“Father, how is Mother?” Richard asked in a trembling voice.
“I have not yet told her. I wished you to be here my boy—and you, Darcy. It will help soften the blow. She was so… so proud of him! Such a strapping lad. Handsome, clever, just what he ought to have been. Too late, I suspected!”
Darcy narrowed his eyes in interest. “You did suspect him?”
“Not until the rumours began that you lived,” the earl confessed. “He was my son! How should I have thought him capable of such a monstrous thing? He knew all the old family secrets, of course, because I thought as my heir he ought to be the guardian of such information. I pray to heaven that he suffered at least some moments of doubt in his conscience. That my own son could conceive of this!”
“Father, you are not to blame for Reginald’s greed.” Richard shot Darcy an imploring glance, urging him to concur.
“Indeed, sir,” Darcy added stiffly, “none could find you at fault, save that it was, in fact, kept a secret from so many. The dated, signed proof to counter all claims against our family was in our possession, had we but the cause to search for it.”
The earl was numbly shaking his head, combing trembling fingers through his hair and scarcely attending Darcy. “I thought it a fine notion to match him to Georgiana after Priscilla died. I never thought him to be playing me for the patriarchal old fool I am. He knew his wife was dying for nearly a year, and he knew precisely how I would act. To think he would try to have you killed just to lay hands on Georgiana and all your fortune! I should have seen… should have done something. Darcy, my boy, forgive an ignorant old man!”
“Here, Father, let us not dwell on that just now. What is to be done? Where was he found?”
“He had rented some flat over on R— Street—I presume to keep his identity quiet when he was meeting with others. When they found him….” The earl drew a rasping breath and rubbed his eyes. “The place looked to have been robbed. A witness placed two men there early last night, speaking a foreign tongue and carrying away a crate of papers. And Reginald… Reginald was….”
“You needn’t say more, Father. I know. I also have a clear idea of who must have done this.”
“So do I. I have already had the man dragged from his ship, for he was waiting for someone before sailing, and his own spies gave him up.”
Darcy and Richard exchanged eager glances. “Manuel Vasconcelos?” Darcy asked.
“That was the knave. We have enough proof already. He will hang for murder, but I would consult with you both on the matter. Darcy, can you provide further evidence against the man?”
“Naturally, sir,” Darcy answered. “First, may I ask if this miniature of myself might have been taken from your gallery?”
The earl took the small portrait and studied it. “The countess dismissed a maid over the disappearance of this miniature. Where did you find it?”
“I believe it was in my cousin’s possession. I am sorry, Uncle.”
The earl closed his eyes. “Richard, my boy, do something. Permit me not to linger in sorrow, for I cannot bear it. Let us do something. Spare me this agony! An old man should not bury his son.”
Richard Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Matlock, drew an arm about the weakened earl. “Yes, Father.”
69
Darcy House, London
It was late that day before Darcy returned home. His uncle and aunt’s grief, the beginnings of the investigation into a viscount’s death, and the attempt to conclude his own six-month-long ordeal had already cost more hours than he had thought he could have remained on his feet. At long last, his body demanded something of a reprieve, and he had left Richard—equally exhausted, and now buried by even more duties than himself—and asked his driver to take him home. Strange, how quickly the confines of the carriage had become again familiar rather than stifling.
His escape had been nearly cut off by Lady Catherine, who had halted him as he was leaving his uncle’s house with the demand that he find her blameless in the whole affair. “I never knew a thing but that you were dead!” she vowed. “Surely, Darcy, you must see how it was all the earl’s fault for failing to govern his son!”
She immediately followed this statement with her absolute insistence that he forswear his engagement to Anne. During his absence, it seemed that the young lady had formed a particular attachment to the new Viscount Matlock, and Lady Catherine would not see her dear daughter’s heart broken again. Darcy merely shook his head and passed on. Richard would have to fight that battle on his own. Later. After a month of sleep.
At his own door, Georgiana greeted him with serene composure. He paused for the first time in some while to look—really look—at his baby sister. She had grown taller, her curves softening and even her skin appearing silkier. The expression about her eyes was what struck him most. There was a newfound maturity reflected there—the wisdom of one who has been tested by fire, and found to be made of iron.
“Good evening, Dearest,” he smiled and touched her chin. “What news do you have for me?”
“Mrs Gardiner sent word not half an hour ago that Mr Gardiner is speaking and taking nourishment today.”
“That is a relief. Was anything said of Mrs Vasconcelos?”
“No, but Elizabeth has been there much of the day, so perhaps she knows more than I. It was she who brought back the message from Mrs Gardiner.”
“And Mrs Wickham?”
“Making over one of my bonnets for Easter. What she has been unable to do with one hand, Mr Wickham makes up with both of his. He has scarcely left her side for a moment; he says he will remain until Richard drags him away.”
Darcy shook his head. “That was not what I expected to hear. Where will I find Elizabeth?”
“Oh…” Georgiana smiled, reddened, then laughed. “She is entertaining in the library.”
“Entertaining?”
She grinned mischievously. “You have a guest, Fitzwilliam.”
She declined to tell more, so he walked with nagging curiosity to the appointed room. He paused at the entry, sighing in delirious contentment to admire Elizabeth, in his home where she had always belonged. She was poised gracefully upon the sofa they had shared for a precious few moments the previous night, half-turned from the door and speaking to someone. Her full lips were parted in a smile, her laughing eyes directed at some point hidden around the corner. One long curl fell over her temple, the hands that had so often soothed his cares rested lightly in her lap, and her feminine shape was quite pleasingly augmented by her welcoming posture.
Her attention leapt to him an instant later, and the light of her heart’s joy shone in those fine eyes. She rose to meet him as he entered the room, even giving him her hand before this unseen guest. “William,” she whispered, “you remember my father?”
He looked swiftly into her face to determine what sort of father might be expecting to meet with him. Mr Bennet was hardly an intimidating fellow, but he would have good reason to question a number of things. The conversation could become an unpleasant one; could even cost him an unreasonable delay before they could marry, if her father was not at his ease about every matter concerning his favourite daughter. Elizabeth, however, merely smiled, squeezed his hand, and left the room.
Mr Bennet allowed his book to fall and peered upward at him. “Well, Mr Darcy, it seems the rumours are true. You look remarkably hale for a dead man.”
Darcy bowed. “I am very glad to see you, sir. I have been wishing to call upon you for some days.”
“So I understand, but it is your cousin I came to task with his mismanagement of his office.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Mr Bennet gestured above his head, toward the upper floors of the house. “Colonel Fitzwilliam promised safety and dignity to my girls whilst they were in his care. Yet, I come to your house and find one daughter gun-shot and consorting with deserters, and another nearly thrown from a third-story window—and likely ruined beyon
d any hope of recovery, if the mute tongues of your footmen are any indication of what takes place behind closed doors.”
“Sir,” Darcy felt his cravat tighten, “a number of matters bear explanation, but my cousin is not to blame.”
“Indeed? He chaperoned the hours spent with my daughter in the library? I understand you both pass a deal of time in this room.”
“Mr Bennet, if it is my honour and my hand you have come to request for your daughter, I give both readily. I regret that I have not yet come to you—”
“Mr Darcy, my daughter has already revealed most of what I wished to know. I daresay you have had trials enough, without an irate father threatening to kill you all over again. Besides, I am rather impressed by your library, and would be pleased to make use of it when next Mrs Bennet insists that I bring her to Town. I would like only one question answered, sir.”
Darcy’s brows rose. “Of course, sir, whatever you wish.”
Mr Bennet surveyed him for a moment, an unreadable half-smile touching his eyes. “When did you speak to my Lizzy? Were you engaged to her before your disappearance last summer?”
Darcy hesitated, then carefully took a seat before the elder man while he gathered his thoughts. “You ask two different questions, sir, and the answers are not one and the same. If you would know when I first spoke to Miss Elizabeth of my affections, it would be nearly a year ago in Kent.”
“In Kent! And she did not fall smitten into your arms at that very moment, sir? I find it difficult to believe that a man of your open cordiality, genial address, and enviable situation in life would not instantly ensnare the object of his desires. Had you neglected to shave that day, Mr Darcy?”
“Sir, my words and actions that day have been a continual source of torment for me,” Darcy answered tightly. “Miss Elizabeth was perfectly in the right to refuse me, but I hope that since then I have improved my behaviour and character. By her, I was properly humbled, and there is nothing I could wish more than for such a woman as my partner in life.”
“Indeed, sir, her words must have wrought some remarkable transformation. Was it her trip to Derbyshire when you saw her again, and renewed your offer? I can think of nothing else to account for your valiant rescue of my youngest daughter.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “Sir, it was not my desire that any in your family be made uncomfortable. I had intended that none should know of my involvement with your younger daughter’s affairs.”
“Ho! If you wished for that, Mr Darcy, you failed to account for my Lydia’s utter incapability of holding her tongue. I am afraid we all know of it, though mercifully that knowledge is limited only to our own family.”
Darcy felt a sickening knot in his stomach. Her family’s gratitude he could bear, but was it possible that Elizabeth’s own feelings had turned on the hinge of his actions to save her sister? His eyes fell to the floor and his face became warm. Surely, they had long since passed doubt and resentment, but was it merely obligation that had weighed her heart during those months when he had been gone?
“Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet interrupted his thoughts, “when was it, exactly, that you became engaged to my daughter? If it was before your disappearance, then my curiosity is settled on a number of points.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed curiously. “How so, sir?”
Mr Bennet cleared his throat. “Sir, if you know my Lizzy, and if you had seen her last winter, you would have thought her heart ripped from her chest. I have never seen anyone so altered. She suffered nightmares, shunned the company of those she loved, and found no pleasure in anything. I began to fear exceedingly for her health, and Mrs Bennet went so far as to suggest sending for a famous surgeon from London. I rather thought her lonely, and suggested marriage to a very agreeable fellow, but she would not hear of it. Now, if she had accepted you in Derbyshire, and simply had not the opportunity to share the news before her younger sister eloped, I have some better understanding of her despondency.
“If, however, there was no previous connection, and you first met one another again less than a fortnight ago at Pemberley, matters become mysterious again. One wonders if her acceptance is the work of a moment, born out of pity for your ordeal and admiration for your fine home. If you please, sir, I would like to know the truth.”
A smile had begun to warm Darcy’s face. “Sir,” he sighed, his pleasure broadening to encompass his whole expression, “I can answer truthfully that my connection, as you describe it, to Miss Elizabeth has endured many months. During the time I was away, I carried her with me in my heart. My only fragment of hope was that she still held me as well, and my greatest torment was the fear that I might never see her again. My life is hers, sir, and I gladly lay all that I am at her feet in humility, that the one I adore could love me in return.”
Mr Bennet sat stunned into silence for a moment, his face awash in sentimental wonder. He blinked, cleared his throat, and began to lay aside his book. “Well-spoken, Mr Darcy. I daresay if I do not grant my blessing, you will both do as you please without it. Very well, I withdraw my misgivings.”
Darcy released the tense breath he had been holding. “I thank you, sir. I shall have settlement papers drawn up at my earliest opportunity, for I wish to wed Miss Elizabeth immediately.”
Mr Bennet tipped his head forward, peering over his spectacles at Darcy. “I shall not be anticipating two premature grand-children, shall I?”
“No! Sir, I would never dishonour Miss Elizabeth so,” he objected.
“Very good. I shall be taking my daughter back to her uncle’s house this evening. I have no doubt that Lydia is faring well enough that she may do as well without her. As for the wedding date, I expect you may have other matters which must come first. I am at your leisure, sir. Now, since we have that business settled, what is to be done about my wayward son-in-law?”
Darcy bit back an inward sigh. “That, sir, is a conversation best held over cigars and brandy.”
Mr Bennet’s eyes lit in interest. “I have no doubt that you have a superior collection of both, sir.”
70
Cheapside, London
Amália softly closed the door to Mr Gardiner’s sick room and stood for a moment, staring at it. No rational person would be as kind and welcoming to her as this couple had been. She was a stranger, dropped into their laps by someone entirely unknown to them; with almost no friends and no credibility in the country, as well as a scandalous past that had followed her and nearly cost them everything.
She should have been escorted to the nearest ship, with a polite pat on her head at the very best. Why, she was not even proper governess material for their children, being Roman Catholic and not well-versed in English etiquette! She should have been shamed, cast out, and left on her own.
Instead, however, she had been accorded the honours of a daughter of the house—taking meals with the family, helping care for Mr Gardiner in his injured state, looking over business matters with Mrs Gardiner, and, perhaps best of all, speaking long into the afternoon with the lady about life and love and children and hope.
Amália’s fingers traced gently over the couple’s door. Yes, hope. That was what she most longed for. The sort of deep, binding affection so fluently spoken in looks and touches by this loving couple was like something in a dream. How was it possible, to live one’s life serving and seeking another’s well-being before her own? Who in the world could she trust so far, to lay herself open, baring her throat in faith that not sharpened teeth, but tender caresses would capture her?
It was a ridiculous question, really. There was one, and only one. She blinked tear-blurred eyes and allowed her fingers to fall from the door. Richard could never be hers. Not before, when she was married; not after, when he was still a penniless Anglican; certainly not now that he was the heir to his father’s title. He would need a wife whose blood matched his own, who could aid her husband in Society and host galas for the elegant lords and ladies of the great machine that was the Eng
lish Parliament. A woman such as Mr Darcy’s sister could give him a son of pedigree and unquestioned character in the eyes of the ton, not tainted by a Catholic heritage and a mother widowed under peculiar circumstances. What right had she to even think of him, when it would deny him the future he deserved?
She turned away and wandered to the sitting room. Mrs Gardiner’s sewing basket rested there, full of small items she had been mending for her young children. Amália gently lifted the top garment—a little white dress, only just retired from her youngest son. The affectionate mother had been in the process of mending a rip in the sleeve, preparing to put it up in hopes that another would wear it soon. Another child, another promise, another dream fulfilled for another woman. Amália dropped it back in the basket, covered her face, and wept.
The front door clattered, and Amália tried valiantly to collect herself. It would be Elizabeth and her father again, most likely, returned from their dinner at Mr Darcy’s house. Oh, she could not allow them to see her like this! She wiped frantically at the tears streaking her face as a low, urgent voice spoke to the manservant in the outer hall. A moment later, the door to the drawing room swung open and Richard burst through.
He fell before her feet at once, his breath coming short and his eyes rimmed red with the agitation of the last days. He reached for her hand and bowed his head, pressing his forehead to her knuckles.
“Amália,” he heaved, never lifting his face, “I beg you….”
She looked away, swallowing the hard knot in her throat. “You need not explain, Richard. I understand,” she whispered.
He raised his head to blink curiously. “You understand? But I have not yet spoken.”
“It is not necessary, Richard. I know what you have come to say. It is safe for me to return home now. Do you know of a ship on which I might sail?”
“A ship?” He shook his head. “Amália, I cannot bear to lose you!”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 69
