The Miracles of Marriage

by Elizabeth Ann West

  8

  Anne Fitzwilliam took advantage of her husband's morning ride to visit a fast friend since all of the distressing events of the previous spring. Fighting a cough that would make her husband happier if she remained abed, Anne agreed more with Dr. Matthew's prognosis. He had prescribed Anne to always do any activity she felt up to accomplishing. As she already spent much of the week in bed, using such an excuse to avoid invitations from that main house of Rosings, even Anne felt a limit to resting.

  So when she instructed her maid Julia to order her phaeton harnessed for her enjoyment, none of the staff of the small Dowager cottage challenged the mistress. Truthfully, most staff found life much easier when the homes were not occupied by the master or mistress. Though the Fitzwilliams did not run their small domicile with an iron fist, and were generally loved for the respite from Lady Catherine's domain. Cook made an effort to pack Mrs. Fitzwilliam with a small basket of ginger cookies and wine.

  The moment Anne held the reins to her pony, liberation coursed through her veins. As a married woman, she no longer required a constant companion with her everywhere she went. Usually, she would ask Julia for her company and additional comfort, but the nature of her visit was so sensitive, Anne could not risk information getting back to her mother. Since her clandestine marriage to her cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and the horrific assault on her other cousin's intended, Elizabeth Bennet, the small estate of Rosings had become a battleground with lines sharply drawn. Some staff remained ever loyal to the queen of the castle, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and by proxy her bully of a parson, Mr. Collins, who obeyed her every command. Others, especially those in the Dowager House and a few assigned to Hunsford Cottage put faith in the new blood rising, the Fitzwilliams, and the sympathetic Mrs. Collins. Only a small cadre, mostly staff with a keen eye for a life beyond service, remained as neutral as possible to not land on the wrong side of a quarrel.

  Less than a quarter mile from the Dowager Cottage, her familiar horse friend recognized his longtime driver's touch. Anne drove with ease with no need for the whip. As much as she wished to urge her phaeton to the fastest speed, she kept the pace cautiously at a trotting clip. While an accident was rare, it was an outcome she was not willing to risk in her delicate condition.

  She enjoyed the dwindling sunshine of the nearing autumn weather, and for a brief spell, rode alleviated from all of her cares. Anne Fitzwilliam wished Richard and she could live under the same roof as her mother in harmony, but the arrival of Georgiana Wickham had made such a reconciliation impossible. She dwelled on the feelings of neglect and betrayal stirring in her heart as the Last Will and Testament of her father placed the two cousins with child against one another. If Anne survived, along with her husband's heir that she carried, Rosings was hers. If not, then the estate would go to the line of her father's bastard son, the late George Wickham. And if no heir survived Anne or George, then the estate would pass back to the de Bourgh line through her father's brother, and her mother would become powerless. Truthfully, Anne wasn't certain her mother wished for her health and safety as she spent many days in the company of her niece, Georgiana, and rarely inquired about her daughter.

  When Anne arrived at her destination, her goal of discerning the welfare of Charlotte Collins tugged on her heart. Anne allowed Declan, a footman long in the employ of the Fitzwilliam family now assigned to remain at Rosings, to help hand her down from the phaeton. Charlotte stood in the front herb garden and waved eagerly at her friend.

  "I should have come to you!" Charlotte admonished Anne, a young woman that she had served as a reading companion since becoming the parson's wife. Tending to Anne in her sickroom had been a wonderful escape from the temper of her husband, but that was before Declan had been placed in her service on a loaned basis.

  "If I had to look at those four walls any longer I can assure you they'd be sending me to Bedlam!" Anne embellished and the two women laughed as they entered the cottage.

  Anne allowed her eyes to adjust to the lower light as Charlotte's husband, William Collins, had kept an even tighter grip on the purse strings when his physical abuse of his wife and cousin were put to an end. Charlotte did not mind so much, as she had been raised in a household that did much the same with so many mouths to feed on a very meager interest on her father's savings so he could play the gentleman.

  "I have some tea leaves that I have tucked away, let me fetch them and we shall have a proper cup," Charlotte offered but Anne stopped her with a plea.

  "Oh, please do not waste your luxury on me. I find I scarcely keep anything down still, and I should hate to be ill. I come by design, however." Anne reached into the pockets of her skirt to pull out two clandestine letters from their mutual friend, Elizabeth Darcy. One for each of them.

  Unfortunately, in the months since Mr. Collins was set down, he had grown less circumspect about restricting Charlotte's movements and correspondence. Declan still served as a physical reminder in keeping Mr. Collins in check for the grossest of his behavior, but a lowly footman would not regularly challenge a man of the cloth without direct instructions from a much higher superior. So Charlotte suffered the emotional and monetary abuses that left no bruises or marks, but pained her all the same.

  Charlotte discreetly tucked the letter into her own skirt pocket just as her dastardly husband burst through the door.

  "Charlotte! I saw the gig–" Mr. Collins stopped as soon as he saw Anne Fitzwilliam in the front parlor and a small gurgle choked his next words. He attempted to stand straight as well as bow his head as he felt conflicting demands on his behavior. He had been instructed to respect Anne as the daughter of his patroness, Lady Catherine to Bourgh, for so long that he still struggled to keep up with the new dynamic between mother and daughter. As he had just come from the main house, his feelings of loyalty to Lady Catherine were strong and he struggled mightily between them and a long practiced habit.

  "Mr. Collins, how lovely to see you." Anne addressed the parson directly so that he was forced to express pleasantries back. But then he quickly remembered the reason he had rushed home so quickly.

  "Charlotte, her ladyship has decreed. We must pack at once."

  Charlotte's face blanched white. The main reason Anne had come was the news of Charlotte enduring a great disappointment. No woman so soon after a loss should have to travel anywhere, but Charlotte would not directly contradict her husband, and certainly not in front of company.

  "Where are we to go?" Charlotte asked innocently while Mrs. Fitzwilliam began to feel very protective over her friend.

  "Surely, Mr. Collins, your wife should stay behind–" Anne began but Mr. Collins interrupted

  "To Longbourn! Or rather, to your parents' home, Lucas Lodge. Hertfordshire!" Mr. Collins threw his hands up in the air as he grew flustered thinking again about the intelligence that Lady Catherine had just imparted. "Longhorn has burned, and we must make haste." Mr. Collins began to walk towards the stairs and reached out for his wife's arm, but she instinctively tucked her hand behind her back out of reach.

  "But of course we've known that Longbourn has burned. We received the distressing news two weeks ago in a letter from my sister," Charlotte said empathetically, still feeling terrible about the tragedy that had befallen the Bennets.

  "But my inheritance!" Mr. Collins exclaimed and stomped his foot as both ladies flinched at his ungentlemanly display. Then they looked at him most quizzically.

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam cleared her throat, knowing to tread carefully with a brute like Collins. "Mr. Collins, while I know you are to inherit Longbourn, is my understanding that Mr. Bennet has not perished. Is there news of his loss?" Anne clutched the small brooch holding her spencer together as she prepared herself to hear the very worst from the absolute worst sort of man.

  Thankfully, there was no such news to report. But Mr. Collins was too cross to keep his speech delicate. "No, of course not, it's worse. The man has not died and Lady Catherine has learned they are all to leave for Pemberley.
With no plans to rebuild!" Mr. Collins sharply nodded his head one time in the ladies' direction, then stomped up the stairs to find someone to yell at while he began his preparations to quit Hunsford.

  Charlotte urgently ushered Anne outside, then frantically opened Elizabeth's letter from her pocket as her back was pressed against the front door. She quickly read lines from her dearest friend and tried to commit them to memory. The letter talked of Lizzie's wonderful time in Scotland and all the challenges of holding a house party. As the letter had taken many weeks to travel the long distance from Scotland to Kent, and it was not sent by express, the missive did not include any information about Longbourn or the plans for the Bennet family. Just as quickly as she had opened it, Charlotte haphazardly folded the letter and handed it back to Anne. Her ally began to shake her head, but Charlotte insisted.

  "Please, keep it. We both know that Lizzie writes to me through you as a means of protection. She would be most cross with me if I carry her letters with me," Charlotte wistfully looked upstairs to see the sharp nose of her husband gazing out the window down at them.

  Without a word, Mrs. Fitzwilliam crushed Charlotte to her chest in an embrace, then she whispered what she had come most to understand.

  "Did he cause you to lose the child?" Anne held Charlotte tightly and felt her gently shake her head against her shoulder.

  As the two women began to part, Mrs. Fitzwilliam searched her friend's face for any sign of additional distress. But Charlotte bit her lower lip and looked down.

  "I was careless, while he was not at home." Charlotte continued to look down at the ground and gulped. Finally, she met Anne's eye and betrayed herself to a woman she wished so much would hold respect for her, but worried after this admission she would not. "I was careless with the stairs every time he left, you see. One day," Charlotte's voice quivered for the last line, and Anne could scarcely hear the last words, "my prayer was answered."

  Without another thought, Anne embraced Charlotte again in what would appear to be two friends taking a long farewell. When at last she released Mrs. Collins, she made her friend make one last promise. Charlotte assured her she would do whatever Anne asked. Anne Fitzwilliam gave Charlotte Collins the best advice she could without judgment our condemnation.

  "At the right time, tell your mother as you have told me. But do not come back here. Categorically refuse to leave your parents' home with your husband, no matter what you have to do." Anne told her friend she would pray fervently for her safety and that Sir Lucas would remember what he witnessed when he was in Kent. Perhaps her father could stand stronger as a man in his own castle than when he had being intimidated by the wealth and grandeur of Rosings.

  Charlotte brushed away the fresh tears that had formed in her eyes, and she smiled brightly. All she had to do was mind her manners on the journey to Hertfordshire, a mere two days of keeping her husband happy, and then she could seek the sanctuary of her family's protection. Charlotte began to walk back to the front door with her burden lightened. Even if her father would not stand up for her, she held no question that her brother John would not allow her to go back to such a life. And she would spend a lifetime asking for God's forgiveness for what she had done.

  9

  Despite Fitzwilliam Darcy's instinct to rush off to London and face the crisis, his wife convinced him to wait at least one day before tearing off on another journey. With her wiles and sound logic, Elizabeth Darcy reminded her husband they had a growing list of responsibilities beyond their town home. She worried that it might not be safe; if a mob can attack a building, they can just as easily attack the very man they think at fault for their misfortune. She also argued that his aunt and uncle would surely send further correspondence because they would not have known their exact arrival date to Hertfordshire. Finally, her plea that he remained at least long enough to oversee the final arrangements for the massive move helped her husband to see reason. His own safety he was willing to risk, delegating to others was never comfortable for him. But leaving a job undone, that went against his very character and he finally relented.

  On the second day after their arrival, Elizabeth Darcy's intuition proved correct. Two additional missives arrived from the Earl of Matlock explaining the assault had been ceased the very night it began, and the town home was intact. Furthermore, an armed guard was placed on the sidewalk in front of the home, and the leaders of the rabble-rousers were arrested. The threat of hanging stymied the tempers of any man that would take their place, so for the moment, peace had been restored in Mayfair. It was not only for the Darcys' sake that the soldiers stood guard. The neighborhood housed a number of powerful and influential men and their families. The last thing any of Darcy's neighbors wished was for unrest to go unchecked and risk their property as well.

  But by the third day, there were no further arguments Elizabeth could use to keep Darcy by her side. Yet she refused to give up.

  "I only mean that I cannot bear the thought of being separated. Let me come with you, the Bingleys can handle the move," Elizabeth suggested as her husband inventoried his personal papers that would travel along in a case with him as they always did. Leaving behind important papers of identification and position could not only prove disastrous for him on the road, but also grant a scheming relative or friend access to Darcy funds. Elizabeth held up two letters for his silent acknowledgment she had written to Lady Matlock and her Aunt Gardiner. She added them into the case of papers, making sure her husband saw the addresses before she tucked them in.

  "My darling, it is simply the wrong direction. You told me I had to stay for the benefit of you and the child, and I did as you asked, but now I must leave. Only so that I can be back sooner."

  "London is not so far. I've made the trip dozens of times," Elizabeth countered but Mr. Darcy shook his head. He stepped towards his wife and gently cradled the sides of her abdomen that showed no signs yet of increasing as it was still much too early. The only sign of a potential heir was the loss of her courses and Elizabeth assured him they had been regular prior to their marriage.

  "It is unnecessary stress on you," he said without clarifying if he meant his wife or the potential child she carried. "If it were on the way to Pemberley, I would not hesitate to say yes. Besides, you sister Jane needs you. The Bingleys do not deserve to be hopelessly outnumbered." Mr. Darcy kissed his wife's cheek, a sign of affection that she leaned into and looped her arms around his neck.

  "And you're certain?" she asked. "Uncle Philip says there's no chance of rebuilding Longbourn?" Elizabeth asked again for the third time since Fitzwilliam's meeting with her uncle that very morning. It was not that she did not believe her husband, it was that she could not believe the reality. Her childhood home was lost forever.

  Mr. Darcy groaned, as his wife's proximity and touch made his body betray his schedule as well. Mrs. Darcy giggled and began to waltz her fingertips down his back. He suddenly twisted around to grasp her wrist and held fast.

  "Do you know what you are about, Mrs. Darcy?" He asked, caressing a sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist with her thumb, and she continued to giggle.

  "Come, you can be an hour later," she suggested, batting her eyelashes at him and pursing her lips into a perfect pout.

  A desperate man, unsure of when he would next see his wife, took the invitation to kiss her. Passionately, their bodies melded together as neither could resist the romance of a last pairing before separation. A knock on the door made Elizabeth startle, but she did not cease in her attention to her husband's ear lobe as she tried to untie his cravat.

  "Leave us!" he roared as he pulled back and undid the offending knot himself. When the knocking came to an abrupt end, they laughed and Elizabeth practically jumped into her husband's arms as he lifted her toward the bed.

  "You promise you will be back as soon as you can?" she implored, gazing deeply into his eyes.

  "As soon as I am able."

  "And you promise not to get yourself hurt?" she began kissing his
jawline as Mr. Darcy froze. Of course, his wife's concern was slightly grounded in sense, and the circumstances of their lovemaking made Darcy feel rather foolish for risking his life all in the name of honor and property. But his male mind turned the concern around to provide a defense so his ego could remain intact.

  "Do you promise not to get yourself hurt?" he repeated her question and Elizabeth scoffed.

  "Me? I am not dashing to fight off a mob, sir!"

  "Neither am I. But I suddenly loathe the idea of leaving you so . . . unprotected," he whispered, now pressing her body deeper into the mattress, his warm breath upon her neck.

  Elizabeth felt hot tears welling in her eyes as she allowed the stress and burden of the recent days to wash over her in the safety of her husband's embrace. He continued to nuzzle and kiss just along her hair line, and she sighed as she willed her thoughts of uncertainty to banish away once more.

  "I shall be with the Bingleys. Surely Charles can keep us safe," she said and stiffened so that her husband had to stop his actions and address her directly. He did so, looking down at her as one of his curls fell out of place just to the right of his eyes. "You will have no one. Unless you take Patrick and Simmons with you,” she said.

  Darcy groaned, adjusting his position as the additional stalling became more of a nuisance to his anatomy.

  "Simmons will go with me. Patrick will remain with you. And that way, if you even feel faint for a moment, I shall have no fear of you ever falling to the floor," Darcy reasoned.

  Elizabeth pushed hard against her husband so that he rolled off her person and she sat up. Her eyes narrowed as she realized she had been had. "You planned that all along! And you're going to order that man to follow me everywhere I go, aren't you?" She crossed her arms, an action which had the unfortunate consequence of tugging the fabric of her gown slightly lower so that more of her delicate bosom was exposed.