Gallagher carried the lady upstairs to the Blue Bedroom, there was no weight to her; she looked up at him with scared brown eyes and pulled herself closer to him as he climbed the flight of stairs. He placed her on the soft coverlet, and she reached for his hand as he turned to leave.
“Thank you for the kindness you have shown me today, Mr Gallagher.”
“You’re very welcome, Mrs Darcy,” he said in his rough, country brogue.
She smiled weakly at him and he wondered where her husband was and why he had been so negligent in letting such a wonderful creature wander about the country by herself. He left the room, glancing back at the grand lady who looked so tiny and small in the huge bed. If she had been his wife, he was sure he would never let her out of his sight.
“Thank you, Gallagher.” Mrs Bingley said, in the soft, gentle manner he was used to. “Please can you fetch Mr Bingley at once.”
Jane gently stroked her sister’s forehead until she fell asleep. Charles had ridden over to Pemberley to let Darcy know that his wife was safe and well. He had never seen a crack in the stern countenance of his friend but, on that night, Charles Bingley pulled Darcy into his arms and held him close as he wept tears of relief.
“Jane,” Elizabeth said weakly. “I am so happy to see your face.”
Mrs Bingley placed some ice to her sister’s lips, which were dry and chapped from the summer sun.
“Sister, how I have missed you. We have all been so worried.”
“Oh Jane, it has been so hard, and I have been so lonely.”
“Lonely, why? Surely you can speak with Fitzwilliam…”
“There are some things men do not understand, Jane, and I fear this is one of them.”
“What do you mean?” She searched her face for an answer, finding nothing but pain there. “Lizzy…”
“Everyone keeps saying that I should feel happy that we are so fortunate that I survived, and she lived….” She held back a sob. “All I can think about is how he did not live and how unfortunate that is.”
Jane pulled her sister close to her and embraced her gently.
“It was very unfortunate. I know that Darcy feels the loss keenly, but he is grateful that you and your daughter did not suffer the same fate, for it is very common to lose everyone. You cannot judge your husband, Lizzy, for taking comfort in the fact that you survived and that your daughter lived.”
Elizabeth knew that Jane always spoke the absolute truth, there was nothing bad about her and no reason to lie or contrive a situation. It was only through speaking to her dearest sister that she began to feel the tremendous burden of surviving begin to leave her.
She took long strolls in the grounds at Dunmarleigh, walking to the edge of the park, where she could be alone with her thoughts and her grief. Looking up at the blue sky overhead, she came to understand that Samuel would always be a part of her that she carried around inside her heart, but that the loss of him should not prevent her from living.
“Do you have children, Mr Gallagher?”
Gallagher was Bingley’s steward, trusted with the running of the estate in his master’s absence, and he was accompanying her out for a ride into the grounds, leading the way on his chestnut mare. He was an authoritative man who instilled equal amounts of fear and respect in the estate staff. Elizabeth had discovered that he was also well-educated, and she eagerly anticipated their outings, away from the screams and giggles of the Bingley children.
“The Lord did not see fit to bless me with children.”
“There is still time for you though yet, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Gallagher looked down, “no, there will be no time for that.”
“Indeed? Why not?”
“I have already had my turn at it and, like I said, the Lord did not see fit to bless me.”
“You are married?”
She had not heard speak of a Mrs Gallagher.
“I was,” he said gently. It was a tone of voice she had never heard from him before. “But the good Lord did see fit to take my wife from me. My blessed Hannah died trying to give me a son. Gone now for good and naught to be done.”
“I am very sorry to hear it.”
She glanced over at him, his eyes were glazed as he stared purposefully ahead.
“It was the worst day I have ever had to endure, watching as they put everything most dear to me in the ground.”
“I am so sorry to hear of your misfortune,” she said softly. “How did you recover from such a loss?”
Gallagher didn’t want to tell her the truth, because what would it help a woman to know the secrets that lie within a man.
“The truth is, Mrs Darcy, you never recover from it. Men always must be strong. There are many compartments to the heart of a man, and we are prone to keep all that fear and hurt and sadness wrapped up inside us. Because if we don’t, then what good are we? What good are we to a woman?”
“A woman does not always expect the man to be the strong one.”
“No, Mrs Darcy, but it’s what we expect of ourselves. Do not think that we do not feel the loss as much as you, for we do.”
They pulled up to fork in the road, onward into the parkland or back towards the house.
“I’m going onward now, Mrs Darcy.”
“I will be going back now.”
“Yes, m’lady, I think it is time for you to return.”
She made sure that she was a safe distance away before she turned around to look over her shoulder, but he was already gone.
Elizabeth was at the furthest point from the house, dismounting quickly as Darcy had shown her one glorious summer when he was determined she would learn how to ride. She leaned back against the pony, who jostled slightly. Closing her eyes, she presented her face to the warmth of the afternoon sun.
“Mrs Darcy.”
It sounded different to the voice she knew so well.
“Elizabeth.”
It was not the voice that had proclaimed love and made vows.
It was not the voice that ran the world she lived in with a firm, authoritative hand.
“Lizzy.”
It was a small, unsure voice in the silence.
It echoed in her heart.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to see her husband standing before her, she stood in front of him hesitantly, as if she had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Tentatively she moved closer towards him before falling into his arms. He held her tight, his arms around her waist, his forehead pressed against hers and they looked at each other deeply as if seeing each other for the first time.
There was not a need for anything else.
Elizabeth returned to Pemberley three days later, when her heart cried out to be home and see the faces of her children again. As she alighted from the coach and stepped out onto the cobbled courtyard, she heard the squeals and shouts coming from the far side of the house as the boys ran down the stairs.
“Mama!! Mama!!!”
They embraced her with such force that she was sure she was going to fall over. She knelt, kissing and embracing them before rising to her feet to see Darcy holding a bundle of wool and lace. Walking over slowly as if being introduced to a stranger, she peeked at the little face hidden in the embroidered shawl and found herself looking into eyes that were exactly like her own.
“Lizzy,” Darcy murmured softly. “This is Mabel.”
“From the Latin…?”
“I thought you would approve,” he said, now hesitating a little over his choice. “Do you approve? Amabilis. Lovable.”
“I do, I approve completely,” she whispered. “It’s an honour to meet you, Miss Darcy.”
She took the little hand in her own, the chubby miniature fingers a match to hers; the baby immediately grasped back, cooing and looking up at her mother.
“Oh! You are strong, Mabel! What larks we will have together.”
Darcy gently placed his arm on her shoulder and kissed the top of her head.
“Fitzwilliam, how much I have mis
sed.”
“Hush now,” he said tenderly, “there is all the time yet to come and thousands of moments to be filled with happy memories.”
Elizabeth was grateful to be back home with her children, back at Pemberley where she belonged. He took her hand and led her out onto the front lawn, the boys already running ahead, screaming and laughing and throwing themselves on the grass, as the rest of the family followed behind them.
Madeleine
Madeleine Tennant was loved by the nation. As the only child of two very famous actors, she had grown up in the public eye and appeared in several feature films, television movies and fishfinger commercials before she graduated from the over-priced theatre school she had been sent to. It seemed predestined that Madeleine Tennant would live a charmed life, and she did for the most part. She married her long-term boyfriend in a quick ceremony at Chelsea Register Office and everything was okay, everything was… fine.
It was when she met an old RADA friend during rehearsals for a new play, that Madeleine Tennant realised that everything was not okay. She left her nice apartment building in Kensington and moved into his not-so-nice flat south of the river. He was still doing regional stuff, still shuffling along with bit-parts and voiceover work, so she supported them both. She was happy to do it, because he made her ridiculously happy.
It was when she took the role of the snooty Lady Rebecca Ferrara on ITV’s ‘Haringey Place’, that he had bought her a massive bunch of what she called ‘tissue paper roses’, not realising that they were out of season and ridiculously expensive. In that instant she knew that this was something very special indeed. They had married not long after, cementing their family with two daughters in quick succession and a house they could barely afford in one of the more affluent suburbs.
Benn Williams was thirty-five when he won the part of Steven Malis. It was a breakout role that saw him catapulted into stardom and award ceremonies. Praise to the Skies earned him an Oscar nomination and a BAFTA, but the success that followed started the downward spiral that led to the ending of his marriage.
For the most part Madeleine had seemed immune to her husband’s newfound fame, celebrating his success and happily holding his hand at award ceremonies, but he knew that as his fame grew she felt insecure about their relationship – little tremors of anxiety – and when the rumours had circulated about his friendships with various on-screen love interests, or when Star Goss had published pictures of her on holiday in Spain calling her old and frumpy, he could feel the palpable tension every time he walked through the front door. Filming took him away from home for longer and longer periods of time, culminating in a disastrous month where he missed Anya’s birthday and his eighth wedding anniversary.
Antoine was someone she had known in a previous life, and he paid attention to her, laughed with her, listened. She found that in the empty hours in the middle of the night, he was stuck in her mind as waited for a reply to the message she sent to Canada hours and hours ago. When the reply never arrived, she thought about the future, and it wasn’t Benn who was standing next to her, it was the loving, carefree Frenchman who made her feel all new and shiny and fresh out of the box.
Walking into the cold, empty kitchen she sat for a moment at the gigantic wooden table that they had bought in Camden. He had said it would be ruined by the children within days and he had been right. She ran her finger over the gouge in the wood that Esther had created slicing pizza. Pizza they had eaten watching a movie before falling asleep on the couch. There had been so much love, so much laughter and she felt her stomach turn as she realised that none of this would ever matter in the same way again, that all the happy memories they shared would be somehow tainted by her betrayal.
Her head ached under the weight of a decision she had already made, the choice that she had actively made a month ago when she started to slowly disconnect her life from his. She now realised that the tiny rifts in relationships can develop into vast, gaping canyons – deep, scarring and entrenched across our hearts – unsurmountable and impossible to fill. It was as if the dainty platinum circle was aware, fighting the inevitable, embedding itself into her skin so she had to twist and fight to remove it. She sealed her wedding ring in an envelope and placed it on the kitchen counter.
Two days before he arrived home, she left.
@HollywoodGoss @BennOfficial spotted smooching on Venice with @LittleMissRosie PICS HERE >>>> http://bit.lies/hotgoss @DailyMail RT @HollywoodGoss Cheating @BennOfficial causes heartbreak for @MadTee83 over #RosieSchaffer snaps. @RoundhouseMgt Official Statement regarding Tennant/Williams split. @DailyStar Secrets of Maddie and Benn’s Marriage – EXCLUSIVE @StarGoss Henry Jones Star Divorces Wife of 10 Years – Affair with Leading Lady @miss_thang52816 #TeamMadeleine Keep strng swtheart, we all love you! @BennOfficial is a loser @LovingAngelsInstead Oh @BennOfficial what a disappointment you are #cheating #infidelity #thrownitallaway @Mr3_6_red @LittleMissRosie is young enough to be your daughter @BennOfficial #perv @BennOfficialFans We believe in you @BennOfficial #staystrong #TeamWilliams #BelieveinBenn @RealLizzieBennet @BennOfficial as #MrDarcy in new #PrideandPrejudice ?
#NotMyDarcy
1685
Lady Sophia Darcy had no intention of simply marrying for love. She knew that in her position the best she could hope for was a husband that was mostly faithful and did not expect her to raise his bastards. William Clarendon was a young peer from Northumberland, and he amused her greatly, wooing her with poetry and dancing. He was rich and handsome but, and she had found this with a lot of the gentlemen in their set, he also suffered from stupidity, and had a raging temper when his needs were not met. Luckily, her marriage was short-lived. Lord Clarendon was dead within the year from an unseasonable bout of smallpox, and his widow packed up her trunks and her jewels and departed for London.
Lady Clarendon-Darcy’s return was much heralded by James Stuart. He was now His Majesty King James II of England, but to Sophia he would always be her friend Anne’s father - the generous man, who laughed a lot and taught her how to play cards one winter when they were all snowed in at Richmond. She appreciated his rugged handsomeness and forthright manner, but she was also fully aware that he was a decided womaniser and had a whole stable of bastard children wandering about the country with a decidedly misplaced sense of power.
There had been lovers, of course, all of whom proved to Sophia that men of certain rank and privilege believed that they were due more than their allocation. There was James Fitzroy, now the Earl of Wentworth; he was fine-looking, of course, but he also suffered from an unswerving arrogance of entitlement that meant whilst he was adequate for a friendly flirtation and the occasional visit after hours, he would never be a partner for her in the sense that she longed for. When he pressed a proposal upon her, no doubt encouraged by her fortune and legitimacy, she refused. Sophia was holding out for someone better, someone who she liked, and someone whom she would never feel obliged to marry.
The days at Pemberley were long that summer. Her mother was ill, and Sophia had promised to spend each day with her until she was well enough to ride up to the Cage and make fun of Cyril’s terrible shooting aim, but both Mary and her daughter knew that she wouldn’t ride anywhere ever again. The sickness inside her was as enveloping as the ocean and she felt as if she were drowning in the watery depths, unable to summon the energy to rise again to the surface. Mary knew that God had blessed her with the greatest of gifts, and if this was the price she had to pay for the fortunate life she had led, then she was happy to settle her debt.
Sophia didn’t notice the difference in her mama at first, but once it began it was an onslaught, constantly battered by unknown forces and unable to retaliate, beaten into submission. George had ensured that his wife had the best care, of course, but he expended so much of his time at court now that he relied upon his daughter to attend to her. Sophia knew why her father was away. He would say that he did not want to see his wife wasting away into nothing, that it was too hard for him to see her,
that he was unable to provide the care she needed, but the truth was that George was in town with his mistress, Lady Scargill, and he would rather utilise his hours in the company of a two-bit actress than sit by his dying wife’s bedside.
It was the turn of the season, a glorious summer slipping into autumn, the tips of the first trees on the cusp of turning amber. It was very dark now and the torches had been lit in the grounds, the smell of the beacons drifting in, the harvest moon reflecting off the deep waters of the lake.
Cyril dropped his fishing gear at the door with Staughton and ran to the long gallery, the clatter of boots on the oak floor echoing through the hall. His sister was sitting there holding their mother’s hand, her eyes red with tears.
“I cannot bear this, brother, how will we ever get over this loss”
“There is still hope, sister,” he poured himself a glass of ale and sipped slowly. “Always hope.”
The Darcy children held close to each other until the moon was high in the sky and the torches were embers. Sophia rested her head on her brother’s shoulder as they sat with their mother, reading stories and sonnets until the morning sun appeared over the horizon.
The door opened slowly, George Darcy walked into the room, looking like a repentant man standing before God on the day of judgement. He removed his wig, something he very rarely did, and he knelt next to his wife’s bed, took her hand softly and gently kissed it. Mary’s eyes fluttered and opened, sparkling with recognition.
“My dearest love,” she whispered. “I have waited for you.”
George’s voice faltered, “how could l let you go without kissing you goodbye?”
He kissed his wife gently on the lips and then on the forehead, lingering, smelling her scent, the comforting warmth of her.
“Mary, you have been my greatest love.”
She slowly placed her hand on his face, looking at the man who had brought her comfort and pain in equal measure. Sophia could hear the rattle on her mother’s breath, knew that it was nearly the end.
Becoming Lady Darcy Page 26
