by J Dawn King
“Ridiculous!” Darcy agreed. “The question that plagued me the distance to London and back was how a vibrant, intelligent lady like Elizabeth could survive living under Aunt Catherine’s thumb with a dunce for a husband. I could not imagine watching her liveliness sputter and die each year when I visited Rosings in the spring.”
“So, you pitied her and married her instead.” It was not a question. “She must believe you are her knight in shining armour, riding to her rescue.”
It was his turn to snort. “Pity? Not at all. No, Georgie, we have discovered a deep respect for each other. I admire her spirit, her willingness to adapt, and her resourcefulness. Elizabeth attracted my attention from almost the first moment we met. She stood out as different from the insipid, senseless debutants I met year after year. I cannot imagine having any other woman as my wife. Although she is imperfect, she is absolutely perfect for me. She will be a great Mistress of Pemberley. I simply cannot wait to see what the years will bring for our family.”
Georgiana considered each word, then she studied his face. What she saw was brutal honesty.
“Dear heart, our lives are changing. I left for Hertfordshire alone. I am now a husband with this little fellow for a ward.” Darcy traced the baby’s jaw with the pad of his finger. The babe, who had been lying quietly, grabbed at her brother’s hand. “Mrs. Mansfield does not have the circumstances to live on her own. Because her husband is lost at sea and not confirmed as dead, she will receive no widow’s pension. She had no one else to help her.”
The resolve to keep her heart distanced, cracked with his words. The fissure grew when her brother reached over and placed the infant on her lap. Instinctively, her arms cradled him—for safety reasons only, she insisted to herself.
The babe smiled, gurgling. When he jumped in surprise at hearing his own voice, she could not contain her chuckle. Jem did it again, cooing at his success.
The fissure in her chest widened. “What did you say his name was?”
“James Alexander. We call him Jem.” Darcy continued, “I have been with this child for over a week and have not seen his face light up with a smile like that. Georgie, I do believe this young man has a crush on you, for he has not laughed for me, Elizabeth, or Mrs. Mansfield to my knowledge.”
Tracing her finger over the baby’s jaw as Darcy had done, the resulting grin was riveting. Before she realized what she was doing, she spoke to the infant. “Oh, you are an adorable little gentleman, Jem. I am sincerely pleased with your company.”
Moments later he started to fuss. Handing him back to her brother, she stood. “Might I be excused, Brother? I feel the need to return to my rooms and reflect on all you have told me. I would like to write to Richard in hopes my sympathy will bring him comfort. And, I will think about how to adjust to these changes, if you do not mind?”
“Not at all.”
Touching the blanket where Jem’s little toes wiggled, she left the study to do exactly what she had told him she would do. He loved Elizabeth. Georgiana could see it on his face when he spoke of her. And he loved that little baby too.
What further adjustments this would bring to her own life, she did not know. What she was certain of was that either George had lied, or her brother had. She determined to find out whom she could trust.
Chapter 16
Captured!
Richard was disgusted.
The captain of the troopship had surrendered without a fight, raising the white flag until it whipped in the breeze, proclaiming to all the sign of his cowardice. Richard and his regiment were appalled at the lack of initiative and fealty to the crown. Only later was it discovered that these had been the Admiralty’s orders.
By the time the French Navy had boarded the ship, Richard’s troops had gathered the few possessions they would be allowed to take with them. All weapons were to be left on board.
From the year 1793 on, negotiations for exchanges of captives, known as cartels, had typically been proposed by the British and rejected by the French. The agreement was to have been a colonel for a colonel. A major for a major, and so on. Despite Richard’s father having power in the British government, the colonel had no hope he would see England again until Napoleon was captured or killed or the Frenchman relented. Richard was confident the British would never surrender. His stay in France would be lengthy.
Weary to his soul, the colonel mustered his men. “Gentlemen, I know your courage. You are all brave soldiers, determined to fight for King and country. I would stake my life on any one of you. I speak for all when I say that we would all prefer to put our faith in God and each other. Unfortunately, we have no choice here today. The Admiralty has ordered the captain of this ship to surrender, and we must surrender with him. These are our orders; I count on you to obey them to a man.”
It only took one disgruntled British sailor being shoved roughly by a French naval man to start the skirmish. Fists flew, hidden knives were drawn, and the grip of a pistol striking the temples and faces of the enemies soon bloodied about twenty of the men. A single shot into the air stopped the action.
Richard did not blame the men. The British sailors and his regular troops knew their future would be harsh under the demands of Napoleon. Only the officers would be treated kindly. The penalty for this level of disobedience would be severe.
When those embroiled in the fight lined up, he was stunned to see Major Milford at the far end of the line. From the blood dripping from his chin, his nose had been broken. However, it was seeing him clutching his upper arm that concerned Richard. Even the heavy fabric of his uniform could not absorb or disguise the red liquid steadily darkening the major’s tunic.
Hours later as they were sailing towards French shores, Richard had a chance to seek out his friend and fellow officer. Major Milford was being held in the deep belly of the ship, amid the worst conditions for an injured man. At least someone had torn a strip of linen from his shirt and bound the wound.
The filth, the stale air, and the dampness would not serve the injured man well. Richard had pleaded with the crew to allow the major to join him on deck with the other captives...to no avail.
“How did this come to pass, Major?” Richard asked. “You are not one to disobey a direct command.”
“Well, about that...” Major Milford grinned. “I had no intention of doing so until I was struck from behind. When I turned to face my assailant, the man’s fist met my nose with a force meant to relocate my nostrils next to my ear. In self-defense, I hit him back. I was unaware he had a knife until he buried it almost to the hilt in my arm. Fortunately, he missed the bone. It went straight through, Colonel.”
“I see,” Richard knew he would have acted the same without considering the consequences. Nevertheless, consequences would need to be faced.
“Major, I suspect you will be separated from the rest of the officers. From what the French intimated, your destination will be prison until your case is heard by a French military court. As the senior officer involved—actually, as the only officer involved—their intention is to let you serve as a lesson to others who attempt to thwart their authority.”
“I have no regrets, Colonel.” Major Milford looked him straight in the eye. “I only ask that you look after Abigail should I not make it back to England. She is the best of women, kindly and hardworking. I could not have asked for a better wife.”
Without hesitation the colonel responded, “Of course. I will see to her needs.”
They made port the next day. Richard had not been allowed to go below again. He did not see or receive news about the major for almost a month. By then, the man, one of the closest, most-respected friends he had in the military was dead.
Elizabeth folded her letter to Mary and placed it with the others. The one written to Aunt Gardiner was full of reassurances. Another to Jane was the same. However, to Mary, she had disclosed the full measure of facts regarding her wedding, the tale they had devised about Abigail and the baby, and the greedy manipulations of thei
r parents. Included was an invitation for her middle sister to come to Pemberley. Elizabeth hoped it would be accepted.
Elizabeth’s life had changed drastically with her marriage to Darcy. Almost all of it had been to her benefit. The one discordant note was Miss Georgiana Darcy. Nevertheless, Elizabeth would not fret over the sulks of a girl in the midst of the trials of adolescence.
It was on the sixth day of her residence at Pemberley when things took a distinct change for the better. Little Jem had joined the newlyweds in bed each night. On that particular morning, Elizabeth woke to find that the three of them had slept so deeply they were getting a later start than normal. Even better news, Jem’s fever had disappeared along with his fussy demeanor. The few minutes she and Darcy spent alone with the baby cuddled between them before he demanded to be fed were delightful. Jem cooed and gurgled joyfully. Every time Darcy spoke, the baby would study his uncle’s mouth carefully, moving his own in an attempt to talk back. The results were heartwarming.
Once Darcy realized what Jem was attempting, he began to say the most outlandish things.
“Say this, Jem.” Exaggerating his facial movements, Darcy said, “Uncle Will is the handsomest man alive.”
Jem tried and failed. Although his attempts were adorable.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and giggled.
Darcy continued. “Try this, young lad. ‘Uncle Will is the strongest, bravest man ever.’”
As the baby opened and closed his mouth, Elizabeth teased, “Look! He is telling us that his uncle is a comédien.”
“Never! My nephew, at just a fortnight in age does not yet speak French,” Darcy insisted. “He is quite knowledgeable in ancient Greek, Latin, and Italian. Why, by the time this little fellow is a year, I imagine he will have invaded Pemberley’s library to read classic dramas, not comedies. Is that not correct, little Jem?”
Darcy brushed his fingers under the babe’s chin, prompting more giggles. When one of his fingers moved up by the infant’s mouth, Jem latched on to suckle.
Elizabeth gathered her robe and the baby. “I believe that is our signal that his mood is about to change.”
Darcy sat up to lean against the headboard of the bed, his expression serious.
“Elizabeth, we need to talk.”
She had just reached out to turn the knob on her door. “I see that Jem’s mood is not the only one that has changed. What concerns you, Will?”
Nodding towards the baby, Darcy said, “With his fever gone, we will have no need to have him sleep between us. Thus, I was wondering about your opinion of where I should sleep tonight.”
Before she could respond, a soft knock begged her attention. Relief at not having to answer his question moved her to pull the door open with force. The nurse on the other side jumped back.
“I beg your pardon, madam.” The older woman’s embarrassed countenance definitely reflected Elizabeth’s own. “Mrs. Mansfield is anxiously awaiting the presence of the infant. She needs to feed him,” the poor woman stammered.
Oh, Lord in heaven! Elizabeth hoped beyond hope the woman had not accidentally heard Darcy’s inquiry. Elizabeth felt heat rush into her face, matching the color of the nurse’s countenance. She had.
Handing over the baby, Elizabeth closed the door firmly but did not turn back towards where her husband remained in her bed. She had known this conversation was coming. On the day of their wedding, Darcy had made his feelings plain to her. At the time she did not feel the same on the subject.
Recalling the vows that they had made before her parents, the clergyman, and God, in addition to the changes she had observed in her husband over the past two weeks, she knew her course. For better or for worse, she wanted her marriage to be a success.
In the carriage, her husband plainly stated that the comfort they could achieve by drawing close together would bind them as true partners in facing whatever the future held for them and Jem. With that in mind, Elizabeth boldly turned from the door, approached the bed, and climbed back in.
It was several hours later before they appeared downstairs.
Georgiana could not seem to stop herself from going to the nursery to check on Jem. She had traversed the halls at least once each day in hopes the baby would be awake. On this day she met with success.
Mrs. Mansfield was holding Jem as he tried to grab at her fingers. “Welcome, Miss Darcy. Would you like to hold him?”
“Not quite yet,” Georgiana replied.
Over the past several days, Georgiana had taken the time to consider all her brother had told her. While it had the ring of truth to it, there was something holding her back. In all honesty she recognized the obstacle. George Wickham.
If George Wickham was right, her quest to be independent, to be loved by a good man would come to fruition and bring her untold happiness. If her brother was correct, all of her dreams would vanish into thin air, leaving behind a foolish girl with unimaginable consequences. Georgiana did not want to be that girl.
As a test, she decided to engage Mrs. Mansfield in conversation. Seating herself in the chair that had been pulled close to the rocker, Georgiana asked, “Mrs. Mansfield, would you tell me about your husband?”
There was no hesitation in the woman’s response. “Samuel?” At Georgiana’s nod, she said, “My Samuel is the best man I know. We were married on the tenth of June in the year 01. It was a Wednesday morning. I had always wanted to be a June bride.” Mrs. Mansfield chuckled. “I woke to a heavy summer rain. I feared Samuel would not make it to the church on time. Nonetheless, before I could break my fast or don my wedding garments, he had a note delivered that promised nothing would keep him away. He is that sort of man, Miss Darcy. He is as reliable as they come. Why, I think that if he told me the moon would be purple tonight, I would believe him.”
“He sounds like a good husband. Is he tall and dark like my brother?” Georgiana quizzed.
“Heavens! Not at all,” Mrs. Mansfield smiled. “He is of average height with the broadest shoulders I have ever noted on a man. Not, of course, that I tend to look at other men, mind you. His hair is as auburn as mine. Where my eyes are green, his are as blue as the sky.” She blushed, looking away. “I think him terribly handsome.”
Georgiana felt awful. Her motive in asking this woman about a love who might never return in an effort to assuage her own burning curiosity was mean. Swallowing, she considered how best to extricate herself from the conversation without causing more harm.
“I would hope to meet him some day.” It was the best she could come up with.
Tears filled Mrs. Mansfield’s eyes. “I desperately hope he returns to me so you can see for yourself what a fine gentleman he is, Miss.” She stood awkwardly with the burden in her arms. “I find it is time I lay Jem in his cradle. His eyelids appear to be getting heavier and heavier.”
Grateful to have an excuse to leave, Georgiana returned to her room. Everything that had been so clear when her brother had arrived home with the two women was now cloudy to the point of being obscured. She no longer knew what and whom to trust. The clues she had gathered were leaning heavily in her brother’s favor.
She needed someone to talk to, to help her know how to proceed. With that in mind, she gathered her courage and the three letters from ‘Roberta Crim’ and went to where she knew her brother would be, his study. Except, he was not there.
Chapter 17
Darcy had never felt such peace and contentment as he had in Elizabeth’s arms. As with everything she did, she was whole souled—to the pleasure of them both.
His good mood was shattered when he spoke with his sister soon after descending the stairs to his sanctuary. In her hand were three opened letters she thrust at him. Hesitating until she gave a nod of approval, he began reading the one on top.
Miss Roberta Crim
Hertfordshire
My dearest, sweetest Georgie,
How I have missed you, my love.
His eyelids popped open as he stared at Georgiana. “W
hat is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
Through her tears she mumbled, “Before you continue reading, Brother, you should know that my initial reaction was the same as yours.” Georgiana wiped her eyes, then added, “I am so sorry to disappoint you.” She sobbed.
Darcy studied her for a moment before continuing.
Is this not a clever ruse, Georgiana? I shall pretend to be one of your school friends so none at Pemberley will be the wiser.
You must be wondering why I am contacting you after the way we parted at Ramsgate. My dear girl, my love for you is constant. Would that Darcy had accepted me as a brother. I cannot doubt your beloved father would have approved a marriage between his only daughter and his godson. However, Darcy, with his unmovable character, would have never agreed.
Pray accept my sincerest apologies for any hurt feelings I left behind when I removed from the seaside. I never meant any harm. I saw the writing on the wall, so I felt the best way to deal with matters was to leave the impression that my feelings were at an end and to retreat.
I am now settled in the militia in a small town not far from London called Meryton. Do you know it? Surely you must, as your brother is here with his friend Bingley. It sorrows me to share that Darcy has not made himself well liked in the neighborhood. I cannot help but feel your father’s displeasure should he have known Darcy’s conduct. Despite your brother’s stern superiority, you are the Darcy who has retained your gentle kindness. Thank God!
Oh, how I yearn to make you Mrs. Wickham. Until I can join you in Derbyshire and we can escape to our happy future, I am and will remain devoted to you.
Pray write to tell me you love me still, my sweet girl.
With love,
GW
Glancing at the next letter to see it was basically more of the same, he skipped to the third, the one she had received the day they had arrived at Pemberley. What he read was vile to the extreme. The accusations against him were horrid. That his innocent sister had read and believed these words hurt him to his core.
