Your sister,
Lydia Wickham
“Oh Lydia, you silly, naïve fool,” Lizzy whispered, folding the letter slowly. She retrieved a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at teary eyes, rubbing her thumb gently over the parchment while losing herself in sad musings. With head bowed and thoughts drifting, she did not note the faint crunch of boot heels on sandy path.
“Elizabeth? Are you well?”
She glanced up, mildly startled, but recognizing her husband's voice instantly. He stood a couple feet away, the sun blocked by an exceedingly tall body thus throwing his face into shadow. The tone of concern was unmistakable, however, even without visualizing the creases between furrowed brows.
Lizzy smiled, brushing quickly at her eyes and flipping the letter over. “I am fine, dearest. What are you doing here?” She held out her hand and he approached, sitting onto the bench beside her.
“I was told you had walked here, and since my heart was breaking with my need to see your face, I decided to forego washing up or changing, hastening here to find my beautiful wife with teary eyes and sad face.” He ran his fingers across her cheek, nodding toward the letter. “Distressing news?”
“No, no. The opposite actually. I heard from Mary. She shared her blessed news with her usual aplomb, insisting I thank you specifically for the initial introduction. Mr. Daniels considers you a matchmaker extraordinaire.”
Darcy laughed. “How kind, although if I recall, I was out of town at the time and had little to do with the meeting. Still, it is an excellent match and I am very happy for her, for them both actually. Mary is a lovely girl and will make a steady, faithful wife.” He continued to caress her cheek, staring intently into her eyes all the while. “However, I sense dissimulation on your part. These are sad eyes, not happy eyes.”
Lizzy dropped her gaze, the intensity of his stare unnerving her. “It is nothing, William. Better if we do not speak of it.”
He frowned, transferring his hands to clasp both of hers, silence falling for a brief time. “Elizabeth, I appreciate that I have no right to insist you divulge all information to me. Secrets are a natural human necessity, I suppose. However, I would hate to think you felt you could not share something troubling with me. That I had somehow given you reason to conclude I was disinterested or vexed with any issue related to you. If the former, then simply say so. If the latter, then we must talk about it.”
Lizzy shook her head, actually chuckling slightly as she returned her gaze to his serious face. “William, you truly are too amazing. I could almost become annoyed at that fact alone if it was not so wonderful.” She sighed, patting his puzzled face. “I only wish to spare you pain, my love. I… It is a letter from Lydia, is all. She is well,” she hastily added, Darcy's countenance instantaneously darkening with sorrow. “Too well, in fact. Giddy with the joy of balls and friends and her dear Wickham.” She shrugged, staring into the pond. “I likely read too much in between the lines as she never relates anything but her bounding happiness. I am not sure if I am sad or thankful for her perpetual immaturity and gullibility.”
She leaned against Darcy's side, his arm surrounding her with a gentle squeeze. Silence fell again, the soft chirping of birds and steady trickle of water over rocks serenely persisting despite the mild tension in the air. When he broke the calm, his voice was quite low and hesitant. “Does he… harm her in any way, do you think?”
“No. I am certain even foolish Lydia would recognize and not tolerate physical violence. As I said, she seems happy. She says he works until morning and that they have little money and that he gambles, only to make money of course. I suppose it is uncharitable of me to immediately leap to negative conclusions, but I rather doubt he is working, nor that he gambles out of duty!”
Darcy released a guttural sound that clearly relayed his views on Wickham's behavior. “It is as I imagined it would be for them. I did harbor some hope that matrimony and the responsibility incurred would breed a sense of honor in Wickham, and perhaps it may yet to some degree. At least he has not abandoned her and is maintaining his post.” He paused, shifting on the hard rock and pulling her tighter into his side. “Elizabeth, I have a confession. You know I do not enjoy speaking of… him, and the guilt that abides in my heart has caused you to not broach the subject. In truth I am relieved and I do appreciate your compassion. Nonetheless, I do not wish for secrets between us if at all possible to avoid.”
She glanced up quickly, tears springing to her eyes. “Forgive me, William! I did not mean…”
He halted her with a kiss, smiling as he resumed, “Allow me to finish. The secret I refer to is my own. I have vast connections, as you know, and have utilized my contacts to keep abreast of Wickham's activities both personal and professional. I receive regular dispatches, in fact. So I am asking you to forgive me for not sharing what I know.”
Lizzy's mouth had fallen open and her eyes were wide. Darcy kissed her cheek, holding her gaze as he continued, “It is as you have deduced. Wickham is not faithful to your sister, although I am assured that he is discreet, which is a surprising improvement. He gambles too much and drinks, but he does pay his bills, adequately fulfills his duties, has been in no serious offenses, and by all outward appearances cares for Lydia's needs. As you say she claims, my sources assure me that she is content. How much she is aware of Wickham's activities, I do not know. Many women in her place simply deny the truth, living in a state of willing blindness. I would have wished more for her in life, as I know you would as well, my love, but it is not as horrible as I envisioned.” He smiled wryly. “I guess that is enough to be thankful for.”
Lizzy was dumbfounded. “Why would you do this, William? Lydia freely placed herself in this situation. It is not your fault! You have no reason to exert such efforts or worry so.”
“Logically I comprehend the truth of your assertions, Elizabeth. Lydia is a foolish girl to be sure; however, you know she would not be in this particular situation if not for me. My damnable pride and sense of politesse, not wanting to cause scandal to my family. It allowed a villain to roam free. To charm, flatter, and destroy young girls at will. And I was forced to see them married!” He shook his head and closed his eyes briefly. “Nonetheless, I watch over Lydia not out of guilt… well, not completely anyway, but because it is ethical and obligatory. She is your sister, and thus my family. I will not allow overt harm to come to her. If Wickham's behavior becomes unmanageable or hurtful, I have people in place who will remove her, forcefully if necessary.”
He paused, a cloud crossing his features and tight clenching of his jaw apparent. Not for the first time Lizzy sensed there was more to his personal story of Wickham. The bits she knew from his letter and a few vague comments or short conversations like now did not fully compute. She remembered the rage on his face as far back as their days in Hertfordshire. If she hadn't been so angry with him at his insulting proposal she would have shrunk in fear from the fury evident when she threw Wickham's name into his face. And there were other unguarded moments when she had noticed expressions of profound disgust or anger when Wickham's name was mentioned. Curiosity to know more of their youth burned within, but some instinct warned her that it was likely worse than she imagined and perhaps more than she was prepared to handle. So she never asked.
He sighed faintly and shrugged imperceptibly, his face clearing as he turned toward her.
Darcy cupped her cheek, smiling in peace. “Let us make a new vow. I shall put the past affairs with Wickham behind me as best as I can, and we shall share our future knowledge freely. I cannot promise to embrace lengthy conversations on the subject, but I will not avoid them or wince overly. Deal?”
Laughing lightly, Lizzy kissed him in joy. “Have I told you lately, beloved, that you are the best man in the world?”
“Yes, but you may say it again if you wish,” he offered with a grin.
She encircled his neck, drawing his forehead to hers. “You are the best man in the world, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I lov
e you.”
Chapter Two
A Game of Riddles
Samuel Oliver and Marguerite Charbonneau were joined in Holy Matrimony on September the third in the intimate Pemberley Chapel. The groom wore a fine suit of black, dashing and elegant despite the blush upon his cheeks and trembling hands. He was attended by a livery-garbed, wigged, and smiling Phillips, yet leaning on a crutch and pale. The bride was resplendent in a white taffeta gown, her golden hair for once not in a severe knot but stunningly curled and piled atop her delicate head. She was attended by her sister Dominique, a lady's maid at the inn in Matlock where Marguerite had once been employed, wearing a lacy gown of rose organdy. Aside from a few bouquets of late summer flowers and ribbons upon the pews, the chapel was left unadorned, its natural beauty and reverent essence shining brighter than any decoration would have.
Reverend Bertram, dressed in his finest vestments, performed the traditional ceremony. Marguerite was baptized a Catholic, as were most French, but religion had not played a large part in her life. Therefore, she had readily embraced the Anglican views and had met with Reverend Bertram several times to familiarize herself with Samuel's chosen faith. Essentially it was the blessing of God that was of vital importance to both of them. The entire household staff, a handful of outside staff, a few other friends from the community, and Samuel's father, a butler at Yeldersley Hall near Ashbourne, were present to witness the union. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy sat in the front pew, adding their blessings to the solemn event.
All plans had proceeded as initially outlined a month ago. Darcy arranged for a coach to transport the newlyweds to Windermere, where they would holiday for two weeks. Samuel was consulted on all arrangements but offered little in the way of feedback, generally far too uncomfortable merely by being in his Master's study to even consider carrying on a collaborative conversation. Lizzy had better luck with Marguerite, although her involvement was minimal, primarily allowing her maid to do whatever she wished in regards to the wedding. Therefore, like most women throughout the ages, Marguerite and her bridesmaid organized the bulk of the ceremony's provisions, Samuel essentially required to simply show up at the appointed time.
Mrs. Langton and Mrs. Reynolds hosted a reception in the staff quarters with feasting and merriment. The Master and Mistress extended their heartfelt congratulations to the blushing groom and radiant bride, departing to the Manor and allowing the couple to celebrate at leisure with their friends. The Olivers would spend their wedding night in their new apartment on the Pemberley lower level, Samuel's mortification far too profound for Darcy to more than hint about providing a place of greater privacy.
Lizzy and Darcy ate a light repast in the dining room, the muted sounds of revelry drifting from below, and then retired to their sitting room for the remainder of the night. Of course, this was not unusual, but tonight they would essentially be on their own as the entire staff was likely to be occupied toasting the new couple for many hours to come. Despite Samuel's fretting to the contrary, Darcy managed perfectly well with performing his personal toilette and with only his wife to assist him in undressing. Lizzy, too, was quite capable and since they both actually rather enjoyed caring for each other, not having their individual servants attend them was not an uncommon occurrence. For the two-day interim before they departed to Yarmouth, Darcy would be served by Willis, a manservant from the Osprey Inn in Brawley, and Lizzy would be assisted by Marla, one of the maids. Darcy was still not sure whether Samuel was relieved to have his Master cared for or appalled at the concept of a strange servant handling Mr. Darcy's personal effects! Whatever the case, the Darcys released a huge sigh of relief to have their servants safely wed and on their way, the organizing frankly frequently annoying with Samuel blushing and stammering incessantly.
The fourth of September dawned brightly, Lizzy reaching sleepily for her husband only to find his space vacant and cool. He had not specifically mentioned leaving early for a ride or other duty, not that he necessarily was required to do so, but he generally did. Normally this desertion would have caused no dismay or perplexity; today, however, Lizzy was shocked to find him absent. Darcy had made no reference of a specially planned celebration for this day, but Lizzy had anticipated something, even if only a romantic morning interlude. Well aware of how sentimental her spouse was, Lizzy's expectancy had grown and her first waking emotion was crushing disappointment.
“I told you not to spoil me so, William,” she murmured to the empty air. “You have set the standard impossibly high.” She sighed, further chastising herself for being so foolishly saddened when overall he was far and away the best man on earth. The baby suffered no such sense of disillusionment, jumping about on her bladder and demanding nourishment posthaste as usual.
Crossing the threshold to her dressing room moments later, Lizzy's emotions were again assaulted, only now with soaring amazement and glee. Hanging on a hook placed above her vanity was the very dress that she had worn one year ago today when first setting eyes on Pemberley while visiting with her aunt and uncle. Laughing joyously, she reached tremulous hands to unpin the note secured to the bodice.
My dearest wife,
Surely you did not honestly believe that I would allow this gown to be discarded? My foolish, beautiful Lizzy! If I knew of a way to have it preserved forever, I would. Madame du Loire has altered it to fit your current shape. If I may be so bold as to insist you don this garment, for me?
I pray you entertained no doubts that I would revere this day, beloved. How could I not exalt the day my heart began to beat again? For certain you know where I currently wait, breathlessly anticipating beholding your beautiful face as I did precisely 365 days ago, with the same yearning desire unabated. Only today I shall kiss you as I urgently ached to do then.
Of course, I can never express my love for you simply, so I am sending you on a quest. Solve the riddle and follow the trail for the prizes earned. I shall await you at the end, my unfailing love your ultimate reward. Hurry, my heart!
Always yours,William
Mrs. Darcy, my pearl
~ kisses by moonlight and starlight
~ coming home never so sweet
~ cold of stone and air eradicated by ignited hearts and lips
~ the flame of a torch dim compared
Lizzy smiled, instantly solving the riddle. Dashing through the time-consuming routines, she nonetheless freshened carefully with a splash of jasmine and gloss to her lips. The dress, supposedly disposed of months ago as no longer appropriate nor wearable, fit perfectly. The bodice seams were let out and altered with a lace insert to provide space for an ample bosom, the appearance mildly different but lovely with the creamy tops of her breasts displayed. The skirt was already adequately gathered and full, no adjustment needed to accommodate the swell of their child. She pinned her hair up in a loose bun as she had worn it then, with wisps of hair framing her face.
After a last inspection and pinch to her cheeks, Lizzy hastened to the balcony. Lying upon the bench where passionate kisses commenced on Lizzy's first night at Pemberley as Mrs. Darcy was a single red rose and folded piece of parchment. Attached to the rose's stem with a slim white ribbon was a velvet pouch holding two lustrous pearls.
Illusionary clouds and sky
~ horses run fruitlessly
~ familial chimes to count through the ages
~ a head in miniature lies abed
~ swaying rhythms under the power of love
Giggling like a child herself, Lizzy ran to the nursery. The room was sunny and cheery. As always when she entered this room, Lizzy paused on the doorstep, marveling at the joy which permeated her soul. Resting her palms over her belly, she gazed about the chamber, eyes alighting on each precious item.
The decorating was complete and the Darcys were delighted with the outcome. The entire wall opposite the three tall windows facing east was painted with an elaborate pasture scene. All in pastels, the scene was illusionary, as Darcy stated in his riddle, yet so incredibly detailed that
one expected the pale green grass to smell and the brook of periwinkle to babble and pink sheep to bleat. Horses of white and grey grazed and ran amongst the sheep and multihued flowers. The lacy blue and yellow curtains Lizzy had sewn hung from rods of polished oak, falling in soft waves to brush the hardwood floor. Several plush rugs dotted the floor, spaced at careful intervals to mute heavy footsteps that might disturb a sleeping infant. The newly installed, modern Franklin stove waited to be lit, freshly laid marble tiles reflecting the gleaming metal. An enormous dresser with padded top sat against the right wall, the door to Mrs. Hanford's chambers to one side and the door to the small closet on the other. To the left, as in Lizzy's dream, stood the cradle and cushioned rocking chair. Above the cradle hung the cuckoo clock gifted on her birthday, pendulum swinging and ticking faintly. Darcy had refinished the rocking chair, it now glinting from where it sat beside the white satin and lace-draped cradle. Inside, resting on the tiny pillow was another red rose, pearls nestled in a sack.
My Dearest Mr. Darcy: An Amazing Journey into Love Everlasting tds-3 Page 7
