Richard stopped at the top of the stair to catch his breath. Glancing down, he surveyed Darcy’s domain; the elegance and luxury of all that was Pemberley, the glittering heart of northern Derbyshire. Not a man in the kingdom would have protested the position into which he had been thrust—caretaker to all, de facto master of all. The mistress was his ward, and another landed heiress apparently held designs on his name. Nothing might be denied Richard Fitzwilliam, for all power and authority had fallen to him. His knees started to buckle. I cannot do this!

  He pressed fingers deeply into his eyes, wishing to blot out the visions burned into his memory. It had never worked, and it did not this time either. The one consolation, the one sweet name that had the power of bringing peace when the horrific images and the fear of his duties loomed, was not truly his—that memory was its own source of pain, but mercifully not so raw on this day as his present heartache. He lingered another moment with his hands over his eyes, trying to dwell on soft words, and a wildflower laurel gracing the raven locks of one who had once soothed his cares.

  As always, memories of conflict and war would intrude, but on this occasion, Richard opened his eyes and slowly lowered his hand. Inspiration flowed into him with that one triggered memory, and he stood gasping and cursing himself for a simpleton. “Hodges!” he cried, as his perch at the to
p of the stair afforded him a view of the butler passing below.

  The elder man paused, unruffled at such an outburst from the stair. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” he bowed grandly. “What can I do for you sir?”

  “Call for an express rider. I must send a letter to London with all speed!”

  6

  Longbourn

  “Lydia?” Elizabeth tapped quietly on the door to her sister’s room. “Lydia, have you seen my green bonnet?”

  There was no immediate answer, and Elizabeth began to withdraw. She had not expected a warm reception—relations between herself and her youngest sister had been strained, at best. A civil reply might have been in order, however. Frowning, she turned away, but the door opened a crack just as she did so.

  “Lydia?”

  “I don’t have your bonnet,” was the sullen response.

  “I did not mean to imply that you had taken it—”

  “I used to steal your bonnets,” Lydia interrupted.

  Elizabeth blinked, smiling reluctantly. Indeed, Lydia had been known throughout the county as the girl with the most fashionable bonnets, and it was nearly always at the expense of one of her sisters. She had a clever knack for making them over just so and suiting her features to best advantage.

  “So you did,” Elizabeth confessed with a low chuckle. “But it has been many days since you attempted a walk out of doors. I only thought to ask if you knew where I might have left it. I cannot think where it might be.”

  “I would not know. You are not going walking today, Lizzy? Why, it is freezing. You will catch your death!”

  “No,” she admitted, touched and more than a little surprised at Lydia’s apparent interest in her welfare. “Our aunt and uncle Gardiner have invited me to return with them to London, and I wished to take my newest bonnet.”

  Lydia’s face fell from her usual apathy into utter dejection. “Oh.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip, casting about for some words of consolation. “I am sure that someday soon, you also will—”

  “No, Lizzy. I shall never be invited anywhere. I turned sixteen last July, and already I am a cast-off wife. Everyone knows it. There shall be no balls, no officers, no string of suitors for me. Nothing remains but to hide here at Longbourn until that beastly man should return, or until I receive word that he has been killed somewhere.” Lydia backed away from the crack permitted by her door, sliding her hand up to close it once more, but Elizabeth stopped it.

  “Lydia… may I ask you something?”

  Shock lit the girl’s features. Never had Elizabeth humbled herself to ask a real question of her, and by the sincere tones in which she spoke, Lydia judged the matter of some import. “I… I suppose,” she mumbled, backing farther from the entry.

  Elizabeth took that for an invitation and entered the room. Lydia stood silent and expectant and both cast about awkwardly for where they might stand or sit, for neither was certain to what the conversation might tend. Elizabeth rather desired to seat herself to pose her question, while Lydia might have been more satisfied to answer quickly and regain her solitude. In the end, by uncomfortable looks and movements, they reached a sort of understanding, and both poised at opposite ends of the bed. Lydia looked down to the floor, and Elizabeth cleared her throat.

  “You are still angry with me,” Lydia observed flatly. “You have every right, of course.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “I am not!”

  “Yes, you are. You are a terrible liar, Lizzy. I see it every time you look at me—or rather, avoid looking at me. You could not hide your feelings if you put a bag over your head.”

  Elizabeth swallowed, then cleared her throat again. “I—” her voice broke, and she paused to swallow once more. “I was angry.”

  “And now you are simply disgusted?”

  “That is not fair, Lydia. What you did—” Elizabeth threw up her hands in mute frustration. “You could have ruined us all! Did you even consider that?”

  Lydia crossed her arms and turned her face away, resting her chin on her shoulder. “No,” she whispered. “Not until after… but by then it would have been too late! I had to run away with him then, for he said it was the only way we could be married.”

  Elizabeth hissed out a low growl, one unruly hand gesticulating again her grievances. “Tell me, Lydia, how could he have gotten you in such a position in the first place? Surely some part of you knew it was wrong!”

  Lydia turned round, wounded eyes back to her sister. “That is your question, is it? You have waited a long time to ask me that.”

  Elizabeth bit back another scowl, clenching her teeth, then sighed. “No, it is not. I wanted to ask you… not that it matters of course, except perhaps to the restoration of your sensibilities.”

  Lydia huffed in annoyance and flipped her head over upon her arms. “What do you mean, Lizzy? You think I ought to be going about as if nothing had happened?”

  “Far from it! Your sentiments were engaged, were they not? I wondered—now that he has been gone some while and you have had an opportunity to reflect—do you think you actually loved him? You were happy for a time, I think, before he left. Can you say with any certainty what your feelings for him truly were?”

  “What they were then?” Lydia paused thoughtfully. “I suppose I do not know. I fancied myself in love, of course. Certainly, I felt wonderful when I was with him. He was so charming, and the way he would touch me—oh, Lizzy, you cannot know how delicious it is to kiss a man, to be petted and told you are beautiful, and to have him hold you and—”

  “Perhaps it is best if you go no further,” Elizabeth held up a pleading hand. It had been nauseating enough when she had chaperoned Jane and her excellent Mr Bingley through their nearly chaste engagement. To think of such a scoundrel as she knew Wickham to be, practising his bedevilments on a tender girl of just sixteen, made her positively ill.

  Lydia had flickered to life again as she spoke of her romance, but at Elizabeth’s dismay she wilted once more. “Of course, you are right. I only wished for you to understand how perfectly thrilling it all seemed! I could not resist, and I did not wish to try.”

  Elizabeth’s expression was one of disbelief. “I cannot think what you knew was truly love, of the lasting sort. To my understanding, real love is thrilling, but also frustrating, inspiring, agonising—it is the embodiment of all other emotions expressed simultaneously, all concentrated on the being and actions of a single person. To drink in their presence would be…” she blinked rather quickly for a moment, “… would be exquisite,” she whispered, for the strength of her voice temporarily failed her. “Even should that person never return your feelings, simply knowing they are alive in the world—”

  Here, Elizabeth drew a broken sigh, and her pronouns became more personal. “With the ripple of his influence overspreading and flowing through even the farthest corner of my own life! And to be bereft of him—I can think of no more shattering loss. How is one to go on?”

  Lydia presumed Elizabeth’s words for sympathy, and some softness warmed her. “Well, I can answer for the loss, but perhaps it is not the same as you imagine. Surely, I hoped to be married first of all my sisters, and those few days suited my every notion of happiness, but I cannot say what I knew with George was what you would call love.”

  Elizabeth lifted a brow, her lashes curiously thick and clumped. “That is a very practical reply. I had not looked for such from you, Lydia.”

  “I have had nothing to do but to think, and so I have done.”

  “And what is your greatest regret?”

  “Oh! Where shall I begin? I ought to have punched that dog in the face when he first approached me!”

  Elizabeth had been determined to remain dour and disapproving, but she could not help a laugh, despite herself. “Hardly the thing for a lady!” she chuckled.

  “When have I ever bothered to behave the lady?”

  “You have a point,” Elizabeth conceded.

/>   “Lizzy,” the girl leaned forward, her expression suddenly grave. “There is more… so much more.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes wavered uncertainly over her sister, darting from side to side as if she could understand more than words could tell. “Do you wish to speak of it?”

  “No… but it is killing me! I must, I think, but I doubt you shall wish to hear.”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Whatever her folly, the abandoned bride before her, her own sister, was no more than a child. Could she truly deny the relief of the girl’s feelings, if all that was to be asked was to give audience to Lydia’s sorrows? “Tell me if you wish, Lydia,” she sighed.

  Lydia leaned closer, her eyes haunted and her breath no more than a whisper. “Mr Darcy.”

  Elizabeth felt that familiar prickling over her skin, up the back of her neck and to the crown of her head. Her breath came hot and shallow as she forced her mouth to form a reply. “What do you mean, Lydia?”

  “Lizzy, you were wrong about him! He was not nearly so proud as you always made him out to be. He helped us, or tried to. I am terrified now to think what might have happened to me if he had never found us! At least I am home now, but I shudder to remember the girls at that house. I might have become one of them, but for his interference. When I think how poorly I spoke of him, I am sure I deserve to be struck down by lightning! I think he intended for George to treat me well, and from what Aunt Gardiner told me, had paid handsomely to ensure it. It is only a pity that matters turned out as they did, but the poor man did not mean to die, after all.”

  “What more do you know, Lydia?” Elizabeth dropped her chin, her gaze boring hungrily into her sister’s. “Did you speak with him?”

  “Of course, I did! He was very disapproving and short with George, but though he scowled a great deal, I think he treated me as well as he ever treated any lady. I might even say he was extraordinarily kind, but such extreme measures he demanded for my disposition and the arrangements to be made! I began to fear George would never agree to all that Mr Darcy insisted upon, and so I was angry with him for that. His manners never did recommend him, you know, but I suppose in the end he was most considerate of my needs.