“I do a little, Colonel.”
“Really? Well, no one will ever be bored with you in the drawing room, Miss Bennet,” Richard smiled and held her gaze.
Georgiana’s eyes had bounced back and forth between the two, her open smile slipping slightly with each friendly exchange between them. Finally, she glanced at her brother who sat watching the two with a scowl. “Elizabeth!” Three heads snapped up, and they stared at the overly loud sound of Georgiana’s summons.
“Yes?”
Georgiana flushed and looked down. “I, I, sp, speaking of playing and singing,” Georgiana stuttered, “there is a duet that we practiced that Brother knows. I, I thought you could play together.”
Darcy tensed, and Elizabeth turned to him with wide eyes, “I did not know you played, Mr. Darcy.”
“I do not,” Darcy clipped and then winced at the harsh sound of his voice. “I mean to say, that I only play a little. Our mother loved pianoforte, and she taught me a bit.”
Elizabeth and Darcy held each other’s gaze as if they had forgotten that others were present. Richard looked on with a smirk. “Yes! It has been far too long since we have heard you play, Darcy,” Richard said.
Georgiana, emboldened by Richard’s support, sat upright and piped in, “Please, Brother and Elizabeth, it would be quite lovely.”
Elizabeth looked at Darcy and smiled, then she raised one brow in challenge – and that was it. Darcy stood and offered his hand, “Miss Bennet, it seems we must not disappoint.”
Darcy and Elizabeth sat together on the narrow bench and played. Hands crossing and intermingling, shoulders and arms touching, hearts feeling, breath matching breath, melody and harmony as the two played as one – and music, ethereal, passionate, and exquisite was born. Georgiana sat forward in her chair, entranced, while Richard lounged, arms crossed, legs outstretched and smiled.
When the song ended, for a moment, no one desired to interrupt the sublime with the curt and crude clap of applause, but eventually, Richard did, and Georgiana joined in. Elizabeth looked up at Darcy who stared at her transfixed, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Well done!” Richard said, and Darcy turned his eyes from Elizabeth and winced at being torn away from that exquisite union, that beautiful composition. Darcy rose and offered Elizabeth his hand. Elizabeth placed a slightly shaky hand in his, and he closed his hand over hers and felt the sensation of her touch throughout his entire being.
“That was wonderful, Brother and Elizabeth! Even better than when we played together, Brother!” Georgiana jumped from her seat and hugged Elizabeth before they sat. Darcy walked to the window and stood staring into the night with his hands behind his back.
“If I acquitted myself well, it was because of your excellent tutelage and Mr. Darcy’s superb playing.” Elizabeth slid her eyes quickly to Darcy and away again. As Georgiana and Elizabeth chatted, Richard walked to Darcy and stood beside him. Darcy turned and looked at Richard, his face solemn, his eyes shrouded. Richard offered a half smile and clapped him on the back. Francesca would have to be dealt with, and soon, Richard thought.
Chapter Sixteen
Whack, Darcy hit the ball into the corner pocket. He walked around the table, eyeing his next move. He lined up the stick and hit the ball hard, sending balls into pockets. The act of whacking something helped keep his mind off the lovely lady giggling with his sister in the drawing room, and it helped to keep his body from rushing into said drawing room and kissing Elizabeth until she said “yes.” He closed his eyes. Last night had been wonderful. He could still feel the thrill of her shy looks and smiles as they played together. He was sure that he saw admiration and maybe a hint of something deeper. He was thrilled to the depth of his being, and it required every ounce of gentlemanly training to restrain himself from taking her into his arms and tasting those luscious lips. Darcy groaned, this would not do, he had come here to stop that train of thought. Bending down over the table, steady to his purpose, Darcy eyed the perfect shot. Then, marshaling all his focus, he drew back his cue and...
“I want to see for myself!” Richard burst into the room. Crack! Darcy’s shot went askew.
“Richard!”
Richard looked between Darcy and the table, “My apologies,” he smiled sheepishly. “But I must see for myself!”
“See what, Richard?”
“The boy!”
“Oh,” Darcy had managed to forget his troubles for a brief spell, so lost was he in last night’s enchantment, but Richard’s words snapped him back to reality, like cold water in the face of one who sleeps.
“I had not planned to go until tomorrow,” Darcy replied.
“Hum,” Richard thought. “Is the lovely Miss Bennet still in residence?” Richard asked waggling his brow, even though he knew the answer.
Darcy rolled his eyes. He did not at all like the way in which his Elizabeth and Richard enjoyed each other’s company. “You know she is,” Darcy answered more like a petulant child than a grown man.
“Then I shall dine here and then accompany you in the morning.”
Darcy huffed, “By all means, Richard, invite yourself to my table and my lodgings, no impropriety there.”
Richard laughed, “Do not fret. I shall allow you to enjoy Miss Bennet’s charms tonight, at least little,” Richard laughed. “Now, Cousin, allow me to show you how this game is played.”
The next afternoon, Richard peeked into Darcy’s study, “Shall we?” he asked, eager to meet young Alexander. Darcy felt a mixture of desire to see Alexander and dread at what the lad signified. Since speaking to Richard, he was no longer certain that Francesca’s motives were benevolent. Was she here only to secure her and her son’s future? Or did she come to damage the Darcy name? But more than that, what was he to do with the boy? He knew he would care for him, but it was difficult for Darcy to accept that his actions should cause his son – his firstborn, his rights. Would his care erase the bitterness of what the boy would lose? Darcy shook his head as he and Richard prepared to leave.
“Well, have you secured him?” Hayden smirked. “Has the great and honorable Darcy been made to accept his duty and offer for you?” The laugh that accompanied the taunt sent shivers up Francesca’s spine. Suddenly, with panther speed, Hayden was before her, causing Francesca to gasp and stumble into the desk. “Or have you failed yet again? Answer me!” Francesca shivered as Hayden’s voice seem to bounce around the scantily furnished room.
Francesca had learned to walk a tight rope. If she fought, Hayden’s unkindness would border on cruelty, but if she cowered, Hayden would taunt her for sport. Lifting her shoulders, she answered. “No, he has not made me an offer. He has only now become acquainted with the circumstance.”
“Hmm, did you not have a tête-à-tête just days ago? Are you losing your charms so soon?”
“You cannot believe that he would offer for me so soon. He must have time to adjust.”
Hayden looked steadily at her with inscrutable eyes. Slowly, Hayden nodded and sat at the desk. Taking this as her dismissal, Francesca turned to bolt from the room. Just as she reached the door, Hayden called after her. “Do not forget what is at stake. If you fail, you will be back to being sold to the highest bidder.” Hayden picked up a letter, “Alexander, I shall keep. He is family after all; but what shall I ever do with her?” Francesca froze. When she was again capable of breath, it came quick and shallow, her chest rising and falling. Gathering herself, Francesca reached for the handle, she heard Hayden speak again, the voice as quiet and controlled as if the topic was something as mundane as the weather, “Maybe I will send her to the Madam.” Francesca’s hand shook as she opened the door. Closing it behind her, she stood for a moment, her head resting upon the frame, her breath coming in short gasps, with tears threatening to fall, she turned and fled.
Hayden sat, eyes closed, and sporting a smile as peaceful as one enjoying warm ocean breezes. “A Darcy bastard, how rich.”
Francesca stumbled into her room and fell upon her bed; shivers racked her body. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the canopy as memories, shadowy and taunting, flooded her mind.
April 1802 – Nine Years Before
Francesca gasped and held her breath as the staccato footsteps slowed. She turned and looked at her lady’s maid, her eyes frantic, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Ada, her lady’s maid, who had stood by the locked door, grabbed her seemingly paralyzed mistress and ran for the servant’s entrance. Once hidden in the servant’s hall, Ada listened, barely breathing until the steps faded. Then Ada exhaled loudly only to turn and inhale sharply, Francesca lay on the floor trembling violently and cradling her slightly rounded middle. Ada dropped to the floor and held her, “This will not do, mistress, this will not do,” Ada rocked her, a deep crease in her brow as Francesca curled in her arms like a child. “We must find another way, mistress.” Ada held Francesca until the trembling ceased, then she tucked her into bed and watched until Francesca’s chest rose and fell evenly. Then Ada, taught to read long ago by another mistress, rummaged through Francesca’s chest, looking at mementos, reading letters, until she found one that looked promising. She nodded, satisfied, she made her palette on the floor by the door as she had done every night now these last two months, and slept in her mistress’s room. In the morning, she woke Francesca and handed her the letter, “You must write to her mistress. Find a way to visit.” Francesca took the letter and read the address, looked up at her maid, who had become her friend, her only friend in that house, and nodded, hope filling her heart.
A knock on the door yanked Francesca from her terror, “Enter,” she called flatly.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Waters,” Hall spoke. “There is a Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam to see you.”
Francesca gasped, pushing the memories away. “Colonel Fitzwilliam?” she repeated with wide, frozen eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Francesca swallowed, “Alert Hayden and show them into the parlor.”
What is Richard doing here? Francesca paced. Richard was shrewd, and he and Darcy were as close as brothers. Francesca knew that Darcy would listen to Richard even if he ended up keeping his own counsel, but Richard could cause a delay, and time was running out. Francesca breathed deeply, smoothed her curls, and headed toward the door when a more disturbing thought came to mind. Does this also mean that Lord Matlock has returned! Oh, no! Lord Matlock could ruin things as he did the first time. Straightening her small shoulders, she walked with purpose to the drawing room. She would find out.
Darcy and Richard stood as Francesca entered. They had been left waiting for a full ten minutes, and Richard felt the insult and was sure that the wait had been by design.
“Fitzwilliam, what a pleasure to see you again so soon,” Francesca sputtered through her plastered smile. “And Lt. Fitzwilliam, it has been so long. You are welcomed to my home.”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Darcy corrected as both men bowed.
Smiling too brightly, Francesca said, “Forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam; I was not attending.”
“Think nothing of it,” Richard smiled.
“Please, gentlemen, do be seated,” Francesca sat and smoothed her skirt.
Conversation was polite, banal, and stilted as each struggled to suppress their real desires with talk of the weather and society’s latest. Finally, an awkward silence ensued, and Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Francesca smoothed a curl behind her ear and picked imaginary lint from her gown as Richard stared, causing Francesca to wonder if he ever blinked. Leaning slightly forward now in his chair, Richard possessed the air of a lion stalking its prey, silent but aware, watching her every move.
Finally, clearing his throat, Darcy spoke, “Mrs. Waters, is young Alexander about?”
Francesca looked up quickly. “No, well, yes, but I am afraid he has been put down for a nap. It seems he has been very adventurous and has tired himself exceedingly,” she laughed lightly.
Richard’s lip curled upward. He had witnessed her attempt to conceal a moment of panic when Darcy enquired after the boy; he was more certain now than ever that there was more to the story.
Speaking up before Darcy could, he leaned back into his chair and stretched his legs and smiled, “An energetic one, eh? Well, that is no matter; I am at my leisure, and since I have a mind to see the lad, I am ready to visit until the lad is present – each day if I must,” his smile widened.
Darcy darted his eyes to Fitzwilliam while Francesca’s breathing came quicker. “Although that would be exceedingly pleasant,” Francesca stretched her lips across her face into what she hoped was a pleasant smile, “that will not be necessary, Colonel. I shall just go and see if he is awake. I would not want to keep you from your duties.”
When Francesca left the room, Darcy hissed, “What are you about, Cousin?”
Richard examined his nails and crossed his stretched-out legs at the ankles. “Whatever do you mean, Darcy? I am of a mind to see the boy, so, see him, I shall. One way or another,” Richard muttered the last part under his breath.
Francesca, with Alexander in tow, returned a few moments later, and Richard’s mouth fell open.
“Well?” Darcy demanded as they sat back in his study.
“Hmm!” Richard said, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. Clearing his throat, he spoke, “I can hardly doubt it, he certainly has the look of a Darcy.”
Darcy steepled his hands and waited. He could sense the tension in Richard and knew that there had to be more. “But?” Darcy threw up his hands when Richard failed to speak further.
Richard exhaled slowly. His brow still furrowed, and his eyes still squinted; he lowered his chin onto his steepled fingers. He knew that Darcy would not be persuaded easily. Knowing this, Richard took a few moments to analyze and to devise a strategy. His thoughts thus arranged, he lifted his head and spoke.
“He has the look of a Darcy and his date of birth fits.”
Darcy tapped his foot rapidly upon the floor. For all the talk about his supposed deliberateness, when Richard was contemplating, a garden snail was faster than he. Now bordering on exasperation, Darcy asked again, “But?”
“But did you see how nervous she was Darcy?” Richard leaned forward, having decided to act, he was full of energy. “She could not cease trembling. She nearly spilled her tea – twice.” Richard leapt from the chair and paced. “And she kept looking toward the door as if she anticipated something fearful.” Darcy opened his mouth, but Richard held up his hand. “And questions about his birthplace, which parish was he christened, I thought she would faint! She turned white as milk and nearly choked on her tea.” Richard swiveled quickly and faced Darcy. “Her answers were too vague, she stuttered when I asked her the name of her cousin as if she had to remember! Who forgets the name of a cousin? Especially one who had sheltered you during such a traumatic time? Who, Darcy? No, one!” Richard narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, placing his hands upon Darcy’s desk. “And did you not see how she responded when I told her that Father would certainly care to see the boy? Did you see, Darcy? She could barely speak when she asked when Lord Matlock was expected to return. She had to clear her throat twice, and then still, her voice was almost as quiet as a whisper.” Richard shook his head and stood, “I wish I had thought to fabricate and say his return was imminent. I am sure her reaction would have been telling.”
“Yes,” Darcy exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “But you forget that it was Lord Matlock who separated us. Surely her trepidation is understood in light of this?”
“Yes, Darcy, but if her only goal is to have you acknowledge your son, she knows Father’s reputation. He is honorable. While he would frown upon marriage, would he not encourage you to care for your son? Surely, if she is being straightforward, she has nothing to fear from one who espouses responsibility and duty,” Richard paused and stared at Darcy.
Darcy sat still, his eye
s blinking rapidly. Then the cousins reversed roles as Richard sat and Darcy rose and walked to the window. Darcy gripped the frame and tapped it with his finger, staring as his mind swept over his memories and perceptions of the day. Nearly ten minutes of silence followed as Darcy peered out the window, and Richard sat and watched him. Finally, Darcy turned, “Perhaps we should investigate.”
Richard nodded coolly, but within he heaved a great sigh of relief. He could not allow his cousin to be trapped. He would seek to release him, but he knew it would be much easier with Darcy’s help.
Francesca sat with her arms wrapped around her body and rocked. Though Richard had not given her the date of Matlock’s return, he had made it seem that Matlock’s return could be arranged quickly – which meant that Matlock may already be on the return voyage from the continent. I must be expeditious. Think Francesca! You know Fitzwilliam is responsible but slow as a tortoise. What shall I do? Francesca’s breathing increased, and the room began to spin. She leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. Time was running out. She must get Fitzwilliam away or alone, something to force him into a decision. She had to protect them. Francesca rubbed her temple. Not naturally devious, she had learned to do what she must to survive. She closed her eyes and thought of the only place she had ever known peace, Pemberley. When she was calm, and she could see her way forward, she moved toward her wardrobe and eyed her most alluring gowns. She would act. For the sake of them all.
Chapter Seventeen
Her laughter wafted into his study. He had left the door ajar for just such an occasion. He had never been derelict in his duties, but he could not help it. It was impossible to keep himself from her, and it had become worse since the day in the library. She had always been stimulating, witty and independent, but since that day she had been open and sweet, maybe even shy in his presence. Darcy’s breathing quickened as he remembered their duet. The first touch of their hands had caused a quaver, a millisecond of rest, of wonder, and of held breath, not written in the score. Darcy closed his eyes as he wondered if the pause was indicative of her feelings. Darcy leaned back in his chair. If she felt even an iota of what he felt for her… well, Darcy felt his blood boil, and he tugged at his cravat.
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