He drew her a little closer to his side. “Would it be enough to make you happy, Lizzy?”
“Perhaps,” she quipped and could tell she surprised him.
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, perhaps. I think happiness in marriage is a matter of dispositions. Surely many marry for reasons other than love and achieve happiness. The security of their family and themselves, respectability in the eyes of society…”
“…a lifelong companion to ease loneliness and the tasks of one’s estate or business. I had once thought that was all I would find in a marriage.”
“Would it have made you happy?”
He was very quiet. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “Although I think my disposition is less made for that kind of happiness. No, I desire real, ardent love.”
“Hmm…” Elizabeth arched a brow. “You mean like in the stories, where the man is so consumed he kills himself at the thought of life without his love?”
Darcy shook his head and lightly laughed at her tease. “No, I have far too many obligations to do that.” They had reached the stone bench where Darcy proposed and sat close together against the cold. He stroked her cheek. “But an ardent love that is born out of selflessness, that can accept my faults and inspire me to be a better man, that is what would make me happiest in marriage. Not a list of duties we dispense together.”
Elizabeth leaned forward to lightly kiss him. “Then we have enough, William.”
He smiled before replying, “Yes, our love is enough.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I mean we have love, and we have our duties, our sense of honour.”
“We do,” he said, nodding. He would have chosen Elizabeth over his honour and duties to his family. He would have chosen love but was so grateful that he was not required to do so. “Come, it is cold. We should return to the house.”
They walked hand in hand. Darcy could hardly wait until the evening. He had had many fantasies of taking Elizabeth in passion while at Netherfield, and the one night they had been in residence was certainly not enough. Elizabeth blushed as though knowing his thoughts.
Their shared, heated gaze was unceremoniously interrupted. “Nephew!” Lady Catherine demanded. “Come. Speak to me about this new physician you and your uncle have hired for Anne.”
Elizabeth squeezed his hands, and he turned to leave
Mary, who had just arrived with the other Bennets for the dinner they were to have at Netherfield, came running to Elizabeth’s side. “Lizzy, Mama has been looking everywhere for you. She insists you sit with Jane.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Of course.”
She and Darcy shared a look and mouthed the words “I love you” before being pulled away to attend to their duties.
*****
Elizabeth heard footsteps in the hall and tossed aside the handkerchief she had been working on. The door opened, revealing her husband in a dressing gown.
“You came,” she murmured as he walked to her side.
He spoke no words, only nodded. His eyes raked over her body, similarly undressed. He lifted her hands to his lips, then turned them over and kissed her palms, making Elizabeth’s heart race.
She walked over to a bookshelf and fingered a binding before pulling it out. “I believe I may need a lesson on this one,” she held it out to him.
Darcy took it from her hands and tossed it on the sofa she just left. Then he pulled her to him and kissed her deeply.
Finally breaking it, he pulled her towards the door.
“Where are we going? I thought…I thought you liked the library,” she said breathlessly.
“Oh, I do,” he chuckled. “But it does not end here. Now I have an obligation to return you to your chambers.” He scooped her up in his arms.
An obligation, indeed, she thought and suppressed a smile.
Finally reaching Darcy’s room, he eased her onto the bed.
“Is this what you wanted?” she asked.
“This is better than anything I ever imagined. You, the real you, are better than anything I ever imagined,” he said as he joined her on the bed. He kissed her, then laughed. “I do wonder how I thought I might speak of novels while attempting a seduction.”
Elizabeth laughed as well. “Oh, yes. I much prefer it when you let up on the seriousness and instead laugh with me.”
“Is that so?” he asked and poised his hand over Elizabeth’s stomach. She flinched, realising his intent and expecting a treatment to one of his merciless rounds of tickles. Instead, he drew a lazy circle on it. “There is one thing we forgot to list amongst our obligations this afternoon.”
“Is there?” His other hand wandered deliciously slow over her, clouding her ability for coherent thought.
“We do have an obligation to have children…,” he said quietly in her ear, causing a riot of sensations to course through her body.
Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, for the estate.”
“And to love,” he said before kissing her deeply.
“Then we had best see to that,” she said with a grin when he finally broke away.
They shared a light laugh before resuming their marital obligations.
The End
Domestic Felicity
You have just finished reading A Sense of Obligation. Originally, this book was a stand-alone. A sequel, Domestic Felicity, is planned to release in 2021. In Domestic Felicity, Darcy and Elizabeth have been married for several years but there is a strain in their marriage as they stay with relatives after a devastating fire at Pemberley.
V
The Secrets of Pemberley
The Men of Austen Book 1
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
Rose Fairbanks
Copyright
The Secrets of Pemberley
Published by Rose Fairbanks
©2018 Rose Fairbanks
Early drafts of this work were posted online.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without permission in writing from its publisher and author.
Several passages in this novel are paraphrased from the works of Jane Austen.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to characters, whether living or dead, is not the intention of this author.
Chapter One
“You have done this, Anne, and I will never forgive you.”
A large, stern man hovered over Fitzwilliam Darcy’s sobbing mother. Her cries awoke the boy of eight from his nighttime slumber in the small Scottish cottage where he and his mother shared a room. The only light was a lantern in the man’s hand. Outside the open window, the world remained quiet except for the sound of horses snorting and stamping impatiently. A coachman attempted to calm them.
“But do not take him away from me! Do not take my boy!”
Fitzwilliam attempted to hide behind his mother who now sat on his bed.
“You have taken mine!” the man roared. “Have you no words of regret on the passing of your firstborn? My son! My heir! He needed his mother—but no, you were here.”
Lady Anne Darcy remained mute and continued her sobs. Her son peered curiously at the angry man. Mother had another child? He had a brother?
“Do not fret,” the man glared and had no sympathy for the tears he saw. “I kept your affair a secret, and he has my name. He will be accepted.”
“But he will not be loved!” Lady Anne sobbed anew, and she hugged Fitzwilliam.
“You should have thought of that before you played the harlot.”
“If you would allow me to come with you,” she pleaded.
“Absolutely not. You will remain here for your ’health.’ Now, pass the boy over.”
Fitzwilliam saw the man staring at him. He looked strange, unfamiliar and in clothing that showed no signs of wear. Mother had always said one day his father would come for him, but looking at this man, Fitzwilliam did not want to go.
“No, anything but that please,
” Mother cried.
Large hands tried to snatch Fitzwilliam’s arm, and she threw herself in front of the child. He darted to the other side of the room.
“Anne,” George said in a warning tone. “The law is on my side.”
He sounded angry, and Fitzwilliam flinched at the voice, but his mother did not cower. Either Mother was very brave, or perhaps there was no reason to fear violence from the man.
“Allow me to say goodbye,” Mother pleaded.
At last, the towering man relented.
“Fitzwilliam, my darling son,” Mother choked out and embraced him.
He wrapped his hands tightly around her waist and pressed his head to her chest. “Mama, please do not send me away. Do not make me go with that man.” Tears streaked down his face, and he trembled in fear. Other than Cook and the maid, he had seldom known other people. He was even too shy to greet the minister they saw every Sunday.
“He is your father,” Mama said.
The man snorted, and Fitzwilliam lifted his head.
Mother turned her head to face Father. “What else is there to tell him, George?”
“Disguise of every sort is my abhorrence,” he said through gritted teeth. “Am I not lying enough as it is?”
“Please,” Mother asked as her chin trembled and tears fell down her cheeks. “Please.”
“Blast it. You always knew how to get your way,” Father whispered. “I will tell him when he is old enough.”
Fitzwilliam felt relief in his mother’s frame, and she exhaled the breath she had been holding.
“Thank you.”
Turning back to her son, she ran comforting hands over his hair and face. “Now, you will go with your Papa and learn everything you can about running a big estate. So many people will look up to you and will count on you. Do you think you can do that?”
Fitzwilliam shook his head.
“Our son was never afraid of anything,” Father said sadly. “Did you ever wonder?”
Pain and anguish flooded Mother’s eyes, and she squeezed them shut. Upon opening, determination filled them.
“You can do this! I know you can! Do you remember the name of the estate?”
“Pember…Pemberley?”
“Yes! See how smart you are already?”
Fitzwilliam did not care about praise at this moment. Why did he have to leave Mother behind? “When will I see you again?”
“Do not worry about that,” she answered with a quavering voice. “I must remain here and get healthy.”
Mother often said they lived here because of her health. She never seemed ill to him, only sad. However, he would never wish to hurt her. “Must I go?”
“Yes, it is your duty to be the heir of Pemberley.” She pulled him into a crushing hug. “Now, never forget how I love you. No one will ever love you as much as your mother does.”
“Boy, it is time,” Father called.
After another minute, Mother released him and gave him a kiss on each cheek. He reluctantly walked to his father’s side.
“I am pleased to meet you, Father,” he said.
George Darcy harrumphed and left the sparse room. Fitzwilliam cast a parting look at his mother, who tried to smile and waved goodbye. Then, he trailed down the stairs and maintained silence until they were in the carriage. As they pulled away from the cottage which been his only home, Fitzwilliam cried.
“See here, boy,” George said sternly. “You are a Darcy. Darcy men do not cry.”
“I am sorry, Father.”
“And we never apologise for being ourselves. Hold your chin up high.”
“Like this?” his voice warbled as he held back more tears.
Father did not praise him but nodded. After a few moments, Fitzwilliam managed to control his emotions. Seeking his father’s approval, he asked about his new home.
“Mother told me so much about Pemberley. She told me about the horses. I like horses. Do you?”
Father said nothing and only looked out the carriage window. Fitzwilliam tried again.
“I like reading too. Mother says you will teach me how to run Pemberley. I am a very good student.”
“Boy, a Darcy does not chatter. I am not interested in your interests, and you are not interested in mine. Be silent until I speak to you.”
Father’s command was so harsh it rattled off the walls of the carriage, and he followed it with a harsh glare. Fitzwilliam’s lip trembled, and he sank back in his seat, remaining silent until they reached the gigantic house.
“Mr. Darcy.”
“Yes?” the now-adult Fitzwilliam Darcy asked without opening his eyes, as the images of his long-ago past settled into the recesses of his mind.
“You wished to arise early for your journey to Rosings.”
“Yes, thank you,” Darcy said, dismissing the valet.
The master of Pemberley rose and swung his legs out of bed. As he went through his morning ablutions, he pushed aside the thoughts of his past. The man he had thought was his father was not his father at all, of course. He was the product of an affair, and there was not one drop of Darcy blood in his veins. However, of all their worth he was now master.
His mother had told the truth on one score. She was the only one to ever love him. When his foolish heart brought up the memory of a pair of fine, dancing eyes and free laughter, he closed his eyes and gripped the dresser before him.
“Think with your head, not your heart,” he muttered through grit teeth. The mantra had been pounded into him from the man who raised him, and he would not see all that he worked for to be a true Darcy come to an end through wayward thoughts of the beguiling Elizabeth Bennet.
*****
“Will this be the year, Darcy?” Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam asked his cousin.
“Pardon?” The question pulled Darcy from his brooding.
“Do not play dumb. You well know Aunt Catherine has wanted you to marry Anne.”
“If I were at all likely to do that, why would I have waited so long?”
“Because you are Fitzwilliam Darcy and brood over everything and take your time with your decisions?”
“It would be ungentlemanly to make Anne wait so long.”
“She has already waited.”
“Her mother has waited. It does not follow that Anne has been left in the dark about my feelings.”
“Ah, I see,” Richard grinned. “This is the first I have heard you ever criticize Aunt Catherine.”
“It is not my fault that I am the son of her long-lost sister,” Darcy murmured.
Although they knew he was the product of an affair, he had not been allowed to meet his mother’s family until after George Darcy’s death. While many saw Lady Catherine de Bourgh as proud and intrusive, she had a soft spot for her youngest nephew.
“I happened to spend time in an area this autumn with a woman whose matchmaking attempts rival Aunt’s.”
“Never say you were nearly caught in her web. I thought there was not a miss alive who could ensnare you!”
“No, no. I was not her target.”
Darcy grew quiet as he recalled a ball at his friend’s house in Hertfordshire. The woman he was thinking of had five daughters, and she had selected her eldest for his friend. She had loudly extolled to any guest within earshot that she expected a wedding before the New Year.
“A friend then?”
Darcy nodded. He did not meet with Richard more than once or twice a year, and so there was always much to catch up on. Darcy would not reveal his friend’s identity, but it would take little imagination to make the correct guess. He never had made many friends.
“I had to separate him from a young lady.”
“Grasping wench, was she?”
“No,” Darcy shook his head. “I do not think so bad as that, but she was not the type to fall in love off a short acquaintance. All advantage of the match would be on her side, and she was a very dutiful daughter.”
“And so, we return to Anne,” Richard said.
> “There certainly were similarities,” Darcy agreed.
“It sounds as though this woman was looking for helpless, foolish sots seduced by a pretty face for her penniless but dutiful and complacent daughters. Did she have any sisters?”
Darcy laughed at the picture Richard painted. “Certainly not all complacent.” Elizabeth’s teasing words came to mind.
“Ah,” Richard smirked. “So, was this an act of friendship or self-preservation? If the eldest miss was out of the way, the mother might foist her next upon you!”
Darcy’s heart pounded at the thought. Lest Richard think him affected by the idea, Darcy chose to tease. “You sound jealous,” Darcy raised a brow. “Perhaps you would like an introduction?”
“No, no,” He waved a hand. “Harmless flirtations only for me.”
“Beware. A lady’s imagination is very rapid,” Darcy cautioned.
“I’m no green boy.” Richard then leaned forward, “She will ask about Georgiana. She will ask about your summer.”
Darcy sighed and wiped his brow. Some four years after Darcy had been separated from his mother, she had borne a daughter. Once again, George Darcy concealed his wife’s adultery and paid for the child’s care and education. When he died, he named his wife’s son and her nephew as guardian rather than any Darcy relatives.
Darcy had been delighted to finally get to know his sister. She remained at school, but he visited often. When she turned sixteen, he withdrew her from the seminary and put her in the care of a companion who was meant to oversee her transition to womanhood and presentation into society. Instead, disaster struck. Missing her friends and feeling no great affection for her brother, Georgiana readily believed herself in love with an old friend and planned to elope. The merest chance interrupted their plans: Darcy had unexpectedly arrived, and Georgiana confessed all.
Even now, nearly a year later, what hurt Darcy the most was that his sister had not loved him enough to consider his feelings. Of course, that was his sentimental Fitzwilliam side talking. The man George Darcy raised him to be would worry first about the family reputation.
Seven Days With Mr Darcy Page 53
