The Darcy Brothers

by Abigail Reynolds

  “I had heard of an instance whereby such benefaction—one under your jurisdiction—was not bestowed where it was due.”

  Her tone was not censorious but neither was it conciliatory and, agitated, Darcy got to his feet once more. “You speak of Wickham.”

  A noise emanated from the reclined form of his brother, but neither turned towards him.

  Darcy held Elizabeth’s gaze firmly. “I wish I could oblige you, Miss Bennet. I hold secrecy in little favor, but some things must remain private in my family’s dealings with that man, things I am not at liberty to divulge. Forgive me.”

  The lady rose from her seat slowly, though what she may have said next he was left to ruminate upon, for a louder groan came from his brother, and as the lady turned her attention to him, Darcy blew out a frustrated breath.

  He had little time to dwell upon what Wickham may have told Miss Bennet, however; as the lady turned to dampen the cloth in the nearby bowl again, a movement caught his eye. Theo, his eyes now open, gave him a distinct wink before dropping his lids and letting out another pronounced groan, drawing Elizabeth back to his side in an instant.

  *****

  Darcy’s fixed attention upon the lady was disturbed by the sound of approaching wheels and, glancing out of the window, he was surprised to behold his own equipage pulling up outside the parsonage. Without delay, the Reverend Collins clambered down from his lofty perch beside the coachman, a great deal of self-importance in his air and countenance.

  “My dear Mrs. Collins!” he exclaimed as he tripped over a stone in the path. “Is it not extraordinary? How fortunate are we in our esteemed neighbor and patroness?”

  “Fortunate indeed, sir,” the lady replied, as she joined him outside.

  As this did not appear to satisfy Mr. Collins, he dragged his wife to the gate, gesturing wildly. “Can you not see, my dear? Lady Catherine was so good as to permit me to travel outside with the coachman! ‘Mr. Collins,’ says she, with great kindness, ‘Mr. Collins. Take Mr. Darcy’s carriage directly and return both my nephews to Rosings forthwith. For expedience, I insist you travel with it.”

  He drew in deep breath and puffed out his chest. “Is she not quite the most admirable woman of our acquaintance?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Indeed, she is, Mr. Collins. Come then,” she turned back to walk along the path. “Let us apprise Mr. Darcy of his aunt’s wishes and see if his brother is fit to be moved.”

  “Oh, but he must be, my dear,” exclaimed Mr. Collins as he scurried behind her. “Lady Catherine will not stand for anything else.”

  Suppressing a grunt of distaste, Darcy turned his gaze back to Elizabeth, hoping she had been too preoccupied to hear her cousin’s words, but the pink upon her cheeks and her defiant gaze as their eyes met proved otherwise. There was no chance to speak, for a rap came upon the door as it opened, but he had time to ponder whether he or Elizabeth felt the most discomfort over the ridiculousness of their relations.

  CHAPTER 5

  Finally freed from the challenging and alluring presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Darcy thankfully turned his attentions to his brother. The only way to transport him with minimal discomfort and cushioned from the movement of the carriage was to permit him to lean back against Darcy, his strapped foot—for once not a source of annoyance—resting upon the opposite bench.

  Thus it was the carriage made its slow progress along the lane and through the gates into Rosings Park.

  Theo appeared to have drifted away again, and Darcy sighed, turning to stare out of the window. Had he accomplished anything other than confirming what he already knew? He was besotted with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had suspected it to be so for some considerable time, and the more he learned of her, the longer he spent in her company, the deeper embroiled he became.

  That his interest had no future preyed equally upon his mind, and he could ill determine at this precise moment where the weight he bore in his chest for Elizabeth ended and that for Theo began. He glanced down at his slumbering brother. When had he last held him so? When had he last offered him comfort?

  Theo stirred briefly, then nestled his head against Darcy, his hair brushing his brother’s chin, and as though struck by a sting of lightning, Darcy was thrown back in time, back to that awful day by the lake, cradling not Theo against his chest, but Sebastian.

  Theophilus and Sebastian—close in temperament, like two peas in a pod, inseparable despite Theo being the elder. Theo and Seb…wishing he could push away the memories, Darcy suppressed a groan. He had been nearing twelve years of age when the accident happened, but even then he had begun to grow apart from his siblings. They were not being groomed to run the estate, to take on the mantle of guardianship for future generations. Their time was for freedom, for play, for innocence…

  He released a shallow breath and stared more fiercely at the passing parkland as the memories would persist in flooding his mind. His grasp upon Theo tightened as they hit a pot hole and the carriage jostled his brother’s body… his brother’s body… the familiar ache gripped Darcy’s throat, and he fought to suppress a suddenly rising sob that threatened to choke him.

  Darcy had cradled Seb’s lifeless form at the water’s edge, praying, begging someone—anyone—that his brother might awaken, that he was merely sleeping. The only sounds beyond his own labored breathing had been distant birdsong and the trickling of the benign stream as it fed into the lake. The watery rays of spring sunshine had cast an eerie light over the scene, with no hint of a breeze stirring the newly formed leaves of the surrounding trees, nor the damp curls upon his brother’s forehead.

  And then he had seen her—his mother, only so recently returned to her latest confinement. Theo had fled to find someone, and now Darcy saw her running towards them, several men from the estate in her wake, and behind them, his brother. At nine years of age, Theo’s legs were not up to the return at such speed, but he labored on, the tears coursing down his face apparent, even through Darcy’s own.

  It was when his mother fell to her knees beside him, covering her face, her body shaking, and sobbing—deep, wrenching sobs that made no sound—that Darcy had known there was no hope…

  Theo stirred, then let out a yelp of pain as his elbow connected with the seat, jarring his shoulder. Darcy shifted his position, careful not to cause him more discomfort and glanced out of the window, swallowing hard on rising emotion.

  Had what happened to Sebastian had an effect upon Theo’s character—was it a contributor to his constant recklessness? Was this his escape? Did he feel—as did Darcy—the blame was all his, guilty to still be alive? Before he could consider this further, the carriage came to a halt with a jolt.

  “They are…” Theo’s voice was weaker than normal, no doubt due to the medication keeping him subdued, and Darcy leaned down to try and hear his words.

  His eyelids flickered and opened, and he stared up at Darcy as though not entirely sure who he was. Then his gaze narrowed and he nodded slowly. “Yes. That is the way of it.”

  Darcy frowned. “What is the way of it?” He slowly eased his brother into an upright position. “Are you fully awake?”

  Theo turned awkwardly in his seat and squinted at him like a cat, then rubbed his eyes with his free hand before concealing a yawn. He shook his head. “They really are—I can see why they hold your attention…” his head lolled forward for a second and Darcy feared he had lapsed into unconsciousness and grabbed his good arm to steady him, but then Theo shook his head again and raised it to meet his brother’s confused gaze.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She has—do you not think, she has the finest pair of…”

  “Theo!”

  Theo blinked; then, he fixed Darcy with a stern look. “If you would only let me finish, Brother! She has the finest pair of eyes I have ever seen on a woman.”

  Eyes. Yes, of course, she had fine eyes. What else could his brother have possibly been going to say? Closing his own for a second, Darcy rubbed a hand across his brow, then o
pened them as a servant lowered the steps.

  As two footmen assisted his brother from the carriage, Darcy stared after him. What had been Theo’s meaning? Was the laudanum speaking for him, or did he truly admire Elizabeth? Was he too falling under her influence? And how the devil had his brother detected his own interest in the lady?

  His insides twisted uneasily, but unable just then to give the matter his full attention, he stepped down from the carriage and waved the hovering footmen aside. “I will support him.”

  He turned to Theo. “Take my arm, put as little pressure as possible upon your ankle.”

  Supporting the weight of his brother, he managed to get him up the steps and into the entrance hall.

  *****

  They had gone but a few slow paces towards the staircase, however, when Lady Catherine appeared in the doorway to the drawing room.

  “There you are!” she pronounced. Her gaze flickered briefly over Theo’s wan face as he leaned into his brother’s side. “Did I not say that horse would be the death of you?”

  “Always has to be right,” muttered Theo.

  Darcy did not trust Theo’s tongue when he was this heavily influenced by laudanum, especially in Lady Catherine’s company. “Come, Theo; can you hold the banister as we climb the stairs?”

  “I can climb them perfectly well by myself,” said Theo, leaning heavily against Darcy’s shoulder.

  “Of course you can.” Darcy’s voice dripped with irony. “How much laudanum did they give you?”

  “Too much. I think….I think I would like to sit down.” Theo’s knees began to buckle.

  Darcy grabbed his brother’s uninjured arm before he could fall. “I would be obliged if you would wait until there is a chair to sit in. The parlor, I think.” The fainting couch was much closer than Theo’s bed. Somehow he managed to urge Theo into shuffling in that direction.

  “Theophilus Darcy, you are slumping again! I will not have it,” proclaimed Lady Catherine.

  Theo rolled his eyes. “About that chair…”

  “Here you are.” Darcy gently lowered Theo onto the fainting couch.

  Theo heaved a sigh of relief as he leaned back, then winced as he swung his feet up on the end of the couch. “Blasted ankle feels fine until I try to walk on it.” He sounded so aggrieved, Darcy was hard put not to smile.

  Lady Catherine signaled to a maid who spread a blanket across his legs. Theo tried to kick it off and grimaced in pain. “I am not an invalid. I hurt my ankle and they gave me too much laudanum. I will be perfectly well directly.”

  Darcy sincerely hoped so. Unless they had given Theo enough laudanum for an elephant, he should not be so befuddled. He had heard of people with head injuries who seemed fine at the time, but grew worse over the following days and died. His throat tightened. Surely fate would not be so cruel as to take a second brother from him?

  “You certainly shall be well, young man, once you take this medicine. It will have you fit in no time.” Lady Catherine waved away the maid and held out a glass filled with a dark liquid to her nephew.

  Lady Catherine was not the sort of lady who nursed invalids. She always gave orders for others to care for Anne. If she was taking matters into her own hands here, she must be more worried than she looked. She would not have forgotten about Sebastian either.

  “I do not need more laudanum!”

  His aunt looked down her prominent nose at him. “It is not laudanum, and you will drink it.”

  Darcy rested his hand on Theo’s good shoulder. “Drink it.”

  Theo looked up at him, heaved a sigh, and said, “Very well.” Taking the glass from Lady Catherine, he quaffed half of it in one gulp. His face screwed up as he pushed the glass away. “No more. That tastes terrible.”

  “Anne drinks it twice a day without complaint. Are you weaker than she?” demanded Lady Catherine.

  “My respect for my cousin’s courage has increased dramatically,” Theo muttered. He looked at the glass with distaste, then swallowed the remainder. “Now give me some brandy to wash down that swill.”

  Darcy shook his head at a servant who approached with a snifter of brandy. “Some wine, well watered, instead.” He gently took the empty glass from Theo.

  “Killjoy,” muttered Theo.

  Was Theo trying to do himself damage? Darcy’s fingers tightened on his brother’s shoulder. “Brandy and laudanum is a bad combination.”

  Theo snorted. “And when did you take up doctoring? I truly will be an invalid by the time the two of you are done with me.”

  Lady Catherine snapped, “It is your own fault for taking foolish risks.”

  “Oh, fine. Next time a woman in my path screams, I will run her down instead. Are you satisfied?”

  “Theo,” Darcy said, his tone a warning.

  “Remind me, why did you take me from the parsonage? The nurses there were kinder and far more pleasing to look upon.” Theo sat up and gingerly moved his feet to the ground. “I am going to my room, where I hope to be left in peace.”

  This time Darcy allowed the footmen to assist his brother. Despite his resolution to behave differently toward Theo, it had taken his brother only a few minutes to annoy him once again. Why did he have to argue with everything Darcy said? He was only trying to help Theo.

  Darcy followed Theo’s slow progress. Once they reached his room, the footmen arranged the feather pillows on the bed to ensure his comfort, but after that Darcy waved them away. “I will stay with him.”

  “There is no need,” Theo said irritably, his speech slurring. “If I require assistance, I can ring for one of our aunt’s astonishingly efficient servants. Do you suppose she beats them if they are too slow?”

  Although Darcy had wondered the same thing, he said, “There is no need for disrespect. I am sure they have duties other than tending to you.” He settled in the armchair beside the bed, wishing it did not hurt to hear Theo tell him to leave.

  “If you insist upon forcing your company upon me, at least refrain from lecturing me until I can think clearly. I would hate to see your eloquent words go to waste—though of course they always do.” Theo swiveled his head toward the window, and the mocking tone disappeared from his voice. “Oh, dear. That is not a good sign.”

  Darcy followed his gaze, but could see nothing unusual outside. “What is the matter?”

  “Can you not see her?”

  “See whom?”

  “Mother, and Father beside her. He looks angry.” Theo flinched and pulled up the counterpane. “Do not tell him I am here.”

  Darcy’s heart began to pound. “Theo, you are imagining things.”

  “They are standing right there!” His eyes looked wild.

  Nothing Darcy said could convince his brother to the contrary. Theo did not stop arguing until he fell asleep a quarter hour later, allowing Darcy to drop the façade of calm he had erected. The laudanum should have begun to wear off by now, yet Theo’s confusion was growing worse. The injury in his head was clearly taking a toll.

  Darcy crossed to the small writing desk by the window and rummaged through it until he found paper and ink. He wrote quickly, without his usual care, ignoring a drop of ink that stained the edge of the paper. After blotting the note, he folded it with trembling hands and addressed it to a well-known London doctor, marked Express.

  *****

  Georgiana Darcy could always tell when her eldest brother did not want her to ask him questions. His brows would come together, his lips would tighten into a line, and he would not look her in the eye. She trusted William, but she had seen enough of his anger at Theo over the years to wish to avoid having it turn on her. So when William had that look on his face, she did not ask questions.

  This one time, though, she truly wished that she had asked him why he had to hurry off to Rosings without her. He had said it was a matter of business, but what kind of business could he have at Rosings that was so urgent he would leave Darcy House before he even finished his breakfast and further, when he ha
d only just returned home on alleged ‘business’ too? Or that he would feel the need to hide it from her? She found Lady Catherine intimidating—most people did, after all—but that was not a secret, and it would not keep William from speaking to her about their aunt.

  What had been in that letter he received at breakfast? William had merely looked annoyed when he opened it and began reading, but then his face had grown pale and he was on his feet, calling to have his horse readied for the journey. And wearing that expression that told her not to ask questions.

  The letter had not been from Theo, nor from Lady Catherine. She had seen enough of the spidery handwriting to know that for certain. So who at Rosings would send such an urgent request that William would obey it instantly? Had something happened to their aunt, or perhaps to Cousin Anne?

  By midday, her anxiety was sufficient to cause her to take an action which certainly would anger William if he ever discovered it. She knew which drawer of his desk he usually kept his correspondence in, and if any of the servants noticed her in his study, she could always say she needed to consult one of his books. It was not as if she were forbidden to enter the room, after all. She had simply never gone in it when he was not there.

  She did not have to search hard. The letter was right where she expected it to be, though it showed signs of having been crumpled. That was unlike William, who usually took good care to keep his correspondence neat. After a quick glance at the door, she unfolded it and began to read.

  *****

  Theo picked at his blanket, sweat running down his face. “Fish?”

  Darcy hurried to his side. “I am here.”

  His brother’s face grew slack-jawed with relief as he turned his head toward the voice, but then he frowned and looked away. “No.”

  “Yes, it is I, Theo. Can I bring you something?”

  Theo’s eyes drifted closed. “You are not Fish.”