All's Fair in Love and War and Death

by Anne Morris

  Elizabeth did not hear the commotion downstairs as they arrived; she was only made aware of their presence at the Hall when there was a knock at the door, and figures burst in. Elizabeth stood in surprise as Miss Darcy came through the doorway, followed by the colonel. At first, Elizabeth had an image of a proud noblewoman who resented Elizabeth—both as a lover and a caretaker to her brother. But Elizabeth watched as Georgiana glanced from Elizabeth to Darcy, who was sleeping. She could then see tears in Miss Darcy’s eyes, and anxiety and worry which creased that young face.

  “Miss Darcy…Georgiana,” ventured Elizabeth, “he is well and truly recovered.” Elizabeth sought to assure her new sister. Darcy had weeks of recovery ahead of him, but she knew he was safe.

  “Truly?” cried the young woman, who kept her gaze on her brother’s face. Elizabeth could feel Georgiana’s grief; it was the fear of losing this most precious relation. Fitzwilliam Darcy was probably the most important thing in Miss Darcy’s life. After all, Georgiana had never known her mother and had still been in the schoolroom when her father had died. Fitzwilliam Darcy was her whole world.

  Elizabeth came over to place a tentative hand on Georgiana’s arm. “He has improved greatly since Colonel Fitzwilliam left. He is out of danger,” Elizabeth assured the young woman. She then found herself on the receiving end of a bone-crushing hug.

  “Elizabeth,” whispered Georgiana. It was a tentative, trial whisper as the young woman attempted Elizabeth’s name for the first time. Elizabeth returned the hug with equal ardor.

  “I’ll see to trunks,” noted the colonel, who watched and listened, but did not join in. “I will, perhaps, see you at tea.” Fitzwilliam nodded to Elizabeth and his charge and took himself out.

  Elizabeth drew Georgiana closer to the bed. The young woman remained standing until Elizabeth gently pushed on her shoulders and encouraged Miss Darcy to sit next to her brother. Elizabeth wondered if such familiarity was not known to Georgiana—to sit by her brother’s side on his sickbed. To sit close enough that Georgiana might touch him. Elizabeth leaned over and reached for a lock of his hair, sweeping it off of his forehead, that gesture, soft and delicate, woke him.

  “Georgiana!” Darcy cried with obvious happiness. “You’ve come!” His sister dared then to finally reach out and touch him, though it was merely to lay a hand on an arm which lay beneath blankets.

  “Fitzwilliam!” exclaimed his sister as she burst into tears.

  Elizabeth knelt beside her and placed an arm around Georgiana’s back.

  Darcy attempted to sit up in bed, but his struggles shortened his sister’s tears.

  “No, I am not upset. I am happy,” insisted Georgiana.

  “Happy tears?” asked Darcy as he settled back on his pillows, grimacing a little. Elizabeth hoped that Georgiana missed the moment of pain.

  “Happy…mostly. I had to see and speak to you. To be sure,” explained his sister.

  “I am well enough,” Darcy assured her. “This is Elizabeth. She has agreed to be my wife.”

  It seemed folly to formally greet each other when Elizabeth already had her arm wrapped around Georgiana’s waist.

  “I approve,” nodded Georgiana whose tears began to fall again.

  “Come,” said Elizabeth. “You and I need tea and a long talk.” Elizabeth stood to ring.

  “What about me?” asked Darcy.

  “You have had my full attention all week. I have two to care for now,” was Elizabeth’s reply. “Colonel Fitzwilliam has surely seen to the trunks by now. Even if he hasn’t, I can send him in to visit with you. For your sister and I need to become better acquainted.”

  ***

  Georgiana embraced Elizabeth as a new sister; embraced her with gratitude for the care Elizabeth had given her brother, embraced her because of Georgiana’s own desire to have a sister, and embraced the love Elizabeth gave willingly and freely to Miss Darcy in return. Elizabeth was intelligent and playful and inspiring to Georgiana, who found her a unique companion. Elizabeth’s personality was a contrast to the somewhat restrained young woman Georgiana had been instructed to be. Miss Darcy found Elizabeth refreshing, even a little alarming at times; they got along splendidly.

  Georgiana did not appear shocked or concerned about the impropriety of Elizabeth caring for her brother when they had not yet been joined in matrimony. But with Georgiana’s presence, and the colonel’s return, that ceremony finally took place the next morning.

  It was a small ceremony, held at Netherfield Hall in front of family and one friend. Elizabeth’s father, stepmother, and sisters came from Longbourn and stood with Mr. Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana Darcy as Reverend White performed the rights. Despite the clergyman’s insistence earlier in the week that a groom must stand for his wedding, Rev. White allowed Mr. Darcy to sit during the ceremony (though two footmen had been required to carry him downstairs) as Fitzwilliam Darcy was joined in marriage to Elizabeth Bennet in the best drawing-room at Netherfield Hall.

  There was no wedding breakfast. The Bennets returned to Longbourn, and a small trunk of Elizabeth’s clothes was left at Netherfield. Elizabeth moved into the rooms which she had formerly occupied when caring for Jane, but which were also across from her husband’s. He slowly recovered from his wounds under her careful ministrations.

  ***

  Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to his general in London while Georgiana remained at Netherfield. Elizabeth, being a married woman, could chaperone her sister-in-law. Elizabeth and Georgiana tended Darcy as he slowly recovered.

  Love was a powerful physic. Darcy often commented over the weeks (as his health improved, and as he regained functions) that the most significant part of his recovery was Elizabeth’s love. Darcy went from not being able to sit up in bed without hands pulling him up and propping a pillow behind him, to being able to push himself up. Small increments of recovery. Darcy increased his movement and was soon moving in bed and then proceeding with assistance to take tentative steps in his room as he slowly recovered his strength. Elizabeth, if not by his side, was nearby and encouraging.

  His sister’s love did wonders for him as well. And seeing a bond form between Georgiana and his wife was exactly what Darcy wished for. It had the benefit of helping Georgiana bloom. She too needed healing, in a way, from her trials at George Wickham’s hands.

  Elizabeth and Darcy did not share with Georgiana about their experiences of the other world or Wickham’s ultimate fate. Darcy told Elizabeth about that final battle—how he and Fitzwilliam had made it home, with Wickham swallowed up and sunk to the depths of Hell. But neither felt that Georgiana should know. Whenever the subject of the duel came up, it was enough to plunge Georgiana into a depression. Miss Darcy felt responsible for her brother’s near-death injuries.

  Elizabeth decided the best way to dissuade Georgiana from feeling melancholy was to take an active part in caring for her brother. Georgiana became Darcy’s shadow, encouraging him to leave his bed and take tentative steps in an effort to recover his health. There might always be a strong footman nearby, but Georgiana led the way in guiding her brother back to health, all the while healing her own spirits.

  ***

  Darcy recovered enough that by the time Bingley and Jane’s wedding day arrived, he was able to attend. So too was Miss Bingley able to share in her brother’s joy. Rumors were that Caroline Bingley had adopted the role of grieving lover—that tragedy had torn Mr. Darcy from her, only for her to discover that he had survived his wounds and married another within days of his miraculous recovery.

  Perhaps Miss Bingley had been putting out erroneous stories about her lost love—Darcy—when Caroline had fled in grief and tears to London. It added to Miss Bingley’s mortification to discover that a month after Darcy’s recovery, he had color in his cheeks and was able to walk on his own two feet (though with a cane to steady himself) beside Bingley in St. Albans’ church as Darcy supported his most loyal friend. Perhaps Caroline was merely mortified at having to address
Elizabeth as Mrs. Darcy.

  Darcy, Elizabeth, and Georgiana were to remain (with Bingley’s wishes) at Netherfield Hall, for Darcy was still not recovered enough to travel to his own home. Miss Bingley returned to London with the Hursts right after her brother’s wedding. Charles and Jane left for a wedding tour.

  Darcy and Elizabeth spoke about how much their love had grown in proportion since coming through their ordeal. Such an experience was one which could not but change a person. Elizabeth thought about how her friend Charlotte had once mentioned that fact, that experiences in life changed a person. Charlotte had been speaking specifically about the loss to Elizabeth of her mother. But still, to have gone where so few living people had traveled and to also have returned was still so unbelievable. Who knew how many, how few actually, had been able to return from the brink of death.

  There were stories of miraculous recoveries. And perhaps such tales involved something similar to Darcy’s redemption, that a sacrifice had been made, or a penance paid by someone out of a deep and profound love. But they were grateful for every minute given to them by Mr. Darcy the father’s sacrifice.

  ***

  Some days, Elizabeth was less pensive and serious, and felt playful as they sat and talked, and as Darcy recovered his strength. One day Elizabeth tackled and teased him about the fact that he had once accused her of only coming to London to find a husband.

  “What have you to say about that now, Mr. Darcy? For it seems to be exactly what has happened. I have found a husband. I warned you then that I wished for you to find a bride that I might tease you about it. And I accused you of coming to London to do the exact same thing.”

  “Perhaps, Mrs. Darcy, I did.” He had recovered enough that Darcy could move about Netherfield Hall reasonably well with his cane. They had just returned from a short walk in the gardens. The weather had not been cooperative.

  “You did not come to London merely for the ‘delights of the Season’?” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled.

  “Oh, but I did!” Darcy asserted. “I maintain I found the ultimate delight!” His lips found hers. “You.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  27 June 1815

  The slowing of the rhythm of the horses woke Elizabeth from her slumbers. They were coming into a posting inn to change horses. She shifted her position on Darcy’s arm slightly as Elizabeth felt the swaying of the carriage slow and stop. He shut his book with a snap and placed it on the seat opposite.

  “Are we close? How long have I slept?” Elizabeth asked as she straightened herself.

  “Perhaps twenty-five miles to go. I did not mark the time as I have been at my book,” answered her husband. “Though I do not see how you can sleep with that rascal tumbling around inside you.”

  “He is very active, for sure,” Elizabeth answered. “But he’s not made me sick like Anna and Fran did.”

  “You are still convinced you will finally give me a son?” chuckled her husband. “After all, your mother had five daughters.”

  “You indicated that another daughter would be welcome,” Elizabeth responded as she inched forward on the seat.

  Darcy caught her arm to help her move. “We both agreed to a house full of children. As many as we would be blessed with. And if God sees fit to give me a dozen daughters, then so be it,” answered Darcy. Elizabeth leaned over to open the carriage door. “Where are you going?”

  “Privy,” she answered. Darcy hopped across to let down the steps and helped her out of the carriage.

  When they were seated back inside again, Darcy did not take up his book. He settled in one corner and looked over at his wife. Elizabeth was absent-mindedly rubbing her belly while she gazed out of the window. She was still as beautiful as the day Darcy had met her in London three years before. He was even more in love with her now than he had been in those days of courtship, that had been an infantile infatuation compared to their partaken journey to another world.

  Their life together at Pemberley had begun to erode and fade those memories. The strength of their bond—the connection—between them was one which Darcy rarely saw in any other couple. Not with his father-in-law and Mrs. Bennet. Not in Bingley and Jane. Not between Fitzwilliam and his wife. For Maurice had finally taken a bride last summer after meeting Lady Stacia during the previous Season.

  But now, Darcy and Elizabeth were heading to Langley to pay their respects to a widowed Lady Stacia. For Colonel Fitzwilliam had died at Waterloo nine days ago. Fitzwilliam had often talked about selling out, especially in ‘14 when Bonaparte had been banished to Elba. He had been a happier soldier a year ago with hostilities ending on the Continent. It had allowed him to spend more time in society, where he had met Lady Stacia, the daughter of an earl.

  Fitzwilliam and Lady Stacia had settled in London where Colonel Fitzwilliam still kept his post with his general. The Earl of Langley had passed away the previous summer, and Fitzwilliam’s brother had assumed the earldom. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s allowance had been cut, though there had been a legacy. He was his own man.

  Fitzwilliam was also a father. For on the day of the battle (not knowing such an event was taking place in Belgium), Lady Stacia gave birth to their first child, a son. Letters crossed each other in transit. One announced the birth of a son. The other reported the news about the father of that son’s passing.

  The London Gazette, The Times, and The Morning Post all proclaimed the news in their columns of Wellington’s victory on June 22 (days after Waterloo), but Darcy, knowing his cousin had chosen to follow his general to Belgium, fretted when he read the papers. On Saturday the 24th, his cousin Langley’s letter arrived informing him of their grievous loss. Darcy and Elizabeth packed and were ready to leave first thing on Monday.

  “Elizabeth,” proclaimed Darcy. She turned to look at him and smiled. Darcy thought such a gesture would never get old. “I need to speak with you.”

  Her eyebrows knit together as Elizabeth shifted in her seat. She used a hand to pull at her skirts to straighten them beneath her as Elizabeth turned to face him better. There was something on his face; some look that she could read. “You are going to speak about your father,” his wife whispered.

  “Yes,” Darcy nodded.

  “What he told you, though you have never before shared with me what it was,” her words floated softly off of her tongue, but hung heavy in the air. Elizabeth sat quietly, her hand still absently rubbing her belly. Her eyes linked with his as she waited.

  “You know about escorts,” he began. “How my father was my escort; he met and took me over to the next world. And you’ve mentioned how your grandmother escorted your mother. And how your mother indicated she was to wait to speak and escort someone?”

  “Yes,” nodded Elizabeth.

  “And yet, I was given another chance because my loving and generous father agreed to pay my penance. But when the penance was over, then it would be my duty to attend another before I moved on—passed over?” Darcy explained. “We assumed I would die...that my time was short.”

  She nodded as all of this had been understood.

  “Maurice Fitzwilliam was to be the man I was to escort, Elizabeth,” Darcy pronounced. Husband and wife looked at each other as silence grew between them. Elizabeth felt her heart leap as it suddenly began to beat rapidly. Did this mean that Darcy’s time was over and he would die soon?

  She asked that question as tears burned in her eyes, tears she strove to swallow down.

  “I don’t think so,” was his answer. “My cousin Fitzwilliam died nine days ago. I was not even aware of his death for six days.” Her husband reached for her hand. “Surely if I was meant to be his other-world escort, I should have died first?” Fear and wonder mingled in that statement, along with a small amount of hope. “We have, you and I, lived every day as though it were our last together since we both knew it could be. I have been haunted knowing what lay ahead of me, having some small piece, some knowledge of what my future death would look like—that it was tied to Fitzwillia
m’s.”

  Darcy moved to gather his wife in his arms then. “If you have wondered why I constantly invited him to Pemberley or insisted we go to London so often. It was to see Fitzwilliam. I was selfish. I needed to check on Maurice, how did he fare? Was he in health?”

  “I have wondered, though you and Fitzwilliam are as close as brothers,” commented Elizabeth.

  “The journey to the afterlife was not kind to him,” observed Darcy, and he felt Elizabeth stiffen in his arms. “We, all three of us, are grateful that Fitzwilliam accompanied you, however. Do not regret his going, Elizabeth. Never regret that.”

  “I am sorry Fitzwilliam is gone from us now though,” Elizabeth said softly to his chest.

  “I wondered that he kept his commission as his knee seemed to bother him afterward,” said Darcy as he hugged her tightly. “But Fitzwilliam insisted that was part of him, being a soldier and carrying on.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth replied, as she snuggled closer.

  “But he is gone, and I am still here. And now I have my future ahead of me, the same as any man,” remarked Darcy. “I may die tomorrow, or in fifty years. I have no stick with which to measure anymore.”

  “Do you regret that?” Elizabeth asked, pulling away to seek his eyes again.

  “How can I regret that? It means I have been granted more time with you. We have crammed so much living into our time together. We have two children; soon we shall have three. But we always had this clock tolling the hours; it was always in the room, reminding us it was borrowed time.”

  “But you think it is no longer borrowed time?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Yes. I believe that the rules have changed and have been reset. I am no longer on borrowed time. When my uncle Langley, the earl, died two years ago, I thought about my father escorting him. And with Maurice’s unfortunate loss, it is perhaps his own father now who will escort and guide him.”

  “Fitzwilliam hardly needs an escort,” replied Elizabeth, with tears in her throat. “He surely knows the way.”