Darcy's Match

by Kate Bedlow

  “What more can be done?” A bowl beneath Hannah’s arm collected the blood being let.

  “I have left a tonic with instructions for Mrs. Brown. Beyond that, mother and child must both rest and take as much light warm liquid as they can keep down. I will call again tomorrow.”

  Hannah grasped at the air with her free hand. “Bobby…” The name of her son.

  “Do you hear, my dear?” Georgiana caught Hannah’s hand and pressed it. “You must try to sleep and refrain from worry. You mother is here. She is with little Bobby, and she will not leave him.”

  “Good day, Mrs. Townes. Listen to Miss Darcy. You must rest, for the sake of your husband and your children, if not your own.”

  Mr. Gowan collected his physician’s bag. “Miss Darcy.” He had changed toward Georgiana. His bow was a little weightier, more respectful. Even as she clung to this last day, the world already saw her as a married woman. As a marchioness.

  Hannah soon drifted off to sleep. Georgiana said goodbye to Robert and emerged from the chandlery to a darkened sky. A chilly wind had kicked up, and the clouds had moved in faster than she expected. Rain began to fall, and despite having Joe come sit with her and putting up the curricle’s rather useless top, soon she and the boy were both drenched.

  Thunder rumbled, and the horses were not happy.

  “Never fear, Miss!” Joe took the reins from her, and she was surprised at how strong and deft he was with the animals. But then, he spent all his days with them, learning to be a groomsman, just has she spent all hers learning to be a lady. “I will have you to the great house in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  “You are very good, Joe.” She gave him her best smile.

  He beamed and puffed out his chest. So young, she thought, and he already knows it falls to the male to protect the female. We each of us have our place. Perhaps people knowing their place was what kept the world from descending into chaos. As Drake had once observed, think of France! In marrying Kett, in a way, she was thinking of England.

  Only barbarians thought of themselves.

  The rain was heavy now, washing out the road. A streak of lightning split the sky and hit ground so close it terrified the horses. One lost its footing, stumbled against the other, and despite Joe’s best efforts the curricle tipped over. As Georgiana fell crashing to the ground, she thought she heard Mr. Midwinter calling her name.

  “Miss Darcy! Georgiana!”

  The world went black.

  And then he was there, staring down at her with such alarm that she knew it must be very bad. “Am I dying?” She blinked away the raindrops battering her eyes.

  Drake bent over her and blocked the rain. That was something. There was a glint of humor in his eyes, which gave her no end of relief. She was not dying.

  “Joe!”

  “The boy is fine. He is seeing to the horses.” Drake’s voice was purposefully calm, and it worked. She felt better. Less afraid, at all events. “Please forgive me, Miss Darcy, but before I can move you, I must know if there are any broken bones.”

  She knew there were none. She had landed in soft grass and felt no pain. She had had the wind knocked out of her, but the only thing damaged was her pride. Nevertheless, she nodded her assent. He checked her ankles, her legs, pressed her hips, her arms… it was heaven. Instinctively, she reached out and grasped his coat.

  He caught his breath and covered her hand with his. His face was so close to hers, like the day months ago when they fell down in the snow together. He trembled now as well. “I believe you are intact.” Without averting his eyes, he extended his hand. “Can you stand?”

  As he helped her to her feet, she was racked by a great chill. “My God, you’re freezing.” He had his coat off in a trice and wrapped it around her. So lovely—and so awful!

  “Joe, have you steadied the horses?”

  Joe assured them both the horses were none the worse for wear.

  “Very good.” Drake took the reins. “Meaning no disrespect to you, Joe, but I will feel more at ease if I escort Miss Darcy the rest of the way home. Be a good lad and ride Nyx back to the stables for me. Give her a good grooming and a bag of oats.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joe’s face betrayed his delight at being so trusted. “Thank you, sir.”

  Perhaps it was wrong to enjoy the ride home so well as she did. Georgiana hugged Drake’s coat to her and breathed in his scent. She leaned against him and allowed herself to revel in his strength. Tomorrow she would put him out of her mind forever.

  The rain did not stop, but it gentled. He told her he had been on his way to see Hannah and the baby, and she told him of Mr. Gowan’s diagnosis. At last, when they pulled into the courtyard, she said, “I hear you are to be St. Mary’s new rector.”

  He stopped the curricle and was quiet a moment. Was he thinking the same thing? Was he in agony, as she was? Did he think if only… if only…?

  Then he looked at her, and anguish was in his eyes. “It is even worse than that.”

  She turned away. “I do not see how it could be.”

  Drake set the curricle’s brake and came round to hand her down. As soon as her feet touched ground, he dropped her hand and stepped back. “I had a letter this morning from my uncle’s solicitor. He has left me a legacy—twenty thousand pounds.”

  She wanted to cry. But she was raised to be stronger than that. “I am very happy for you, Mr. Midwinter.” She returned his coat to him and went into the house.

  Still chilled to the bone, Georgiana had Gilliam draw up a hot bath and prayed she would not catch cold. The last accessory she needed for her wedding attire was a swollen nose—Lydia simply would not have it!

  Chapter 30

  It was time. Georgiana entered the church on her good brother’s steadying arm and looked into the shining eyes of her future husband. A strange sensation danced upon all her nerves, but she could not define it.

  No one but her maid had any idea she had gone out yesterday morning and come home drenched and muddy—and flushed with emotion. After her bath, she had gone down to the breakfast room where Lydia had claimed charge of her for the rest of the day. All was made ready, her wedding dress fitted to perfection, the rest of her things packed and loaded, some to go with her to Paris and the rest to be sent to Somersea Hall.

  Lord Somersea had arrived last night after Georgiana retired, and she had not seen him until this moment—this, Lydia had assured her, was good luck.

  He waited now before the altar in a dashing new suit of clothes. So darkly handsome, and such a winning smile. Georgiana did not see the love in his eyes that she saw in Drake’s, but she saw real friendship. Love would grow between them. She was in no doubt Kett would do everything in his power to make her happy.

  And Drake! There stood Mr. Midwinter in his vestments, important and imposing, the Book of Common Prayer open in his hands. He was rather perfect as a man of the cloth. A believer, but not one for harsh cant. The kind, helping sort of clergyman, not given to judge. He was not so large or imposing as Lord Somersea, but yesterday when he rescued her she had felt his manliness and steady strength. And he was so good. Fitzwilliam had been wise to give him the living, and the parishioners of St. Mary’s were lucky to have him.

  With every step forward, she felt less sure, more… dishonorable. That was the feeling dancing on her nerves, niggling at her conscience. Suddenly, on this point of no return, all was clear. This is wrong! She gripped Fitzwilliam’s arm. Her head was pounding, and she felt dizzy. The church was so full of people! From the front pew, Elizabeth smiled kindly. Too kindly. Did she know Georgiana’s secret? That she was about to marry the wrong man?

  Lydia looked fit to burst with excitement. This was rather a triumph for her, what she had wanted all along. Gwennie was smiling too. All Georgiana’s friends and family were thrilled! But they all seemed so far away. If only her head did not hurt so…

  What?

  Drake was looking at her. He had asked her a question. Kett was looking too. Ever
yone was looking. What was the question?

  Why was the world spinning so?

  Chapter 31

  Elizabeth took Fitzwilliam’s hand in hers and pressed it to her lips. The poor man was out of his mind with worry. It had been a full day since Georgiana collapsed in the church, and she had not yet emerged from her delirium. They were all waiting in the antechamber outside Georgiana’s bedroom, which Elizabeth had been expressly forbidden by the physician to enter—and even more ardently by Fitzwilliam.

  Mr. Gowan had easily diagnosed her condition, infectious pneumonia, caught no doubt when she was administering to poor Mrs. Townes.

  “Why did she go the chandlery when there was such danger?” Lord Somersea returned to pacing the room as he had done intermittently. “And on the day before she was to be married!”

  “That’s Georgie for you.”

  “It is in her nature.”

  Lydia and Mr. Midwinter spoke at the same time, expressing in their way what everybody knew. “She is the most caring and selfless person I have ever known.” Elizabeth squeezed Fitzwilliam’s hand.

  “I do not think I can bear to lose her,” Fitzwilliam said. “My life is so blessed, each bit of love has grown more and more love. And now another child coming… I was blind! So smug regarding the surfeit of love that surrounds me. I had forgot how quickly someone I love can be lost.”

  “She is strong, my dear. She will come through this. I know she will.”

  No treatment would be spared. Georgie was to be bled twice daily, and Mrs. White sent up copious amounts of two different teas, one made of chamomile and one of willow bark. The fire was kept at a high blaze, and the bedroom filled with lilacs and roses to evoke pleasing humors. Mrs. Crealy had cut strips of orange rind to place in the patient’s nostrils. Gilliam never left her mistress’s side, constantly soothing her fevered brow with cool cloths scented with mint.

  Mrs. Reynolds entered the antechamber with a maid following behind her, pushing a teacart loaded with tea and coffee and brandy as well as bread and cheese and cold beef, rolls, and biscuits. No one could tear themselves away to go downstairs to eat.

  Kett ran his fingers through his dark curls. He had not slept a wink. Mrs. Reynolds herself poured a glass of brandy and handed it to the poor fellow.

  “Buck up, young man,” she said kindly. “I have known that girl all my life, and she is stronger than she looks.”

  Chapter 32

  On Friday near three o’clock, the crisis passed and Darcy’s dear, sweet sister came back to him. Georgiana opened her eyes, and when her gaze found him, he could tell she knew him. That such joy could emerge from such despair! Gowan checked all her signs, and the physician’s shoulders slumped in relief. The man had barely slept since Wednesday. When he collapsed into a chair near the window, Darcy took his place at Georgiana’s bedside.

  “Georgiana, thank God!”

  She grasped his hand weakly. “Brother, am I married?”

  “No, my darling. You are not.”

  He should have been surprised by her answer, but he was not. “Good.”

  She asked for a bath, to which Gowan consented. Gilliam chased the two men out of the room and sent the chambermaid down to the kitchen to order hot water. Word of Miss Darcy’s recovery spread through the great house and was soon on its way throughout Pemberley.

  To Darcy it seemed the house itself had been holding its breath. He needed his wife. He needed Elizabeth. She had promised to stay away from the sickroom for the good of the baby, and he raced to her bedroom.

  “She is on the mend, Elizabeth. She will recover!”

  As the words escaped him, so did all the fear he had been holding inside. He fell into Elizabeth’s arms and let flow his tears of joy and relief.

  Drake was up on a ladder in the garden at the rectory, cutting lilacs and dropping them into the basket on the ground. Lilacs were Georgiana’s favorite flowers. She would have a fresh bouquet every day until she recovered.

  For she will recover. Dear Lord, let her recover.

  “Mr. Midwinter!” Susan Brown came running into the garden from the great house. “Vicar! The worst has passed. Mr. Gowan says she will be well!”

  “Thank God!” Drake grasped onto a branch to steady himself, then climbed down. In a fog of gratitude and relief, he asked Susan to take the flowers to Miss Darcy. He half walked, half stumbled to the church, and standing at the floor of the tower, he began to pull the ropes. The bells pealed the joyful news for a good half an hour.

  “Let him in, Gilliam,” Georgiana said. “And leave us.”

  Something about a sickroom transcended social custom. One could speak to a gentleman without a chaperone present. What was the threat of scandal when at any moment one might quite possibly die?

  Not that Georgie thought she was dying. She had feared so yesterday—or was it the day before? She had been sad to think of leaving all whom she loved, and had regretted the life she might have lived, but the thought of dancing with her mama and the angels in heaven had comforted her.

  She knew now she would live. Her strength was returning, and with it came more thoughts of her life to come. But which life?

  Lord Somersea entered and took the chair near the head of her bed that Fitzwilliam had occupied the past several days.

  “Georgiana, I am so relieved. I have felt—we have all felt utterly helpless. Thank heaven you will be well!”

  “Thank you, my lord.” He was a good person and had been a good friend to her. She was so grateful that she had been saved from doing him a terrible injustice.

  He frowned. “What is this, my lord? We will have none of that now.”

  “I cannot marry you… Kett. I made a terrible mistake when I accepted you. I had wished to make my family happy. To show my brother than I was mature and could make good decisions.”

  “You see? You admit it was a good decision to accept me.”

  “In theory, yes. But in reality? No, Kett. It was very wrong of me.”

  She had thought her desire for Drake was the wrong thing. The feeling was too powerful, too overwhelming, to be decent! But was there not something even more indecent in accepting Kett? What if there was someone in the world who could love him with all her heart? As she loved Mr. Midwinter.

  “In theory, ours would appear to be the proper, suitable match everybody advised you to acquire. But there is a flaw in the theory.”

  “I see no flaw, only perfection.”

  “You are very kind. But think about it, and you will know what it is. Although I like you—very much—I do not love you. And you do not love me.”

  He had the good grace not to deny it.

  “Some people, perhaps even most, do not require love in marriage. But I find I do, Kett. And I believe you would too, if you would only allow yourself to consider. Let me tell you a secret about belonging to a fine old family, one I should not have forgotten, with all Gwennie’s talk of Shakespeare. Family is important, but This above all: to thine own self be true. I know it is very neat, but I believe it to be sound advice.”

  “Georgiana, I do not believe I would have done myself a harm in marrying you.”

  “Harm? No. We would have been good to each other. But we both deserve more. Someone we can be wonderful to, wonderful with. Someone we do not merely like, even so very much, but someone we love.”

  He looked at her for a full minute, then shook his head. “Well. I cannot argue with you there.” He kissed the back of her hand and stood to go. “I hope we shall always be friends.”

  “That is also my wish. Thank you, Kett.” When he reached the door she gathered her courage and said, “Would you please ask Mr. Midwinter to come see me?”

  Somersea stopped and turned. A grin spread wide over his face. “So that is how the crow flies.”

  Georgiana felt her face go red. She tried to think of something to say, but Kett waved her off, laughing.

  “I knew it the night I first saw him. If it means anything, I approve. If I must
lose you to another, I am glad it is to someone worthy.”

  The roses were glorious in their first bloom—but then Pemberley’s gardens were always beyond lovely. Lydia breathed in the fragrance and let it calm her. She was no longer out of her mind with worry—half an hour ago, Mr. Gowan had announced that Georgiana would recover fully. Thank heaven!

  Mr. Midwinter must have got the news. The bells at St. Mary’s were still ringing. Lydia smiled—but still, the joyful noise could not dispel the bad feeling in her gut. A feeling about her friend and Kett. A feeling of doom.

  Everything had been perfect, and now it was all falling apart. Mr. Gowan had told Kett that Georgie wished to see him—alone—and Lydia could only imagine bad scenarios.

  “I thought you would be here.”

  It was him.

  “You did not stay with Georgie long.”

  “She did not want me.” He plucked a rose and put it to his nose. One of his dark curls fell forward over the white petals. He sighed, but it sounded like relief more than unease. “She does not want me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She broke things off between us. She wants the vicar. I told you he was a worthy rival.”

  “Oh, Kett. I am sorry. Truly. I… I shall miss you.”

  “Why ever should you have to?”

  “Do not be coy. There is now a breach between you and Georgiana. I could never take a side against my friend. Besides, you must marry. I do not think your eventual bride will care for me so well as did your former fiancée.”

  “No one will want me. I shall be a laughingstock.”

  “You will not. As soon as word spreads, the mamas of the ton will be writing notes of tender condolence with invitations to tea included. You could never be other than a rare prize in their eyes.”

  “That is exactly what I wished to avoid by marrying Georgiana.”

  “Is that so?” That gave her a start. She had thought he loved Georgie, at least a little. How could any man not?