by Ola Wegner
“Elizabeth, not everyone is like your uncle, Mr. Gardiner.”
“I know.” She whispered miserably and lifted her worried eyes to him. “Why will he not leave us in peace?”
Darcy sighed heavily and leaned toward her, placing his hand on the bulge of their child. “How is the baby?”
A pale smile appeared on Elizabeth’s face. “It is fine. It was kicking.”
“You see; and it is all that is really important,” Darcy murmured against her temple, his hand stroking her midsection. He separated from her only to divest himself of the rest of his clothing. Next he blew out the candle and slipped under the covers. He gathered her into his arms, arranging her by his side, her head on his chest, her warm hard tummy pressed against his thigh.
“Georgiana was so wonderful when the news arrived,” Elizabeth whispered after a while. “She stayed calm and composed while I went nearly hysterical.”
Darcy stroked her hair. “Yes, I could not be more proud of her.”
“You know she kept me company here until I fell asleep, all the time reminding me that I should not worry myself so because it was not good for the baby. She said you would take care of everything and that all would be well.”
“And you should listen to her in that respect.” Darcy gave her a squeeze. “I discussed the whole plan of action with Colonel Fitzwilliam. He agreed to go with me to London. He has more experience in such matters than I.”
Elizabeth raised on her elbow abruptly. “You are going to London? But Lydia wrote in a letter she left on her bed at Purvis Lodge that they would go straight to Gretna Green.”
“No, Elizabeth, perhaps Wickham told her that, but I am sure they are still in London. I will send a man to Gretna Green to make sure that they are not there, but it would be pointless for Wickham to marry her so soon. I know his way of thinking. He first will compromise her so there would be no other solution for her than to marry him. Then he will demand to be paid to save her reputation.”
Elizabeth buried her head into his chest. “It is so horrible.”
“Shush,” Darcy murmured, bringing her closer to himself, kissing her forehead. “Try to fall asleep.”
“I would wish to go with you.”
“That would not be wise. I need to know that you are safe and sound here.” Darcy caught her lips in a sweet, short kiss. “Oh, you see we have awakened the baby.” He pressed his hand more firmly to the side of her belly, where he could feel the child’s lazy movements.
Elizabeth sighed quietly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He kissed her tenderly again. “Now it is high time to close your eyes, Mrs. Darcy. I want to catch a few hours of sleep before dawn.”
Chapter Twenty
It was early afternoon, Christmas Eve. The day was grey, cold and rainy. The two elegant carriages stopped in front of the shabby, narrow, two story terrace house in the less than safe and respectable part of London. The four men stepped out, and after a short exchange of words, one of them stayed by the carriage while the other three walked to the entrance. The tallest of them stepped forward and knocked decidedly on the scratched door. It opened after a long moment, and a young woman, in her early thirties perhaps, answered.
“Mrs. Younge,” Darcy spoke coldly, without taking trouble to even nod his head in front of the lady. “We are here to see Mr. Wickham.”
The woman stared deftly at the gentlemen in front of her, not speaking a word and not making a move.
Colonel Fitzwilliam let an exasperated sigh and stepped forward, pushing the woman rudely aside, as if she had been no more than a bothersome object.
The men entered the small, dingy looking, dirty and smelly hall, with leaks apparent on the brownish walls; each of them looking around suspiciously.
“Well, well, what a visit.” The man’s voice was heard from the landing on the stairs.
All three pairs of eyes shot up to see George Wickham. He wore only his trousers and a simple white shirt, not even buttoned up completely. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had not shaved for several days. His hair was dishevelled and unwashed. He walked slowly down, a cynical smile gracing his countenance.
“What an honour.” He gave a deep bow, then he eyed each of the men. “Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, the second son of the Earl of Matlock, and Mr. Gardiner, the owner of the best shipping company in town, I hear. It is a great honour to have all of you call on us.” He bowed almost theatrically again, his hand on his heart. “Great honour.”
“Enough with the honours, man,” Mr. Gardiner barked. “Where is my niece?”
“Ah, yes, dear Lydia, she is here, of course, but still abed, resting upstairs, I believe.” Wickham smiled maliciously, raising his eyebrow. “She had a very industrious night.”
“You son of a…” Mr. Gardiner started, making a move as if he wanted to hit the younger man, but Darcy placed his hand firmly on his arm and stepped towards Wickham himself.
“We must talk.”
“By all means.” Wickham smiled pleasantly, making a wide gesture with his hand, motioning the men towards the door which had to be a parlour of some kind.
Darcy and Colonel stepped together with him, but Mr. Gardiner ran upstairs.
“Darcy, friend, Happy Christmas, by the way. I am so sorry that you had to leave your lovely and most lively, I am sure, wife alone …,” Wickham started in a mocking tone, but Darcy walked to him abruptly and seethed through clenched teeth. “Not a word about my wife.”
Wickham smiled broadly. “Easy friend, easy, we are to be a family, are we not? I simply cannot wait to see my future sister, the former Miss Lizzy Bennet. I acclaim your taste, judging by her younger sister’s performance in the last days, you are a most lucky man. And I have always thought Eliza to be the most accomplished of all Bennet sisters in every respect.”
Darcy surged forward, clenching his hands around Wickham’s neck, pushing him to the wall, pinning him against it.
“I said, not a word about my wife,” Darcy muttered hoarsely.
“I will not stop him,” Colonel spoke calmly from his place by the window.
Wickham said nothing to this, being perhaps more concentrated on trying to catch his breath.
Darcy released him slowly, walking away from him to the other end of the room. After a few moments of silence, Darcy spoke first, his voice clear and controlled.
“You will marry Lydia tomorrow. We have acquired the special license. Everything is prepared. My sister will spend the night at her aunt and uncle’s house, and you will meet her tomorrow, at eleven o’clock at St. Martin’s.”
Darcy did not glance even once in the direction of Wickham while speaking the last words. He lifted his gaze only when the sounds of someone walking down the stairs were heard. Soon Mr. Gardiner appeared in the entrance with Lydia under his arm, her head cradled on his chest. She was hiding her face, and only once did she look up at the men gathered in the room. Darcy took in her features instantly; she did not look beaten, but she was very pale, with dark shadows under her eyes. She looked small, fragile and very frightened. She was covered in a blanket, from under which the crumpled nightgown was peeking.
“I am taking her home,” Mr. Gardiner said, exchanging the looks with Darcy, and already moving towards the exit with his niece still tightly drawn to his side.
Darcy walked to the window and observed Bingley helping to put Lydia inside one of the carriages. Charles talked shortly with Mr. Gardiner, before the older man stepped in as well and the carriage departed.
“What about her dowry?” Wickham’s voice cut the silence.
“How much?” Darcy asked calmly.
“Thirty thousand pounds, plus the payment of all my debts.”
“You are out of your mind, Wickham.” Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a short, unpleasant laugh. “You will get one third of it, not a penny more. As for your debts, they are bought out already. The choice is yours; you take what you are offered and marry Miss Lydia, otherwise the prison
for debtors.”
“I can go to prison; I do not care.” Wickham spoke nonchalantly and added firmly, looking through narrowed eyes at Darcy. “Thirty thousand pounds.”
“I will pay.”
“Darcy!” Colonel cried, frowning at his cousin.
Darcy seemed to overlook his cousin’s protest, already directing himself to the doors.
“Be at the church, tomorrow at eleven o’clock. I will bring the settlement papers,” he said to Wickham.
A satisfied, and at the same time full of contempt, smile crept on Wickham’s countenance. “You see, Fitzwilliam. He will pay.” He walked closer to Darcy. “He will pay because he would not be able to bear his lovely wife crying her pretty eyes over her poor younger sister living in shame.”
Darcy moved past Wickham, his face frozen, devoid of any expression.
The cousins were already by the door when Wickham walked after them and cried almost cheerfully. “When the matters have been settled to everybody’s satisfaction, will you not stay a little longer and drink to the memory of old times? Years ago when we were children and we all played together at Pemberley?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned his head slightly, and glanced at Wickham mockingly. “You are ridiculous, Wickham. You will never be accepted at Pemberley. And remember this well; you are just a servant’s son, you never were, and you never will be one of us. You are nobody. Accept this at last.”
For a split of second, an unreadable expression crossed Wickham’s face, but then he smiled again and cried jovially. “What a shame; we are to be brothers after all. I almost forgot Darcy.” He raised his voice because Darcy was already in the hall. “Congratulations on the impeding birth of your first child. You did not waste your time for sure to get her with babe. But I am not surprised, not in the least.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s cold eyes narrowed, and he muttered. “Wickham, you are stepping on shaky ground.”
However, Wickham seemingly ignored the warning and spoke even louder, noticing that Darcy stilled, and though he was turned with his back to the other men, the slight movement of his hand and his fingers clenching his top hat, suggested he was listening carefully.
“I am so pleased we are to be family. Brothers at last,” Wickham continued. “We share common things already. I guess your sweet sister and your lively wife have never confessed to you how close we were in the past. We have our secrets. I am in great anticipation to cultivate my very special friendship with them. All will stay in the family. ”
The next moment Wickham received a punch in his stomach, and a few furious kicks when he was already lying on the floor.
“I told you not to refer to my wife,” Darcy seethed furiously, standing over Wickham, who was bent in half, blood coming from his mouth. “I shall pay you nothing. We will meet tomorrow at dawn for a duel. You will pay for everything you have done. I should have done it a long time ago. You are not worth my wife and sister’s tears and suffering.”
Wickham lifted himself slowly to his knees. “Do not be stupid, Darcy. I fence better than you, I have always beaten you before. You will not make your son an orphan, even before it is born.” He wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve. “But you know.” He looked up at Darcy. “It would not be that bad idea after all. Elizabeth would be a lovely widow for sure. I would take good care of her and the baby as a caring brother-in- law.”
“Tomorrow at dawn at Chalk Farm,” Darcy spat.
Colonel Fitzwilliam caught up with him only when he was outside. “Darcy, do not do it!” he cried, catching the other man’s arm.
“Did you not hear? You would let him offend Georgiana and Elizabeth like this?” Darcy ranged.
“No, but he is right, he is a better fencer. I can defeat him. I have experience in battle and you have only fenced for sport. Let me do it.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam is right, Darcy,” Bingley remarked, looking worriedly at his best friend.
“Let me stand instead of you.” Colonel tried to meet his cousin’s eye. “I will finish him with pleasure.”
“I will do it myself,” Darcy snapped through clenched teeth, his eyes on the muddy ground beneath him.
Colonel placed a calming hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Darcy, your wife is in confinement, consider that. She needs you whole and most importantly, alive. Just imagine what would happen to her if anything happened to you.”
“I can protect my own family,” Darcy said, stepping into the carriage.
***
He was at Pemberley. It was summer, and it was hot. Everything seemed to be somehow bigger than he knew, the manor, the pond. Everything was fragrant, and there were big colourful butterflies flying everywhere and bees buzzing around him. He was chasing the butterflies when he stopped in front of a lady in a flowery dress. Then he noticed he was not his own self; he was a child again. He raised his head and saw his mother, so young and beautiful, leaning over him, smiling at him, stroking his curls. She looked so much like Georgiana. Then he felt himself being picked up from behind, twirled in the air a few times, and being seated high on his father strong arms.
“Are you all right there, son?” He heard his father’s deep voice. He wanted to answer, but then the scenery changed.
He was ...Where was he? Yes,…Cambridge. He entered the inn and some common drunk was trying to hit him with a chair. He stopped the chair, and threw it, together with the man, to the other side of the room. Then he saw a young skinny blond boy being held tightly from behind by one man, while the other hit him in the stomach. It was Bingley. He punched the man so he was laid flat on the floor and took Bingley outside. There, the very young Charles, spitting up blood, said. “I thank you, sir. My name’s Bingley. I am a freshman.”
Then he was in the music room at Pemberley. Georgiana was playing for him on the new pianoforte he had bought for her. He closed his eyes, listening to the music, and when he opened them, the view had changed one more time. He was in his bedroom at Pemberley, naked on the bed, lying on his back.
Elizabeth straddled him, gasping softly while making love to him. Her head was thrown back, her hands clasping his legs for support, her very long hair strewing down around her form, catching at her stiff nipples.
She moaned harshly, squeezed him inside her and exclaimed. “I love you, William!”
He thought it had to be a dream, because she had cut her hair just before the wedding. Perhaps it was their future when her hair would have grown back?
There were no more visions.
He thought he sensed some people beside him. Georgiana, Richard, Jane and Bingley. Bingley…who was shaving him? And Elizabeth. There was Elizabeth for sure. He could smell her scent. He also felt her lying next to him; he felt her heat and her fingers stroking his face.
Another time, it was night, and it was dark in the room. There was just a candle on the bedside and the light from the fireplace. She was beside him, and his hand was placed on some warm hard to touch bulge. She was whispering. “Can you feel him? He is moving. He is kicking…. your son, William. Open your eyes, dearest. Open your eyes, my love.” He felt her warm soft lips on his forehead, and soon, her wet cheek next to his. “You have to wake up, William. We need you.”
The next thing he saw was Georgiana, looming over him. “Elizabeth, he is looking at me! Elizabeth, he is awake!” Georgiana cried, cupping his cheek.
He remembered sleeping and waking interchangeably later, the doctor next to him all the time, Georgiana once again and Elizabeth. She looked different. Her figure had changed. Her belly was well rounded. She was walking more slowly, and she rubbed her back from time to time when lifting from the chair.
One day when he woke, he felt strong enough to keep his eyes open for more than a few moments. Elizabeth sat in the armchair opposite the bed reading, while Georgiana studied some music sheets sitting in another chair by the window. He tried to speak, but his throat felt dry and clenched, and only a quiet rasping sound came from it.
They had to hear it, bec
ause both of them ran to his bed instantly. Elizabeth brought a cup with water to his mouth and Georgiana supported his head so he could drink it.
“You shall be fine, Brother.” Georgiana smiled at him, gently putting his head back on the pillow. “Doctor said your life is not in danger any more.”
He stared at her. “My life…”
Georgiana stroked his cheek. “You have lost much blood. Later the pneumonia developed. You were unconscious for six weeks.”
His eyes widened. “Wickham…”
Georgiana put a calming hand on his chest. “He is dead. He died a week after the duel. He lost too much blood, the doctor said, more than you. But before that, Richard made him marry Lydia.”
He turned his head to the other side and looked at Elizabeth, heavy with child. “Six weeks?”
“Yes.” Georgiana spoke again. “Today is the nineteenth of February.”
Darcy looked back at his sister. “I saw Bingley.”
“Mr. Bingley and Jane married a week ago. They visit every day.” Georgiana lifted herself from her place beside him and walked to the side table.
Darcy turned his head slowly again and stared at Elizabeth. She was sitting, somehow, sternly at the far edge of the bed. He slowly took in every small detail of her lovely form. “You are all right?” His eyes rested on her large belly. “The child has grown.”
“Yes, it has.” Her voice sounded somehow different to him.
He tried to lift his hand to touch her, but he was too weak, and she sat too far from him to reach. “You are well?”
“Yes.” she answered shortly and averted her eyes.
“The baby is fine…”
She stayed silent for a moment, her lips tightly pressed together, before she started to speak angrily. “You did not think about me and the child when you risked your life fighting with George Wickham!” She stood up abruptly.
“Elizabeth… I had to… He offended you and Georgiana.”
