The Journey

by Hahn, Jan

  He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “You must forgive me. I do not always understand when you speak in jest. I fear I shall be in need of daily exposure to your lively ways.”

  “You need have no fear on that account. That I can promise you.”

  “But now tell me true, once you thought of me, were you able to sleep?”

  I nodded as we gazed into each other’s eyes. “Somehow I felt your presence, and I slept quite well.”

  A light kindled in his eyes, and he reached for my hand. “I, too, have always slept better within your presence.”

  * * *

  The next morning I awakened entangled within Fitzwilliam’s embrace, my head on his chest, my hair flowing over his shoulder. I felt him stir and tighten his arms around me before kissing my hair. I raised my face just enough to glimpse him through drowsy eyes, and it made me smile.

  “Good morning, Husband,” I whispered.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied, kissing my forehead again. “Mmm, this is the perfect way to awaken — holding you in my arms. I knew it for truth upon its first occurrence.”

  “What did you say?”

  Now it was his turn to smile. “The first time I woke up with you in my arms, I knew that I wanted to awaken in that manner every day of my life.”

  I giggled and hugged him closer. “Ah, I know to what you refer — that morning in the cave.”

  “Y-e-s,” he said, stretching out the word, “that was particularly enjoyable, but I had roused from slumber with your arms around me prior to that morning.”

  I raised up on one elbow. “But that is impossible. What can you mean?”

  “You truly do not know? At the time, I did not think you were awake, but I suppose in my vanity, I had hopes.”

  I sat straight up and stared at him. “Of what are you speaking?”

  He looked away, pressed his lips together, and then turned back to face me. “I am speaking of that room in the cabin in which we were locked for three days and nights. The first evening after your outburst summoned the highwaymen, and Morgan forced us to share the same blanket, you huddled against the wall, never turning even once. The second night was another matter.”

  My eyes widened, and I gasped. “What — what did I do?”

  “Nothing so very bad, my love. Do not distress yourself. It is just that I awoke to find you cuddled up against me, your arm thrown across my chest.”

  “But I never knew it! How could I not know that happened?”

  “Well, I took every precaution not to cause you embarrassment. I slipped out from under your embrace very carefully, even though I must tell you it was the last thing in this world I wished to do.”

  “Fitzwilliam!”

  “My dear, do not look at me in that manner. I am just a man, after all. And you know you are a beautiful woman.” He reached up and began to caress my bare shoulder, stroking my neck with a tender touch.

  “Pray, do not distract me,” I said, disturbed that my voice was a bit shaky. “Was that the only time I imposed upon you in that manner?”

  He smiled that inviting smile of his that revealed the answer. I sighed and rolled my eyes. What else had I done to humiliate myself?

  “Do you recall the gunshots that wakened us on that third night?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I called out your name.”

  “And I put my hand against your mouth immediately to silence you, did I not? That was because you had slept on my shoulder for some time, your mouth buried against my neck. I had not far to reach to quiet you.”

  “Oh!” I cried with dismay. “What must you have thought of me?”

  He lay back, raised his arms and placed them behind his head. “I thought you enchanting, and the greatest temptation I had encountered in my life. I knew without a doubt that as soon as we escaped or were rescued, I had to make you my wife.”

  “And you assumed I wished to marry you as well. Of course, you did. My behaviour led you to believe I loved you.”

  “Elizabeth, I think a part of you did love me a little even back then. You fought against it. That was evident. Perhaps, though, that secret, hidden part of your heart knew you loved me even when your speech and actions when awake indicated the opposite. I like to think when asleep, you revealed your true feelings. And then, of course, there was Morgan and my mistaken belief that you cared for him. That diminished my hopes exceedingly.” His voice turned sour, as though he tasted something bitter.

  I threw myself upon him, stretching out my arms to pull his from beneath his head so that they might encircle me.

  “Is it possible that you know me better than I know myself, Fitzwilliam? It is for certain you know more about the ways of love. One thing, however, you do not know, and I shall tell you now so that you never forget it. You are the only man I have ever loved and the only man I shall ever love. And I intend to wake up beside you every morning of my life!”

  From that time on, mornings proved to be the favourite part of our day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I have now lived with Fitzwilliam Darcy more years than I have lived without him and yet, to this day, he still surprises me. The hour I think I might sketch the illustration of his thoughts or the moment I conclude that I can predict how he will react, he proves me false by acting the opposite. I sometimes accuse him of doing so just to keep me unbalanced. He feigns ignorance of what I speak, proclaiming that he is a typical man, easily read, as mundane as last night’s soup. He is nothing of the sort.

  Bits of grey now streak his dark curls, but they still entice me to tangle them in play as much as ever. A few lines have deepened in his forehead and between his brows, but they do not diminish his handsome face. Instead, he appears experienced, distinguished, and wise. I have learned with effort not to assume that, because I know him better than anyone, I perceive how his mind works. In expressions of either love or displeasure, he continues to leave me breathless.

  I would not have you think ours has been a faultless union. I do not believe such a thing exists. How could two people of strong wills dwell together without some degree of friction? Our arguments have been forceful and vigorous — both of us at times refusing to bend — but our periods of atonement and reconciliation have proved equally spirited and fervent. We have separated twice in our marriage, and then not by choice, for only the deepest of concerns could keep us apart.

  Unfortunately, the first such occurrence took place the summer after we were married. From our wedding on the seventeenth day of February through the first day of August, Fitzwilliam and I enjoyed an idyllic honeymoon. Caught up in the joy and novelty of our love and passion, we had little time or thought for anyone but each other.

  By Easter, Georgiana joined us at Pemberley, but she was a welcome addition, of course. A gentle soul and easy companion, I grew to love her more and more each day.

  None of us had the slightest desire to return to Town for the Season. I had endured enough of London to satisfy me for some time, and Fitzwilliam was content to remain in his beloved Derbyshire. He announced that we would wait until the following year to make our return in spite of numerous invitations we received from his friends wishing to entertain us and make my acquaintance. I took pleasure that he extended our regrets, more than willing to put off facing the renewed scrutiny of the ton.

  I have said all this so that you will understand why the month of August descended upon us with shock and horror. We were forced to interrupt our tranquil country life when I received a letter from Jane informing us that Lydia had run off from her friends in Brighton with none other than Mr. Wickham!

  She had travelled to the seaside as guest of Mrs. Forster when the militia removed from Meryton and transferred to a shire near Brighton. I had cautioned my father by letter not to allow her such licence, but by the time he received my missive, Lydia had already departed. I issued the warning because of Lydia’s general unthinking, forward behaviour, never imagining that Mr. Wickham had any interest in her whatsoever, al
though I knew she had long looked upon him with a young girl’s fancy.

  Even though his engagement to Mary King had been broken not long after it began, I still assumed he would seek to marry a woman of means. The fact that he eloped with Lydia just did not make sense. They had been traced as far as London, and my father had travelled to Town, but so far, neither he nor my uncle had found a hint of their whereabouts.

  I suffered deep shame at news of my sister’s behaviour, not only because of how it affected Georgiana, but because I knew how unthinkable it was that Mr. Wickham should soon become my husband’s brother. Fitzwilliam said little after reading Jane’s letter.

  A dark cloud of anger and resentment descended upon him and, consequently, upon the entire house. When called upon to enter the conversation at dinner, he answered with only the briefest responses and retired to his study afterwards, where he remained behind closed doors for hours. Georgiana and I endured an awkward evening. We spoke of everything but the huge, monstrous thing that dwelt between us.

  At last my sister retired for the evening. Still, my husband did not join me in the parlour. I ventured into his study where I found him at his desk, deep in thought. He barely acknowledged my presence and bade me only the briefest good night before I walked upstairs. For the first time in our marriage, I fell asleep alone and not without tears.

  I wondered whether he regretted having married me, whether all his earlier judgments about the unsuitability of my family had returned to haunt him and he found himself mired in a marriage he now faced with abhorrence. Without his warm, comforting presence lying beside me, I allowed my imagination to run wild.

  He awoke me early the next morning, already dressed, having never inhabited my bed.

  “Elizabeth, I have come to bid you a hasty good-bye. I leave for London with the morning light.”

  “London, but why?” was all that I could utter in an incredulous, stupefied manner.

  “I go in search of Wickham and your sister.”

  I could not speak for the shock of his statement.

  “I know his habits, the lower parts of Town where he may have hidden Lydia.”

  “But my father and Mr. Gardiner are there. Why should you have to subject yourself to this degradation?”

  He raised his eyes to mine, and I saw the pain therein. “Do you not see that I am responsible? It is due to my reserve and want of proper consideration that Wickham’s character has been misunderstood. Hertfordshire received the man in ignorance of his true nature. If I had but warned your father about Wickham, none of this ever would have happened.”

  I leaned forward and clasped his hand. “No! I will not permit you to say such a thing. None of us — you or I or my father — suspected that Wickham would prey upon a young girl without fortune. You are not responsible! Pray, do not heap such distress upon yourself.”

  “I must go. I cannot live with myself if I do not.” He kissed me as though we might never meet again, and with one last tormented look, he strode out the door before I could rise or convince him otherwise.

  I spent the next ten days equally as tormented, if not more so, for I did not hear a word from him and had not the slightest idea what was occurring. In the beginning, I was at a loss to explain her brother’s actions to Georgiana, and she grew more and more reserved as I began to withdraw from her company. Eventually, I revealed what had transpired. She said little, and I wondered how she truly felt. By that time, not only did I worry over Lydia and my family, but I suffered the additional fear that my relationship with Georgiana might be damaged.

  At length, I received a terse note from Fitzwilliam that said, “My undertakings have met with little success. I shall be detained for some time.”

  In the meantime, Jane and I exchanged several letters, none of them containing favourable news. Papá had returned to Longbourn, his efforts fruitless. I thought of how large and heavily populated London was, and decided that the couple could not select a better place to hide.

  My father’s outlook was bleak, and he kept to himself, while Mamá had taken to her bed, ill at the thought that the family had been ruined. Although Jane continued to hold out hope that Wickham and Lydia were married, my own thoughts grew less hopeful with each passing day.

  Fitzwilliam spent the entire month of August in London, returning to Pemberley without notice on the third day of September. He walked into the house, weary and downcast, even though his efforts had been successful. My husband had discovered Wickham and Lydia’s whereabouts and forced the man to marry my sister, an action the scoundrel never intended. Still, Fitzwilliam blamed himself that Lydia was married to such a man.

  Much later, I learned in a letter from Aunt Gardiner that my husband had not only secured Wickham’s agreement, he had purchased the man a commission in the regulars, paid off the majority of his debts, and obtained a special licence so that he and Lydia could be married within the month.

  Mr. Darcy and Mr. Gardiner battled it together for a long time, which was more than either the gentleman or lady concerned in it deserved. But at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it, which went sorely against the grain.

  After reading my aunt’s letter, I sought out my husband and found him in his study poring over accounts. I walked around the desk and stood over him before he had a chance to rise. When he pushed the chair back, I promptly sat down in his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “I know it all,” I whispered. “You truly are the best of men.”

  Taken aback, he questioned me, but I silenced him with my kisses. I felt as though I could never kiss him enough!

  * * *

  Lydia and Mr. Wickham moved far away from both Longbourn and Pemberley, and although Fitzwilliam could never receive him at Pemberley, yet for my sake, he assisted him further in his profession. Their manner of living was unsettled to be sure, moving from place to place in quest of a cheap situation and always spending more than they ought. Wickham’s affection for her soon sank into indifference. Lydia’s lasted a little longer, and in spite of her youth and her manners, she retained all the claims to reputation that her marriage had given her.

  Kitty, being removed from Lydia’s influence, greatly improved to her advantage by spending much time with us or under Jane’s gentle guidance. Both she and Mary eventually made suitable marriages to men of honourable character, if not great fortune.

  Within a year of their marriage, Mr. Bingley and Jane left Netherfield and purchased a house in a northern county within thirty miles of Pemberley. This move added greatly to the satisfaction of both my sister and me.

  Georgiana never married and spent her days either at her establishment in Town or with us in Derbyshire. Her expertise on the pianoforte increased each year, and she acquired quite a name among those who appreciated her skill and artistry.

  My family was saddened at the fact that within five years of my marriage, Mamá died of a trifling little cold that settled in her chest. My father, subsequently, spent much time in Derbyshire, perusing my husband’s extensive collection of books or contenting himself watching his grandchildren grow at either our house or Jane’s.

  At the age of two and twenty, I gave birth to my first son, Thomas Fitzwilliam Darcy, whom we called Will. He was the image of his father, so much so that I sometimes wondered if I had any part in his creation other than giving birth. I adored him, though, and motherhood as well. Two more sons followed within the next four years: Charles Edward, who spent his childhood following in his older brother’s footsteps, and James Henry, a boy destined to go his own way.

  Fitzwilliam proved an indulgent but excellent father. He delighted in training the boys to ride from the time they could walk. Our oldest son shared my husband’s temperament, and they enjoyed each other’s company exceedingly.

  From his youngest days, Edward became entranced with all things nautical, and we made many trips to Bath and Lym
e Regis so that Fitzwilliam could further our second son’s interests. He grew up to launch a distinguished career in the Navy.

  Henry was born with a hint of my mother’s auburn curls and a bit of recklessness and strong will to go with it. As he was my youngest, I could not help but spoil him, and he and his father often found themselves at loggerheads over whose will would prevail. Fitzwilliam accused me of coddling the boy, but I found him difficult to discipline. He could quickly sway me to his way of thinking when he threw his sweet arms around me and buried his face in my neck. I longed for another baby, and I confess I did my best to restrain Henry from growing up too quickly.

  Fitzwilliam and I continued to share a bed every night, and our love grew stronger with each passing year, but by the age of six and twenty, I ceased to conceive. It caused me some concern, but my husband very little. He said he would be perfectly happy to welcome another child if we were granted one, but he took pleasure in our three sons and also in the fact that I was not consumed with all that takes over a woman’s life when she is with child.

  “Your waist is as tiny as when we married,” he declared one evening in my bedchamber, spreading forth his warm hands to encircle it and draw me close.

  I could have corrected him with the bitter truth that it was two inches larger, but I rather enjoyed his delusion and contented myself with untying his cravat. I unbuttoned his waistcoat and slipped it off his shoulders while he played with the buttons at the back of my dress.

  He had never been a patient man with buttons and over the years had ruined many a gown of mine, so I drew away and undressed myself, all the while watching him do the same. That hungry look of desire that persistently lit up his eyes still filled me with delight. Delicious anticipation ignited that fire deep within that could only be quenched by my husband’s strength and passion.

  * * *

  I resigned myself to mothering three sons while I watched Jane give birth every year or two to daughters. She had five by the time she was thirty and showed little signs of abatement. The year before I reached that same momentous age proved to be another difficult time in my marriage and the means of a second enforced separation.