by Linda Wells
Lord Matlock stepped in. “Ah, so she is hoping to further her acquaintance with your brother! A fortune hunter!”
Georgiana gasped. “Oh, no, I do not think that at all. I think she is very kind. Ask William, he has read every letter.”
“Has your brother written to her again, besides those few lines he added to your first letter?” Lady Matlock asked.
“I do not believe so, it would be improper for him to do so, and William never does anything improper.”
The Fitzwilliam family could only agree with that statement. “What can you tell us of this girl?”
Georgiana spoke eagerly. “She is twenty, and has four sisters; her father is a gentleman with a small estate.”
Lord Matlock muttered. “At least she is gently-bred.” He looked to his concerned wife. “This must be stopped, and soon.”
She nodded. “Yes, an attachment to a woman outside of our circle will not help him to return to society.”
Georgiana was confused. “But William is not attached to her.”
The adults in the room all thought otherwise. Hearing this story and seeing Darcy, it was now very clear that his behaviour was that of a lover, not a brother distraught over his sister’s behaviour. “We will talk to him when he returns.” At this point Mrs. Reynolds knocked and entered with a message from Darcy. He had returned to his room and was resting, and planned to join them all for dinner. He invited them to enjoy the household as they saw fit until he could assume his hosting duties.
Lady Matlock closed her eyes with relief. “Well at least he is returned and recognizes he needs to pull himself together. I suggest that we do not broach this topic until he has had a full night to sleep, unless he brings it up himself.”
Lord Matlock agreed. “Fine, we shall wait until tomorrow. We have a great deal to discuss.” He looked over to his niece and searched her face for any sign of Darcy blood. Shaking his head he left the room and went down to Pemberley’s great library to settle in a chair and read his sister’s letter. After taking in her demands he struck a match and threw it into the grate. Her words were not needed at this time.
GEORGE WICKHAM stepped away from the gaming tables, a large grin on his face. “Good evening, gentlemen, I thank you for your generosity!” He bowed and ignored the growls of the angry men calling good riddance to him and went to a corner booth to count his winnings. He had enough to get by for at least half a year if he was careful. He knew he could not rely on gambling to fund his lifestyle, but until he was better dressed and had more disposable cash, he could not cosy up to some rich widow and exchange his attentions for her funding. It was a game he had played for years. It took him into the society he craved, and with his charm he could almost seem to fit in.
A group of men in red coats entered the tavern and caught his eye. He glanced at them briefly when one man seemed to be standing and staring at him. “Wickham?” He said as he walked over. Wickham flinched, wondering if this was the brother of a girl he might have defiled, but relaxed when he recognized an old acquaintance.
“Denny! Why it has been years! You are in the army?”
The men shook hands and Denny took a seat at Wickham’s table, waving to his friends who had moved across the room. “Militia actually. We are headed out to our winter quarters in a few weeks, so we have some leave in London before we go. What are you doing now? Did you ever use that degree?”
Wickham laughed. “No, but it does impress the ladies.” He regarded his old acquaintance thoughtfully. “How is the pay in the militia?”
Denny shrugged, “It is not riches, but as your rank increases, so does the coin. I am comfortable as a lieutenant, and I imagine I’ll make captain in a year or so. Why do you ask, are you thinking of joining?” He laughed but stopped when he caught the speculative look in Wickham’s eye. “I say, if you are serious, then come and meet Colonel Forster when we return to Brighton tomorrow. We should be leaving for our winter quarters early in the month. Come along and see if you would like to join up.”
“The militia.” Wickham laughed at how far he had fallen. “Very well then Denny, I think I may just have to take you up on that offer.” The men rose and moved over to join the other soldiers at their table, and Wickham began to learn of his new career. If nothing else, he would be fed and housed with no problems for awhile.
THE BRIGHT SUNSHINE poured through the windows and fell upon Darcy’s sleeping face. He lay stretched out on top of the bed, still clothed in the breeches and shirt he had worn for the past five days. All that was missing were the topcoat and boots he had removed in preparation for his bath nearly sixteen hours earlier. He returned from his escape feeling lighter than air. Elizabeth’s assurances of her devotion erased the torment of rejection he had carried for weeks. She had never rejected him. Her letter, now lying clutched in his hand, said so much more than simply the affirmation of her friendship. Darcy was very intelligent, and he saw the letter for what it was, a declaration of her love. He knew it. She was as lost as he.
That incredible knowledge sent him to find the peace of sleep, and he dreamed of waking in the security of her arms. The sound of movement in the next room finally permeated his consciousness and he blinked open his eyes, and immediately saw the letter. He settled his head deeper into the pillow and lying on his side, read it through again. He smiled and looked across the vast empty expanse of his bed. “I do not think I will be sleeping alone here much longer.” He whispered, and ran his hand over the counterpane, thinking of the woman whose rightful place that was. “No separate beds for us, Elizabeth. None of that nonsense, as you would say.” He laughed out loud and smiled. Rubbing the beard that was making his face itch he stood and looked into the mirror over the fireplace, barely recognizing the white teeth of the grinning bearded fool staring back at him. Lifting his chin he examined his new appearance and wondered if Elizabeth would like it. It seemed he would have a full beard within a week if he let it go any longer. Then another smile came to his face. No, it must go. When Elizabeth’s lips finally kiss my face, I want to feel them on my skin. A thrill of anticipation ran through him at the thought of her affection, and he had to turn his back to the dressing room door to hide his reaction when Roberts poked his head into the room. “Sir, I thought I heard you. Will you want a bath this morning?”
Darcy, trying to calm his body, said to the man’s reflection, “Yes, a bath and a shave. Be sure the razor is sharp, you have some work ahead of you.”
Roberts saw him rub his jaw and nodded. “Yes sir, I will prepare accordingly. The bath will be ready in half an hour if you would like to begin?” Sufficiently able to walk into the room, he took care of necessities and settled into the barbering chair. He saw four blades ready for the task.
Glancing up at his man Darcy smiled. “You are prepared!”
Roberts’ lips twitched. “I added a new blade each day, sir.” Darcy lay his head back and let his man get to work. Roberts had the unprecedented need to remind his master several times to stop smiling so that he could finish the job.
Darcy ran his hand over the smooth skin and grinned. “Much better. I hope to never be left in such a state again.”
After bathing and thankfully dressing in clean clothes, he went downstairs. It was still fairly early in the day, and upon inquiring, he learned that only his cousin Richard was up, and out riding. He went into the breakfast room and took in the enormous meal his near-starvation required and set off to his study. The room was spotless. Obviously when he finally vacated it the day before, Mrs. Reynolds set the staff to work. He settled behind his desk and began dealing with the correspondence that had been neglected. He took care of the business letters first, and then his steward came in with a report on the harvest. He had been at work over two hours when a knock at the door brought in Richard.
Darcy stood and shook his hand. “It seems that I slept through dinner last night. I hope that your parents were not too offended.”
He returned to his seat behind his desk and Rich
ard dropped into the chair opposite, and regarded him appraisingly. “No, actually I would say that Mother was relieved to hear that you stayed in bed. From what we were told, you have been hiding in here or haunting the halls at night. Would you care to enlighten me as to what happened? You seem to have made a miraculous recovery; it cannot be simply because you have relatives in the house.” He watched Darcy as he wound a ribbon around his finger. “Georgiana seems to think that it was her fault.”
Darcy startled. “Her fault?” He shook his head. “That seems to be a Darcy trait, to jump to the worst possible conclusion when a simple explanation will solve it all.”
Richard prodded him. “And, that simple explanation is …?”
Darcy smiled. “Private, cousin.”
“That is not going to be accepted, Darcy, and you know it. If you intend to keep something private after your behaviour, it will be best if you leave Pemberley before my parents come downstairs.” Darcy frowned. “Does this have anything to do with Miss Elizabeth Bennet?” The sudden jerk of his cousin’s head and wide eyes answered the question. “I see it does. What has the chit done to you?”
A glare of deadly force was fixed upon his cousin. “Richard, if you do not wish to be called out, I suggest that you rephrase that question. Miss Elizabeth is a lady, and deserves your respect. She is not only Georgiana’s good friend, but has become mine as well.”
Before he could answer, Lord Matlock and James entered the room and closing the door, took seats around the desk. “You look much better, Son.” He looked between the two men and saw the challenge in Darcy’s eyes and the raised brow of his son. “What is the standoff about?”
Richard’s gaze never wavered. “We were just discussing Miss Bennet.”
“Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy said quietly.
“I stand corrected.” Richard nodded. “I was asking Darcy what she had done to him, and he objected to my description of her.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “As I said to Richard, she is a lady, and my friend. I will not tolerate any insult thrown her way.”
Lord Matlock watched him carefully. Darcy showed every sign of being in the throes of infatuation. He settled back. “It seems to me this woman is more than a friend. Did you have a quarrel with her; is that what sent you over the edge? You cannot behave in such an irresponsible manner Darcy and expect the family to allow Georgiana to stay under your care.”
Darcy’s head snapped to his uncle. “Do not even think of lecturing me about responsibility, Uncle. You know better.”
Lord Matlock backed down. “Forgive me, I merely wished to point out the extent of your fall. We hardly recognized you yesterday, and frankly I am shocked at the transformation today. I demand to know the cause of each. Without anymore dancing, if you please.” Although Lord Matlock was unquestionably the head of the Fitzwilliam family, he was not head of the Darcy house. He was really under no obligation to honour his demands, other than by familial respect, and Darcy did possess that for this man.
He bent his head. “I have been corresponding with Miss Elizabeth for nearly three months. We have become very good friends; in fact, I feel affection for her that I have never hoped to feel for any woman. I finally told her all about Georgiana and my history with Wickham. When I did not receive a reply, but Georgiana did, I felt that I had been rejected by her in the same way that society had dismissed us. It … it drove me to the state in which you found me yesterday.” He looked down, winding and unwinding the yellow ribbon around his finger.
The three men exchanged glances expressing surprise and shock that Darcy would break with propriety in such a way, and that he would actually open himself to anyone at all about his private affairs. Lord Matlock cleared his throat, reserving his opinion for the moment. “And the transformation we see now?”
Darcy looked up. “When I left the house yesterday I met my messenger, arriving with her letter. She had written, and only when he came with a note from Georgiana, but not me did she realize what had happened. She was afraid that I had rejected her, it had been so long since I last wrote …” His voice trailed off, a vision of her face in tears entered his mind.
Lord Matlock blew out a breath. “What are your intentions, Darcy?”
Blue eyes met brown. “I will make her my offer. I will marry her.”
Richard and James began to voice their protests but the Earl spoke over them. “No Darcy, you will not. The family will not support a match between you and a woman so far below you. You have been lured by a fortune hunter.”
Incensed. Darcy stood. “She is NOT a fortune hunter!” He struck the desk, causing the stack of letters to fall over. “I am sorry to hear that we will not have your support, but I believe that we have had this conversation already. I will not marry without affection or love. I have witnessed the effects of a marriage of convenience firsthand. I will not be party to it. I will marry as I choose.”
Lord Matlock attempted to remain calm as Richard and James exchanged glances. This was the first time they had heard of their cousin’s convictions. “Sit down, Darcy. I wish to speak in a civilized manner.” Darcy sent them all a cold glare and resumed his seat.
“Your position in society is, at the moment, tenuous. I expected you to be welcomed back next Season. Perhaps there will be some who continue to cast their poor opinion your way, but that is to be expected, and likely they were people who did not like you to begin with. However, there is every reasonable expectation that the majority of society will forget your part in the scandal and accept you. But that will not be at all likely if you marry below yourself. Your Aunt Ellen and I are in agreement that you must marry, not as Catherine would wish, it does not have to be Anne, but you must marry, and you must produce the heir of Pemberley.”
Darcy nodded at him. “And that is what I intend to do. I intend to marry Miss Elizabeth.”
The Earl shook his head in frustration. “You are not listening to me, Darcy. You can not risk your position in society by taking on the daughter of a country squire. It will do you no favours. My words will be seen as mild compared to theirs.”
The venom in his response struck them all. “Do you truly think that I care of my position in society?” He hissed. “The only reason that I maintained the contacts I did was for promoting Georgiana’s future marriage. As it is clear that she is unlikely to ever be accepted in the first circles again, unless it is by some family so desperate for her dowry that they are willing to take on a girl with a damaged reputation, what does it matter who I marry?” His stare would have sent a lesser man running.
Lord Matlock closed his eyes to avoid the glare and stated the bald truth. “Darcy, she would not be accepted, and do not expect any support from us in making her so.” He implored, “If you care for her as you say, do you truly wish to subject her to the same disdain you see Georgiana facing now?”
Darcy stopped, considering Elizabeth’s strength. He was not sure, but somehow, he simply knew that she would not crumple under society’s censure. “Uncle, I do not ask for your support. I would appreciate your civility when in her company, but as to Town, I already know who my friends are. I need nothing else. I will be perfectly content to spend my days here, and Miss Elizabeth is a country girl, I suspect she will feel the same.” He fixed his eyes on his uncle. “I will marry no other. It is truly a miracle that I found her. I admit to considering the possibility of choosing a lady of fortune to help Georgiana, but now that I have the possibility of felicity, I will not let it go.” He stood up and walked to the window and stared out at the gardens. “I will not marry if it is not to her.”
“Darcy … Darcy, you must be the one to marry. You can not leave it to Georgiana.” Lord Matlock’s voice was almost pleading. Darcy turned. “I have become increasingly convinced that Georgiana is not your father’s daughter. To be sure that a child of Darcy blood is born, he must come from you.”
“Have you proof of this?” Darcy had, in fact, suspected this truth for years, which was always the chink in his p
lan to leave the creation of the Pemberley heir to his sister, but now after all that had happened, he really did not care. She was raised as a Darcy, she WAS a Darcy.
“I have the indications from your Aunt Catherine that it was so.” He said quietly. “She will not say more, I do not know who the father may be.”
“Well then, if a child with the Darcy blood is to be born, it will come of my union with Miss Elizabeth. Otherwise, the bloodline will end with me.” He returned his gaze to the garden, his hands working the ribbon incessantly while the Fitzwilliam men spoke amongst themselves.
Richard looked over to him. “Have you presented your suit yet?”
Darcy turned back. “No. I will be travelling to Hertfordshire in less than a fortnight with Georgiana. I intend to ask Elizabeth’s permission for a formal courtship and speak to her father then. If she will have me, I sincerely hope that we will be married before Christmas. I wish to begin my life. I have waited long enough.” He looked at them all seriously. “I hope to have your acceptance, but if I do not, it will not change my decision.”
His eyes were drawn down to the worn yellow ribbon, now wrapped around the third finger of his left hand, and he smiled at the irony. He thought of the gold band he hoped to place on Elizabeth’s hand and said softly, “At last, I will know love.”
Chapter 11
Darcy finally escaped his unhappy uncle and cousins by simply refusing to speak any further on the subject. He opened the door and left the room after hearing his uncle state once again that if he chose to marry Elizabeth, he would receive no support from the family. Striding down the hallway, he felt a great many emotions, anger, hurt, but oddly it was freedom that overwhelmed his senses. He felt released from society and all that went with it. He found himself in the library built by his ancestors and fell into a chair, thinking.
