by Beau North
Kelly sighed and nodded at the bartender. It wasn’t great beer, but it was cheap and plentiful. Anne still had never quite adjusted to financial independence after years of comparative penury. Her habits were too ingrained, too much a part of her. She still liked cheap beer and mended her own dresses…or rather, Charlotte mended them with all her superior skill. She drove the thought of Charlotte, and what Charlotte might be doing, from her thoughts. Kelly was uncomfortable and silent, and it irritated her.
“Why don’t you have a girl?” she asked, feeling the pleasant, heavy-limbed feeling of too much alcohol. No wonder Richard spent so long soaked in the stuff.
“I did, remember?”
“Ah yes, the ethereal Vera.”
“No need to be coarse about it.”
Anne giggled. “Patrick Brian Kelly, you are so wonderfully old-fashioned, sometimes I think you might be my mother in disguise.”
Kelly scoffed. “You don’t have a mother. You sprang fully grown from Zeus’s skull, sword in hand.”
“I most certainly did have a mother.” Anne’s eyes welled with sudden, unexpected emotion. “She passed, all alone, with no one but the maid.”
Since leaving home on a chilly November morning five years ago, Anne’s relationship with her mother had gone from fraught to utterly silent. That her mother had allowed her to leave at all still amazed her after all this time. At first, Anne wrote to her mother every week. Then every other week. Then once a month. Her messages went unreturned, her letters nothing more than shouts into a void. At times, her feelings for Catherine DeBourgh veered from gratitude to rage. In all the time that had passed, Anne still couldn’t be certain which she felt more. And now, her mother was gone, and she’d never get the chance to know for sure.
Nothing seemed to make sense in that moment. Part of her wondered what in the world she’d been thinking, letting Richard into her bed to be with the woman who was her wife in all but name. You’re thinking you want to make Charlotte happy. She drained the rest of her beer.
“Come on, Kelly. Let’s go to the Waldorf, and I’ll make all your wildest dreams come true, as long as those dreams include a little necking and some under-the-shirt stuff,” Anne declared about two seconds before she passed out cold, never leaving her barstool.
Patrick Kelly looked at his friend, the woman he’d loved since the day she’d walked into his precinct four years before. He’d pined for her, listened to her, protected her secrets, and had never asked for anything in return. He’d allowed her to paint him from every angle, in every state of dress and undress. She’d seen every inch of him, and he’d never seen her in anything so revealing as short sleeves.
He knew about her, of course, and Charlotte, who had never warmed to him. Until that night, he’d never realized just how much Anne loved Charlotte. He’d always harbored a secret hope that one day Anne would turn around and realize it was him she loved, no matter how long it took. But he knew now that day was never coming. He sighed and finished his beer before whistling for the bartender’s attention.
“Can your man at the door hail us a cab? I think my lady friend has had enough.”
28
July 27, 1954
Dear Jane,
I hardly know how to begin this letter. I’ve had the shock of my life―and that’s saying something. Forgive my scattered thoughts. For the first time since I married Will, I find the grand halls of Pemberley close and oppressive. I miss Longbourn, with its creaky floors and cracked plaster. I miss the walk to Netherfield through the woods. I miss Father’s office and its smell of old paper and tobacco. Mostly I miss you, Jane. I need you, need to see you now. You always ground me when I start floating away.
As you know, Charlotte and Anne are here with Richard for Georgiana and Ari’s engagement party. I’m still so sorry you weren’t feeling well enough to come, perhaps a little selfishly, as I can at least laugh at myself when you’re here.
I was just thinking how much easier it was, at last, how the awkwardness seems to have abated. And after all that time, all these years of watching nothing happened, something happened.
Oh, Jane. I’m such a little idiot.
Charlotte (with much nervousness and stammering) told me today that she is expecting a child in the spring! I was naturally curious as to who the father might be. I may have blurted out something to that effect. I swear every day I get more and more like our mother.
But then Richard looked at me and I just knew. I knew, Jane. He is the father of Charlotte’s baby! She and Anne seem closer than ever, so I don’t believe there is a romantic attachment—at least not on her part. He did seem…protective of her. I honestly can’t say if that makes it all better or worse. Please don’t think your stupidest sister is without a heart. I know how much Charlotte has always wanted to be a mother, and she will be a brilliant one. I know that happiness should be all that I feel. But no matter how hard I try to feel joy, all I can feel are these tall, grand walls, closing in on me, crushing me down to nothing. Am I jealous? I honestly can’t tell. Had he chosen to father a child with anyone else in the world (save my own dear sisters―and I’ve always counted Charlotte in that company), I might actually be relieved, probably even happy. But for it to be my oldest friend…Jane, it’s all a little too much for me. As if this wasn’t bad enough, there was no way to hide my reaction to the news from William. I worry that I may have hurt him rather badly, Jane. Can you come to me, dearest? Give your poor, simple sister some comfort? Ring me as soon as you get this. I would have called but I don’t think I could have gotten the words out.
I love you, Sister. I’ll wait to hear from you.
Lizzie
The door flew open with a bang. She looked up from the envelope she had only just sealed and addressed, tears stinging her eyes. Her husband loomed in the doorway like a thundercloud. He shut the door behind him none too gently.
“Will—” The words died on her lips. His face a thunderhead as he stormed over to her, wrapping his hand around her arm in a firm grip and pulling her out of her seat.
His other hand clasped the back of her neck, pulling her close to her and taking her mouth in a kiss. There was no other word for it―he took; he claimed. Or rather, he reclaimed. His breath was hot on her skin, making her shiver. She knew that it was a rebuke of every sore feeling she possessed. You’re mine. And no one else’s.
“William.” His name slipped from her lips, whispered like a prayer. He pulled back, his eyes boring into hers.
“That’s right, Mrs. Darcy. My name is the only one that belongs on these lips.”
He kissed her again, slow and teasing, drawing a moan from her throat.
“The only name in this heart.” His lips traveled lower, teasing a blazing path from her neck to the spot just above her left breast. He took the fabric of her soft linen shirtdress and pulled, tearing it as easily as a slip of paper. Deft fingers found their way under her skirt and slip, removing her undergarments.
When he pulled away from her, she felt the shock of cool air touching the places his tongue had left wet.
“Will―” she gasped. “They’ll hear.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
He sank to his knees on the plush rug, pulling her legs onto his shoulders as he did. Out of instinct or self-preservation or both, she hooked her legs together behind his head even as she reveled in the shocking pleasure of his kiss on the most intimate part of her. When he looked up at her at last, his eyes were heavy with need, and she was reduced to a quivering string that might snap if not plucked.
“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he asked in a gruff voice she barely recognized. She arched her body toward him.
“I need you,” she answered in a trembling voice.
He stood, careful to set her on her feet before spinning her around. Her cheeks burned. They’d done this before, in the privacy of their bedroom, but never in the full light of day with a house full of guests. What a surprise to her then, that her sudden bout of shame did
not lessen the need she felt for him. It only made her desire more acute, almost painful.
Her hands gripped the edge of the desk. She heard the rustle of clothing and a few rough breaths before he entered her, more gently than she was expecting. A low moan slipped from her throat as his hands took her hips and pulled her slowly back toward him. When he filled her entirely, he stopped, standing stock still. When no movement came from him, she whimpered and pushed back against him, making him groan. Shivers raced across her skin at the sound.
After that, it wasn’t gentle at all.
August 9, 1954
Pemberley Manor
Lambton
Darcy found his wife looking out the window at the long gravel drive. He put his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair.
She arched back into his touch. “Were you expecting someone?” she asked. He peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a long black car making its way up the drive.
“I think that’s Charles’s car.”
“I believe you’re right,” Elizabeth said, frowning. “Should we go have a look?”
“I hope everyone is okay.”
Elizabeth linked her arm with his as they made their way downstairs, to the private entrance for family and staff. Jane was climbing out of the car, looking tired and pale.
“Jane!” Elizabeth flew into her sister’s arms, and Darcy thought he saw some of Jane’s color return. They saw each other less since Charles had sold Netherfield and moved back to DC. “Netherfield served its purpose, Darce,” he’d said. “And there’s no rule that says I have to live so close to my mother-in-law.”
Charles got out, looking harassed but happy to see them. He held his arms out to Elizabeth. “Well, Lizzie, you wrote, and we came.”
Darcy watched with interest as his wife turned bright pink. “Oh. That letter! I thought I’d thrown it out. The maid must have sent it.”
Jane cupped her sister’s face. “Are you good, Lizzie? Really?’
Elizabeth kissed Jane’s cheeks. “I’m good, Jane. You should have called!”
“I wanted to come see you, and Georgie of course. I want to meet her young man. Hello, Will.” Jane smiled up at him.
Darcy bent down and kissed her cheek, trying not to notice how pale she was. “Jane, it’s been too long.”
Bingley came around and shook his hand. “I tried to talk her out of it,” Bingley said in a low voice, watching as the two Bennet sisters went arm-in-arm inside the house, talking about the wedding. “But she insisted we drive out here. I left a message with Georgiana.”
Darcy shook his head and clapped his friend on the back. Bingley had gotten a bit thick around the middle but was otherwise much the same as he had been when they first set foot in Meryton, before they knew who the Bennet sisters were or what the coming years would have in store for them.
“No wonder I didn’t know. Between her Hebrew studies and wedding planning, Georgie falls asleep at her desk most nights.”
Bingley sighed and handed Darcy a bag. “Here, carry this. I’ve got Jane’s insulin in the cooler back here.”
He dug in the backseat and brought out a metal cooler that rattled and sloshed with water and melting ice. He followed Darcy into the house where the cooler was handed off to the maid with the instruction that Jane’s insulin be put in the small refrigerator he’d had installed a few years ago in one of the family rooms for just this purpose. If Jane needed her insulin quickly, it was better to have it a few steps away rather than on the other side of the manor.
“So, Richard and Charlotte, eh?” Bingley asked when they were alone once more. Darcy put the suitcases down in the corridor. His people knew where they needed to go.
“Oh. So that’s what she wrote to Jane about.”
Bingley shook his head. “He just can’t keep from stirring the shit, can he?”
Darcy thought this was a tad unfair, even though the day when they’d found out, he could have cheerfully throttled his cousin for all the mess he’d made in his own marriage. All the doubt and indecision, all the tiptoeing around his feelings, and this is how Richard repaid them. But he couldn’t fault Charlotte for wanting a child of her own. And Richard was a logical choice for her.
“Come on,” he said to Bingley, who seemed almost as tired as his wife. “Let’s have a tipple.”
He led them to his study, his sanctum sanctorum, and poured them each two fingers of whiskey before asking the question he needed to ask.
“How is she, Charles? How is she really?”
Bingley held his glass for a moment, just staring into the amber liquid. “Truth be told, Darce, she’s had a tough time lately. She gets sicker easier, stays sicker longer. She’s tired all the time. Some days even the smallest thing can be too much for her.” He downed his drink in one swallow, putting the glass aside. “But now that we’re here, I’m glad we came. Being around Lizzie helps, I think.”
Darcy fought to keep his voice level. “You know, if there’s anything she needs…anything you need, you only have to ask.”
Bingley smiled, looking a little more himself. “I know that, and it’s appreciated. I shouldn’t have moved her to DC, truth be told. She hates the city.”
“You know the old Mullins property is for sale. It’s just outside the Matlock County line, about an hour’s drive from here,” Darcy said. “It’s a pretty place. I was thinking about buying it for Georgie and Ari, but they’ve got it in their head to travel for a while.”
Bingley seemed to think this over. “Not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Maybe I should go take a look.”
“We’ll go tomorrow,” he said, “and escape the wedding talk for a few hours.”
Bingley grinned and helped himself to another drink. “And the baby talk too, I should think.”
Darcy raised his glass in salute and took a drink. That sounded well and good to him.
It sounded damn fine.
“How are you, really, Lizzie?” Jane asked, leaning on her arm as they stood on the grand veranda, watching Georgiana and Ari walk through the gardens.
Elizabeth looked at her sister, who, despite being more tired and frail than usual, was as sharp and observant as she’d ever been.
“Truthfully, Jane? I’m embarrassed as hell. And more than a little confused.”
Jane chuckled and raised her cup of tea. “You don’t need me to tell you what to feel, Lizzie. You know well enough for yourself. And you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. How would anyone react to such strange news? I can’t say I would have acted much differently had I been in your shoes.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Jane, you’re being too nice to me.”
“And you’re not being nice enough.” Jane lowered herself into one of the wrought iron-chairs they kept outside, next to a large potted hibiscus. Jane didn’t seem to notice the hummingbirds zipping around the plant, dipping their pointed beaks in the flowers. “You’ll always love Richard in some small way. It doesn’t diminish your love for Will, does it?”
“Certainly not.” It wasn’t even a question.
“Well, that settles it. You can allow yourself to feel conflicted. No one will think less of you.”
“Charlotte—”
“Will be too busy with a baby to hold grudges. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I am happy for her.”
“So am I!” Elizabeth exclaimed, pacing in front of her sister. “Good heavens, Jane, I’m not a monster.”
Jane grinned and sipped her tea. “Not lately, no.”
December 17, 1954
Dear Richard,
Thank you, my cousin—my friend—for the incredible wedding gift. Three months in a beautiful apartment just off the Champs-Élysées was more generous than Ari or I ever expected. Right now, I’m watching the snow fall out of our kitchen window and hoping that life in New York is good and that you and Charlotte and Anne are well. Please give them my love, and let me know how Charlotte is feeling. Are you excited to be a father? He or she will be here in a few sh
ort months, and I can’t wait to meet the baby.
I’m including some photos we took from a day trip to the Loire Valley, such a beautiful old place. I have fallen in love with France almost as quickly as I fell in love with Ari. I can’t thank you enough, not just for this incredible gift—this gift of time—but for being there for me, for sharing your heart with me. I love you, Richard.
Georgiana Darcy Prenska
December 31, 1954
Gramercy Park
New York City
Richard put Georgiana’s letter aside, along with the photos of her and Ari smiling in front of beautiful old stone buildings, canals, and sidewalk cafes. He was happy that she liked the apartment and that married life had thus far suited her. He thought it was a little strange that his baby cousin was married, and he—twelve years her senior—was not. He knew it wasn’t unusual for men to marry later than women but thought maybe it should have been.
He stood and walked to the window. New Year’s Eve again. Outside the snow was falling, and the people in the streets were singing their Auld Lang Synes. He felt a part of it but still removed from it, removed from everything, really. Charlotte was due in a few short months, but what then? She and Anne had made it blatantly, painfully clear that they “expected nothing of him.” Stay or go, the twin urges pulled him in two directions. He was tired, tired of the city and mundane routine his life had become. He felt a restless need to go and explore. He felt rooted to the spot, desperate to see his son or daughter delivered and healthy.
Charlotte came in, belly first as she entered every room these days. She looked up at him and smiled. “There you are. They’ll be counting down soon. Won’t you join us?”
A strange sensation gripped his heart. “No, thanks, Char. I’ve had enough of New Year celebrations to last a lifetime I think.”
She laughed, then gasped, her eyes going wide.
