A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  IN THE HOURS AFTER the solicitor left, Darcy painstakingly penned a letter. What if Elizabeth never forgave him for what she had suffered because of him? He intended to make certain Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock paid for this, but dreams of vengeance would not help Elizabeth. He needed to remain calm, and it was not easy, especially when he had no clue what Elizabeth might be feeling while she remained hidden in her room.

  She finally reappeared just before dinner, quieter than usual and looking wan, but with no evidence of anger in her mien. Not that she had any particular reason to be angry with him; MacLaren had been the one to betray her secret, not Darcy, but he was still the source of her problems. But he could bear her anger if he must. As long as she did not think ill of him.

  But she made a point of smiling at him, a weak smile that did not make her eyes light up, but definitely an effort at a smile. She was telling him something; he was certain of that. But it might simply be that she did not blame him for any of this.

  Only time would tell. Patience was never one of his virtues, but Mrs. MacLean had made herself clear that his impatience could make Elizabeth push him away. Damn, he hated being patient! Would the letter he had written before dinner be too much pressure? She would not have seen it yet, of course, but he wanted to know her reaction.

  Elizabeth chose to go in to dinner on Jasper’s arm, and sat between him and her aunt. No doubt the position in which she felt safest, but he wanted her to feel safe with him. But all he could do was to try to be a perfect gentleman in the meantime. At least it was easier since Richard and Jasper seemed to have declared a tacit truce since MacLaren’s revelations about their father, and were being carefully polite to each other. Darcy only hoped it would last when the ladies withdrew, given that MacLaren would not be there to enforce the peace between the Fitzwilliam brothers.

  Jasper was certainly trying, working to keep to non-controversial subjects like Richard’s work at the War Office.

  “It is better than being in the field under an incompetent officer, but I do not feel particularly useful,” said Richard. “If I must be in the Army, it could be much worse.”

  “I never knew you did not want to be in the Army,” said Jasper. “I thought you loved having a commission.”

  Richard choked on his port. “If you like mud and filth and living rough, killing people who are doing nothing more than trying to protect their own land, and following the orders of men who are barely capable of tying their own cravats, then the Army is fine. It was not bad when I was serving with Wellington, but for every Wellington, there are dozens of incompetents and thieves. I hate it. The only good thing about the Army is that it sent me to India. But then they sent me back here. Most of the officers would have killed to go back to England, so they sent back the only one who wanted to stay. Typical Army.”

  “No, typical Father,” said Jasper cheerfully. “He pushed to have you sent back.”

  Richard nearly dropped his glass. “What?”

  “You did not know? He said something about having to call in favors to get you back.”

  Richard’s hands tightened into fists. “Why? I was doing well in India. I loved it there.”

  Jasper rubbed his eyes. “He was angry about something you had done there. Something about a woman. Someone inappropriate, I think. That is all I remember. I tried to stay far away from him when he was angry.”

  Scowling, Richard jumped to his feet and strode to the window. He leaned one hand against the window frame and stared out into the dark, his glass of port seemingly forgotten in his other hand. He stood straining, like a race horse at the starting gate. “You should have told me.”

  “I thought you knew. And you have always been the straight arrow who did what he wanted and protected the family name.” Jasper stretched out his legs and pulled them back in, a clear signal he was having trouble sitting still and trying to rein in his need to move.

  Richard spun back to face Jasper. “I put in dozens of requests to return to India. Even tried to buy a commission in the regiment there, but that was blocked, too. Is he behind that?”

  Jasper opened his palms. “I do not know. Probably. Unless there is some other reason the War Office wants you here.”

  Richard exploded, “Damn him! I even asked him to help me get a transfer, and he said he had no sway at the War Office.”

  “The Lord Chancellor has no sway at the War Office? Even I know that is rich,” said Jasper.

  Abruptly Richard drained his port, drew back his arm, and hurled his wineglass at the hearth. It shattered explosively against the soot-stained stones. “Damn him to hell!” He sank into an armchair and buried his face in his hands.

  The door cracked open to reveal Elizabeth. “Is something the matter?” she asked, her eyes on Jasper.

  Jasper shook his head. “He is angry at our father, not me.”

  Elizabeth’s tension seemed to ease. “Well, I cannot fault anyone for that. Pray forgive the interruption, gentlemen.”

  “No, wait.” Richard raised his head, his expression tortured. He pulled out his watch, detached it from the fob, flipped open the back, and held it out to Elizabeth. “Do you remember when I showed you this?”

  Elizabeth hesitantly took the watch and examined it in the light of candelabra. “Yes, at Hunsford. I remember that her name was as pretty as she is.”

  “Sarojini. She is my wife,” Richard said heavily, as if the words were more than he could bear.

  Jasper gaped. “You are married?” He jumped up to peer over Elizabeth’s shoulder at the portrait inside the watch cover.

  “Not according to the church or English law, but by her religion. It was all that was allowed.”

  “She has kind eyes,” Jasper said awkwardly.

  “She is the soul of kindness.” Richard’s voice was barely audible. “I have not seen her for three years. My daughter does not remember me, and I have seen my son only in a portrait.”

  Elizabeth said, her eyes wide, “I am so very sorry. I did not realize she was your wife.”

  “I never told anyone here. No one understands. All I wanted was to get back to her. They said it would only be a year, and then two years, and now they say four years.”

  Jasper said in a hushed voice, “Of course our father would think he had to stop it. Charles’s son is sickly, and Father would not tolerate a half-caste as a possible heir to Matlock.”

  “That is why I did not tell him.”

  Jasper shifted from foot to foot. “Darcy, long ago you offered to get me a position at the East India Company. Could you get one for Richard?”

  Darcy tried to move his frozen mouth. He had known Richard had a girl with a child in India; he had even given him money to send for their upkeep, but Richard had never said anything about marriage. “I would be happy to. With his experience, they would be glad to have him even without my recommendation.”

  “Not if it means angering my father,” said Richard grimly.

  It was true. The East India Company would not go against the wishes of the Lord Chancellor without a very good reason. “Richard, if you wish it, I will provide an investment stake so you can start your own business in India.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes shone with pride.

  Richard passed his hand over his forehead. “I must think. The family name...”

  “Take whatever time you like,” Darcy said. “The offer stands.”

  Jasper said earnestly, “Do not make the same mistake I made, putting the family name before the one thing in life you need more than you need to breathe. Even if it means running away, you must be true to yourself.”

  Richard stared at his brother as if he had never seen him before, and nodded abruptly. “I will. But there is something I can do first,” he said, his voice harsh. “Darcy, you cannot travel to confront my father. Will you trust me to work with your solicitor to put an end to his power over Miss Elizabeth?”

  Darcy said cautiously, “I do not wish to be the source of conflict between you and your f
ather.”

  “That no longer matters. He and I are finished, and by breaking his power over you, I strengthen my own position.” Richard wore his military officer expression. “He has played all of us against each other for years to maintain his own power. He cannot defeat us if we are united in rebellion.” His gaze took in both Jasper and Darcy.

  Jasper nodded slowly. “Yes. He cannot hold against all of us.”

  Elizabeth said softly, “I would be proud to have your support, Colonel. But before you leave, I hope you will find time to tell me more about your wife and children. They may be half a world away, but I would like to know who they are.”

  Richard nodded jerkily, as if he did not trust his voice. He crossed to the sideboard and poured a new glass of port, the reflection of the candlelight trembling in the stream of wine. When he turned back to face them, his hand and his expression were steady. “Then let us discuss our strategy.”

  THE GENTLEMEN MUST have had a great deal of strategy to discuss, for it was nearly an hour before they rejoined the ladies. Elizabeth, having left them just after Colonel Fitzwilliam’s revelations about his wife, had found it a difficult hour. Her aunt had immediately spotted that she was troubled on her return to the drawing room, but Elizabeth could only say that something had arisen that she did not feel at liberty to reveal. Her aunt had been eyeing her ever since, as well she might. It was one more shock on a day that had been far too full of them.

  It was hardly surprising that Darcy, returning to the drawing room, looked as exhausted as she felt. After weeks as an invalid, the day must have been an impossible strain for him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s flushed face suggested he might have been medicating his distress with more port.

  “I gather something has happened,” said Mrs. MacLean pointedly.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy, and then turned to his brother. “Jasper, will you explain it?” His voice was thick.

  Jasper looked stunned at this request, shocked by the transition from disregarded and distrusted younger brother to spokesman. “Should I tell them all of it?”

  The colonel nodded heavily, dropping into his favorite chair beside the enameled Indian chess set. He picked up the king figure, a rajah riding an elephant, and examined it moodily.

  Jasper straightened into his King Henry posture. “We have a new plan. To avoid delay until Darcy can travel, Richard will accompany the solicitor to London and confront our father about his extortion in Darcy’s stead. Then he will sell his commission and return to India, which our father has tried to block, to his Indian wife and children there. The solicitor will make up a new will for me, leaving my estate to Richard’s son. When Richard says everything is ready, Darcy and I will both publicly acknowledge his family. If our father attacks Richard’s marriage, I will start acting under my real name – in London. Richard won’t tell anyone about my acting yet, just that I have a plan to humiliate the family if it becomes necessary.”

  Mrs. MacLean said, “Why not start using your real name now?”

  “I want to be an actor. I don’t want to be a sideshow, the earl’s son who acts,” said Jasper. “If it is needed as a weapon, I will do it, but I would rather remain Jasper Fitzpatrick.”

  “A good plan,” Mrs. MacLean pronounced. Moving into hostess mode, she said, “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I did not realize you had an Indian wife. Where is she from?”

  “She lives near Burdwan,” said the colonel glumly. “Her father is a zamindar, a landholder. The local equivalent of a noble.”

  “I know what a zamindar is,” said Aunt Emmeline sharply. “My late husband made his fortune in India.”

  “Truly?” asked Jasper. “I had no idea! I thought you just liked Indian things.”

  Mrs. MacLean patted his knee and laughed. “My love, we all know your world begins and ends on the stage of the Theatre Royal.”

  The colonel asked, “Where was he stationed in India?”

  A long discussion of India with a half-drunken colonel and an exhausted Darcy was more than Elizabeth could face, so she excused herself for the night, but she did not miss an intent, serious look from Darcy as she left.

  In her room, she was relieved that Margaret seemed inclined to be quiet tonight, helping her undress and get ready for bed in near silence. When she was done, Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Margaret. That will be all for tonight.”

  Margaret twisted her hands together. “There is one more thing, miss,” she said nervously.

  “If this is a plea for me to reconsider marrying Duncan MacLaren, I do not wish to hear it!”

  “No, miss. It is just that Mr. Darcy asked me to give ye a letter, and I dinna know whether you want it or if I should return it to him.”

  She should have expected this, and not snapped at the poor girl. “A very proper question. I will take the letter.” It was not as if it could harm her reputation more than a broken engagement already would have.

  Margaret held out the letter with a trembling hand. “I dinna understand what happened with your engagement, but it isna for me to question it.”

  “I am sorry, Margaret. It has been a very difficult day, and I am short-tempered. You did nothing wrong.” It was all she could manage at this point. She took the letter, several pages by its thickness.

  “Aye, miss. Thank ye, miss.” Still subdued, Margaret curtsied and left.

  Elizabeth sat down on the bed, turning the sealed letter over in her hand, seeing her name written in the careful, close hand she remembered from her brief view of his letter after she had refused him in Kent. That letter had torn her life apart and changed everything. Would this letter do the same?

  Her stomach seemed to have been invaded by butterflies. Nothing she had seen at dinner had indicated any loss of interest in her on Darcy’s part, so there was no doubt a proposal inside it, but what else was there? Anger over her failure to reveal her secrets to him?

  Her sister Jane would tell her to wait until she was calmer to read it. Elizabeth had never been good at listening to Jane’s sensible advice, so she broke the seal and opened it.

  My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,

  Although you have never given me the right to address you so, it can come as no surprise to you that it is how I think of you, and a more formal opening would feel like an untruth between us. I pray you will forgive me the informality and understand it is the truth of my heart.

  You can have no doubt about my reason for writing to you. I hesitate to count the number of times I have raised the subject of marriage to you, and it has become so fraught for both of us, thanks to the machinations of my family, that it seemed safer to approach you in writing this time. Too often I have unintentionally offended people through my poor choice of words in conversation; perhaps this will reduce that risk.

  You can also have no doubt of my fervent desire to make you my wife. I would like to say more about the strength of my sentiments, but I fear this may not be the right time. These last days must have been very trying for you, and were the circumstances different, I would wish to give you more time to regain your equilibrium before pressing my suit. Indeed, it seems almost cruel, if not indecent, of me to add to your burdens by asking you for a decision now, but as Jasper has likely told you, time may be of the essence here.

  It would be unfair of me not to admit that there are differing opinions on the ideal timing of a potential marriage between us. Mr. Hollings believes the longer we are married, the more difficult it will be for Lord Matlock to create mischief. My cousin Richard, looking at the question from a tactical military perspective, agrees it would improve our battle position. Jasper sees both sides of the question, something he has always had a gift for, wishing for delay out of concern for your feelings, yet fearing his father’s manipulations and subtle tricks. Your aunt believes there is no reason to hurry, and has warned me that pushing you on the question raises the risk that you may refuse me altogether, a thought which terrifies me to the bottom of my soul. But I have decided to trust in your justice, that
you would not rush into a negative decision merely out of dislike of my timing. At least I hope and pray that is the case, as I will never forgive myself if it proves otherwise.

  You will have noticed I have presented everyone’s opinion but my own, and that is because I do not trust my own motivations. My greatest wish is to make you happy and my hope is to do whatever is most likely to improve the chance of a favorable response to my suit from you, both things that incline me towards keeping my silence for now. I also appreciate the arguments from Hollings and Richard for a quick marriage being safer. Still, how can I trust my judgment on the matter? I am but a man, and one who is violently in love, and my purely selfish desire is to have you as my wife as soon as humanly possible. How can I trust my judgment of Hollings’s arguments when they appeal so strongly to my baser nature? If I tell you we should marry immediately, I cannot say if it is for a valid reason or because of my selfish desires, so I will not press you either way.

  And so I turn that decision over to you. I will abide by whatever you say. If you do not wish to marry me, now or ever, one word from you on the subject will silence me forever. If you are open to hearing my suit at some point in the future, but not yet, I will honor that choice. Should you be prepared to offer me more than that – but no, I do not dare even hope for that.

  I cannot end this without expressing my profound regret over the distress which my notice brought upon you. It was never my intention to cause you any pain, and it grieves me deeply to know that I did, however unwittingly. I do not know how you have managed to be so kind to me when I brought such misery to you. Such generosity in your soul cannot help but make me love you even more.

  No matter your response, I can never regret knowing you. I am a better man for loving you.

  There is much more I wish to tell you, but in the hope of setting this in your hand yet this evening, I will stop now.