It was his book. He sat down and stared at it. Why did Anne have this book in her chambers? He had given it to her the spring before she met George. Tom had completely forgotten he had given it to her. He opened the front cover and there was his name on his bookplate.
Flushed and somewhat apprehensive, he felt his heart began to race. Anne had kept his book, kept it all these years, and kept it in her chambers. Good God!.
Tom began to absently flip through the book, studying it at length. He noticed there was another blank bookplate in the back of the book. He had not put it there, as he would have remembered. As he felt along it, he noticed that it felt thicker than the one on the front, and his curiosity could not be contained, He pried up the edges of the bookplate until a piece of paper feel out into his hand. It said simply, T. B.
Could this letter be from Anne? Tom looked around the room to see if anyone were watching him. Realizing how silly that was, his hands began to shake. What would have happened if it had been his daughter who had found his book, with a letter to him, in the dresser of her husband’s mother?
Thomas began to rub his hands through his hair nervously. Then he picked up the paper again. Could he open it? What did it say? Would it destroy his life forever? Would it reconcile him with his past?
Dare he open it? Maybe it would be better just to burn it. Yes, perhaps it is better not to feel the pain of whatever this might say. He did not need any more pain. He just wanted to live out the end of his life.
But at the same time, Tom Bennet knew he was not really living his life anymore. He had been dead for so long that perhaps there was something in this letter, or whatever it was, that would allow him to move on.
The conflict was there. But could he destroy something that might have to do with him and his life? He knew he could not leave this as an unknown. He would always regret it.
So, he said a prayer, and with all the courage he could muster he opened the folded paper and began to read:
*~*~*~*~*
Tom,
I write this letter to you, knowing I will most likely never post it. But hoping that in writing it, I will find peace.
What do I say? I picked up this book, your book, from the library the day you left Pemberley--never to return. I had placed it there, as I did not want George to wonder at my having it. But when I heard that you had left Pemberley without saying good-bye, I knew something was horribly wrong. I found myself picking up this book. The name is ironic, as I know the reason you left was NOT much ado about nothing. I know it in my heart now.
As much as I fear it, I believe you must have heard a conversation I had that day with Catherine.
Tom, you must know that I have allowed myself to be guided by my family, particularly Catherine, for the majority of my life. At some point, I just stopped arguing with her. I found it easier to just agree with her.
If you heard our conversation, you MUST know—I need you to know-- that I did not mean to agree with her. It was a white lie designed to stop her meddling. You have been the best godfather Fitzwilliam could have ever known. He loves you. He cherishes your fun, warm spirit.
You are George’s best friend and have stood by him through thick and thin, through the death of his parents, as well as my own. You were here for him through the last trimester of my difficult pregnancy. I know he feared for my life, yet you were a great comfort to him.
You are his brother, Tom. You truly are. He loves you that much. He has not been the same since you left. Even worse, since you sent him a letter he has refused to let me read.
Catherine was wrong, Tom. You must know that. You must know I do not believe you could ever be a bad influence on Fitzwilliam.
You must also know that I know of your feelings. You have attempted to mask them, and you did it quite well. But I have known since that spring at Matlock of your regard for me. I want you to know I thought I was beginning to fall in love with you that Summer. That memory has been encased in this book for me. My family insisted I marry for wealth and connections. I chose to follow their directions and turned you away. I did not give you encouragement, and I let you believe I did not regard you.
There are times I wonder what it would have been like if we had been together, Tom. But you would never have been happy in my family. They would have changed you. They would have forced you into the ton and into the society of which you hate. Your joyful spirit, your wit, and even your intelligence would have faded away until it died. I would not have been good for you. You chose a wife with liveliness and humour. Yes, she is at times a little too lively, but I truly like her. You need to allow yourself to be happy with her, Tom.
Let go of the past. Know that your best friend, George, misses you. And, if I should happen to be able to make myself send this letter, or if you should ever happen to come upon it, know that I miss you as well. It is certain that Fitzwilliam misses his godfather.
Who knows, maybe yours and George’s wish will come true someday, and one of your daughters will marry Fitzwilliam. It is possible.
Please forgive me, Tom. For hurting you, and for not having the courage to let you know how wrong I truly was.
Yours, etc.,
A.D.
*~*~*~*~*
Tom was in shock. He read the letter a second time, and then a third. He tried to take everything in, and understand all that was written in this letter. He fought back the tears that began to well up in his eyes.
Anne never meant for him to read this. He did not know when she wrote it. If it was in the weeks after he left Pemberley, or even months or years later.
She had cared for him. She was not ashamed of him. She wanted him to move on. Could he allow himself to do that? He knew not.
He spent the remainder of the day in deep thought. Wandering about the garden paths, remembering happier times here at Pemberley, and beginning to contemplate what his life could be if he allowed himself to move on.
*~*~*~*~*
The house party met later for a grand dinner. Fitzwilliam sat on one side of the formal dinner table, Elizabeth on the other. Both gazed across the table at the other and smiled. It was the first time they would not be able to hold hands as they ate.
The Gardiners had joined them earlier in the day, so the party was now complete. Mr. Bingley and Jane sat to one side of Lizzy, and on the other were her aunt and uncle. Lizzy addressed Mr. Bingley, “Mr. Bingley, how is your family. Are the Hurst’s celebrating the holiday in town?”
Bingley said, “Randolph and Louisa are actually celebrating a second honeymoon of sorts. They travelled to Bath for the holidays, and are enjoying some time alone.”
Elizabeth thought to herself that they were probably glad to be away from Caroline, but knew she could not voice such a thing. “And Mrs. Elton?”
Jane’s head moved up to listen, as she had not mentioned Mr. Bingley's sister and her recent wedding directly. “Mr. and Mrs. Elton returned to Highbury after their wedding. My sister writes that she is quite the toast of the town. She has met a lady with whom she would like to make a special acquaintance. Miss Emma Woodhouse is engaged to a gentleman that knows Darcy, a Mr. Knightley.”
“Why, yes, Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy mentioned he had known Mr. Knightley quite well. In fact we are currently planning to attend the wedding. So, Mrs. Elton sounds as if she is happy in her new situation?” Elizabeth questioned.
Bingley spoke in a whisper, “Mrs. Darcy, you need not be so polite. I know you are familiar with what my sister attempted to do to disrupt your wedding. You need not make small talk about my family to be polite. I am appalled, still, at her lack of decorum. I hope she is happy in her new life. But needless to say, she has drawn her own lot.”
“Well, I hope the Eltons have a lovely holiday, none the less. And I thank you for your kindness. So, you and Jane must tell me more of the plans for your wedding,” and thus began a discussion of the wedding to come.
On the opposite end of the table, Darcy sat between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and his aunt an
d uncle Fitzwilliam. Darcy, Tom and Edward led the conversation. Mrs. Bennet ventured to speak with Lady Amelia. “Lady Amelia, I believe you have spent the last days at Matlock. Am I correct in that, madam?”
“Why yes, Mrs. Bennet, we have spent some quiet time at our estate for a much needed respite before the holidays. But you must call me Amelia. We are family, you know. Edward and Tom are such good friends, it would not seem proper for us to not to be friends as well."
“Why I would be honoured, Amelia. And you must call me Fanny.”
“I will do just that, Fanny. I have heard you are beginning preparations for the wedding of your oldest daughter. How exciting it must be to be in the midst of wedding planning. I remember assisting in small ways when Mark married. But as the mother of the groom, I did not get much say in the wedding arrangements. I wish I had daughters!” Amelia exclaimed.
“Well, I wish I had a son, Amelia, as I have had five daughters,” she said as she looked to Darcy. “But with as fine of a son-in-law as Mr. Darcy, I now have a son in which to show my pride. I have so much of which to be grateful. And, of course, my daughter Jane is soon to marry Mr. Bingley. I am quite blessed.”
Tom overheard the conversation his wife and Edward’s were having, and was pleased for her decorum. Had he missed it? It seemed quite a long time since she had complained of her nerves. Did it only take removing her worry about her fate to affect this change? Maybe he should have told her long ago about his wealth. Had he ever been fair to his wife? Tom became introspective as he continued to reflect on the changes he noticed in Fanny.
In the middle of the table, the new siblings talked with each other.
Mary was speaking with Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, do you like to read? Have you read any good books lately?” They began to talk of books, and feel into a conversation about novels the two of them had both read. Kitty and Lydia were separated. Lydia was sitting next to her mother and father, and was quiet. Kitty sat between Mrs. Gardiner and her sister Mary.
Towards the end of the evening, Darcy announced, “My wife, the most beautiful and accomplished Mistress of Pemberley, Mrs. Darcy, suggested to me that we begin a new tradition. She has recently read of the decorating of pine trees as a custom that began in Germany. Some families here in England are beginning to adopt the practice. So we have a tree to be decorated in the parlour. After we have separated briefly, let us all meet there and decorate the tree as we enjoy some traditional music from our family musicians.
The rest of the evening, the families celebrated a coming together as a joint family. They decorated the tree. They sang Christmas hymns. They lit the Yule log, and rejoiced in a quiet spirit of holiday harmony. Elizabeth sang a special carol she had recently discovered from Italy.
DORMI, DORMI, O BEL BAMBIN (Traditional Italian)
Dormi, dormi, dormi, o bel bambino
Re divin, Re divin.
Fa la nanna, o fantolino,
Re divin, Re divin.
Fa la nanna, o fantolino.
Refrain:
Fa la la la, Fa la la la la, Fa la la la,
Fa la , Fa la, Fa la, Fa la.
Perchè piangi, o mio tesoro?
Dolce amor, dolce amor!
Fa la nanna, o caro figlio,
Tanto bel, tanto bel,
Fa la nanna, o caro figlio.
Refrain
[English Translation
SLEEP, O SLEEP, MY LOVELY
Sleep, o sleep, my lovely Child,
King divine, King divine.
Close your eyes and sleep my child, King divine, King divine.
Refrain:
Fa la la la, Fa la la la la, Fa la la la,
Fa la, Fa la, Fa la, Fa la.
O my treasure why are you weeping!
My Sweet love, sweet love,
Close your eyes my Son, my dear one.
So beautiful, so beautiful,
Close your eyes, my Son, my dear one.
Refrain]
Lizzy and William gazed at each other across the room, from time to time during the evening. They had spent a long day in company, and were longing for some quiet moments together. Lizzy, for her part, was quite tired from her responsibilities as hostess, and she longed to be with her husband. Darcy was anxious to join her, quietly hoping his uncle and her father would both wish to retire early, so he could join her in their chambers.
It had been such a busy day, that they both got their wish.
*~*~*~*~*
Darcy was reclining on the bed awaiting his wife, when she entered their chambers. She wore a red gown. Where she had gotten such a gown, he had no idea. But he was quite indebted to its creator, for it inspired a variety of innovative thoughts in his head.
Lizzy had other ideas in mind for this evening. This was to be the night she gave William his Christmas gift, hence her manner of dressing. She sauntered towards the bed and whispered, seductively, “O mio tresor, mio amor.” (Translation: Oh, my treasure, my love.)
With these five words, William was immediately erect. His wife appeared to have planned something. He would lay back and enjoy.
“*Non so piu cosa son, cosa faccio (Translation: I no longer know what I am, what I am doing),” she approached the bed, a seductress in red. She arrived at the edge and reached out her hand to drag her fingers down William’s face, stopping at his mouth to lightly run a finger along the crease.
William opened his mouth and tried to trap her finger between his teeth, but she was too quick for him. “Non, non, William,” she said as she waved her finger at him, gazing into his startlingly dark eyes, pools of ebony. “Tonight is my night. My fantasy. La mia fantasia. I am an opera star you met after a production in a theatre on Drury Lane, Mr. Darcy.”
“Oh, Contessa Bennetta, siete quanto più c’è di bello, mia cara,” Darcy said as he joined her in her Italian fantasy. (Translation: Countess Bennet, you are all that is lovely, my dear.)
Elizabeth crawled up on the bed straddling him, William had already stripped down to his breeches. She brushed his chest with her nails, lightly and teasingly.
“*Solo ai nomi d’amor, di diletto, mi si turba, mis’altera il petto,” Elizabeth said as she leaned down to kiss him hard on the mouth, her hands teasing his flat nipples into hardness. (Translation: Just the words “love” and “pleasure” disturb me, throw me into turmoil.)
She moved back to a sitting position still straddling him, just below his waist and teasingly slipped one side and then the other of her gown off of her shoulders until it pooled where the gown met his body, “*E a parlare mi sforza d’amore, un desio ch’io non posso spiegar.” (Translation: And I am driven to speak about love, by a longing I can’t explain.)
She rubbed her hands on her own breasts, moving his hands away when he tried to do it for her. “No, sig. Darcy! Sono stasera in carica!” (Translation: No, Mr. Darcy! I am in charge tonight!)
She moved down until she was slightly below his manhood, opened his breeches, and pulled his manhood into her hand and began to rub him, “*Parlo d’amor vegliando, parlo d’amor sognando.” She pulled up her gown just enough to be able to move her moist opening, posing over him, teasing him as she rubbed her folds over his tip. (Translation: Waking, I talk about love; dreaming, I talk about love.)
“*Voi che sapete, che cosa e amor; Sento un affetto pien di desir,” she impaled herself with his hardness as she sunk onto him, as Darcy groaned in rapturous response. (Translation: You, who know what love is like, I feel a tenderness, full of longing.)
Lizzy began to move on top of him, establishing a rhythm, riding her stallion. Beginning at a slow walk, “*L’alma avvampar, palpito e tremo.” (Translation: My soul in flames. I shiver and tremble.)
Darcy found he could no longer lie passively; he put his hands on her hips to assist with her rhythm, and pumped his loins up and down meeting her in her increasing rhythm. Her stallion increased his gait to a trot, “*Dall’altro canto faremo l’amore.” (Translation: On the other hand, I’ll make love.)
Then words became decidedly unnecessary. Darcy was moving at a fast and rapid pace from below, and Lizzy was riding him from above. They thought of nothing but the other. Their voices of love became groans and moans of their increasing pleasure. Faster and faster they galloped. Closer and closer to the end of their journey, until Lizzy screamed, “Wwwwwiiilllliiiaaammmm!” Closely following her Darcy reached his pleasure as well, as he pumped and pumped into her, gasping her name.
Outside in the hallway, a lone figure stood still, listening to the sounds of love. She had walked down the hall to the gallery and back, contemplating how to become the wife she would want to be. Never had she contemplated hearing what she now heard. She heard the groans and moans of her daughter and Mr. Darcy, as they found their pleasure together, screaming the others’ name.
White Lies and Other Half Truths Page 24
