Darcy rose and stood in front of the fireplace with his back toward Francesca and his hands clasped behind him. “Of course, I would know my offspring, and he does have the look of a Darcy; however, I cannot agree with your failing to send word. My reputation is not so fragile. I should like to have known as soon as was possible.”
“You are right, Fitzwilliam, and I am sorry. Smith, Agatha Smith is my cousin’s name. Although there are many persons with that name in the area. Cousin Agatha had not been there long. She had relocated there after her husband died and did not socialize much. I left when she died and stayed with friends. I am sure that her eldest has sold the place by now. She has been gone for some time.” Francesca watched his back, his shoulders broad and powerful. Softly she asked, “Where do we go from here, Fitzwilliam?”
Darcy turned, “I have a meeting with my solicitors soon. Of course, I would know my son and see to his care. He will be given the consideration of my offspring,” even if I cannot give him all that is due his name, Darcy thought and rubbed a hand down his face.
Darcy glanced up in time to see Francesca replace a look of disappointment with a smile.
“I have never doubted that. Would you care to see him?”
“Yes,” Darcy said after a moment’s hesitation.
“Wonderful. I shall have Nurse bring him.”
“No, wait. May I go to the nursery?”
“But of course!” Francesca leapt up, “Come!” Francesca grabbed a biscuit from the tea tray and winked conspiratorially at Darcy, then she turned and sauntered to the door, chatting brightly.
Meanwhile, in the servant’s corridor, Hayden listened to the fading footsteps and huffed. “So, you are suspicious, are you, Darcy?” Hayden spat out the words. “Well, I might just have to take matters into my own hand, for the sins of the father will be visited upon the son.” Turning sharply, Hayden marched away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alexander’s little feet pattered on the floor as he ran to retrieve his ball. Picking it up, he threw it again, then laughing, he stumbled after it.
“Alexander, darling.”
He looked up, “Mummy, pay ball!” he tossed the ball at his mother’s feet.
“No, darling boy,” she knelt, “Mummy wants you to meet someone.” She led him to Darcy, who stood just inside the door.
“Alexander, this is, Mr. Darcy.” Alexander looked up with identical sapphire eyes and immediately darted behind his mother with his thumb in his mouth and his curly dark hair peeking from behind her skirts.
“Come now, dearest, do not be frightened,” she bent down again. “Mr. Darcy is, is a friend,” she smiled close lipped up at Darcy.
Darcy advanced into the room and knelt. “Hello, Alexander,” he said softly. “I have brought something for you,” Alexander raised sapphire eyes. “You do not like biscuits, do you?” Alexander enthusiastically nodded in the affirmative. “Well, that is good, for I just happen to have one,” Darcy smiled and held the biscuit just out of reach. Alexander released his mother’s skirt, stepped forward hesitantly, and grabbed the biscuit. Darcy looked up at Francesca, grateful that she had pilfered it from the tea tray.
With the biscuit now consuming all of Alexander’s attention, Darcy smiled and asked him if he would like to play ball. Shaking his head, Alexander said, “No, bocks!” pointing to the wooden blocks scattered on the floor and spitting biscuit crumbs as he spoke. Alexander ran to pick up a block and stumbled again, “Oh, oh,” he said as he got up, retrieved his biscuit from the ground, and joined Darcy.
Sitting on the floor, Alexander picked up a block with his free hand (the other being occupied with his biscuit, of course) and carefully placed it upon the other. Darcy joined in until the blocks stood four blocks high, then Alexander squealed, kicked the blocks, and looked up at Darcy with those wide sapphire eyes, and giggled. Alexander placed the last bit of biscuit in his mouth, scrambled to his feet and jumped excitedly. “Do ayin!” he cried, mouth filled with biscuit. Darcy smiled and looked at Alexander intensely. “You are the impish one, are you?” As Darcy and Alexander played, Francesca leaned on the door frame, misty eyed.
A half hour later, Darcy mounted his horse with a ghost of a smile. However, as Darcy coaxed his horse into a trot, he thought of his interactions with Alexander, and his smile evaporated as a niggling concern played in the back of his mind.
The sunset left a red streak in the sky. Francesca basked in its fading splendor and in the excitement she had felt as she watched Darcy with Alexander. Progress, she thought. She closed her eyes and sighed. Darcy was warming to Alexander, and in the Nursery, he had been less hostile to her as well. It was only a matter of time before he bonded with the boy and would be duty bound to treat Alexander as his firstborn. Francesca smiled widely, the only way to accomplish that was to marry her and claim Alexander as his heir, for Darcy would never be so cruel as to separate the child from its mother. It would be a bit scandalous, but Darcy, though rich, had no title to pass down, and natural sons had been claimed before and given property. She smiled. Fitzwilliam’s sense of duty would force him to do no less. Then I shall have the man I love, a family, and a place where I belong. Francesca shivered and giggled.
“What do you have to be happy about?” Francesca leapt from her seat as Hayden’s loud voice reverberated around the room. Hand on her frantic heart, she released her breath in a huff and eyed Hayden warily. So, that Hayden had returned. Her eyes darted to the door. Hayden poured a drink and too quickly turned back with a scowl. Francesca inhaled and pasted a smile on her face. “Good evening, dearest. I did not expect to see you this evening.”
Hayden ignored her. “How long did Darcy stay?”
“Oh, not very long.”
“Hmm. What did you speak about?” Hayden circled her.
“Nothing significant. I believe his real purpose was to spend time with Alexander. Things are coming along as planned,” she spoke a little too brightly.
“Really,” Hayden asked, now standing before her with a raised brow. “Then why did I hear the Master of Pemberley questioning your story!” Hayden yelled, already three sheets to the wind, and the blast stung her eyes and lifted her loose hair from her face; she turned her head, inhaling sharply. When she turned back, Hayden was breathing rapidly with a thunderous look. She should have known that Hayden would have remained at the servant’s entrance listening.
She counted slowly to three regulating her breathing and smiled. “He asked a question, yes,” she spoke rapidly, “But listen, dearest, do you not see? I was able to yet again impress him with how much I care for him, so that he may trust me. Think of how it ended, he spent time playing with Alexander. Would he have done that if he had not accepted that Alexander is his?”
Hayden’s scowl was replaced by a raised brow, “Hmm.” Hayden circled her again. “Do you know what I think, dearest,” Hayden said, now from behind her back, lips nearly touching her ear. “I think you have failed again. I think that the Master of Pemberley sees you for the Harlot! You! Are!” Hayden yelled, and then laughed as Francesca stiffened. “I also think,” Hayden resumed, calmly, as if they discussed the weather, “that the Master of Pemberley is just like all the other men of his rank, thinking they can do what they will with no consequences.” Suddenly, Hayden grabbed her and turned her around – the thunder had returned. “Well, I will be damned if I let him get away with it! And I will be damned if I trust you anymore, for YOU ARE USELESS!” Hayden paused, “That is why Darcy turned you out before,” Hayden’s voice quieted again, “and why that rich husband of yours left you with nothing but the clothes in your trunk and fifty pounds per annum,” a mirthless cackle filled the air. Then Hayden yelled so loudly that the sound reverberated against the walls, “You are WORTHLESS!” Spittle flew onto Francesca’s cheek. Her breathing slowed as Hayden backed away and calmly set the glass on the table.
“I shall take care of this myself. And perhaps,” Hayden paused at the th
reshold, “Perhaps when I am done, I will let you and yours stay.”
When Hayden finally left the room, Francesca collapsed onto the floor.
Get up. Get up. You must get up! Francesca scolded herself. However, no matter what she attempted, she could not find the strength to rise from her bed. The tray her maid had brought still lay untouched from the morning. How did I get here? Why must I have to fight for everything? Why must I have to claw and scrap and beg? Am I a dog to be kicked and abused by a malevolent owner? She threw her forearm over her eyes to shut out even that tiny sliver of light peeking through the small opening in her curtain. I have been alone all my life, used and unwanted. I have never had anyone. My father sold me for his gaming debts, and my husband used me for my youth and beauty: both men each other’s twin in cruelty. Even my first beau did not love me enough to fight for me against my father’s denial. We could have run off to Gretna Green; his parents would not have disowned him, but no, he stole my kisses and ran away at the first sign of difficulty, like a thief from the Bow Street Runners. Francesca rolled over and thought of the one time she had ever felt safe, cared for, and protected.
February 1806
Francesca opened her eyes and stretched lazily, her limbs reveling in the luxurious bedding. A slow smile spread across her face as she eyed the tray with fruit from the Pemberley hothouse, a steaming cup of hot tea, and a plate of scones. Her smile widened as she sat up and reached for the hot cup, enjoying the warmth in her hands. It had been this way every day since she had come to Pemberley, well after she had comforted Fitzwilliam, and he had found about her love for tea and scones, he had made sure it was brought to her each morning. Francesca looked around her room and sighed. It was as large as the mistress’ chambers in her husband’s home, but so tastefully displayed. “I love it here,” she thought. “Fitzwilliam is everything a young man should be. He is kind, caring, strong, passionate, and responsible. If the snow lasts a bit longer, I shall never have to leave.” She took a sip of her tea, closed her eyes, and smiled, the warmth of the liquid spreading through her.
Francesca looked around her present room. It was stark and bare, with dark and depressing walls and a dressing table with faded and chipped wood and a wobbly leg that shook from pressure. She kicked the remaining cover onto the floor as she flung herself out of bed. Think! If you ever want to feel that warmth again, think! She paced. Francesca knew that if she did not capture Darcy soon, Hayden would ruin everything. “No! No! I will not allow that! I must think!” Francesca stilled and stared, her eyes blinking rapidly. Then turning quickly, she walked into her sitting room, sat down, and picked up a quill and paper.
Dear Miss Bingley,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Monday last. Rarely have I met a lady with such poise and elegance. As you know, I am only recently returned to town and would love to further our acquaintance. As Mrs. Greenwood’s sister, I have access to the best drawing rooms, and I am sure we can forge a mutually beneficial relationship as I prepare to resume my place in society. Come round for tea tomorrow, darling.
Yours,
Mrs. Francesca Waters.
Darcy stood stiffly outside the parlor door. He was shamelessly listening to Elizabeth and Georgiana. He could not discern their words, if he could have, his honor would have demanded he leave, but he could hear their voices, her voice, animated, joyful, laughing. He smiled broadly. Entranced by his dreams, he was startled to hear his butler clear his throat. Darcy jerked, warmth flooding his face.
“Well, Johns, umm,” Darcy cleared his throat. It was embarrassing, a grown man, the master of Pemberley – caught smiling stupidly at a closed door! “I shall be in my study if I am needed,” Darcy said in his most master of Pemberley voice. He then stood as tall as he could and scurried away like a misbehaving maid!
“Excuse me, sir,” Johns called after him, “Miss Darcy has requested that you wait upon her at your convenience.”
Darcy coughed to cover his smile. He had been looking for a reason to see Elizabeth, and now Georgiana had given him one. He swiveled and headed for the door. “Very well, Johns, thank you.” Darcy paused a moment, peered into the looking glass, smoothed his cravat, took a deep breath, and opened the door. Johns watched, once Darcy was out of sight, the well-trained butler smirked.
“Brother! I am so glad you could join us!”
Darcy ripped his eyes from Elizabeth and smiled at Georgiana. “You requested my presence, did you not?” He bowed to Elizabeth with that alluring half smile, “Miss Elizabeth, I trust you are well today?”
Elizabeth flushed, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Darcy. I am well, and you?”
“Excellent,” Darcy reluctantly turned his eyes to Georgiana, “And you, Sweetling?”
“I am perfectly well!” Georgiana nearly bounced upon the sofa, more animated than he had seen her in a while. She glanced quickly at Elizabeth, then turned smiling eyes upon him, “The weather is fine today, is it not, Brother?”
Darcy smiled, waiting for her to ask him whatever she was building up to. “Yes, very fine.”
“Too fine to stay indoors, would you not agree, Brother?” Georgiana glanced sideways at Elizabeth, who pursed her lips and looked at her hands.
Darcy chuckled, “It is a fine enough day to enjoy being out of doors,” Darcy leaned back in his chair. “However, it is an equally fine day to visit Aunt Catherine, or what do you say to visiting Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?”
Georgiana’s eyes bulged, and her mouth formed a perfect, ‘O.’ Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who bit her lip to contain her laughter, and finally, unable to continue to tease his alarmed sister, Darcy laughed, and Elizabeth joined him.
Georgiana exhaled, her shoulders sagging in relief, “Brother! How can you tease me so?” Georgiana laughed.
“It serves you right for your attempt to wheedle me, dearest.”
“Was I so obvious?”
“Yes, you were.”
“And here I thought that my time with Lizzy was so beneficial!”
“Georgiana!” Elizabeth gaped, and Georgiana giggled. “You will teach your brother all my secrets!” Elizabeth laughed.
Darcy’s smile broadened, “I doubt that, Miss Bennet, for I do not think you skilled in wheedling at all. No, you are too direct. I think it is to Richard that Georgiana must apply for further instruction.” Elizabeth smiled into Darcy’s eyes, and Darcy felt his heart flip like a circus acrobat.
“Perhaps, but then she must practice, for no excellence can be achieved without constant practice!”
“Have you met my Aunt Catherine?” Georgiana asked.
“No. I have not had the pleasure, but I feel as if I have. My cousin, Mr. Collins, is enthusiastic in his praise of his patroness. He writes of her as a person with inestimable wisdom and condescension, a person quite without fault.” Looking daringly into Mr. Darcy’s eyes, she finished with a voice full of mirth, “A family trait I understand.”
Darcy eyed Elizabeth and smiled at her allusion to Miss Bingley’s praise of him while at Netherfield. As they stared into each other’s eyes, Darcy’s eyes changed from mirth to something more profound, and Elizabeth quickly looked away. Guard your heart, Elizabeth, she thought. Georgiana looked between them both and placed her hand over her mouth to cover her smile.
Clearing his throat, Darcy turned to Georgiana, “No more wheedling, ask me what you will, Dumpling.”
“Brother! Do not call me that silly name! I am no longer a child,” Georgiana pouted, her expression at odds with her words.
“I shall when you determine to deal in requests and not wheedles. Or at least until you become as accomplished as Richard, so that I am unaware of the manipulation,” Darcy teased.
“Very well, Brother. I shall deal in requests. I thought it would be wonderful to visit Vauxhall Gardens. It has been a long time. I thought it would be lovely to attend with Lizzy and you, dearest Brother.”
Looking at the anticipation in both ladie
s’ eyes, Darcy spoke, “How can I deny pleasure to two such lovely ladies? I will make the arrangements.”
Georgiana yelped and hugged the now standing Darcy, “You are the best brother!”
Darcy momentarily laid his head upon hers, “All the world for you, Sweetling.”
Georgiana smiled, Humph, she thought, my wheedling is just fine.
“I cannot wait to hear the orchestra and see the fireworks! Will you secure a supper box, Brother?” Georgiana spoke rapidly, her eyes flitting about as they traveled across the Thames, “And Elizabeth,” Georgiana rushed on, “shall we go ballooning?” Georgiana gripped Elizabeth’s arm; her eyes wide with delight.
“In a hot air balloon, dearest?” Elizabeth’s voice elevated.
“Yes, of course! What other type of ballooning would I mean?” Georgiana laughed.
“Dearest,” Elizabeth proceeded slowly, “your masters have instructed you in logic and suppositions have they not?” Georgiana nodded; her brows deeply creased at the turn of the conversation. “Well, if you knew of one who fears the height of horses and prefers to rely upon their own legs to partake of nature’s beauties, what do you think the odds would be that such a one would choose to view said beauties from the sky, in an unstable, hot air balloon?”
Georgiana laughed, “Elizabeth! I had forgotten about your distaste for heights! But you must give it a try, Elizabeth! I hear it is ever so exciting and picturesque!”
“That it may be,” Elizabeth laughed, “but I shall stay content with what I can see from the ground! No! No, wheedling,” Elizabeth responded to Georgiana’s pout. They maintained eye contact, one hoping to convey desperate disappointment with what she hoped to be a convincing pout, the other hoping to convey resolve with a smirk and a raised brow. Neither succeeded, and both dissolved into giggling and entangled arms.
Men of Consequence Page 24
