He was standing there, resplendent in his red uniform, a hesitant smile warming his handsome face. Amália stood dumbly, her limbs shaking incredulously. Her lips formed his name, but she did not dare speak it aloud for fear that he would vanish.
His brow clouded at her genuine distress, and he extended a hand, his voice husky. “What is it, Amália? I cannot bear to see you cry, minha flor15.”
An unrestrained wail broke in her throat, and when she drew breath once more, it sounded as a helpless cry, then shuddered out again as a sob. “R-Richard!”
Whether it was she who ran into his arms or the opposite, she would never remember. She only knew that in the next instant, her cheek was pressed to his chest, his strong arms wound tightly about her. She shook and trembled, the tears pouring from her as she babbled his name, over and over, begging him not to disappear.
He nuzzled kisses into her hair, his hands stroking up her back, and that voice she knew so well soothed gently into her ears. “What troubles you, my sweet buttercup? Tell me what miscreant has made you cry, so that I may run him through!”
Her heart sank with the weight of lead as her stomach churned nauseatingly. She drew back slightly. How could she tell him all? That she was married, that her husband was responsible for… for everything!
“Amália?” his brow clouded in dismay, and he began to loosen his arms. “I know it has been a long time, but are you so displeased to see me after all?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, Richard! It is not that. There is much… so much to say, I cannot—”
She had been brushing the tears from her eyes with her left hand, but stopped when she beheld his horrified countenance. Her gaze followed his and struck on the band about her finger. She swallowed.
Richard fell away, pulling back his arms. His voice, a moment later, was strangely tight. “Forgive me, madam. I did not know.”
“Please, Richard!” she cried, reaching again for his hand. “It is not as it appears!”
He drew his hand back from her. “Is it not?” he rasped. He turned away, and she could see his jaw working as he bowed his head. A moment later he gave a rueful laugh. “What a fool I am! To think that after all this time, I would find you again just as I left you—that you would be sitting here under a glass dome like the eternal rose I made you out to be! As though time should stand still in my absence!”
He turned slowly back, holding himself aloof. “Do you love him, Amália? Tell me you do, and I shall leave you forever in peace.”
Her lips parted. She blinked, a rivulet of sorrow spilling from her lashes.
His mouth puckered in restrained fury, and she watched his fists clench and unclench. “I see,” he answered, the softness of his voice belying the rage she could see sparking in his eyes. He stepped near, and lifted a hand with whitened knuckles. He hesitated, meeting her eyes, and then extended his fingers to touch the last remnants of the fading bruise on her cheek. “And this?” he asked lowly.
She lowered her gaze. “A mistake,” she whispered.
“A mistake!” he bellowed in outrage. “You accept the blame for… for this? The Amália I knew would never have done so!”
“My marriage was the mistake,” she corrected. “Had I my wits about me, I would have run away to England aboard a cargo ship!”
He froze, dropping his hand. “Then why did you not?”
This time, it was she who turned away. “You know the reasons,” she choked. “We spoke often of this, no? Had there been a way for us, any way at all, I would have! I had no choice, Richard, just as you did not.”
He made no reply for a long while, but stood helplessly behind her back as she fought against the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I suppose,” he answered brokenly after some minutes, “you might wonder why I should come back now, after so long.”
“No,” she murmured. “I know why.” She turned back, her eyes once more sparkling with unconscious brilliance. “He was here.”
Richard’s entire body convulsed, and he reached to clasp her hand in desperation. “My cousin? Darcy! You knew of him? He is alive?”
A smile at last shimmered on her face. “He is alive, and on his way to England aboard a ship. We released him on Tuesday night, but he would have only sailed yesterday.”
“Darcy!” his fingers clenched painfully over hers, so transported by joy that he did not notice her discomfort. “Egad, and I spent five days sniffing about the docks and back streets of Porto for information before daring to come here! To think that I scarcely missed him. Darcy, alive, and on his way home! But how did you know about him? Is he well? What happened? Why was he brought here, and how was he released?”
She shook her head sadly. “Much I do not know, but my husband was involved. That is how I came to find him; he was hidden in my house.”
His fingers stroked hers, parting and caressing them gently as if in a trance. “You found him?” he rumbled. “It was you who freed him? I might have known, my brave girl!”
“And Ruy. He said we oughtn’t to involve ourselves, that it was too dangerous, but that he owed it to you. It was he who arranged for your cousin’s travel.”
“I must thank him! Where is he, inside? I wonder what he has learned!”
“No, Richard, he has gone. He was recalled to his regiment only two days after. It was quite unexpected. We thought he had leave for another month.”
He frowned. “Recalled? Who gave the order?”
“General Lecor, of the cavalry, of course, under General Cotton. He was recalled to Lisbon, and told to ready for a march to the front in Spain. Oh, Richard, I am so afraid for him!”
“Tell me,” he glanced toward the house, “Has your… your husband any friends among the commanding officers? Someone who might, perhaps, have owed him a favour?”
“I think it is my father-in-law who does. He is the governor of Porto, you know, and he has just come from Braga. I do not know what business he has there, but he goes often.”
“I think,” he mused, “I must find your brother. Firstly, though…” he grimaced painfully, licked his lips, and nearly strangled on his next words. “Tell me more about your marriage.”
25
Pemberley
“Lizzy, when are you going to set aside that dull stuff and join us?” Lydia poked a fist into her bulging abdomen and cocked an impatient frown toward her sister. “First that fat old diary, and now the accounts. I begin to think you will turn into one of those books!”
Elizabeth looked up from the ledger, rubbing her eyes when they failed to adjust. “I cannot make heads or tails of this. Surely, there is something I have overlooked.”
“Is it not the steward’s duty to keep track of all the books? Come, Lizzy, you must listen to Georgiana learning the harp, she is really quite remarkable!”
“Our uncle promised to keep apprised of matters on behalf of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I was to report to him and begin teaching Georgiana to look things over.” Elizabeth kneaded her brow as her pen scanned down the page once more. “It would seem that Pemberley is somewhat larger than Longbourn! I do not understand some of these entries. There appears no proper justification for these expenses here, and yet here, I see the budget has corrected itself as if by magic.”
Lydia waved her hand impatiently. “That is why there is a steward for these matters. Surely, to be employed at Pemberley, the man must know his business! Now come!”
Elizabeth sighed and closed the ledger, marking the page of curiosity with a slip of scrap paper. “Lydia, how does Georgiana seem to you today?”
Lydia paused and looked back to her sister. “Quiet.” She started to walk on, then turned round once more. “Lizzy, did you know that George once deceived her as well?”
Elizabeth drew a sharp breath. “She told you, did she?”
Lydia nodded, her face a blank. “I wonder that she is so friendly to me, after everything.”
“I do n
ot. You can be quite enchanting, you know. She must have come to think very highly of you to confide so much.”
“But my name is now Wickham! How can she overlook that, after what nearly happened to her? I even told her about her brother coming to my rescue. She said she had wondered about it, and she cried a little, thinking of her brother, of course. I thought she would throw me out of the house altogether, but she did not. She simply wiped her tears and hugged me. Fancy that! She said it was just what she would have expected of him, and that what happened after was not my fault. She ought to have gotten angry, oughtn’t she?”
Elizabeth turned away, dashing some moisture from her eyes. After all her fears, Georgiana had proved as generous as her brother! William…. She drew a tight breath and then offered her sister an easy shrug in reply. “Georgiana is a Darcy. They are kind by nature.” She blinked and touched Lydia’s cheek affectionately. “And she knows what it is to believe in someone who proves false. I believe you have her whole sympathy.”
“She almost ended up as I did,” Lydia mumbled. “Pregnant and abandoned, with all her money stolen!”
Elizabeth draped an arm about her sister. “But her brother looked after her,” she smiled wistfully.
“Just as he tried to do for me! And just as you have done. It is too bad you were not born a man, Lizzy, you would have made a capital brother.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I have not Mr Darcy’s capacity to intimidate my sisters’ prospective seducers with a mere glance!”
“You speak too little of yourself, Lizzy. Even Mr Bingley told me once that he sought your approval before daring to approach Jane. I hope you are about if I ever do see George again.”
She raised a bemused brow. “You wish for me to run him off?”
“No, to hold him still. I should like nothing better than to twist his nose off!”
Elizabeth fixed her sister with a stern expression. “You must leave off this nonsense, Lydia. You only cause yourself more pain by dreaming up ways to avenge yourself on a worthless rascal.”
“You do not know what it is like! My body is a wreck, and in every way that matters, I am a stupid nobody! Everyone here knows George for what he is, and they all know very well what my circumstances shall be once the child is born. I will go back to my father’s home, and I will live as a widow with a child to raise.”
Elizabeth tugged her sister a little closer with a mischievous grin. “Come, Lydia, matters could be worse. Remember that Mr Collins will one day inherit Longbourn.”
Lydia glared back. “Do you know, sometimes I wonder why I like you, Lizzy.”
“It is for my bonnets of course,” Elizabeth chuckled. “And my clever wit.”
Lydia marched away in an affected huff, but she was giggling. “It is not fair, how you always make me laugh when I would rather be cross!”
“Not at all,” her sister agreed. “But at the moment, it seemed preferable to weeping over what is beyond our control. Now, was Georgiana awaiting us in the music room?”
“Yes,” Lydia brightened once more, her frustration temporarily banished as only one of impatient spirits can manage. “Did you know there is a shorter way through the portrait gallery? Georgiana says that she never goes that way in the summer when so many visitors are about, but at this time of the year… Lizzy, did you forget something?”
Elizabeth had stopped short, her blood turned to ice. “Oh… you go on ahead, Lydia. I shall… that is, I will go round by the library and the blue parlour. I believe Mrs Reynolds should be there at this time of day, and I had—”
“Do that later, Lizzy. It is only that dull Mrs Annesley keeping Georgiana company, and she was reading letters when I left.” Lydia caught her sister’s hand and verily dragged her, leaving Elizabeth helpless to object.
Elizabeth’s heart surged into her throat. Not the portrait gallery! She could not face him, not with those expressive, life-like eyes gazing down at her. She could almost curse the artist’s talent, but one day—some far-distant day, if his image ever faded from her memory, she knew that she would greedily revere the perfection of the rendering. If only the flush of his skin was real, the light in his smile bestowed once more upon her!
He was looking down on her again, the curl she remembered so well falling defiantly over his forehead, his form looking so hearty and robust. She almost expected his hand to reach for her, for his smile to waver uncertainly as he asked her to dance a reel.
“He was a handsome fellow,” Lydia observed beside her.
“What?” Elizabeth jerked. Had she really stopped their little procession to gape at the portrait?
Lydia stuck her lip out as she gazed appraisingly upward. “A pity he never wore regimentals, for that would have made him nearly perfect.”
Elizabeth returned her eyes to his. “No,” she answered softly. “He was perfect just as he was.”
~
Porto, Portugal
Noronha was still pacing his study like a caged tiger. Foolish girl! Every risk he had taken, every sacrifice, every leverage employed to ensure her station and keep her safe, and she had dashed all of it—all of it! —in one heedless night. Reckless, headstrong—
He whirled when a firm knock sounded at his study door. “What is it!?” he demanded.
The door opened slowly to reveal a glowering British officer. His peaked hat was tucked formally under his arm, and his shoulders glittered with gold braids and epaulets—marks of status Noronha well understood. The man’s badges of distinction and his sudden appearance in his home were singular enough, but Noronha swallowed hard when he recognised the face.
“Major—er, forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam! I had not anticipated the pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all yours, I assure you,” growled the younger man. Fitzwilliam slapped the door closed behind himself and advanced, as though the house and the study belonged to him rather than the reverse.
Noronha fell back, smoothing the front of his waistcoat and attempting to restore his dignity. “To what do I owe this visit by an old friend?”
The colonel’s brows rose. “Old friend, is it? I seem to recall being formally dis-invited from your home, dating over three years ago and extending henceforth. I have chosen to overlook your previous inhospitality, depending rather upon your good sense and the precarious situation in which you now find yourself.”
“You must know, of course, that the past was all a misunderstanding,” Noronha protested. “We always valued your friendship in your official capacity, and I am still indebted to you for the service you rendered Rodrigo on the field. I am afraid I came to believe at the time that your designs were of a more… personal nature. Well! I beg you would forgive me, for no harm came of it, after all.”
“No harm!” thundered the incensed officer. “I have just seen your daughter. Do you mean to tell me the bruises on her face are of no consequence? Did you always intend to sell her off to secure your position with Vasconcelos?”
“Now, hold a moment, Fitzwilliam! Do not be so hasty in your conclusions! Amália has not yet learned her place. I admit to some displeasure at her circumstances, but she brought it all upon herself!”
Fitzwilliam’s temper snapped. In one instant, he had cuffed the older man about the forearm and yanked him off his feet, so that Noronha fairly dangled from his grip and was left to kick and writhe helplessly beneath him. “I would have taken care of her!” he hissed. “She would never have come to harm, had you not interfered! And now look what your pains have bought you—your daughter is trapped with an abusive man, and your son’s very life is endangered!”
Noronha paled and ceased his struggling. His hands draped to the floor to catch himself, and with a contemptuous scowl, Fitzwilliam released him. “Ruy in danger? Why do you say that?”
“Was he, or was he not, ordered to the front lines by Vasconcelos as soon as my cousin’s release had been effected? Did you pause to wonder which officers are in Vasconcelos’ pocket and
what measures they might employ to exact revenge?”
Noronha staggered to his feet, rubbing his arm self-consciously. He heaved a weary sigh and looked away, unable to meet the young colonel’s eyes.
“You knew of it!” Fitzwilliam accused. “You were a party to my cousin’s abduction! How long before you planned to have him murdered in truth? What was the price, Noronha?”
Noronha had wandered to his desk, wagging his head as if by willing himself not to hear, he could shake off the stinging truth of the colonel’s words. “It was not for myself,” he was muttering. “No, not for me!”
“Then for whom? Amália? Need I remind you how delighted she was with your efforts toward her?”
“You do not understand!” cried Noronha, spinning about. “Vasconcelos—Miguel—he always wanted her! I thought she would do well enough with him, but I was prepared to allow her to refuse him—and then things grew worse with the war. I had to make promises! I did not dare risk his displeasure, and I thought at least there, she would be secure. You remember how it was, Bonaparte was at our very doorstep! We pushed him back, thanks to Wellington, but Porto was nearly ruined. It is difficult, yes, to rebuild with little money.”
“So, you took a favour from Vasconcelos! How cheaply did you sell your daughter’s heart and my cousin’s life?”
Noronha flinched. “Darcy was to be released as soon as Vasconcelos had what he wanted. A death was faked out of necessity, but I am no murderer, Fitzwilliam!”
“And what was it Vasconcelos wanted? Even Darcy’s money would be insufficient to rebuild your entire city, and it would be impossible to lay hands on all of it.”
Noronha scrubbed his weary face and sank into the chair at his desk. “Steel. That was what he wanted. There was land—over three hundred acres in Braga—and Vasconcelos is convinced that Darcy holds the deed. A modest ore deposit was discovered in the region, and Vasconcelos plans to mine it, but he could not begin without the deed.”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 30
