by C. P. Odom
Darcy was silent as these words struck home. Wickham had been a master of deceit his whole life, and now that he thought of it, Darcy realised he would have been hard pressed to predict Wickham’s reaction when he was challenged. In fact, the more he thought on it, he had to wonder just why Wickham accepted Fitzwilliam’s challenge.
Fitzwilliam was quick to provide an answer. “It is my belief, for what it is worth, that Wickham believed he could have his cake and eat it too,” Fitzwilliam said bluntly, leaning forward to drive home his point. “He used to be my superior at fencing with the rapier, you know, and I believe he decided he could hurt you most by killing me and then departing for the Continent to make his fortune.”
Fitzwilliam took another sip of his port before continuing. “Unfortunately for him, he had not kept up his practice, and he tried an attack that depended on both timing and strength. His strength was beginning to fail him towards the end, and it upset his timing.”
Darcy sat back, remembering those long-ago days when he and Wickham had been childhood friends, remembering the blurring speed of Wickham’s attack and his near-impregnable defence. He shuddered at the thought of attempting to fight his one-time friend with his very life at risk.
“How close was it, Richard?” he asked finally, all anger vanished from his voice.
“Close enough, Cousin, close enough. Especially early on when he was fresh. Despite daily training, I had not handled a rapier in years, only cavalry sabres. I had all I could do to keep Wickham from putting paid to me in the first five minutes. And though he did wound me, it was merely a surface slash to my chest. It bled freely, but it did not affect me otherwise.”
“Then why did you do it? You might have died—when I had already found a way to rid ourselves of the man.”
“Because I took an oath upon my honour against Wickham ever again having a chance to repeat his crimes. He did not succeed with Georgiana, but how many other young women did he deceive and ruin? His abandonment of your wife’s sister was easily done; he had prior experience. And, even if those young women were not ladies of the stature of Miss Lydia, could I allow him to repeat his beastly efforts, using the cloak of being an honourable gentleman to disguise his true nature? My honour would not allow it, not when I had the man in my presence at last. I had the opportunity, and I took it. I apologise for none of my actions, save not informing you of what I intended. But I knew you would not have allowed me to take him to his ship if I had done so, even as I knew I should one day have to face your anger for doing what I did.”
Darcy had nothing to say in response, so Fitzwilliam continued. “In any case, your plan was faulty. It would not have categorically ensured that Wickham never returned to England. You know he would not have succeeded in making his fortune on the Continent. He would have run through your money and used the last of it to return to England, there to reappear in his familiar haunts with the possibility of again inflicting himself on others as he had done to our family. The great advantage of my course of action was that it made an end of the matter. I have made sure he will never, ever, have an opportunity to repeat his transgressions.”
Darcy stared silently as Fitzwilliam calmly busied himself setting a cigar alight, and he felt the remnants of his anger seep away. After some moments of deep contemplation, he came to the conclusion that it would do no good to blame Richard for what had happened; the fault had been his own for not realizing what might happen.
He remembered Richard’s cold fury at Wickham’s attempted elopement with Georgiana and that Richard’s suave sophistication was a cloak to disguise the fierce deadliness of a professional soldier, shaped and honed by years of fighting the French. Wickham had made a fatal mistake when he failed to avail himself of the escape Richard had offered him, but he had tried to pose as a languid gentleman of means for so long that he had proved unwilling to give up the disguise. And he had paid the price for trying to revenge himself on the Darcy family once too often.
At length, Darcy said, “I suppose you may well be right. I am reluctant to come to that opinion, but I admit Wickham caused me enough grief for four or five men.”
“And made your marriage immeasurably more difficult,” Fitzwilliam said, waving his cigar.
“I needed little help there, you know”—Darcy shrugged—“having interfered between Miss Bennet and Bingley.”
At this mention of Elizabeth’s sister, a strange emotion washed over Fitzwilliam’s face. It was so rapid that a less astute observer would likely not have noticed, but Darcy knew his cousin well, and he leaned forward in interest.
“Speaking of Miss Jane Bennet, I noticed she does not seem displeased in your company nor you in hers.”
“She is a very amiable young lady as would be expected of the sister of your lovely wife,” Fitzwilliam said with an air of nonchalance that would have well served an expert gambler. It was so well done, in fact, that Darcy wondered whether what he thought he had just seen in Fitzwilliam’s expression had been nothing more than a delusion on his part.
“To be sure,” Darcy said finally, “but are you certain what you say is the sum of your thoughts about Miss Bennet?”
“Darcy, I know you are having an enjoyable time trying to play the matchmaker, but you must not allow your misconceptions to lead you astray. Miss Bennet is a pleasant young lady, and the atmosphere here at Pemberley is much constrained now the snow has started. We cannot help being occasionally in company, you know.”
“Hmm. Perhaps, perhaps,” Darcy said, leaning back in his chair and resolving to keep an eye on his cousin.
***
Friday, December 20, 1816
Pemberley, Derbyshire.
With the arrival of the Bingleys and the Hursts, Darcy knew he faced another daunting task, possibly even more unpleasant than the previous day’s interview with Fitzwilliam—difficult as it had been. He wanted to negotiate some kind of reconciliation between Georgiana and Elizabeth, but his efforts to correspond with his sister on the subject before his party left for Pemberley had met with no success. Despite his assurances about Elizabeth’s rejection of him being justified at the time, Georgiana simply had not accepted it. In her mind, Elizabeth Bennet had been the architect of her brother’s misery, and that was all there was to it.
Darcy was saddened that his sister exhibited a variation of the outspokenly arrogant frankness of his aunt Catherine. It would have been easier if he could force her to sit down with him and Elizabeth to discuss it together, but such a course was not possible since he was no longer her guardian. Georgiana was her own woman now, free to make her own decisions—and her own mistakes. His tenure as her protector was over.
However, despite his doubts concerning the likely effect of his efforts, he was still determined to do what he could to change her mind and her attitude.
If only he knew how best to go about it.
The arrival of their guests in the afternoon was almost an exact reprise of the earlier event in October. Bingley was the same exuberant, unaffected friend, and the three women exhibited the same distant, cool reception of Elizabeth. Mr. Hurst, of course, had little intimation of the undercurrents swirling about him, being primarily interested in his plate and his port. However, he and his wife had finally managed to produce a young son though he had not accompanied his parents to Pemberley due to his tender years.
With the greetings accomplished in a completely civil and unsatisfactory manner, their guests were escorted to their rooms while Darcy and Elizabeth returned to their other visitors.
The Pemberley party was now complete for the Christmas celebrations, and the host and hostess had many obligations to occupy them other than the recalcitrance of Darcy’s sister.
Chapter 22
Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.
— William Blake (1757–1827), English visionary,
mystic, poet, painter, and engraver
Monday, December 23, 1816
Pemberley, Derbyshire
Colonel Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, KCB, walked softly down the upper hall of Pemberley, listening for the sound of children’s voices at each doorway. Despite being a survivor of numerous desperate situations with Napoleon’s grizzled veterans, he could not remember a time when his stomach was as unsettled. He was not at all certain he knew what he was doing, but he could not resist the lure attracting him.
His efforts were eventually rewarded, not with the sound of the young voices he sought but by the sweet sound of a young lady’s voice issuing from an open doorway down the hall. It drew him on with a magnetism that had been growing for days. When he reached the room, he silently stepped inside where he found Jane Bennet reading aloud to what appeared to be all the children visiting at Pemberley.
Jane faced away from him, sitting on a stool with the children crowded around her on the floor, all listening with rapt attention as she read the story of “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” from One Thousand and One Arabian Nights. His entrance caught the eye of several nannies and servants standing against the wall, holding children too small to understand the story but who listened in imitation of their older siblings and friends. Several of them struggled to hide a smile, and Fitzwilliam put a finger to his lips, hoping they would not give away his presence.
This was not the first time he had come to listen to Miss Bennet interact with the youngsters who scampered through the halls and gardens of Pemberley. The older ones were not nearly as subtle or as constrained. They had a better idea of why the tall officer so often seemed to appear from nowhere, and they found it quite entertaining. That was especially true in the case of the Gardiner children since Miss Bennet was their cousin and had often spent time with them. That was demonstrated by the eldest Gardiner daughter, who nudged her younger sister with a barely hidden smile.
Jane had always been a special favourite of her cousins, and they were quick to attempt to separate her from the adults whenever they could. And it had taken little time for the other children to fall under the spell of the sweet-tempered Bennet daughter. The older Gardiner children were keenly interested that a certain uniformed officer was so often the main competition for the attention of their beloved Jane.
Fitzwilliam leaned against the wall with all the nonchalance he could muster as he contemplated many unsettling thoughts and emotions. It had been no hardship to be seated next to Jane at virtually every meal; Darcy and his wife had gone out of their way to ensure that arrangement. And it had seemed as though a band of children were tramping about Pemberley each time he went riding. Of course, he could not be so impolite as to ride past with the other gentlemen when both the children and their chaperone were looking directly at him.
Snow had started to fall a few days previously and now was rather deep, curtailing both riding and children’s expeditions about the landscape, and Fitzwilliam had often found Jane reading in the library when she could escape from her legion of admirers. Reading and quietly talking with that lady was a much more attractive pastime than cards, and Fitzwilliam found it increasingly difficult to deny the effect Miss Jane Bennet was having on him.
The curve of her neck, as seen from behind, had become familiar and enticing, and the way her movements gave subtle hints of her womanly curves under her fashionable day-gown was having a disturbing impact on his equilibrium. Even the sound of her voice at the moment was enchanting as she related the end of the story of Ali Baba as his servant Morgiana saved his life.
“At first, Ali Baba was angry with Morgiana since he thought his servant had acted without reason,” Jane said, “but when Ali Baba found that Cassim was the last of the thieves and had been trying to kill him, he became extremely grateful to his loyal and resourceful servant. He rewards her by marrying her to his son, and since Ali Baba is left as the only one knowing of the secret treasure in the cave or how to open it, the story ends happily for everyone.”
“Except for Cassim and the forty thieves!” one of the children piped in happily.
“Yes, that is true, but they definitely received their just deserts. Now, as in so many stories, there is a moral. Who can tell me what it is?”
“Brothers should be loyal to each other and try not to cheat,” offered one of the Fitzwilliam boys.
“True, but there is an even more important moral,” Fitzwilliam said suddenly, and Jane turned about in surprise.
“Who can tell Miss Bennet what the central moral is?” Fitzwilliam continued.
The eldest Gardiner daughter stood up. “That greed, especially greed for gold and money, must be avoided at all costs.”
Fitzwilliam said nothing, only giving the child a nod and a smile, and Jane turned back to the children.
“You are correct, Charity. Greed has led to much misfortune throughout history and must always be held in restraint. But I believe it is time to eat, and I happen to know that an excellent stew with lots of beef and vegetables is ready. Now, be off with you!”
“Will you read to us again tomorrow, Miss Bennet?” one of the children asked, lingering behind as the rest were ushered from the room.
“Yes, tomorrow. But I am looking forward to my own dinner now,” Jane said, smiling, and the boy smiled back and ran from the room.
Jane rose and turned to Fitzwilliam, trying to look stern. “You surprised me, Colonel. I did not hear you come in.”
“Moving silently is a military skill that is seldom useful in other venues though it proved beneficial in this case,” Fitzwilliam said with an unrepentant smile. “It is marvellous to see the way the children cluster around you like the Pied Piper.”
“They are so dear…” Something in Fitzwilliam’s expression changed and caused the rest of her words to catch in her throat.
Thoughts that had occurred to him with increasing frequency these past days came to the fore. This woman, Miss Bennet, was uncommonly suited to be a mother. It was somewhat rare for women of the gentry and virtually unknown among the aristocracy. Those women had little to do with their children after bearing them, consigning them to be raised by wet nurses, nannies, and governesses.
Miss Jane Bennet was not such a woman, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was faced with the startling realization that such a woman was exactly suited to him. Despite his long bachelorhood and his romantic attachments, he had never been inspired to love any of the women he had known during that time. He had not even been aware he had been searching for something none of them possessed, but he now comprehended why that search had been unsuccessful. In contrast, Jane was definitely suited to be the perfect mother, and he would never have been happy to have his children raised by strangers though he had little realised it until now.
Even more worrisome had been his thought about departing from Pemberley after Christmas and no longer having the opportunity to hear Miss Jane Bennet’s sweet voice, either in conversation or singing at the pianoforte. He might return to Darcy’s estate and find her attached or even married to one of the local young men. Such an unpleasant thought made his stomach clench with dismay in a manner he found surprising.
Fitzwilliam stood by the door with Jane between him and the windows, and the winter sun reflected off the snow and shone through the glass panes. The light coming into the room was so bright it outlined Jane’s figure through the delicate gown she wore. Fitzwilliam’s throat was suddenly dry at the willowy perfection of Miss Bennet’s figure with slim waist and swelling hips. He knew he ought to look away, but he could not. He saw her breasts rise and fall under her gown with the sudden increase in her breathing, and he saw her tongue suddenly wet her lips.
“You are so beautiful, Jane,” he heard himself say softly, almost as though he had no command of his voice, and his hand lifted of its own accord to cup the sweet curve of her cheek.
Jane drew
in a quick breath but did not pull away—not at all. And, after only a brief hesitation, she responded by leaning her head into his hand, trapping it between her cheek and shoulder.
Fitzwilliam felt his chest tighten, and it threatened to choke him such that his voice was almost a croak as he mumbled, “When did this happen? How did this happen?”
“I know not, sir,” Jane said, opening her eyes slightly and smiling the most enchanting smile he had ever seen.
“I should not be doing this,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice strained, but he made no attempt to pull his hand away.
“I do not find it objectionable, Colonel—quite the opposite, in fact.”
“My name is Richard. Pray call me Richard.”
Jane’s eyes opened again, and she smiled widely this time. “Richard,” she said, as though tasting the name upon her tongue and holding his hand in place on her cheek.
After a few silent moments, Fitzwilliam’s playful nature returned. “Darcy is going to be insufferable.”
Jane looked at him quizzically.
“You heard him tell my parents about arranging a marriage between us, given his success with your sister,” Fitzwilliam said in answer to her unspoken question. “He said he was willing to negotiate with your father. We may have laughed, thinking he was teasing me, but now I have to wonder. But I am certain that his chest will now swell so greatly his shirt will split a seam.”
“I think you have the right of it,” Jane said softly, but then Fitzwilliam saw her eyes suddenly open wide, and she straightened her head though she did not pull away.
“Do not tell me,” Fitzwilliam groaned.
“Do not tell you what, dear cousin?” Darcy’s deep voice came from behind him.
Fitzwilliam looked at Jane, and though they both smiled, not a word was said. None was needed; the two of them understood each other perfectly.
