by Jan Hahn
Five years ago! I almost said it aloud, but caught myself just in time. "Well then, yes, Fiona should have been more responsible. She was older than you and surely old enough to know it was not fitting to engage in those activities with Mr. Wickham, but as I said before, he is the one truly at blame. And why would you protect Mr. Wickham's name from Mr. Darcy? Surely you know that your brother does not hold him in high regard."
"It is not Mr. Wickham I protect - it is Fee. I would not have Wills think less of her. She has had enough to overcome and if he thought she had been a poor influence on me..."
"Georgiana, did not your father pass away five years ago?" She nodded. "And Mr. Wickham, I assume, returned to Pemberley for his funeral."
"Actually, I think he came earlier that year, about four or five months before. He stayed until my father died in the middle of summer. I can still remember how miserably hot it was that July."
I swallowed and summoned all of my courage. "And how old is Fiona's child? Is he not five years old?"
"He will be next month in December, but why do you ask me this?"
"Georgiana..." I took a deep breath. "Do you suspect Mr. Wickham is Willie's father?"
She blushed vividly and turned her face away, but nodded in agreement. "I do now. At the time, of course, I was so young I did not even understand what had happened to Fee, but after...well...I shall just say certain things happened later that revealed to me the extent of Mr. Wickham's true character. I think it quite likely he could have taken advantage of Fee, but if Wills learns that she had encouraged me to participate in any indiscreet behaviour with George, even as a child, he might remove her from Pemberley altogether."
"Well, as it is, he has not even brought her yet, has he?" I said, distaste for the subject evident in the tone of my voice.
Georgiana looked at me intently. "Has Fee displeased you, Elizabeth? Do you not want her to come?"
I coloured, aware that my prior suspicions and jealousy had shown forth by my speech. "I have nothing of which to accuse her, and your brother is the one who decides whether she will serve him in London or Pemberley."
"Serve him? Surely you mean serve you, do you not?"
"Yes, of course...I misspoke. Perhaps my headache is worse than I thought."
She rose and started for the door. "I am sorry I intruded. I...I hope you will rest well."
After she closed the door, I sighed deeply, closed my eyes and shuddered when I thought of the circle of secrecy, suspicion and fear that surrounded me. Why did not all of us - Georgiana, Mr. Darcy and I - just bring everything out into the open and talk of it? Why must Georgiana share confidences with me that I must keep from her brother? Why should Mr. Darcy demand that I not discuss Wickham's attempted elopement with Georgiana with the girl, herself? Why did not Mr. Darcy explain things, important things such as why had he not yet corrected matters between Mr. Bingley and Jane? Who truly was Willie's father? What possible reason did he have for keeping Fiona in London? And most important: why had he married me and cast me in the middle of all this? For that much, why had not I demanded answers? Why had I settled for the bits and pieces of information both brother and sister dispensed in meager fashion? Where was my own courage and belief that I was entitled to a thorough knowledge of the truth? What had happened to that independent, feisty young woman from Longbourn who was able to quickly form astute judgments and opinions of others?
I did not wish to think on the answer to that last question, for I knew all too well what had transpired. I had fallen in love with Mr. Darcy. It was plain and simple and no matter how greatly I wished it to be false, it was, indeed, quite true. I now saw his compassion, his integrity, his affection for his sister, indeed, even his kindness in offering marriage to me, compose a man worthy of my love. Oh, he was arrogant still, even prideful and sorely lacking in knowledge of how to be a proper husband - yes, these were defects that needed correcting - but in essentials, I had to admit he was as he had ever been...a good man.
I pored over the letter again and again. At last even I perceived some truth in Mr. Darcy's view of Jane. I could not deny the justice of his description that her feelings, though fervent, were little displayed. Perhaps he truly did not believe her in love with Mr. Bingley. When I came to the part of the letter in which my family's actions at Netherfield were alluded to, I was mortified and my sense of shame was severe because I could recall that their actions did, indeed, merit reproach. I read the compliment to Jane and myself, that he thought we had 'conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure.' He thought such praise honourable to the sense and disposition of us both, but it soothed me little, providing modest consolation for the contempt the rest of my family had attracted. I was struck with the truth that Jane's disappointment had, in fact, been the work of her nearest relations, and not merely the influence of Mr. Bingley's family and friend.
By the time the clock chimed two bells, my depression was acute. My head truly did ache. I snuffed the candle and reclined on the sofa pillows. I was too weary to even crawl into bed. I thought I would never sleep, but I did...and the next thing I knew I awakened upon the hardest bed I had ever known. It was freezing and I was thoroughly chilled. Blinking in the dim, early morning light, I raised myself on one arm and became instantly aware that I was neither in my bed nor on the sofa in my room. I was lying on a cold, hard floor. Although covered with a beautiful rug, the surface remained unyielding and my back and neck ached as I sat up. Where was I?
And then I saw him. Looking up, I saw that I had slept in the great gallery, beneath the portrait of Mr. Darcy.
~ * ~
Fortunately, I retreated to my bedchamber without discovery by any of the servants, but later that morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned me as to the state of my health. He was concerned that I did not look rested and wondered if I was still afflicted with headache from the evening before.
"I am not ill, Colonel, although I thank you for your concern."
"Truly, Mrs. Darcy, you have shadows beneath your eyes. Was your rest disturbed last night?"
"It was," I admitted, glad to take advantage of the fact that Georgiana was engaged in the music room and we were alone. "Georgiana said that Mr. Darcy must remain in London. I do not understand why it should take so long to discover the identity of those engaged in this blackmail scheme. Have you heard any particulars from him as to the case?"
"Yes, and I can tell you that progress is being made. Unfortunately, two or more servants resigned just prior to the threat and Darce and his investigator are searching for their whereabouts so that they may question them. London is a labyrinth of hiding places, and so it may be some time before they find the guilty party or parties; but do not fear, they will be caught."
"And is he sure that one or more of the servants is guilty?"
"Well, Darcy has thoroughly questioned everyone still in his service in London. So far, he has ruled out all of them."
"Do you mean he suspected all of his servants? No one was exempt from his suspicion?"
"Mrs. Darcy, your husband takes his responsibilities seriously. If he thinks anyone might harm his sister or you, for that matter, he will not rest until he has uncovered every stone, examined every source. Did you not notice that when we traveled to Pemberley, we used my father's coach and servants? None of Darcy's employees accompanied us. You have spoken the truth: not one of his servants in London is exempt."
Georgiana joined us then and we, naturally, spoke of other things. Actually, I said little, for once again I was struck with how much in error I had been to suspect Mr. Darcy of keeping Fiona in London for immoral purposes. No matter how much Georgiana loved her, could it be that Mr. Darcy still had not ruled out the possibility of the maid's participation in this scheme?
I escaped the house that afternoon and the company of my companions, for I longed to be alone. I walked through the woods of Pemberley for more than three hours, lost in my thoughts, floundering in my regret. How I had wronged Mr. Darcy!
Overcome with shame and anguish, I stumbled along the path and stopped only long enough to rest now and then.
I now believed there had been nothing between Mr. Darcy and Fiona other than a master showing kindness to an ignorant, unfortunate serving girl. My imagination had conjured up the vile attachment that tormented me, and heeding the servants' gossip had stoked the flame. Jealousy allowed it to catch hold in my heart. I was truly wrong and if I was wrong in my appraisal of his character in that manner, had I been wrong about other aspects?
I cast back in my memory to my first association with Mr. Darcy. A year ago, I met him at an assembly ball in Meryton. He had been haughty and rude - but perhaps it was because he was shy; had he not said at Rosings that it was not easy to recommend himself to strangers? No, that was a poor excuse. My first impression had been correct. After all, the man was not perfect, far from it. I recalled how he had singled me out at the Netherfield Ball. He asked me to dance and then left it up to me to initiate conversation. How exasperated I had felt by the end of the dance, for he revealed so little of himself that conversation was as arduous as climbing a mountain covered in prickly pear. In truth, I disliked his taciturn disposition, but would I prefer a young man who 'rattled about,' as Mrs. Reynolds so aptly put it? No, I knew the answer to that question, for when he did speak, Mr. Darcy's words were worthy of attention.
'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and admire you.'
I closed my eyes as that phrase resounded in my ears. As I thought back to that time when he first asked me to marry, I could still see the earnest expression of tenderness about his countenance. Was it possible he truly had been in love with me at that time? And to think how I had answered that proposal, with what angry manner I had condemned him - I could not bear to think upon it without shame. Was it possible I had employed far too much haste in dismissing his words of love? Had my quick temper destroyed my ability to recognize the prospect that he meant those words? True, his proposal had been unfortunate, far too overconfident and arrogant, as though he expected me to fall at his feet with thanksgiving for his notice, but still, it did not warrant the hateful mode of my response.
And yet, after all I had said to him, six months later Mr. Darcy traveled to Longbourn unbidden, and offered me marriage once again. He had literally saved my family from ruin and provided the means by which I would have a more than comfortable life as mistress of all this. Why had he done so? Was it for love?
My thoughts turned to the brief time we had been married. I had learned much from him; he was a man of intelligence and breeding. True, he had been abrupt, even demanding at times, and far too obstinate. But had I not provoked him with my angry outbursts, my presumption of how things stood, and my own stubborn questioning of his every action?
And then I was struck with a thought I had failed to ever consider previously. Mr. Darcy took me in marriage and yet allowed me the right to determine when our physical union would be completed, well aware that I would not reach that point any time soon. He had sacrificed his needs for my well-being...and still he did so. I knew little of such things, but I had heard enough talk between my mother and aunt to know that a husband could be demanding in those areas, and yet my husband continued to exercise patience with me.
I thought of waking up next to him first in the inn the morning after our wedding and then when I had walked in my sleep and ended up in his bed. Both times I awakened in his arms and even now I felt gooseflesh run up and down my arms, as I recalled the pleasure it provoked. If I felt such intoxicating sensations, what must our embrace have done to Mr. Darcy?
I allowed my thoughts to wander to each time we had found ourselves in close proximity since our marriage. I recalled how attractive I found him in his shirtsleeves at the billiards table and how warm I had grown with his arms around me while he taught me the game. I heard his deep voice translate words of love in my ear at the concert. I recalled how our bodies seemed to be perfectly tuned when dancing together at Lord Matlock's ball. And, of course, his lips upon mine the last night I had seen him - that kiss - I shook my head to waken from such musings.
I rose and began to walk back toward the house, no little distance, for I had wandered far. I thought that the task of placing one foot in front of the other might distract me from remembering how I responded to my husband's kiss, but it did not. It only caused me to wonder anew at his feelings for me. Could he possibly be in love with me? And if so, why had he not said so again?
Well, I thought, would you risk once more declaring your love to one who had shown every sign of trampling it under? And with the manner of my departure from London, what must he feel now? I watched a squirrel chatter at me from its high perch on the tallest tree. "Yes," I said aloud, "scold me, for I deserve it."
Oh, I could not bear to think he was alive in the world and thinking ill of me!
~ * ~
That evening, I noticed a definite lack of conversation upon the part of my companions at dinner. Neither Colonel Fitzwilliam nor Georgiana initiated any discussion. They both responded to my remarks with equanimity, but by the close of the meal, I realized they had not spoken a word to each other.
When the colonel excused himself afterwards to have a drink, I examined my sister-in-law closely, seeking some reason for her obvious lack of animation.
"Georgiana, are you well?"
"Perfectly." She turned her face from me.
"Shall you play for me, then?" Music always provoked a favourable response in her demeanor.
"Not tonight, Elizabeth. I am not in the mood."
"Very well. Shall we set up the cards in preparation of a game with the colonel when he joins us?"
"No. I am not in the mood for cards, either."
"Is something wrong? I have rarely seen you this out of sorts."
She rose and walked to the window, but not quickly enough to hide the tears I saw spring to her eyes. I followed and placed my hand on her shoulder. "Georgiana, what is it? Has something happened?"
"Oh, Elizabeth!" She laid her head on my shoulder, clinging to me like a child. "I have made such a dreadful mistake."
"What do you mean? Tell me."
She cried for some time before she could talk, but after I led her to the sofa and gave her my handkerchief, she calmed herself. "I should never have told Richard."
"Told him what?"
"The incident I related to you earlier, about swimming with Fee and Mr. Wickham when I was a child." I was surprised at her candor. "I thought I could tell him. I have always been able to tell him things...things I would never reveal to Wills because he is so particular. Richard's manner is more at ease and he rarely gets upset, but now he is furious! Did you see how he was at dinner? He did not speak to me!"
"But why, Georgiana? Why did you tell Colonel Fitzwilliam of something that happened so long ago?"
"I do not know. I suppose it was because it has been a secret all these years. In this family, there are too many things of which we never speak. When I was able to confide in you and you did not censure me, I felt such relief and I thought I might take the chance and receive the same response from Richard. But I was mistaken!" She began to cry anew and I found myself holding her and patting her back, attempting to comfort her.
"Well, what did the colonel say? What were his exact words?"
"Oh, I do not know. At first he did nothing more than become deathly still, but I could see an anger descend upon his countenance, an anger I had only seen once before."
"And when was that?" I ventured to ask, although I thought I knew well enough.
She looked at her hands in her lap and began to twist my handkerchief around and around. "I am not supposed to speak of it. It is one more subject forbidden utterance in this house."
"By whom?"
"Wills, of course. He demands I do not ever talk of what happened to me last year."
"Do you mean what happened between you and Mr. Wickham?"
Her eyes flew open, as well as her mouth. "Then
you know? You already know how stupid I was, what a blunder I made?" I looked away, my heart full of anguish at her mortification. "But why did you never speak of it, Elizabeth?" I could not look at her, but kept my eyes downcast. "Oh, I see. Wills told you not to, naturally." She rose and walked to the fireplace, placed her hand upon the mantel and leaned her head against it.
"It was for your benefit, Georgiana, I am sure. Your brother loves you so much and he thought, whether correctly or not, that speaking of what happened would add to your distress."
"Why does he persist in blindness? Can he not see that I need to talk about it, that I am tormented with the shame of my mistake? How am I ever to achieve redemption? I am sick of going over this in my own mind and coming up empty. I need to discuss it with someone who will not tell me to just forget it!"
She began to cry anew and ran toward the door. I called out to her, but as she ran into the hall, her only reply was, "Let me be, Elizabeth. I must go to my room. I must be alone."
I had achieved only the barest semblance of calmness, myself, when Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room. His first remark, naturally, pertained to the whereabouts of his cousin. When I told him she had retired, he frowned slightly. "So early?"
I took a deep breath and decided to be the first in the family to speak frankly of forbidden subjects. "Georgiana was distraught, Colonel, and I am afraid much of it has to do with you."
"What did she say?"
"She told me of your reaction when she confessed a childish indiscretion. She said you were furious."
He frowned even more. "Well, I am, but not at her."
"She does not know that, sir."
"But why? Why would Georgiana think I am angry with her? She was, as you say, nothing but a child. It is Wickham I could..." here he broke off, unwilling to voice his angry desire. "Did she say anything else?"
"Indeed, she is angry with her brother because he forbids her to speak of her unfortunate mistake with Mr. Wickham, and she is disappointed that you, as well, responded to this afternoon's revelation much as Mr. Darcy would."
