The Colonel

by Beau North

  “She’s never really forgiven me for wanting to come out to Dad before he died. Not that I got the chance.”

  Ben knew nothing he said would have lessened that pain. He put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

  “Do you think…?” Tom cleared his throat. “Do you think he knew? About me?”

  A memory surfaced of a night spent at Pemberley decades ago, when Maggie married her first husband. Ben couldn’t sleep and decided to see if he could find where his uncle Will kept the good booze. He came upon the door to Will Darcy’s office where his uncle was talking by the light of a crackling fire, a drink in Uncle Will’s hand while his father smoked one cigarette after another. Ben stood there for a long time, eavesdropping on their conversation. Ben was surprised to see his father bent over, laughing, tears running down his face.

  “I’m serious, Richie.”

  “What did Mrs. Darcy say?”

  “She said if Maggie wasn’t marrying their son she wouldn’t even let them sleep with the pigs, that anyone who still defended Nixon had to be dumber than a bag of hammers.”

  “God love Maggie for taking this on,” Richard said, wiping his eyes. “I only hope he deserves her.”

  “Andrew’s a good kid, but I worry he won’t be enough for Maggie. She’s too much like me. We need to be challenged.”

  “Isn’t that the truth.”

  “At least I can take comfort that Tom probably won’t have that problem. My son knows his own heart.”

  “Does Tommy have a special lady?”

  Will Darcy shook his head. “No, and don’t bother him about it, either. I mean it, Richard.”

  “I see your opinion of me hasn’t changed. Ever,” Richard said, but he was laughing again.

  “Yeah, Tommy,” Ben said, watching the rising sun paint his cousin in rosy gold. “I think he knew.”

  Part II

  I Love You But I’m Lost

  12

  May 4, 1949

  Dear Evie,

  Your last letter made me laugh. Sadie’s antics put me in mind of myself at that age. I hope that both the girls are adjusting to the new situation. How is Arthur holding up? Please send him my regards. Losing your mother, as we both know, is never an easy thing.

  I’m at Pemberley again. I’ve stayed here more often since the incident with Georgie and that bastard Wickham. I realized today it’s been a year since my last letter to Elizabeth, and I can’t help but feel...relieved. Certain things escape me now, the cadences and textures of her. Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be.

  I was reminded of her only because Darcy just left once more for South Carolina, where our friend Charles has recently purchased a property. And I thought she’s out there somewhere, maybe. Maybe she’s forgotten all about me. Maybe that’s best. She was growing up; I was trying to leave it all behind. I hope she’s moved on and that she’s loved, but I think maybe it’s time I moved on too. There are times I think about trying to find her, and I get this queer sort of hopefulness that fills me with energy for days, but the enormity of what I did to her hits me again, and I know I could never show my face to her again. God, you are too good to listen to me drone on about this so often. Know that I am so grateful for your friendship, sweet Eve, and that you are truly a sister to me in all but name.

  Write to me here again. I’ll be in Boston for a few days to see some fellow reprobates I knew from my time in the army. My good friend Adam Carter, and a few others. After that I’m to South Carolina myself, to join Darcy for Charles’s birthday bash. When Darcy left he was in uncharacteristically high spirits, and I’m sure it’s because he has finally, finally pulled the stick out of his backside and deigned to fall in love. I’m determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.

  But don’t let my nonchalance fool you. I know I’ll be more nervous than a basket of cats the whole time, so please, leave an offering to the heathen god of your choice in my name that I may return with my sanity intact.

  But tell me, how are you feeling? Are you ready for the baby? Have you chosen a name?

  Until then, I remain your not-so-humble servant,

  Richard

  May 11, 1947

  Dear Richard,

  First, thank you for remembering Arthur. He was rather touched by your gift of the wreath of white roses. How thoughtful of you. I have learned in these few years not to argue with you over the expense of such a gesture, no matter how sorely I am tempted.

  As for the baby, I have arrived at the stage of near constant misery. Everything aches. None of my shoes fit. And the only thing more impossible than falling asleep is waking up. I am ready for him or her to make their appearance at last. We haven’t quite settled on a boy’s name, if it is a boy. Arthur likes Maxim for a boy. I like Samuel. For a girl, we’ve agreed on Pansy. It’s a bit whimsical, but I want to think of spring and flowers and big, purple pansies right now.

  Now, about your last letter. What I say may very well surprise you, but I have the strangest feeling that the business between yourself and your Elizabeth may not be quite finished. I wonder if you can truly walk away until you have made some kind of amends. Now, don’t be fashed, as Arthur’s mum was so fond of saying (and between us, her saying so always had the opposite effect of what she intended). You know that I am your friend, but I am also a woman with a heart, a heart that has known great love and great sorrow. I put myself in her place–I would feel like a bit of old shoe, tossed into the bin. And, dear boy, no woman deserves to feel that way.

  I don’t say this to wound you. I think the dwindling of that love into memory a very good thing. There is nothing quite so torturous as to wake up from a dream of dancing with James, to remember the way my arms fit around him. It is the fresh memories that cut the deepest. If yours are fading, it can only be for the good. But when you’ve moved on, find some way to make amends to her. Could your cousin Darcy help you in searching? I do not judge you―I could never. But you were not the only person wounded by your decision. Search your heart and do what is best. I know that you will.

  Your affectionate friend,

  Evie

  May 22, 1949

  Somewhere in South Carolina

  South Carolina. It looked much the same as North Carolina as his bike cruised along Highway 276 southbound, but he felt a trill of fear and excitement as he crossed into the state where he’d once been so miserable…and so happy. He could see his course straight as an arrow, two hundred miles southeast, and he’d be in the place where it all began. It was impossible for him not to conflate the place with the person he’d loved, no matter how long ago it was. No matter how much he swore he’d moved on from the events of that summer. Three years. Had it really been that long since he’d seen her? It seemed a lifetime, and no time at all.

  After passing through the hilly, picturesque town of Greenville, the road flattened out and the landscape was unvaried enough that he could allow his mind to wander, thinking of the last time he’d made this trip. On this very road. On this very bike. The motorcycle had been sitting unused in the garage at Fitzwilliam House since his eventful return in ’45. But there’d be no seaside rescues this time, no crashed weddings, and no boardwalk tattoos. No Lizzie Bennet. And that was all right, he realized. He could remember her and smile, and hope she was happy out there, wherever she was.

  After stopping at a rest area to stretch his legs, relieve himself, and check his pocket map against Bingley’s directions, Richard turned the bike onto a long drive of firmly packed red clay, lined with enormous live oaks on either side. A stately, white-columned house sat prettily at the end of the drive. Beside the house, Richard could see Darcy’s bottle-green Jaguar twinkling like an emerald in the afternoon sun. He pulled up next to it and got off, stretching his long legs and shaking the dust and road dirt out of his hair. He felt grimy and his ass had gone numb an hour before, but he was happy to be there. It was a lovely bit of land.

  “Richie!” Darcy voice called out, making Richard jump. He turned and grinned
at his cousin, who was looking years younger and smiling broadly.

  “Good god, D. Don’t just come up on a man like that!” Darcy pulled him into a brief, one-armed hug before stepping back, beaming at him.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages, you old dog. I’m allowed to scare you.”

  Richard looked him up and down. Who the hell was this person? “Mission accomplished,” he said with a laugh. “I’m terrified of you grinning at me like that. What in the blue hell has gotten into you?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Darcy said, still smiling.

  Richard shook his hair out of his eyes, examining Darcy narrowly. “Oh, hell.” He groaned. He’s in love, Richard realized. Good.

  Darcy blinked, all innocence. “What?”

  “It’s the woman, isn’t it? This always happens to me. Ah well, you know what they say: always the bridesmaid, never the bri—”

  “Come on, asshole.” Darcy cuffed him on the shoulder. “We’re back here.”

  “How is Beastly, anyway?”

  Darcy grinned. “Come see for yourself.”

  “Say no more.” Richard groaned again, walking ahead. “Women.”

  They came through the garden entrance, laughing and exchanging playful jabs. Richard looked up at the small group gathered in the backyard. He stopped in his tracks, heart dropping into his stomach. There was a queasy sensation of the ground tilting ever so slightly, his vision going alarmingly gray. He blinked, realized the Earth was not trying to shake him off like a dog shaking off a flea. He just wished it was. A second later, Darcy collided into his back with all the force of a wrecking ball hitting bricks.

  “Dammit, Richie! Watch where you’re going!”

  Richard heard him, but the words didn’t quite reach him. It was her. Right there in front of him as if he’d conjured her to the spot. Her hair hung long, down her back, pinned away from her small, oval face. The dappled sunlight played across her face, every detail coming back to him in a flood of memory. The little upturn at the tip of her nose, the smooth arch of her brows, the fuller, slightly pouty lower lip. Would she still smell the same? Feel the same if he took her in his arms? But he knew there would be none of that. He’d abandoned her, left her without a word, taking her innocence in more ways than one. It was a black mark on his soul, he knew. And he was being soundly punished for that sin now.

  “No,” he said in a breathless voice. “It can’t…can’t be…how is this possible?” His throat burned with trying to hold back everything he wanted to ask, wanted to say. Get out. You’ve got to get out. The need to run, to escape, was so abrupt and forceful that Richard reeled back, his hand clutching at Darcy’s sleeve.

  “What are you playing at, Will? I can’t…I can’t be here. She must absolutely hate me. You can’t let her see—”

  His words died in his throat as Elizabeth turned and saw them. There was a clang as something fell to the ground. Were those horseshoes? Her face paled in…what? Horror? Fear? Loathing?

  “You,” she said. It was a damning sound, that word. Not that it mattered now, he was damned either way.

  “Goodness Lizzie, are you all right?” A lovely young woman reached out to help her. Richard could see the resemblance in their faces, despite their differences in height and coloring. One of her sisters? Bingley was there, looking on in confusion. Standing close to the other Bennet sister. Jane? He thought that was her name. He dared not take his eyes off Elizabeth, who’s black gaze undoubtedly would have killed him on the spot if able.

  It was Darcy who broke the silence, in a voice like the grave. “I take it you two know each other already?”

  Elizabeth looked at Darcy, expression softening, brow wrinkling. Richard saw a great deal in that look. He didn’t dare give name to any of it.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice suddenly thick. “Is this some kind of a joke? You’re cousins?”

  “All our lives,” Darcy said solemnly.

  She shook her head again. “No,” she said in a trembling voice. “No. This isn’t happening.”

  Richard couldn’t stop his traitor feet, which should have turned and run. Instead they approached her. Slowly, making no sudden gestures. He stopped within touching distance. She tilted her head up and looked at him with huge, stricken eyes, fathomless and full of pain. But not just pain. He could see the smallest spark of happiness, of relief. He felt the last embers of this flame inside him catch, turning his heart into nothing short of conflagration. It burned, but it burned beautifully.

  Her arm flew out in an arc; her palm slapping him right across the cheek. It was louder than a pistol crack in the silent garden. His skin tingled from the contact, painful and sweet as any of their interactions had been. She pulled her arm back to hit him again, with a fist this time, but he caught her wrist easily. Her pulse thrummed under his fingertips. He pulled that hand, still balled up to strike him, and pressed it to his chest, over his wildly-beating heart. I’m here, and I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours.

  “My god, Slim.” His voice trembled. “Is it really you?”

  She shivered like the last leaf of summer, trying not to fall. Tears filled her eyes, spilling down her face. She nodded.

  A cry escaped him as he pulled her hard against him, a primal sound of joy and despair. Would the two always be so interlocked? His arms went around her, as if they belonged there. Because they do, my god, they do. They fell to their knees, still holding each other, weeping and murmuring soft words while the world around them fell away.

  The tearful reunion was as short-lived as it had been powerful. She pushed him away, tears still streaming down her stricken face. She wiped them away roughly.

  “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

  Richard reached for her. “Slim—”

  “Don’t! You don’t get to call me that!” Richard wanted to sink into the earth. How would he ever make up for what he’d done? “Do you have any idea what you did to me?”

  He scrambled to his feet, holding his palms out to her. “I can explain everything, Lizzie. I promise. Please, let me redeem myself.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It’s way too late for that. And it doesn’t change anything.”

  He started toward her, but the other girl moved, shielding Elizabeth from him.

  “I would very much like to know what’s going on here,” she said coolly.

  Richard opened his mouth, closed it again. How to explain this? Was it even his place?

  “Perhaps,” Bingley said cautiously, “I should take you and Lizzie home. Let the dust settle a bit?”

  The sound of a car tearing down the driveway made them all look around. Just then, Richard noticed that Darcy was no longer standing with them.

  “Will,” Elizabeth whispered, burying her face in her hands. He froze, understanding. She was the woman Darcy had fallen for. From the looks of it, the feeling was more than mutual. What an idiot he’d been.

  “I have to get out of here,” she said, shrugging off her sister’s arms.

  “Charles can drive us home, Lizzie,” the other woman said plaintively.

  She took a shuddering breath, looking pointedly away from him. “No. No, I don’t want to go home.”

  “Slim…”

  Before he could say another word, she turned and ran away without a backward glance.

  Elizabeth’s sister turned and glared at him. “I think you’d better explain yourself,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest.

  He ran a shaking hand through his hair. He was still sore and tired and dirty from the trip down; he felt dizzy from the rush of emotions. He wanted to run after Elizabeth, wanted to talk to Darcy, and wanted more than anything in that moment to talk to Evie, to have her calm and quiet wisdom.

  He sighed. “My…my name is Richard Fitzwilliam. Will’s my cousin.”

  “I met Richard when Darcy and I were at Yale,” Bingley explained gently. “We’re old friends.”

  “She never…she never told you about me?” Richard was
n’t sure which scenario would be worse: Elizabeth having told her everything or nothing at all. He supposed it served him right to be her dirty, little secret.

  “She never told me your name,” the sister said. Her name popped into his head. “Jane’s my oldest sister; if she were here you wouldn’t give me a second glance.” The memory was sweetly barbed. He remembered laughing and pulling her closer. You know I could only ever look at you, Slim. He forced his thoughts back to Jane, who was still speaking to him.

  “All we know is that, three years ago, she came home from Charleston a different person than when she left.”

  “Miss Bennet—”

  “Jane. My name is Jane.”

  “I know,” Richard said with an apologetic smile. “She used to talk about you. I know you have no reason to believe me when I say this, but I never meant to hurt your sister. What I did to her was cowardly. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know as long as she’s okay with it. But believe me when I tell you that it would have been much worse for her had I not done what I did.”

  Jane’s face puckered. “You hurt her. You changed her. If you’re looking to get back in her good graces, you should know it won’t be through me.”

  “Jane—”

  “No, Charles. I know that you all are old friends but between Will Darcy and this”―she gestured toward Richard―“this person. But she’s been through enough lately. Now, I’ll call Mary to come and collect me. The two of you clearly have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Bingley groaned and rubbed his forehead. “You…you can’t help yourself can you? Elizabeth, really?”

  “It wasn’t like that, Charles.”

  He’d bathed and put on clean clothes, but, now that the rush of discovery had worn off, Richard felt exhausted and jittery, wondering where she was, what she was doing. And where was his cousin?