by J P Christy
Fitzwilliam also received responses to his letters: Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson invited Charlotte to stay with them should she choose to come to London, and Fitzwilliam’s former commander asked him to discuss the matter in person with the army.
With Lady Penelope at his side, Fitzwilliam sat in the parlor at Hunsford Parsonage. “Of course, I will go to London, Mrs. Collins, and if you wish to join me, I am happy to arrange it. Anne and Nora have been apprised of your husband’s arrest, and they encourage you to stay at De Bourgh House. Of course, it is your choice as to the details you share with them about this matter.”
Lady Penelope said, “We realize this is not the best time for you to travel, madam; however, every effort will be made to ensure your journey is as comfortable as possible.”
In her advanced stage of pregnancy, Charlotte dreaded both the idea of a long carriage ride and having to leave her comfortable little home. However, William Collins was her husband, and she did not doubt Donald had duped him. “Thank you. I do feel I should go to town. I want to see how my husband is faring; I am eager—desperate—to explain his actions to those who will decide his fate.”
“Have you heard from your family in Hertfordshire?” Lady Penelope asked.
Charlotte’s spine stiffened. “My mother writes that my father is still resentful about the loss of his horse. She also asks that I not visit Lucas Lodge at this time so that no taint of scandal touches the family or affects my sister’s chances at a good marriage. My mother says she prays for a happy resolution to my unfortunate situation.”
Charlotte’s hands were clenched in her lap, and Lady Penelope placed a gentle hand on them. “Consider us as your family here.”
“We will leave tomorrow,” Fitzwilliam said. “Whatever the outcome, Mrs. Collins, we will take care of you and your child.”
≈≈≈
Unaware of the role her son had played in the Collins matter Lady Fitzwilliam was concerned when she learned he had been summoned to the army’s offices. She feared that some ridiculous general or other would attempt to convince him it was his duty to resume his rank and return to the Continent.
Soon, what had been a vague notion in her imagination grew into a fearful obsession. Christopher must not return to the war! He is happier than he has been in years! If he were to rejoin his regiment, he would lose Penelope—it must not be! He needs to understand that he is more needed here than on some battlefield!
≈≈≈
Fitzwilliam felt particularly tired when he returned to the manor house much later that day, following a lengthy discussion with his steward about a drainage issue in the south pasture. Meeting him in the foyer, Brendan said, “Good afternoon, sir. Lady Penelope is in the library.”
Upon entering the library, Fitzwilliam saw his fiancée making notes in her journal. Sunlight flooded through the window behind the sofa on which she sat, giving her a golden glow. You are so lovely, my dearest Penn!
Looking up, she gave him a welcoming smile. “Hello, my love. Would you like tea or something stronger?”
Bless her, she speaks to me as if we were already married. In fact, very soon after arriving at Rosings, he and his lady had regained the easy camaraderie which had developed between them during their flight from Spain. He asked, “Will you join me in a glass of port?”
“Happily.” She moved to rise, but he gestured for her to stay.
“Allow me.” Filling two glasses, Fitzwilliam gave her one and joined her on the sofa.
She touched her glass to his. “I understand why you must go to London, but you will be sorely missed.”
He looked around. “Missed by whom? It is very quiet. Where is everyone?”
Lady Penelope regarded him from under one raised eyebrow. “That is an interesting story. Renata and her governess and your mother and her maid are spending the night at the dower house. They are having a picnic dinner and exploring the place from top to bottom.”
“They are all sleeping at the dower house tonight?” Fitzwilliam asked, his fatigue falling away.
“So I have been assured by Lady Fitzwilliam.” With an arch look, she added, “I am exhilarated by the possibilities.”
That evening, Fitzwilliam and Lady Penelope ate an early dinner in the small dining room, finishing a simple meal more quickly than was their custom. Soon after, they retired to their respective rooms, prepared for bed, and dismissed their servants for the evening.
A short time later, Fitzwilliam made his way down the dark corridor to his fiancée’s suite, where he knocked lightly once. Lady Penelope opened the door quickly and pulled him in. Closing the door behind him, she kissed him, and, his pulse quickened.
Crossing to sit on the small sofa, she patted the place beside her, her gaze shining with love. “I am very happy you are here.”
“And I am so very happy that we found each other,” he said. Sitting next to her, he produced from his pocket the silver flask she had given him. “I brought no glasses,” he said with an apologetic shrug as he offered it to her.
After taking a sip from the flask, Lady Penelope returned it to him. “Kindly drink sparingly, sir. I do not want you telling tales that I seduced you after plying you with spirits.”
Fitzwilliam took a sip. “Whereas I am willing to grant you four glasses of port if only to learn what confidences you will share under its influence.” After another sip, he admitted, “I do not know whether tonight is my mother’s idea of a test or a gift.”
“I believe she only wants our happiness. In fact, as much as I admire your father, it is your mother who is currently my favorite among your relatives.”
“And you are certain my being here with you tonight is ….”
“It is what I want most in the world, but if you do not—”
Fitzwilliam’s kiss stopped her from finishing that thought. Several kisses later, he reluctantly pulled away and groaned, half in fear for his ebbing self-restraint and half in anticipation. Lady Penelope gave him a teasing look. “I do not know what that sound means, but I am deeply saddened that I will be deprived of your company for the next few weeks.”
Fitzwilliam slid his arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her brow, her cheeks, her lips, and her neck. She returned his kisses with an ardor that inspired him. When they finally parted, he removed his signet ring and slipped it onto her ring finger, where it hung loosely.
“I, Christopher Richard Fitzwilliam, take you, Lady Penelope Trelawney Velez y Garcia, to be my wife from this day forward. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow. Do you, Lady Penelope, accept me as your husband?”
“I do.” She kissed him and moved the ring to her thumb, where it was a better fit. “This is the second ring you’ve given me.”
“You know of my arrangement with O’Neill? But how—”
“The captain whispered your secret in my ear when he returned Salvador’s engagement ring to me. I have waited more than a year to thank you for it.” Rising gracefully, she slipped off her dressing gown and draped it on the sofa. With a small sigh, she ran her hand over her cotton night rail. “I imagined that the first time you saw me in a boudoir, I would be wearing a silk gown from my trousseau, which is currently being prepared in town.”
Fitzwilliam stood and tossed aside the dressing gown that had covered his nightshirt. “We are both overdressed as compared to how I imagined us.”
“So, if you would be so kind as to show me what it means to be worshiped with your body.”
“Penn, it has been nearly a year since I broke my collarbone. I believe I could sweep you up and carry you to the bed with great romantic flourish.”
She slipped an arm around him. “I prefer you save your strength for the night ahead.”
Fitzwilliam burst into laughter before he thought to clap his hand over his mouth. “Good lord, do you think anyone heard me?”
“I neither know nor care.”
Very shortly, their nightclothes were in a heap beside the bed, and well into the night, F
itzwilliam and Lady Penelope enjoyed discovering their shared delights and preferences.
≈≈≈
October 5, 1811
Fitzwilliam woke first, smiling when he confirmed this was no dream; Penelope was there, facing him as she slept. Turning on his side, he raised himself up on one elbow and reached for her. With a light touch, he trailed his fingers up her arm to her shoulder. “I love you,” he said softly. Mere moments later, she opened her eyes.
“Good morning, Christopher.” She gave him a drowsy smile.
“I suppose I must sneak back to my chambers very soon.”
“Yes, I suppose so, given the delicate sensibilities of my maid and your valet.”
“You find me this morning to be both the happiest and the saddest of men.”
“Are you?” She kissed his bare chest.
“I am sad that you took advantage of my trusting nature and defiled me in a most shocking manner, my lady,” he said as he lovingly stroked the side of her face.
She laughed. “And what is your happiness?”
“Why, that I can safeguard what is left of my tattered virtue by running off to London with a married lady!”
“A married lady who will shortly give birth!” She hit him with a pillow. “You are a rogue!”
Clasping her close, Fitzwilliam rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. “I am a besotted man! The thought that we might not see each until our wedding is agony.”
“As much as I will miss you, I admire your good care of Mrs. Collins. It seems your fate is to be the rescuer of damsels.”
“And as much as I dislike disagreeing with you, lovely Penn, know that I consider you to be my rescuer. You revived my heart and my soul, which was something I feared had died in the war.”
Placing a hand on either side of Fitzwilliam, Lady Penelope moved her body slowly and purposefully against his. “I believe, my love, I have revived more than your heart.”
“I am a fortunate man.” Framing her face with gentle hands, he pulled her down to meet his lips.
≈≈≈
The betrothed couple was already sitting at the breakfast table when the party of females arrived from the dower house. Hearing Renata’s excited voice in the foyer, Lady Penelope and Fitzwilliam assumed their usual dispassionate expressions, although he managed to whisper “I love you” before the others entered the room.
Thank God we’re English, he thought as he and his mother exchanged perfunctory greetings. After Lady Fitzwilliam prepared her plate, she sat beside Lady Penelope, and they chatted like old friends. He watched contentedly as they listened to Renata’s enthusiastic explanation as to why she should have a master to teach her to play Spanish guitar rather than a harp.
Unexpectedly, both ladies looked at Fitzwilliam; feeling his face redden, he asked a footman for a fresh coffee for himself and some chocolate for Renata. Neither was needed, but Fitzwilliam felt he had to say something—anything—to justify avoiding their gaze.
Lady Fitzwilliam said, “Christopher, within two weeks, the initial refurbishment here will be sufficiently in hand that we ladies may return to London.” She turned to Lady Penelope, “Do you concur, my dear?”
“I do. So, you may see us sooner than you expect, sir.”
“I fervently hope that is true.”
Lady Penelope added, “Christopher, would you mind if I spoke with your valet about your trunk? I want to make sure he includes your new blue waistcoat.”
“By all means, do speak with him, my love.”
Smiling, Lady Penelope said, “I shall seek him out now.” As she rose, Fitzwilliam rose, too, and his loving look made her blush, so she turned her attention to her daughter. “Please join me, Renata. I wish to hear more about the dower house.”
Jumping up from her chair, Renata kissed Lady Fitzwilliam’s cheek. “Thank you for our adventure yesterday, my lady.” Then she hugged Fitzwilliam before dancing excitedly out of the room. “We saw so many old-fashioned things, Mama. I did not know what some of them were!”
When Lady Fitzwilliam was certain only her son could hear her, she said, “Renata is a delightful child. Almost as spirited as you and your brothers, but far more polite.”
Fitzwilliam sat again and picked up his coffee cup. “I believe she will be quite patient as she teaches me to be a father.”
After a short silence, Lady Fitzwilliam said, “I have a request, my boy, and it is a topic I intend to address only this once.”
“Yes, Mother?”
“Do not mention to Henry that I left you and your fiancée alone overnight.”
After choking on his coffee, he asked, “Henry my brother?”
“No, sir. Henry the Eighth, the last male monarch of the Tudor line, who has been dead for … I don’t know … for a very long time. Yes, Henry your brother! Honestly, Christopher, it is as if you do not know to whom you are related!”
“I assure you of my discretion, madam.”
“Good.” Lady Fitzwilliam rose and walked toward the door, pausing briefly to lay a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Safe journey, my boy. And I forbid you from joining the army again.”
≈≈≈
The morning was refreshingly cool after an unusually hot week in Kent and, shortly after the carriage left Rosings, Fitzwilliam nodded off, as much out of habit as from his recent exertions. For her part, Charlotte was grateful for the silence; she needed it to help her make sense of her feelings about her husband’s arrest.
I never implicated William; I merely mentioned Donald and his gift of Dr. Sillcon’s tonic. If he ensnared my husband in some nefarious scheme, I knew nothing of it. Certainly, William kept his dealings with Donald private, insisting they were his concern and not mine. No, I bear no responsibility for William’s actions.
As for her indiscretion with Donald, Charlotte decided the practical choice was to forgive herself. She would never be certain as to which of the Collins brothers fathered her child, so there was no reason to assume her baby was not her husband’s. What I did may well ensure that the name of William Collins will be associated with an estate.
Other than Collins’s arrest, only two matters disturbed her peace of mind: that the baby might not be a boy and that Longbourn might be lost to her if her husband were convicted. Collins had not shared the details of the entail, but Charlotte knew that in some instances, if the heir to an estate were found guilty of a crime, he would forfeit his inheritance.
After delivering Charlotte into the good care of Anne and Nora, Fitzwilliam settled in the family townhouse and sent the carriage back to Rosings. He longed to return to his fiancée but felt honor-bound to assist William Collinses, that impossibly foolish man who had tried to compromise him into a marriage with Elizabeth Bennet! All Fitzwilliam could do now was to wait for the army to arrange an interview for Charlotte and himself.
For those in the army responsible for determining the degree of criminality to be laid at the feet of each of the Collins brothers, the matter of the toxic tonic was not urgent. After all, the tonic had been destroyed, and the stables were running smoothly. Thus, it was nearly two weeks before the army agreed to interview Charlotte. Fitzwilliam was allowed to give commentary supporting the lady’s insistence that her husband was a fool but not a criminal.
The day after Charlotte gave her testimony, she went into labor. And the day after that, she gave birth to a healthy son.
≈≈≈
October 20, 1811
In honor of the event, the junior solicitor whose services had been arranged by Lady Catherine managed to have the news of the baby boy’s birth delivered with a bottle of brandy to the prison cell shared by William and Donald Collins. That night, three-quarters of the way through the bottle (William had drunk about a quarter, and his brother had drunk the rest) Donald mentioned that his wife had always wanted a son. William, cradling the brandy, said smugly that as he now had a son, Donald would never inherit Longbourn. Donald countered smugly that as he had bedded Charlotte last February,
the baby might be his; thus, indirectly, he was inheriting Longbourn.
Enraged, William smashed the bottle against Donald’s skull, and the glass shattered. Stunned, but only momentarily, Donald grabbed the largest shard and stabbed William in the throat; William bled to death within minutes.
Donald was shocked at what he had done—but only slightly. Here’s an opportunity! I shall blame everything on William and say he attacked me tonight. Then when I am freed, I will claim my sister-in-law’s child, and Longbourn will be mine.
Rising unsteadily from where he squatted beside his brother, Donald struggled to find his footing, for the uneven stone floor was slippery with blood. Stumbling, he fell backward and hit his head; he survived only three days longer than William.
A week after the testimonies of Charlotte and Fitzwilliam, the army sent a formal notice asserting that the late William Collins bore no responsibility for the tonics created by the late Donald Collins. Thus, the danger of losing Longbourn because of criminal conduct was eliminated.
≈≈≈
October 29, 1811
Lady Penelope, Lady Fitzwilliam, Renata, and their entourage arrived in London in time for the christening of the Collins baby. Charlotte named the boy Edmund (for Mr. Bennet’s father, the author of the entail) William (for the child’s putative papa) Christopher (for Fitzwilliam) Collins. She considered but ultimately rejected including “Rufus” in the chain of names.
When Fitzwilliam, who was escorting Charlotte to and from the christening service, learned his was one of the names given to her son, he was uncomfortable. Taking her aside, he said, “I regret that my actions resulted in the arrest of Mr. Collins, for had he not been arrested, he would be alive today.”
Charlotte, however, was as resolute on the matter as she was practical. “If my husband had answered you truthfully when you inquired about the tonic all those months ago, I believe he would not have been arrested. He made foolish decisions about all manner of things; indeed, he worked against not only the happiness of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy but against your happiness, as well. Yet despite all, you brought me to London. You intervened with the army so I could visit William in jail and speak on his behalf. You spoke on his behalf, too. Thus, he was found innocent, and my son will inherit an estate.”
