New Beginnings

by Leenie Brown

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  “You would think he had never done this before.” Bingley folded the paper he had been reading and placed it his lap.

  “Perhaps if he had been a bit more polite to the physician, he would not need to be pacing down here disturbing our peace,” said Richard.

  “I merely asked a few questions,” said Darcy.

  “Few questions?” scoffed Richard. “Yes, and the Inquisition was merely an interview.”

  “It was not that bad.” Darcy glared at his cousin.

  “Dr. Thompson is one of the most patient men I know, Darcy,” said Bingley. “It had to have been more than a few questions for him to have banished you from the room.”

  Darcy sank into a chair. “But the baby was not supposed to come until next month. Neither Katie nor Fredrick was born so early. What if this child is not strong enough? What if Lizzy…” His voice trailed off as he leaned his head back against his chair and stared at the ceiling.

  “Lizzy will be well,” reassured his cousin, “and the baby, too. The earliness of the child’s arrival may be due to simple calculation errors. It is always a bit of a gamble predicting the exact time of a birth.”

  Darcy sighed. “Yes, Dr. Thompson said the same before he suggested I wait down here.”

  The door to the library opened.

  “I do not need to be announced. He is my nephew; I should hope he knows who I am.” Lady Catherine stood one hand on the door, the other shooing Darcy’s butler away. “It would be much more beneficial should you make ready the parlour for tea rather than introducing people who are already known. And these parcels,” she motioned to the footman who accompanied her. His arms were laden with half a dozen packages, all tied prettily with bows of varying colours. “They should be placed in that room as well.” She tapped her walking stick on the floor and waited until she knew her instructions were being carried out. Then, she entered the room.

  “How is my niece, Darcy?” She handed her walking stick to Bingley as she motioned for Richard to assist her with her wrap. “I was under the impression she wished for you to attend her at this event─ridiculous notion, but I could not disabuse her of it. You are not shirking your duties, are you?”

  “I have been asked to wait here until I am summoned.”

  She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “Causing grief for the physician or your wife?”

  A chuckle escaped Richard. “Both, I assume.”

  Lady Catherine clucked her tongue and shook her head. “How you ever were fortunate enough to have her agree to marry the likes of you…always needing to know every detail and demanding that things be done your way. Preposterous! Who lives that way?”

  “I can think of at least one aunt,” said Darcy.

  “Yes, well,” said Lady Catherine. “A lady of my advanced years is expected to be set in her ways.”

  “It is not a recent affliction,” muttered Darcy.

  “More likely a family trait,” said Lady Matlock, who had just recently entered the room. “Your Uncle is no better. He must know all and insists on things being done his way.” She crossed the room and greeted first Richard with a kiss and then Darcy. “It is a trying time to be sure.”

  “Now,” said Lady Catherine. “Although it is good to see you, Darcy, we are not here for you. Today is a momentous day for young Miss Darcy for today she is to become an older sister.”

  “Did you not celebrate that when Fredrick was born?” Darcy asked.

  “Indeed. But do you wish for her to favour Fredrick over the new child? No, it is better we celebrate them all. Of course, if the celebrations are too much for you to endure every two years, you could stop procreating. Now, do make yourself useful and fetch your daughter. We are to have tea and presents.”

  Darcy rose to do as he was bid, but Lady Matlock stayed him. “There is no need, Darcy. I have already sent for her.”

  Just then, a small girl of four with brown hair and large blue eyes entered the room. “Papa!” She squealed as she made straight for him. “Papa, I am to have a party.”

  “Yes, I have heard,” said Darcy scooping her up. “Aunt Catherine and Aunt Elaine were telling me that you were going to have tea…”

  “And presents!” She clapped her hands.

  “Yes, presents,” Darcy said with a sigh and a pleading look to his Aunt Elaine.

  “Oh, we have presents for more than just you, sweetheart, ” said Lady Matlock taking the child from her father. “We have gifts for you to give as well.”

  “I get to give presents?” Her eyes were wide in surprise. “I like giving presents.”

  “Better than getting them?” asked Lady Matlock with a wink to Darcy. She understood his worry that his child would be spoiled by the frequent gifts Lady Catherine bestowed upon her.

  Katie, Katherine Elizabeth Darcy, scrunched up her face and thought for a moment before shaking her head. “No, but it is almost as good.” She played with the brooch on Lady Matlock’s dress. “Can I give one to Mama?”

  “Later after she and the new baby have had a good sleep. You can give them to your papa, and he will let you know when you can give them to your mama.” They continued to discuss the gifts and whether there would be gingerbread to eat with the tea as they left the room.

  “You know, I still cannot quite fathom the change in our Aunt Catherine,” said Richard. “To think she was so set against your marrying Elizabeth and now it is you who must bear her disapprobation while your wife and daughter appear to be favourites.”

  Darcy laughed. “I do not mind bearing her disapproval if it means her acceptance of Elizabeth.”

  Lady Catherine’s acceptance of Elizabeth had been gradual. Over the last five years, there had been more than one night, he had comforted his wife after a particularly trying experience involving his aunt. But, acceptance had come and continued to grow.

  Lady Catherine’s improvement was not all that had changed in those five years. Georgiana had taken her place in society and was now married. Richard and Charlotte had three boys and his venture into raising horses was a resounding success. Bingley and Jane had two sweet girls and had settled into an estate not far from Pemberley in Derbyshire. Caroline resided with the Hursts and was currently betrothed to a wealthy widower and associate of Mr. Gardiner. Thaddeus and Anne still resided at Rosings and were the parents of two boys. Mr. Collins was still their clergyman. He and Mary had just recently welcomed their fourth son into their home. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet still resided at Longbourn though Mr. Bennet’s health often took them to Bath; much to the delight of Lydia, who found country living was not as delightful as being surrounded by people. Kitty no longer lived at Longbourn. Her home was now in Kent, having found a match on one of her visits to the parsonage at Hunsford.

  The Gardiners still lived in Gracechurch Street. Andrew had his eyes set on following in the footsteps of his father. He approached the task with great seriousness and truly was turning into a very fine gentleman. Michael retained his love of boats and seemed destined to be part of the merchant fleet.

  Much had changed over the years, but one thing had not. Darcy was as besotted with his wife now as he had always been.

  “Mr. Darcy, your wife has requested your presence.” A young maid stood just inside the library door, her voice interrupting his rumination.

  “Ah, your banishment is over,” teased Richard. “Do remember to come tell us whether we are uncles to a niece or a nephew.”

  “As soon as I am able,” called Darcy over his shoulder.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  Elizabeth dozed while her new daughter lay by her side. The baby squirmed and made suckling noises. Carefully, Darcy picked her up.

  “Your mama is tired, little one.” He cuddled her close. “God has given you the best mama, you know. She is beautiful and brave and very, very lovely.”

  Elizabeth smiled and placed a hand on his arm. It was the very same speech he had given each of their children at their birth and repeat
ed to them often as he would kiss them good night.

  “Shh. She is sleeping, and you should be, too. Katie has been promised a chance to give you and her sister, Claire, gifts but not until you have rested.” He kissed his daughter’s head.

  Elizabeth held out her arms. “Give her to me, so that you may lie down and hold us both. I know it shall help me sleep much better, for I am always so much more at peace with you by my side.”

  “As am I.” He handed the sleeping baby to her and removing his boots and jacket, lay down beside her wrapping both her and their daughter in his arm. “Elizabeth?” He whispered.

  “Mmm hmm,” she murmured sleepily.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For our children. For your love. But most of all, for vexing your mother enough to disturb your father’s peace.”

  She giggled softly. “Then perhaps you should thank Mr. Collins.”

  He chuckled. “I do love you, Mrs. Darcy.”

  “And I love you, Mr. Darcy.”

  And who can be in doubt that what followed was a very happy life.

  Through Every Storm

  Chapter 1

  George Wickham slammed the glass down on the table. He had not meant to slam it down, but the table had somehow risen closer to his hand. He looked around the room, straining to find the barkeep. There appeared to be twice as many people here now as there had been mere minutes ago. Why could they not stay still instead of dancing in circles? He dropped his head into his hands.

  “Come on, old boy, time to get you home.” Colonel Nathaniel Denny hoisted his friend up to a semi-standing position and placed an arm around the drunken man to steady him. This was not the first time he had come to cart Wickham home. No, at one time, this had been a regular routine. Out of how many scrapes had Denny steered this reckless rogue?

  “I dunno wanna go hum,” slurred Wickham. “I wanna go to the greeve.”

  “It is not your time to go to the grave, Wickham. Perhaps tomorrow, but for tonight you are going home.” Denny dragged him out the door into the night. A cold, early spring rain was beginning to fall. Denny helped Wickham mount his horse before pulling the hat from his friend’s head. Perhaps a cold shower would help sober him up. Wickham uttered a curse and grabbed at one of the hats floating in front of him. The jerking action nearly sent him sprawling on the ground.

  After manoeuvring his horse close to Wickham’s, Denny helped right his friend once again. “Hold onto the saddle, old man. I will steer you home.” Wickham grabbed the saddle and slumped forward. Confident that his friend would stay seated, Denny nudged his horse to walk. With one hand on his own reigns and one on Wickham’s, he began the slow journey to Wickham’s rented house.

  Wickham shivered as the rain ran down his face and under the collar of his coat. The coldness of the rain and the night air brought back to him the pain he had been attempting to forget. “She’s gone.” He lifted his head long enough to spit out the words before slumping forward once again. The effort to stay upright was still too great.

  “Yes, she is gone.” Denny knew what few others knew. Wickham, though once a cad and a rake, had learned to love his wife—a wife who was forced upon him due to an ill-thought out plan for revenge. Theirs had been a hard life of scraping by, first on the meager earnings of an enlisted man and then, the poor profits from his shop.

  In one respect, she had been good for him. His love for her had finally overcome his love of gambling and had helped him gain a desire to become a respectable gentleman. It was too bad that she had not returned his affection.

  “You still have Thomas and Louisa. You must think of them now.”

  Wickham groaned. How was he to care for his children on his own? Thomas he could mold into the man he never was, but Louisa — what did he know of helping a girl grow into womanhood? His experiences with women were the sort that he hoped his daughter would avoid. Kitty would help him. She was the only one of his wife’s sisters who still spoke to him. The few bridges that he had not burned in his misguided youth, his wife had done a masterful job of destroying.

  Denny pulled Wickham from his horse and helped him into the house. He poured some cold black coffee into a mug and shoved it at his friend. Wickham grimaced at the taste of the stale coffee.

  “You could go after her.” Denny took a seat across from Wickham.

  “And do what? Get myself killed?” Wickham scoffed.

  “That is what you are trying to do now. At least if death comes at the end of a dueling pistol instead of the bottom of a bottle, it would be an honourable death.”

  “Honourable.” Wickham huffed. “When have I ever been honourable?” He took another gulp of his coffee and placed the cup on the table.

  Denny pushed the mug toward him and raised a brow in challenge. Wickham sighed and took possession of the drink again.

  “In the past five years,” said Denny, “you have proven yourself to be honourable on many occasions.”

  “Those were not honourable actions, but restitution. There is a difference.”

  “Only an honourable man would make payment for his past transgressions. You, ten years ago, would have scoffed at any man who tried to right his own or another person’s wrongs–in fact, you did. How many times did I hear you curse the name of Darcy?”

  Wickham stared at the dark liquid in his cup. “I should have listened to him–to him, his father and my own. Instead, I blamed them for all my misfortunes. Stupid man.” Wickham gulped the last of his coffee. “Stupid, stupid man.”

  Denny slapped the table. “You are that man no longer. Pull yourself together, and get on with life.” Denny had never had much patience for wallowing. It was what made him a good leader. He could be empathetic with his men, but he did not abide a sustained time of self-pity. He stood with his arms crossed, glowering down at Wickham.”Go to bed. We will plan your attack on life in the morning.”

  Wickham laughed. “I am not in the militia anymore, my friend.”

  “No. But you are in a battle nonetheless. Now, go to bed.”

  Wickham stood shakily and gave a limp and misaimed salute. Bed sounded like a welcome prospect. With any luck, perhaps he would wake from this nightmare in the morning.

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  Morning came, bright and clear — far too bright for Wickham. Denny threw open the curtains in Wickham’s room and called loudly to his friend. “Get up. The day awaits.”

  Wickham groaned and rolled away from the light. “Have a care, Denny. My head feels like it has been trampled by a horse. Keep your voice down and the curtains drawn.”

  “I will do nothing of the sort. You shall feel the full extent of what you have done to yourself. Perhaps you will remember it the next time you wish to drown your sorrows.” He yanked the pillow from under Wickham’s head, causing his friend to curse as his head bounced off the mattress. “Dress and be down in ten. Do not test me.” Denny threw a set of clothes at him and left the room, deliberately slamming the door.

  Grumbling and sputtering, Wickham rushed to dress. He knew from experience that Denny made no idle threats.

  “Why must I arise so early and is such haste?” Wickham demanded when he appeared below stairs.

  “Sit and eat.” Denny motioned to the plate of food on the table. “We need to travel.”

  Wickham took his seat at the table. “Travel? Where? And what of my children?”

  “Your children are with my wife, where they will remain until I see that you are indeed ready to be their father again.” He stared at Wickham through narrowed eyes until Wickham took up his utensils and began eating. ” We’re going to Derbyshire.”

  Wickham nearly choked on the bit of egg he had just popped into his mouth. “Why would I go to Derbyshire?”

  “They are expecting us.”

  “How can they be expecting us?” Wickham had had no communication with Fitzwilliam Darcy in years, save to send bits of money in repayment of the money he had demanded of Darcy, m
oney which had been an inducement to marry. He was quite certain that Pemberley was one place where he was not welcome.

  “I sent an express three days ago — when your drinking began. You will not sit here and allow your wife to run off with some young buck. And I will have my officer back at least long enough to send him to a less friendly location.”

  Wickham shook his head violently against the idea. “I am not welcome there.”

  “Have you not been paying back the money that was put up for your wedding and commission? Kitty has told me of how her sister and brother have both been impressed, not only by your apparent change, but also by the duration. Five years is a long time.”

  Wickham shook his head again. “No. I cannot.”

  “You will if I have to clap you in irons and order my men to carry you the distance. It would be a most beneficial training exercise.” Denny grinned menacingly at his friend.

  Wickham paled. Again, he knew this was no idle threat. He was going to Derbyshire. He might as well go under his own power. “Why must I go there?”

  “Lydia is there. My officer has already been taken into custody by the local magistrate and is awaiting the escort I have sent to transport him back here. Your wife has been remanded into the custody of her sister until such time as you claim her.” Denny eyed his friend carefully, trying to judge the reception of such news.

  Wickham stared at the wall beyond Denny’s head; his expression was stony, only his eyes flinched. “What if I do not wish to see her? What if I wish to wash my hands of her?”

  “You do not wish that. If you did, you would not have been attempting to drink yourself into an early grave.”

  “She will not listen to me. She has made her choice, and I am not it.” Wickham rose and paced the room.

  “According to Kitty, she has never listened. The only time she has ever shown any amount of change is when she has experienced the results. You must make her feel the consequences of her decisions. She has left debts at an inn. Tell her that she must pay them from her own monies or suffer the consequences. Perhaps a few days of hard labour or a short stint in debtor’s prison would be effective.”