His years are young, but his experience old;
His head unmellow’d, but his judgment ripe;
And in a word (for far behind his worth)
Come all the praise that I now bestow,
He is complete in feature and mind,
With all good grace to grace
A gentleman.
It was now a full two months after their wedding, and a sunny, crisp winter morning to boot. The newly wedded Elizabeth Darcy, née Bennet, was making a concerted effort to look out the window at the beautiful winter expanse below and not turn her gaze immediately upon waking to her magnificent husband as he slept, admiring his strong jaw line and his long eyelashes. He was, to her eyes, simply put, beautiful.
She would stare at him all day if he had not whispered to her during a performance of “The Magic Flute” that her gazes were unsettling to him and that she really must stop. But then, of course, his own eyes had been dark with longing as he squeezed her hand and kissed it during his reprimand, so how serious could he really be?
She decided to compromise and just gaze at him when he couldn’t possibly be aware, like in the morning, when she always awoke before him, or perhaps when she watched him ride his horse from the stables, or maybe at breakfast as he read the daily reports from his estate manager.
All right, I think I’ve been very good and deserve my reward. I can allow myself another quarter hour to watch him again. She rolled over to lie on her stomach facing him. My heavens, he’s so handsome. What a wondrous gift you have given me, dear Lord. Whatever could I have done to deserve this much happiness?
“Elizabeth?” He said her name softly, his eyes still closed.
She pulled up the sheets to just beneath her eyes, which were sparkling with anticipation.
“Elizabeth,” he repeated, “are you watching me again?”
They were both lying on their stomachs, each facing the other, both bathed by the same streaming sunlight. She knew if she kept very still and didn’t answer him, he would open those beautiful eyes. She just had to be patient. Just wait a moment longer… just a moment… aaahhh!
And suddenly, his one visible eye popped opened, and she giggled, still hiding her face up to her lashes. “Good morning, husband,” she whispered, closing her eyes tightly, giddy with the knowledge that she would soon receive the first of her morning kisses. She puckered her lips.
After what seemed like an eternity she felt a soft kiss on her forehead and then on her nose and finally on her lips. “Good morning, beautiful one,” he said dreamily. His morning beard stubble tickled her, and she rubbed her face quickly. He raised himself up on his elbow and pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Did you sleep well, little angel?”
“Yes, very well. And you?”
“Like an earl.” He laid his head back down very near her face, their noses almost touching.
“Is that good or bad?” she whispered.
“I don’t really know. I am too tired this morning to care, and too happy.” He reached for her and pulled her close. “You were very enthusiastic last night, Lizzy.”
She blushed and buried her head in his neck. “William! Please have a care! You’ll embarrass me!”
“Why? How could I? It’s just us here. No one listening, no one to hear our enthusiasms.” He softly kissed her mouth and stared into her sweet face. She was all sweetness and delicate femininity, with beautiful eyes, rosebud pink lips, and a quick mind that kept him always on his toes.
He reached down and began to tickle her sides. “And besides,” he whispered, “young lady, if you would be a little quieter, you wouldn’t have to be so embarrassed.” His tickling intensified as they tussled, both laughing, tears streaming down her cheeks. He held her fast around her waist and pulled her closer to prevent her tumbling from the bed.
She squealed, giggled, and squirmed, and as he laughed at her excitement, he found himself becoming excited in a wonderfully different way. Unfortunately, however, in their gyrations, her hand had mistakenly grabbed the bellpull.
She broke from his grasp and raised herself up, turning toward him with her pillow high above her head ready to strike, naked as the day she was born. Almost too late, she heard the doorknob turn, signaling the imminent arrival of her husband’s valet. She lunged for the floor.
“You rang for me, Mr. Darcy?” Raising one eyebrow was the only outward evidence that Darcy’s valet Bradford was aware of the bloodcurdling shriek that had greeted his entrance. Well, there was that and the flutter of the bed cover and a thud that was heard on the side of the bed not within his view.
Darcy, lying alone in the middle of the massive antique structure, smiled broadly. “The devil you say. No, Bradford, I didn’t ring for you.” He rested his clasped hands casually behind his head, looking very smug and quite cheerful, closing his eyes and grinning when a disembodied and very heartfelt “ouch!” was heard from the floor beside him.
“Well, this is quite the quandary, is it not? Perhaps Mrs. Darcy rang for you. She was here only a moment ago.” Bradford discreetly turned his gaze away and toward the ceiling. Darcy lifted up the sheets to peer within. “Hello?” he called to his legs and feet. There were muffled pleas and giggles as the covers began to slowly be pulled off the edge of the bed.
Darcy waited for a while and then grabbed them back with a jerk, tucking them neatly around himself. Phantom murmured threats and muffled indignation could be heard, along with stifled laughter. A pillow sailed up from the floor, which he easily deflected. “No, no I don’t see her anywhere. Perhaps she’s out riding.” He leaned his body over the mattress, off the far side of the bed, and looked down toward the floor. “Why, Mrs. Darcy, wherever have you been? By any chance did you ring for Bradford?”
Lizzy reached up and pinched his nose very hard, causing Darcy to yelp and laugh. “No, no, I don’t believe she needs you either,” he offered rather nasally, rubbing the injured protuberance as if to put it back into place. “You may go, Bradford; sorry to have bothered you.”
“Very good, sir.” Bradford bowed and closed the door. As he walked back down the hall, he allowed his mouth the smile that had more and more invaded his very professional demeanor. Shaking his head, he laughed softly. Was I ever that young or that in love?
Life had certainly changed at stately old Pemberley since the newlyweds had taken up residence. He thought fondly back to when he had begun working for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and the lad’s transformation from callow young Corinthian to somber estate owner and now to besotted bridegroom.
Mr. George Darcy had passed away after a brief illness, in the early evening hours of 17 April, 1806. His son, Fitzwilliam, was named his heir, inheriting at barely twenty-one years of age the single largest privately held estate in all of Derbyshire, as well as being named co-guardian to Georgiana, his nine-year-old sister. Overnight, young Darcy seemed to age, to mature, to toughen; he soon became obsessed with responsibility, with achievement and success.
A natural leader, he astounded men twice his age, and this when he was still little more than an adolescent. Now he moved among a new circle of acquaintances bringing about new interests—viewpoints more conservative than the young. Darcy gradually abandoned the ideas and pursuits of youth as well as the follies and mistakes that would have been his by right to make, and became more appreciative of class and privilege. He rarely relaxed and was seldom carefree, still naïve enough to believe a serious demeanor more befitting his station in life than frivolous laughter. Time and responsibility were sedating his youth.
It was an unfortunate incident involving his beloved sister, Georgiana, that pushed him that final meter into premature dotage. He and his co-guardian to Georgiana, his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, had relaxed their vigilance, assuring themselves that Georgiana was a sensible, well-bred young woman, but little more than a child, still with childish interests. They both adored her but took no real notice of her maturing; after all, the colonel was far away in Portugal, chasing Napoleon, and Darcy was drowning in drainage concerns at Pemberley.
At fifteen years of age, she ran away with a hireling, a thoroughly unsuitable young man whom she had known her whole life, had loved and trusted. Darcy discovered them before her ruination, but destroyed was any measure of folly that remained lurking within him. Darcy aged from twenty-six to sixty-six within two days. Georgiana was devastated with guilt.
Fitzwilliam, the closest thing to a true brother Darcy possessed, acknowledged that gone forever was his coconspirator in disasters, his fiercest competitor, his staunchest defender, his best friend. In his place was the reincarnation of his stolid and sensible old Uncle George, only without the powdered wig.
But, no matter how proud, how aloof, how miserable he became, it was inevitable that a wealthy, handsome, single young man would inspire great matrimonial interest. Feverish competition exploded among the masses of aristocratic women vying for his hand, with the fiercest, the most vocal, and the most relentless of these being two particularly ambitious women.
In the country, his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, insisted to all who would listen that he would marry her sickly daughter, Anne. In the city, his best friend Charles Bingley’s amoral sister Caroline informed all in her circle of friends that he would choose her.
Neither was correct.
Speculations and prophesies ended with Fitzwilliam Darcy’s surprise marriage to a little country mouse named Elizabeth Bennet. All who thought they were “in the know” were stunned when Darcy fell in love with the sparkling Elizabeth, a poor but gently bred young lady of infinite humor and intelligence, and although Miss Eliza Bennet never once chased Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, he was run to ground like a fox, and happily so.
He was alive again, a bit older perhaps, but a healthy young man rescued nonetheless, besotted and hopelessly in love.
“Oooh, you are an evil, wicked, vile man.” A mortified Lizzy emerged from the floor as soon as Bradford left, closing the door to their bedroom behind him. Covering her burning cheeks with her hands, she squeaked with laughter. At first faking his remorse, and badly at that, Darcy swiftly grabbed her and tickled her back into the bed, beginning again his inventory of kisses. First her forehead, then her eyes, then her nose…
“No! No, you don’t. Not this morning, oh please, William! You have made us late for breakfast every morning since our return. It is past embarrassing. The whole staff knows we’re up here.” She then tilted her head to the side and pointed to a spot just beneath her ear, thereby ensuring a continuation of his barrage of kisses to the underside of her throat. “…Ooh, here, you’ve missed a spot, aaahhh lovely… and they know what is going on; they are not stupid! Please, dear, let us just get dressed and go down to breakfast before they stop bothering with it altogether.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” he growled, and truth be told, she capitulated happily.
It was very late in the morning when the smiling bride and groom finally emerged hand in hand from their suites. Nearing the middle of the grand staircase, they encountered Mrs. Reynolds.
“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.” The aged housekeeper smiled warmly up at her beloved boy, silently thanking the Lord for his obvious happiness.
“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam has arrived and is waiting for you in the library.” Mrs. Reynolds beamed with the joyful news. She knew how deeply her master had mourned when they thought his cousin dead, and how hard he had fought back tears when the news had arrived of his safety.
“Why that old degenerate; we didn’t expect him for at least another two weeks! Has he been waiting long?” Darcy’s pace down the stairs quickened. Lagging behind but still holding her husband’s hand, Elizabeth began to feel flutters of embarrassment and turned her head away, wondering how she could perhaps better blend into the wallpaper.
“Well, about three hours, I should say,” continued Mrs. Reynolds. “He arrived very early, as always, and has settled into the library with ‘Fanny Hill.’ Oh, he’s not lost his appetite, I can tell you. He’s already had several servings of breakfast and even went downstairs into the kitchen to hug the cook—greeted everyone below stairs. Why, he had us all laughing like fools, he did. He specifically requested that we not wake you, insisted that the ‘newlyweds’ not be disturbed.”
A low moan escaped Elizabeth as she blushed crimson from her forehead to her toes.
Darcy tried not to laugh and patted Lizzy’s hand. “It could be worse, believe me,” he whispered. “Knowing my cousin, we’re lucky he didn’t barge right in on us with his morning tea.” He continued down, Elizabeth dragging in tow. “Mrs. Reynolds, Could you send a tray into the library with some breakfast for Mrs. Darcy and me?”
Elizabeth suddenly stopped. “Oh no, William, I don’t… I mean, I’m really not that hungry. I think I’ll take a walk in the garden… my afternoon walk… I mean morning walk… if you don’t mind.”
Her face was flushed, and she chewed viciously on her lower lip, all the while trying to appear perfectly reasonable. How in the world was she expected to face Darcy’s cousin now? He had just sat there in a room directly beneath theirs while they were so busily enthusiastic upstairs. No, thank you, she would just as soon take a brisk walk.
“But it’s too cold for a walk this morning, isn’t it?” He successfully kept the smile from his face. She was still so easily embarrassed by so many things, and he loved her all the more for it.
“No, it’s fine, really. I’ll merely walk faster.” Her face brightened up a bit. “You know how I adore a good trudge in the mud. Excuse me, I’ll just run up and get my wrap.” Elizabeth turned, retreating quickly up the stairs, muttering bitterly all the way. “This is so humiliating! How am I supposed to behave rationally with dozens of people around knowing what’s happening? Even when we haven’t done anything, I feel obliged to blush just for decorum’s sake.”
It had been much easier in Scotland and Wales where they had honeymooned. For eight wonderful weeks they were alone and in love, traveling and seeing new wonders daily, a romantic dream come true every night.
Their first time had been thoroughly embarrassing, romantic, and very funny—all at the same time. How could a country girl have been so ignorant? She was blushing again at the remembrance and smiling to herself. However, one day he’ll have to tell me how he knew so much himself. He certainly wasn’t ignorant.
Still grinning, she grabbed her wrap from her dressing room and headed down the stairs, spying the back of Fitzwilliam’s head as he stood to greet Darcy, just before the door to the library was shut. They will probably be in there for hours. I’ll go in when I return and say a quick hello. That should suffice for the moment.
When Fitzwilliam saw Darcy enter the library, he immediately stood and extended his hand in greeting, a huge grin spreading across his tanned face. The colonel had not been back to Pemberley since the great victory at Waterloo, when after being wounded on the battlefield, he had been listed as missing and mourned as dead for several days. The sensationalized reports of his valor, his injury, and his extraordinary recovery had all made him a darling of the ton and a favorite of the newspapers, one amidst a handful of the surviving heroes of the long Peninsular War.
And, worse yet, it had made him a national celebrity.
Darcy grabbed his hand and struggled to suppress misting eyes. “I am afraid that just won’t do this time, you old bastard.” He spoke huskily, pulling his cousin into an uncharacteristically emotional embrace. Moved by Darcy’s sentiment, Fitzwilliam fought back his own tears as they both began to pound each other’s backs in manly fashion. He was nonplussed. This was not the normal greeting received from the reserved and achingly proper Darcy, at least not the morose Darcy that Fitzwilliam had left eleven months earlier. This was more like the mischievous companion of his youth.
Slightly amazed, Fitzwilliam pulled himself back to stare intently into Darcy’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I missed your wedding, brat, but good Lord, if you haven’t all the markings of a lovesick puppy!” Richard shoved at the side of Darcy’s head, just a tap really. “God’s indeed in his heaven, and you look like a grinning idiot!”
Darcy laughed happily and chucked his cousin’s arm, a mere glancing blow. “And you look like shit itself.” They hugged each other’s shoulders once again briefly, moving a little farther into the room as he ripped a dangling button from Fitzwilliam’s ancient uniform then grimaced at some crusted food on the sleeve. “No, really. My Lord, a sorrier sight I have never seen. Look at you, Fitz, you’re a disgrace! Did your batman commit suicide when he learned you were still alive?”
The pushing and taunting back and forth increased until they suddenly began to wrestle in earnest, knocking over the odd table and chair, and then, just as suddenly, they began to laugh uproariously.
“You’re weak… as an… an old woman, Darcy.” Fitzwilliam gasped for breath.
“This is no time to discuss your sorry love life… Besides, I… held back because you’re getting old… and fat.” Darcy wheezed and waved away all further comments with his hand. “But who gives a shit about you—tell me about Waterloo! I heard it went badly at first.” Darcy knew his cousin hated to speak about the battles in which he had fought during the past ten years, but good heavens, this had been Waterloo! Their energy spent for the moment, they both leaned back upon the huge library desk.
“Badly?!” Fitzwilliam made a rude noise with his lips. “That’s an unfortunately inadequate description. It was a fiasco! It was bungled almost from the start.” He stopped speaking for a while to shove tangles of errant dark blond hair from his forehead as Darcy set the tables and chairs to right. “I tell you there were times during that battle when I would have happily sacrificed my brother Regis for just a few dozen medieval English archers.”
Darcy let out a bark of laughter. “Not impressed, Fitz—not by half. Over the years, you have volunteered to forego your brother for many lesser things. A hot cup of coffee, better seats at the opera; once it was a desire to obtain quicker mail delivery in Portugal.”
“You are a small and vindictive man, Darcy. I don’t have to stand for this type of character assassination.” With that, Fitzwilliam dragged over a chair and sat, reaching into his pocket for his ever-present pipe and tobacco pouch.
“So, how is newly wedded bliss?” His gaze narrowed on his cousin for a moment. “As if I need to ask, you smug-looking little ass. I am sorry now I insisted they not announce me upon my arrival.” He studied his tobacco pouch intently, dipping his pipe bowl within it and then packing down the brownish flakes. “I was beginning to fear that the two of you would never come up for air! My, my, I had no idea you had such staying power, brat.” He leaned back and lit the pipe. He puffed once or twice to get it going. “I am quite impressed. But you know, Darcy, even the Huns pulled out occasionally.” He leaned his head back to study the ceiling and then began to chuckle when he heard his cousin’s groans.
Scowling, Darcy sat down heavily on the chair behind his desk. “You see, this is what I feared. All right, let’s get this thing settled up front. I would appreciate it if you would watch your tongue in front of Elizabeth; she’s still very shy about all this. I don’t want you making crude remarks like that in front of her.”
“Please, Cousin, I am desolate. You wound me until I bleed upon your fine carpet. Do you think me completely devoid of feeling or sensitivity?” Fitzwilliam did attempt to appear upset. “I am highly offended. If I thought you had at least one friend to serve as your second, I would call you out.”
Darcy threw him a sardonic look and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I have plenty of friends, dozens in fact.”
“Name six.”
“Well…Bingley, for one. He’s a tremendously fine fellow and likes me very much.”
“Bingley doesn’t count. He is notoriously indiscriminate, likes everyone, even me.”
“A lot you know.”
“Oh, very funny. Now, let us come back to all the lurid details, such as whether or not you were you able to perform all night.” Darcy threw a pen at Fitzwilliam’s head. “Terribly sorry, momentary relapse.” He puffed once or twice on his pipe and blinked innocently at his cousin. “So just where is this new missus of yours? Still gagged and tied to the bedposts? Drugged, perhaps?”
Darcy stared fixedly at Fitzwilliam. “If you must know, she is as far away from you as I could send her.” Darcy lifted the cup to his lips and sipped. “Is it any wonder that decent families hide their daughters from you?”
“I resent that, Darcy. I truly do.”
“Do you deny it?”
“No, of course not, but I truly, truly resent it—cuts dreadfully into my social life.”
“In actuality, she’s taking a walk.”
“In this weather?! Bah! You see, she has no sense. It is no wonder she was willing to marry you.”
“I told you she is very shy, and she’ll sort it out herself if you will but refrain from teasing her.”
“Say no more, say no more, my good man. Please, Darcy…” He shook his head. “I am the soul of discretion with the ladies—a gentleman always, as you well know.” The knock on the door brought in the requested breakfast tray.
“Capital. Very wise. Keeping up his stamina. Excellent.”
“Fitzwilliam!”
His cousin scrubbed his face with his hand, grinning continuously. “Sorry, I don’t know what gets into me around you. You’re just so damn easy to fluster.”
Shaking his head, Darcy abandoned any attempts to hide his own laughter and eagerly began his breakfast. Fitzwilliam reached over and swiftly grabbed a piece of ham and toast, his hand just missing being slapped away.
“May I offer you some breakfast?” Darcy asked sarcastically, his mouth full.
“Oh, Lord, no. Your exemplary Mrs. Reynolds was most obliging and provided me with no less than three breakfasts as I cooled my heels down here, plus coffee and cakes until I almost burst. I couldn’t eat another thing.” He reached over and grabbed a scone. “By the way, brat, I’ve just been visiting the Grande Dame herself, and she’s still spewing poison about the two of you. How long is this feud between you going to continue? She requires some guidance with that great old horror house of hers and was almost desperate enough to turn to me.” He leveled a gaze at his cousin, his eyebrows raised high into his forehead, an eloquent expression conveying how totally futile that would be. “I loath to admit this, but I am a complete imbecile when it comes to grand-manor types of things.”
“Don’t sell yourself so short, Fitz.” He shook an admonishing finger at his cousin. “Believe me, you’re a complete imbecile about a great many more things than that.”
“Very humorous, brat. Very droll. Seriously, is this war going to continue for a long time? You will be back in the immense bosom of our aunt by Easter, won’t you?” He lowered his voice to its sincerest depth. “Please, Darcy, have a heart. Stop thinking only of yourself…think of me.” He looked pathetic. “You know how I so hate having my own pleasures curtailed, and I would miss our annual pilgrimage of penance.” He grabbed for another piece of food, a fork just missing his hand.
“This war, as you aptly call it, was begun by Aunt Catherine, and it will need to be rectified by Aunt Catherine. As neither she nor my beloved mother saw fit to consider my feelings regarding marriage with Cousin Anne, I feel no remorse at disregarding her opinion about whom I did marry.” Darcy poured himself another cup of coffee, splashing it all over with his angry, jerky hand movements.
Fitzwilliam darted a glance at his irate cousin, all the while trying to get his own cup beneath the moving spout. “…Yes, well, as long as you keep a happy thought…” he mumbled.
Darcy slammed down the coffee pot. “No, I won’t let her abuse Elizabeth ever again. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment.” A smile softly crept into Darcy’s eyes, his lips twitching at their corners. “She is the kindest, sweetest, most delicate creature God ever created.” Darcy’s face had a faraway, glazed, and grinning expression, very similar to an empty-headed jack-o-lantern. It became too much for his cousin.
“Hold that thought for a moment, if you would, Darcy. Please. Could you pass that trash pail. No, not that one—the other—yes, the larger one. Yes, thank you. Why? Because I feel I’m going to throw up at any moment!”
Darcy tried not to laugh but had little success. “If I remember correctly, you were besotted with her once yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, smirking broadly.
“Incorrect yet again. An unbroken streak, I might add. Now, I may have been bemused by her and bewitched by her, even beguiled, but I was never besotted. That, my friend, I left entirely to you.” While Fitzwilliam sipped his coffee, he regarded his cousin with warm affection. “I will, however, admit to a bit of envy for your happiness, would even consider marriage for myself one day… if I could meet a woman of character, integrity, compassion, intelligence, gentleness…”
Darcy regarded Fitzwilliam as if he had just grown another head. “Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?”
“…with a face like a goddess and a body meant solely for sin…”
“Ah! And the world returns to its revolutions; all is right again with the universe.”
“Getting back to Catherine,” Fitzwilliam continued, never missing a beat, “I have thought a great deal about this—now don’t go giving me that haughty Uncle George expression. I firmly believe that Elizabeth is the one person in this pathetic little family circle of ours not needing protection from Aunt Catherine. I seem to remember your teeny wife having the backbone of a Viking. I have every faith that she is more than able to hold her own with the Marble Countess.”
When Darcy began to protest, Fitzwilliam put up his hand to stop him. “No, Darcy, I think it was your own pride that was offended by Catherine’s highhanded behavior more than anything she may have said to Elizabeth. Come, Cousin!” he whined pathetically. “To hell with Aunt Catherine—have pity on me! You will have to let this thing go eventually. Remember, ‘Family is Everything.’” Fitzwilliam raised his hand in salute to their aunt’s favorite quote.
“You’re probably right. I can’t judge myself anymore, it seems. I only know that she said some very mean things to Lizzy about her family—yes, I realize I’d said the same things she did, but I recognized my deplorable behavior and apologized for it. Now Aunt Catherine will have to do the same. Let’s not discuss this anymore, please.”
“Do you have any idea how similar you two are? How similar you are to the Queen of Hubris? Arrogant and stubborn, the both of you. I myself am the most good-natured of men, and yet I remain ruggedly handsome and charismatic. I truly believe it impossible that I could be related to either one of you. I must have been dropped at the door by some Scottish circus group.”
Elizabeth walked briskly around the house, clasping her cape tightly at her neck and her hood close around her face. She reflected on what she considered her Embarrassing Predicament. Or was it? First and foremost, she was a realist and a sensible country girl. All right, she began to shiver with the cold. Just of what am I ashamed? I’m no different than any other young woman, am I?
No, Elizabeth, you are not.
We are married; we want children, do we not?
Yes, most emphatically you are and you do! Honestly, this is ridiculous. Eventually the embarrassment of marital relations will fade, if only through the sheer bliss of repetition. Finding herself vigorously nodding in agreement, she could not help a bit of giggle and blush. She then forced herself to regain her composure. And, the embarrassment may very well fade quicker if you do not make such a childish spectacle of yourself, bringing more attention to it than you already have. She felt her backbone stiffen with her resolve— or perhaps it is just freezing into place, she mused as she gazed longingly up at the massive back of the main estate house with the windows steaming from the heat within, smoke billowing from its many chimneys.
She began to walk rapidly. Besides, it is bloody cold out here, and that is surely curing me of my “flutters and spasms!” She laughed out loud with that common quote of her mother’s, causing the vaporous air of amusement to flutter about her. In fact it is curing me much quicker than delicate female modesty would care to admit. The rapid walk soon became a run. She entered the house through the closest door available, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, and realized she was in the servants’ hallway.
Surprised maids and footmen jumped back as she passed, giving her quick bows and curtseys, grabbing for their coats, straightening skirts, spitting out half-smoked cheroots and hiding them beneath their boots. Pushing her hood farther back on her head, she smiled and nodded hello, all the time humiliated by the reality that she had no idea where she was or how to get out.
Finally someone thought to alert Mrs. Reynolds, who hurried toward her. “Mrs. Darcy, is there something with which I can help you?”
Lizzy shook her head and smiled sheepishly. “I am so sorry to disturb you all, but I seem to have entered a strange door, and now fear I am lost.”
“I understand perfectly.” Mrs. Reynolds gave a ready nod. “Please allow me to show you the way upstairs.” Thankful for her rescue, Lizzy followed the housekeeper through the winding corridors of underground kitchens and bedrooms, linen rooms, pantries, and servants’ parlors and sitting room.
“It’s much like a little city down here,” Lizzy marveled as they walked past dozens of servants and room after windowed room where she could observe the work being done. She saw women washing and ironing, polishing this, repairing that. “I had no idea there were this many servants at Pemberley!” She felt like an intruder in their domain.
“We really have a much smaller regular staff than most of the great estates. Many of these young people are actually from our tenant families. They train here for future work in other great houses. The added money they earn here helps the families, and a recommendation from Pemberley, as you can imagine, is a tremendous asset. I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone trained here who did not go on to a very respectable position.”
Humbled by the realization that so many depended on her husband for their very existence, Elizabeth felt the pride and love she already had for him swell. He had taken command of all this from such a young age, increasing his holdings and wealth to become one of the most successful landowners in the country. He was amazing and wonderful, and she decided she would kiss him senseless as soon as she was able. He has all this to worry about, and I make a ninny of myself, blushing at anyone who cares to look at me, causing him more problems. Enough, Elizabeth, it is time to grow up.
In the meantime, Mrs. Reynolds had been very proud to finally exhibit the servants’ hall to the new mistress, stopping at the doorway to look back at the hustle and bustle that hummed along underneath the main house. Elizabeth took the woman’s hand in hers and gave it an appreciative squeeze. “I am all amazement at this.” Mrs. Reynolds, a woman who prided herself on seldom betraying her feelings to Mr. Darcy, blushed with happiness.
As they emerged into the light of the first-floor landing, she could see that they were right outside the grand library. “I believe Colonel Fitzwilliam is still in with the master. Would you like me to show you in to them?”
“Yes, please, and thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I hope I have not inconvenienced the household too much with my wanderings.”
“Not at all, madam, it was an honor. Besides, this is a huge house, one of the largest in the country. It takes a long while to get accustomed.”
They walked toward the library, and Mrs. Reynolds, knocking softly, opened it for her. Darcy beamed when he saw her and stood. “Elizabeth, I’m so glad you decided to join us!”
Fitzwilliam also stood as Lizzy rushed into the room, watching as she melted into the arms of her loving husband. He regarded them both fondly, seeing the obviously deep affection between them the very moment the other was within view. You would think they had been apart for a month and not twenty minutes. Well, he reflected a bit wistfully , I might not envy you Pemberley, my dear cousin, but this type of joy I do envy you.
Laughing, she gazed up into Darcy’s face. “Did you have time to miss me at all?”
“And you are…? Of course, little goose. I counted each second.” He smiled as he wrapped her within his arms. “Elizabeth, we have a trespasser.”
She turned her head and looked over at Fitzwilliam.
“You look lovely, Cousin,” he said sincerely.
Her eyes were beginning to moisten. “It’s so nice to hear you call me Cousin.” She walked quickly to him, her hands extended in greeting. Waggling his eyebrows, he ignored her hands to give her one of his great hugs.
“May I be the first non-spousal family member to kiss the bride?”
Darcy nodded, and Elizabeth beamed up at Fitzwilliam once again, offering her cheek for the kissing.
“Well, the married state certainly does agree with you, Elizabeth! You are positively glowing.” It was an emphatic statement of truth from Fitzwilliam. She did look lovelier, more alive than he remembered. “You look gorgeous and nearly as smug as your husband.” Darcy winced, thinking Lizzy would be mortified at the allusion. He was surprised and greatly relieved to see her in good spirits at her new cousin’s words.
“I highly recommend marriage, Colonel.” She took her place in the chair next to his, still holding tightly to his hand. “In fact, I have two unmarried sisters ready and eager for the altar.” She lowered her voice dramatically. “Beware.”
Their discussion was very animated, like two dear old friends meeting again after a long separation. Darcy sat back contentedly to watch, remembering the first time the two had met, several years before. Lizzy was visiting her friend Charlotte and Charlotte’s new husband, the Reverend Collins, vicar on the estate of the formidable Lady Catherine, while Darcy and Fitzwilliam were spending their annual Easter visit with their aunt.
At that visit to Rosings, when Lizzy and Richard would talk and laugh with each other, he remained aloof from them, envying as always his cousin’s easy charm, his way with words and strangers. He had felt unwanted and alone, his only consolation being the certainty that if Richard considered marriage at all, it would need to be an heiress, and Lizzy had been far from that. Fitzwilliam could not and would not encourage any serious tendre within himself for Elizabeth, even though it was obvious he was utterly charmed by her.
Now, assured of the love of his wife, Darcy could watch two of the people he treasured most in the world enjoy each other’s company and not feel excluded from their joy.
“Scotland and Wales were absolutely wonderful.” Lizzy’s face was animated. “I had never been beyond my own little garden before, except when lost in a book. What a revelation!”
“I have always thought so, but it’s much more exciting to see it fresh through the eyes of another.” He began reciting a list of his favorite haunts, some having been visited by the Darcys and others not, the surprise and slight disappointment of which showing clearly on her face.
“William, how stupid I am. How could we have missed Hadrian’s Wall?!” she gasped. Darcy winced at the name she had called him.
“William?” Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose slowly as he looked at Darcy. Ah, but this was going to be a great source of sport.
Darcy shot an irritated glance off to the side before answering. He could sense his cousin’s internal laughter. “Elizabeth, we did see Hadrian’s Wall, and you were annoyed at the obstruction to your daily walk. If you remember, the evening before we had indulged a little too much in champagne, and we were both suffering the effects of it.”
“William?” Fitzwilliam repeated, nasally this time, nearly licking his lips in delight.
“Yes, Fitz, now let’s get beyond it… Apparently Elizabeth felt having two Fitzwilliams in the family was too confusing.”
Richard beamed with pride at causing any sort of discomfort for his cousin. “Well, as it turns out, you are in grand company, Elizabeth. It also confuses Aunt Catherine, especially when she’s in her cups.” He laughed at Lizzy’s shocked hoot of surprise.
“Fitzwilliam is such a very formal sort of Christian name, isn’t it? It is much easier for me to just say William. Actually, I also was hoping to avoid the confusion I have when you both begin yelling ‘Fitz’ at each other.” Lizzy tried to school her face into a serious expression, but her mouth twitched at the sides.
“I could not agree more, dear Cousin.” Fitzwilliam attempted his own serious demeanor as he puffed on his pipe. “I’ve always felt Fitzwilliam an excellent surname but rather pompous for a first name. However, it could have been worse—much worse.” Fitzwilliam was rewarded with the expected groan from Darcy.
“You see, the gossip in the family is that his father could have married Lady Diana de Carsie. Apparently, at one time, the toddler Uncle George and the infant Lady Diana were quite an item within the nursery set.” He took another puff on his pipe. “And then, of course, our boy here would have been the one and only DeCarsie Darcy.”
Lizzy gave way to her laughter, and even Darcy was finding it difficult to retain his somber, disapproving countenance. He shook his head at his wife. “You only encourage him, Elizabeth, and it takes precious little to do that.”
At dinner, Fitzwilliam caught them up to date on all the gossip within the family, and with stories of the tenants at his father’s estate in Somerton, many of them childhood friends now grown men with families of their own, having taken over the family farms. He had been on extended leave from the military after Waterloo, traveling the months that followed, visiting his father, aunt, and uncles. Curiosity pecked at Elizabeth until she brought up the subject of Aunt Catherine, anxious to know if she was still as upset with them as she had been before the wedding.
“Aunt Catherine is in no better humor now, I’m afraid. No. Quite the contrary, as it happens. I was telling Darcy earlier that both your names evoke a tirade of abuse and the most fanciful accusations. Evidently, in her twisted mind, it was your use of feminine wiles, Elizabeth, that caused mankind’s expulsion from the Garden of Eden, and then, of course, Darcy’s arrogance initiated the Flood.”
Darcy’s hand suddenly rammed angrily into a bowl of fruit and grasped an innocent, unsuspecting orange. “Enough. The woman is demented. Our marriage is simply something to which she must become adjusted. She insulted Elizabeth and her family, and in so doing, she insulted me.” With an expression as black as pitch, Darcy commenced to vivisecting the orange. By the time he finished with said orange, it was completely dead, thoroughly dead, with no semblance remaining of its prior orange existence.
“That’s all well and good for you to say, old man, but now she’s so desperate that she has turned to me for management advice and help. I mean, really! She would have a better chance shooting an arrow into the ocean and impaling a carp than my comprehending all that gibberish.” As he spoke, he snatched the knife from Darcy’s clenched fist. “Come, Cousin, you know she loves you best. You were always her golden child, the second coming, her beau bebe garçon.”
Elizabeth sadly watched her husband as months of emotional breakthroughs and insights shattered like so much glass. He became more withdrawn, more aloof by the second, his face a cold mask of sobriety.
Suddenly, Darcy threw his napkin upon the table and stood. “Shall we go into the family salon for some brandy and cakes? I believe those chairs will be much more comfortable for Elizabeth than these hard ones.”
“I am in no discomfort here, William.” Elizabeth’s voice was very soft as she and Darcy shared a tense glance.
“Come on, Cousin, can’t you thaw a little? Seriously, Catherine is having real concerns with those tenants in the…” The look in Darcy’s eyes told him he needn’t finish.
“Richard, this is the last time I wish to talk about Lady Catherine. She has chosen her course, and I have chosen mine. Now let us go into the parlor and have no more discussion about it.” Darcy quickly left the room.
Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam in amazement. “I had hoped that the proud Mr. Darcy I met at Netherfield Hall had mellowed a bit. It appears, however, that we have regressed.”
“Damnation—excuse me, Elizabeth—you know, for both their sakes, I hope they find common ground soon,” he said gently. “This is hurting them.”
Fitzwilliam rose as the footman pulled back Elizabeth’s chair. “You know as well as I how stubborn he can be,” Elizabeth said. “It would appear that any attempt at reconciliation may well have to generate from Lady Catherine herself.”
“And from whom do you think he learned this damnable Fitzwilliam pride and stubbornness?” Richard smiled sadly and gave Elizabeth his arm as they followed Darcy into the parlor.
The end of the year came quickly, with private balls, public assemblies, house parties, and concerts. Elizabeth’s sister Jane and her husband, Charles Bingley, one of Darcy’s closest friends, arrived at Pemberley a month before Christmas, followed two weeks later by Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Kitty and Mary, the remainder of Elizabeth’s family. It was the first real opportunity for Darcy to socialize with Mr. Bennet, a gentleman for whom he discovered he had a great deal of empathy, especially after experiencing the constant attentions and fawning of Mrs. Bennet.
As rude and insulting as she had been to Darcy before his marriage to her daughter, she was now the complete reverse, hanging on his every word. (Reason and Mrs. Bennet never resided in the same location for very long.) She followed him constantly, all worshipful eyes and servile admiration. She murmured, she whispered, she gasped.
“See how he stands? A spine like a pitchfork, straight and true. He’s like a Roman statue, I’m sure: a true aristocrat!”
“Look how he butters his toast. Watch and learn!” she would remonstrate in all seriousness. “Watch and learn!”
Of course everyone had their particular favorite of her observations. Jane’s was, “You can always tell a gentleman’s character by how he eats his chicken.”
Charles’s was, “See how large his feet are? You know what that indicates, do you not?” Charles nearly choked at the dinner table the night that remark was made and glanced toward a red-faced Darcy.
When Lizzy’s mother nodded to one and all and explained, “The mark of a great mind,” they both exhaled loudly with relief.
When he sat to read, she would sit as near him as possible, somewhere behind, always in the great man’s shadow, near enough to worship, not near enough to intrude. If he looked up, she was at his side in a moment, inquiring if he needed anything—tea, wine, pillow, quill, ink—and she very shrilly castigated Elizabeth if she did not exhibit the same zeal in anticipating his wants.
He remembered how odd he had found Mr. Bennet’s behavior the first time he had sought him out at Longbourn when asking for Lizzy’s hand. The man could evaporate into thin air, would disappear into his library, sometimes walking off in the very midst of a conversation. Darcy now thoroughly shared his father-in-law’s literary fixation. That his own Pemberley library would be his only escape was obvious, and that had been within the first few minutes.
In fact, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet were embarrassed to find they had both scrambled to the library independently of each other the second night. They competed fiercely for first hand on the knob then slipped inside, waiting in the dark for several moments before lighting the candles. Charles Bingley, as always trying to be kindhearted, charming, and obliging, attempted to step up as host in Darcy’s absence, only to end up with the other men a mere half hour later.
It was still, though, a very pleasant family time, a precious and happy holiday marred only by the two or three angry chair-throwing free-for-alls most families experience during this holiest of seasons. On Boxing Day, Jane and Charles announced their expectancy to squeals and flutters and spasms. Sisterly confidences were exchanged and unlooked-for motherly advice loudly dispensed. Darcy and Bingley rode to freedom almost daily, and Mr. Bennet napped whenever possible. Days began to drag into weeks that felt like months, and finally, with a sigh of relief, the Darcys waved good-bye to her sisters and parents and settled into what would become a fateful new year.
It was the beginning of the year of our Lord, 1817. Winter had come to Pemberley.
At Easter, Fitzwilliam returned home from Spain to find the whole county stricken with some sort of fever, both his father and his aunt among them, Catherine attended by no less than three physicians who attempted in vain to keep her quiet and secluded. A tenuous truce between Richard and his older brother, Regis, held only for the length of time it took for their father to be on the mend.
He missed teasing Catherine and even missed her constant nonsensical lectures, the hours and hours of bizarre and unlooked-for advice on health and happiness that she felt obliged to provide as matriarch of the family.
Fitzwilliam stayed longer than his usual visit, sending word to the War Office, extending his leave, and left only when assured the two old lions were improving. By early May, he arrived at Pemberley for a shortened visit, happy to spend his last two weeks with the Darcys before returning to his regiment.
The cousins quickly fell into their old routine of competition and teasing, racing their horses and hunting, and in the evening, would sit with Lizzy and Georgiana, talking and laughing into the early hours.
By the second week, after another delicious dinner with conversation consisting mainly of family gossip, laughter, political opinions, and reminiscing, it was a visibly satiated Fitzwilliam who finished his meal and gave sincere compliments to the cook, which Elizabeth accepted with all formality and promised to pass on.
“By the way, how was Easter, Richard?” Elizabeth knew that his father had been ill. Her mother, too, had been fighting off the same malady.
“I didn’t know if I should mention anything.” His eyes darted uncertainly toward Darcy. “Truthfully, it was far less enjoyable than in prior years, without the brat here in attendance.” Fitzwilliam’s demeanor turned somber. Placing his elbows on the table, he hesitated then looked directly across the table at Darcy, seeming to choose his words very carefully. “You know, as well as my father, Aunt Catherine has been very ill. I don’t know if anyone has shared this with you as yet.”
Elizabeth saw Darcy’s body shift suddenly, spilling wine on his hand and the tablecloth. He swore slightly under his breath but didn’t take his eyes from Fitzwilliam.
“What is her complaint?” Elizabeth asked gently, sensing the question Darcy most wanted to ask but could not. He raised his glass slowly to his lips and held his breath, watching his cousin over the rim.
“Oh, it was the same as my father—cough and lung inflammation, high fever. In fact, Aunt Catherine was so ill that Cousin Anne began nursing her, if you can believe that. Truth be told, I think I have never seen Catherine worse or Anne happier.”
Darcy sipped his wine, returning the glass to the table. “Elizabeth’s mother has had a similar complaint. I’m sure it will pass with the warmer weather. What do her physicians say?”
“Well, that is exactly what they are hoping, and in fact, both Father and Catherine are much improved already. If you wish, I can have Father apprise you of her condition, should it change.”
Darcy hesitated. “Perhaps…”
Elizabeth saw the reluctance in his eyes and reached over to cover his hand with hers. “Yes, and thank you, Richard. We would very much appreciate your father keeping us informed.”
Darcy’s eyes shifted to hers and then stared sadly across her shoulder to the darkness outside.
The following morning, Elizabeth was reading in her favorite flower garden and enjoying the budding warmth and the moist smell of spring that had infused the air. She had recently confirmed with her doctor that she was also with child, and only she and William knew of it. It was still early in her pregnancy, a sacred time for them to enjoy privately as a couple, as well as a time that was making her sick to her stomach most mornings. This morning was no exception, and her nausea had awakened her very early.
Fitzwilliam appeared, a determined look upon his face.
“Well, I’m off tomorrow, I fear. I have just received a communiqué from Wellington. He’s fed up with my lazy bones and won’t allow me to put him off any longer. It appears I am needed for meetings with the allies in the coming months, and it may be a while before I am able to get leave again.”
“We’ll be unhappy to see you depart, Richard.” She placed her hand gently on his arm. “William has so enjoyed having you here, as have Georgiana and I.” Richard smiled and kissed her hand, then kept hold of it as he settled in next to her.
“Elizabeth, please see if you can persuade Darcy to end this strife with Aunt Catherine.” She seemed surprised at the intensity of his request.
“Truthfully, Richard”—Lizzy’s free hand gripped her shawl a bit closer and she looked down—“I am ashamed to admit how hesitant I am to reinstate their relationship, even if I could. I care little what she thinks of me, but she deeply hurt my husband, and that I find very hard to understand, let alone forgive.” She squeezed Fitzwilliam’s hand and smiled kindly. “However, I am truly very sorry that she was so ill.”
Fitzwilliam turned to look unseeing at the far horizon, at a loss as to how much he should confide, not knowing how many of the family secrets Darcy had as yet revealed to her. He leaned closer, touching his shoulder to hers, bending his head to speak in confidence. “I know she hurt you both, but perhaps you don’t know their history together, hers and Darcy’s.”
Elizabeth slowly put her book aside and turned toward him. “No, he has never told me anything, but I know his feelings run deeply for her.”
Sighing, Fitzwilliam rubbed hard at the back of his neck. “Well, where to begin? Were you at all aware that Catherine and George Darcy were very near to becoming betrothed? I thought not. It’s quite true, though. They were seriously in love from what I have been told. This is all wild family gossip, you understand, unsubstantiated and strictly confidential.”
Stunned beyond belief, Elizabeth could not speak for a moment. “I had no idea! What caused him to ask for her sister Anne’s hand instead?”
“Lord Louis de Bourgh was the cause, and Aunt Catherine’s pursuit of a title. At any event, that is what my father always believed. It was Catherine who put pin to their betrothal—she ran off with Lord Louis, figuratively speaking, and married him. Darcy’s father was devastated, brooded for several years. However, he was also very young, very handsome, and very healthy. Eventually he noticed Anne Fitzwilliam, Catherine’s baby sister, a child he had teased and laughed at for years. Well, the child had grown into an even more beautiful woman than Catherine. It was a happy day for them both when he turned to her for comfort. In any event, they soon developed a true love match and married.
“However, my father always believed Uncle George never fully forgave Aunt Catherine, though to his credit, he did not attempt to keep the two sisters apart. The women were famously close, supported each other through joys and sorrows; both had suffered several miscarriages before their firstborns. My father swore Darcy’s feet never touched the ground for his first four years, between Anne and Catherine. After his mother’s death when he was twelve, he was very often with Aunt Catherine—much more than I ever was.”
Elizabeth was speechless.
“Whatever Darcy may say to you now, it was Catherine who consoled him, took him into her home and comforted him when his mother died—after all, she shared his tremendous grief at Aunt Anne’s passing. Darcy remained at Rosings for several months while his father dealt with his overwhelming grief and his new baby daughter. Poor Darcy refused to be in the same room with Georgiana at first. It was Catherine who reassured him and told him that his mother had given her life for the babe, making Georgiana the most precious thing in the world. Obviously, Darcy, being the excellent man he is, soon cast himself as his sister’s protector and loved her unquestioningly, above everything else.”
Elizabeth rose to pace the garden. “My goodness, Fitzwilliam, she could have been his mother if she hadn’t chosen title over love”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “Please don’t let Darcy know that I have told you all this; however, I wanted you to be aware that there is a special history between the two of them, and both are hurting. If something should happen to Aunt Catherine, it will dearly affect Darcy.”
It was later, alone with her thoughts, that Elizabeth realized the full impact of what she had learned. No wonder William had been so unnerved by the news of Lady Catherine’s illness. She immediately felt she should do something or say something to him, but Fitzwilliam had sworn her to secrecy. She vowed to herself that she would think of something, some opportunity of repairing the rift between the two.
It was soon after Fitzwilliam’s departure, only a few days, while preparing for bed that Elizabeth mused again about Catherine—one of the few people who had ever taken a great dislike to her. It was human nature to want to be thought well of, and the notion that someone harbored such a disgust of her was unsettling. She could not think of another soul who had turned against her in that way, looking upon her with jealousy and hatred in their heart.
But wait. She was seated before her mirror, hairbrush in use. Wasn’t there was another person who had taken an instant aversion to me, and on as grand a scale as Catherine? The name itself sent shivers of resentment down Elizabeth’s spine.
Caroline Bingley.
Her hairbrush paused for just a moment. I haven’t thought of that harridan in months. She smiled to herself, embarrassed by the sheer depth of her own dislike. Caroline Bingley had been vicious and cruel when they first met, deliberately hurting not only Elizabeth but also inadvertently hurting the sweet Georgiana. Since her sister Jane’s marriage to Caroline’s brother, Charles, an uncertain truce had been called.
Jane had written her of Caroline’s newest affaire de coeur, a titled gentleman once again, a viscount and friend of both Charles’s and their sister, Mrs. Hurst. It was hoped by all that this time, Caroline had finally found happiness. Caroline Bingley and Lady Catherine. Two women she had known in her life who absolutely detested her. She absentmindedly braided her hair as she pondered.
Why? What could I have possibly done to either that they hate me so? The only common thread Elizabeth could imagine was Darcy. Yes, it had to be Darcy. Unthinkingly, she undid her braid once again, ran her fingers through the long tresses to unwind them, and began to brush. What was the main reason that caused women to hate other women?
Jealousy.
Elizabeth stopped her hairbrush in midstroke. They both loved Darcy. In different ways, of course, but the intensity of their love for Darcy had turned them both against the one person whom they perceived had taken him from them. Jealousy.
Caroline was in love with Darcy. Oh! Good heavens, Elizabeth. Only took you a year and a half to figure this one out—so much for your quick mind. I must ask him about this. I wonder if he knew how much Caroline may have loved him. Lizzy wrinkled up her nose in revulsion while a surprisingly belligerent-looking female stared back at her from the mirror. One eyebrow arched. Upon further reflection, perhaps it would be unwise to remind him. If he did know, it would only bring back those memories. If he did not know, it could cause him to think of what might have been. No, no, no, that’s ridiculous. I’m surely more secure than that.
She entered their bedroom to see her husband at the windows, staring pensively out over one of Pemberley’s beautiful small lakes, brooding thoughts apparently taking him a dozen miles away. There was a troubled look on his face that cleared immediately upon seeing her. “There you are, little one. Did you know I was watching you brush your hair for quite a while? You were so lost in your thoughts you braided and unbraided your hair twice.” Wearily, he rubbed his hand across his eyes as he walked toward her. “Have a care, Lizzy, you’ll be bald within the year, brushing with that much ferocity.”
He came to a stop before her, a contented smile on his face as his eyes swept lovingly over her. It was a pleasant surprise to him how her young woman’s body was already changing subtly with her expectancy—her delicate breasts beginning to swell, her slim hips becoming rounder. “How are we feeling? Has the child moved yet?” He pulled her into his arms, wrapping them protectively about her as he hugged her close.
She nuzzled into his chest. “Heavens no, we’re not even two months into this. I shouldn’t even have begun to show yet—or have I?” Like a purring cat, she rubbed her cheek against the exposed part of his open shirt and kissed his skin, the smell and warmth of it always arousing. “Do I look heavier?” Although she was laughing, she appeared nervous, vulnerable.
“No, of course not. You look beautiful, incandescent. You are Mother Earth.” He gave her bottom an affectionate pat as they walked toward the bed. Lizzy’s side had already been turned down, the counterpane folded neatly across the foot. She climbed in, and he tenderly covered her, then he blew out the candle on her nightstand.
“William…” she began as she held up his side of the comforter, smiling sweetly at him as he climbed in.
“Yeeessss, Mrs. Darcy…” He drew her body to him, kissing her soft, white neck, his hand moving sensuously down her side and around to cup that darling little bottom he loved so. Deeply inhaling the sweet powder scent at the swell of her breasts, he tugged the tiny bow of her nightgown open with his teeth.
“I have a rather delicate question to put to you.”
He groaned and chuckled. “Can’t it wait, Lizzy?” he murmured into her cleavage and then licked her there delicately. “I am otherwise occupied at the moment. Just getting to the good part, if you catch what I mean.”
He felt her body stiffen in his arms. “No, William, it cannot wait. Not if you want my full participation.” He stopped at once. It was very quiet as he lifted his head up to rest on his hand.
“Well, this sounds a trifle ominous. Very good, Mrs. Darcy, I am at your service. Ask away.”
In the darkness he felt more than saw Lizzy lean back onto her pillow, uncharacteristically hesitant and unsure of herself. It had been difficult for him to put brakes to his lust, but he sensed that something was bothering her this evening. Suddenly he became fearful about the pregnancy and braced himself up onto his elbow, trying to make out the look in her eyes. His hand brushed hair from her face then covered her stomach. “What is it, dearest? Is it the babe?”
“Did you ever have the feeling that Caroline Bingley was in love with you?” She blurted the question out before she could think twice.
He was startled, but initial relief quickly rushed through him, an amused grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “From where, in heaven’s name, is this question coming?”
She let out the breath she had been holding. “Nowhere, really. My mind just wandered as I brushed, grown weary, I suppose, of being concerned with nursemaids and new clothes for after the confinement. I believe it is a fairly straightforward question, however. Was she in love with you?”
“Caroline Bingley was involved with several men, Elizabeth.”
A premonition, only a slight quiver, touched at Lizzy’s heart.
“So I have heard repeatedly; however, that is not what I asked, is it?”
He remained very still for several moments, the room in quiet shadow. “Something must have motivated this line of thought. What has made you ask such a thing, Elizabeth?”
“Well, I was making a sort of mental comparison between Lady Catherine and Caroline.”
With that, Darcy gave a short laugh and quickly apologized. “Go on, dear, you were saying?”
“I believe that Lady Catherine took such a dislike of me because she loves you deeply and felt that I was taking you from her and her plans for your future. Caroline is the only other person I have ever known to take me into such disgust.”
They stayed without speaking for several moments. Either he has fallen asleep, or he’s upset with me. She fidgeted with the blanket edge, frustrated at not being able to clearly see his expression in the dark. Her heart was pounding.
“Elizabeth, I don’t wish to lie to you, and I really don’t think there would be any advantage to either of us if we continued with this conversation.”
Elizabeth stopped breathing before the sentence’s end. It was a while before she found her voice again. “It is a simple question, Mr. Darcy.” Raising herself onto her elbow, she turned toward him, steadying her voice as best as she could. “It requires a simple yes or no answer. I will not think badly of you if you realized that she was in love with you, and I will not think badly of you if that was something of which you were ignorant.” And I hope that’s all there is to this.
Abruptly, Darcy lay back down and turned his back to her. “I don’t believe it is in our best interest to converse about this any further. End of discussion, I’m afraid. Good night, Elizabeth.”
She had been dismissed.
It became deadly quiet in the surrounding universe, not a breeze nor a whisper nor a breath could be heard. Even the cicadas and frogs were stunned. Only the snores of the two mastiffs lying before the foot of their bed interrupted the quiet night. Elizabeth waited, terribly alone it seemed, for several minutes.
“William, are you angry with me?” she whispered but received no answer from his side of the bed.
Elizabeth was becoming extremely alarmed. Darcy was never cruel, always a gentleman. Oh, he could still be aloof at times, but never with her. She sat up in their bed to try for a better look at his countenance. The faint outline of her husband’s back in the dark revealed him to be facing the opposite wall of their bedroom.
“William?” she said softly. No answer.
“Fitzwilliam?” Still he did not answer.
Suddenly, a flash of perception, the unerring intuition of the female brain, illuminated her mind. She gasped.
“Mr. Darcy, did you have a love affair with Caroline Bingley?”
His silence was deafening. Elizabeth’s heart pounded as she repeated the question, a little louder and much more strident. She roughly shoved his shoulder.
“Mr. Darcy, did you have sexual congress with Caroline Bingley?!”
His continued silence was all the answer she really required by that point. She scrambled from the bed, refusing to allow any part of her body to be contaminated by him, and stared down at that dark and now-evil form. It was as if Satan himself had crawled into bed between them. Eventually, he rolled onto his back then ran his fingers roughly through his hair. Next, he sighed. He then said the words all women dread to hear.
“Elizabeth, it was such a long time ago.”
The following morning brought a surprise to Darcy’s majordomo. When he entered the couple’s bedchamber, the fire in the grate was completely cold, and the bed was empty. He looked in mild apprehension around an apparently deserted room. He knew instantly that something was dreadfully wrong as he scanned the broken vases and overturned books. The two dogs, Buck and Milo, looked up. They had been calmly ripping apart several bed pillows between them, feathers laying everywhere. Happy woofs were their greeting to Bradford, anticipation of their imminent run outside and breakfast sent tails loudly thumping. There was, however, no sign of human life anywhere.
It was clear that the bed had been entered at some point, but the covers were still in an almost pristine condition, not wrestled about, half off the bed and half on, as on most mornings. A movement on the settee in the adjoining sitting room, a figure covered by a great quilt, caught his eye.
The form groaned and turned toward the light streaming in through the windows where Bradford had just pulled back the curtains to reveal the extent of destruction. The form was Mr. Darcy!
He shielded his eyes quickly from the brightness, and once he had made out who the intruder was, put up his hand in greeting. “Bradford, good morning. Terribly sorry for this mess.” He waved his arm vaguely to encompass the bedroom and then the rest of London. He let his head crash back down on the sofa.
He looked hideous—well, as hideous as the handsome Mr. Darcy could look. Bradford slowly entered farther into the room, now seeing broken picture frames and torn clothing, overturned chairs and one or two mirrors balanced precariously on their sides in the corners.
“Is everything all right, sir?” It was an absurd question. Clearly evident were the remains of the couple’s first out-and-out brawl. It was also painfully evident to him that Darcy and Elizabeth, for the first time in their young marriage, had not slept in the same bed.
Darcy moaned and turned his face into the sofa again. “Mrs. Darcy and I have had a bit of a contretemps.” He then slowly pulled the cover up over his head.
In another first in their relatively short months of wedded bliss, there was no evidence of the mistress of the house at breakfast, her most favored meal, or again at lunch, her other most favored meal. Several of the staff began to speculate about dinner and if the bottom of the lake should be investigated. The gossip in the servants’ hall would stop whenever Bradford came through but revived the moment his door closed.
Darcy paced back and forth, alternately angry and contrite, unsure of what to do or how to say it. How could he explain something that had happened so long ago, at a time when he was incredibly naïve?
He had been introduced to the lovely Caroline Bingley by his older and hopelessly randy cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, during a fashionable dinner party at Carlton House. A favorite with the high flyers, Caroline had been much younger when she initiated her ultimately unsuccessful campaign to barter morals for an advantageous match. Alas, when push came to shove, she was only a tradesman’s daughter, and always would remain one.
She had pursued the incredibly handsome newcomer, Darcy, until he succumbed after a night of heavy drinking and unsuccessful gaming. It had been a satisfying three hours, vaguely remembered, but three hours that he never cared to repeat. It had meant little to him then and was conveniently forgotten with time.
Standing before his wife’s sitting-room door, he was prepared to knock but hesitant. How could they discuss this problem in an adult, rational manner when they appeared to be one rational adult short? The Elizabeth he had seen last evening was a stranger to him, a spoiled child with her screeching and outrage. The behavior she exhibited had confused him; her lack of emotional control baffled him. He stared at the closed door and sighed. What could he do? God alone knew how much he missed his beloved angel and closest friend, and that after only one night apart. Why, he missed her so much that he wanted to strangle her. This was ridiculous; he was head of his household, after all. He would simply demand she listen to him.
Darcy abandoned that idea when the first flowerpot hit the wall.
“Elizabeth!” He was shocked, his indignity magnified as he spun around clumsily to avoid being crowned by a water pitcher that sailed just to the left of his head and hit the doorframe. “This is insupportable! This is outrageous! You cannot throw water pots!”
“You are right yet again, Mr. Darcy. It would not usually be my first choice. I personally believe it’s because their center of gravity is so low. If you will but allow me another opportunity, I will switch to statuettes! My ability with those has grown leaps and bounds!” He quickly closed the door before it was smashed, fittingly, by a small replica of Cupid, and leaned his back against the frame, his hands fisted at his waist. Well, it’s obvious that she has lost her mind. Darcy prided himself as always on his calm, his reasoning capabilities. I am married to a madwoman. How much more ridiculous could this argument become? A fit caused by an affair that had happened so long before her, not even an affair really—more a frisky moment. Did she believe he had lived like a monk all those years?
“Elizabeth!” he called through the closed door, “will you please allow me to enter so that we can discuss this rationally, like adults?” He heard nothing from within. “Oh cut line, Lizzy, please give me a chance to explain.”
“There is nothing in the world you could say to me at this moment, sir. We are through. I never want to set eyes upon you again. Would you be so good as to help me pack my things and drive me to my father’s house?”
“Elizabeth, you are being incredibly foolish. Any association I had with Caroline Bingley happened ages ago, before my friendship with Charles.”
Darcy never imagined that his sweet, beloved, elfin wife could be capable of such rage. Of course, he had never before been subjected to the delicate sentiments of a pregnant woman. It was ghastly. He grew truly concerned when he heard her sobs begin, and then her labored breathing coming in gasps. “Sweetheart, think of the child and calm down.”
After several moments, the door slowly opened. “Speak,” she commanded as she turned to walk back into the room. She then sat in regal silence, her eyes red-rimmed and her hair sticking out Medusa-like from her head.
Darcy took a few steps in and closed the door behind him. “Now you are being sensible. Good thing you let me in; I believe the servants were beginning to suspect something was amiss.”
She lifted her hairbrush threateningly.
“All right, all right.” Raising both his hands in a plea for truce, he took a seat directly opposite her. Where to begin? How to begin? “It happened years ago, a short time before I first met Bingley, when Fitzwilliam and I returned from our grand tour. We were both just out of university.”
An unblinking Elizabeth gazed straight past him, her hairbrush still poised to attack at any moment.
“It is all Fitzwilliam’s fault, you know. He introduced me to Caroline. They had met through a mutual acquaintance, an officer friend of both, and I have to admit I thought she was very, very pretty.” With that, Elizabeth turned cold, dead eyes to Darcy. They narrowed on him dangerously. “Well, she is, or was, anyway. Maybe one ‘very’ would have been sufficient, eh?” When Elizabeth didn’t respond to his jest, he continued with the narrative.
He rubbed his hands nervously across his thighs. “As I was saying,” he began, “it was after a gathering we had all attended, one of many that had been, well, more than a bit wild and bawdy, and we, uh, all had a great deal too much to drink, and… and…”
“You are a drunkard and a debaucher. Thank you. I feel ever so much better.” She was not letting him off the hook so very easily.
“Well, I was not her first, Elizabeth, if that’s what you’re implying. I was no seducer of an innocent.”
Elizabeth allowed an exaggerated eyebrow to rise. “Oh, really?” Suddenly her mood became ferocious. “How many times were you with her?” she barked out. The Spanish Inquisition had been more gregarious.
“Once. Well, twice actually, but both on the same night. The first time, I believe I fell asleep on her. Well, not exactly on her…” The lethal hairbrush was quickly on the rise again.
“Does Bingley know?” she snapped.
“Good Lord, I hope not. No one knows except you… and Fitzwilliam. She had several men before me, Lizzy, and after me, too. She had become quite legendary. Just ask him.”
Lizzy’s eyeballs opened wide. “Really? He also…?” she asked, more interested now in acquiring the ton gossip than her own problems. Darcy didn’t really know for sure, but Fitzwilliam had introduced them and had been mildly attracted to her, as well, had spent some time with her, and knowing Caroline, it was very possible. “Don’t be naïve, Lizzy.” What the hell. “Yes, of course Fitzwilliam, too. He’s no saint, you know.”
She lowered the hairbrush. “Well… once I could somewhat imagine, when you were exceedingly drunk. Blind and deaf as it were. But twice tells me you regretted missing out on the first and waited around to have a try at her again.” Her lower lip quivered in a small pout, and her arms crossed in front of her.
“I was very young, and she was making herself extremely available. Men are different than women.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and harrumphed. All at once she looked exhausted and defeated. “That, Mr. Darcy, is one of the sorriest excuses ever used by men for their abysmal behavior. And believe me, sir, I have never found the comparison used in a good light.” She placed the hairbrush down onto her dresser. “Is there anyone else I need worry about from your wild and reckless youth?”
“No, of course not, Elizabeth. Not unless we happen to meet Elinor Prescott-Pickard at a ton function,” he muttered and tried to think of the odds that they would come in contact with Jennie Dewar or her twin sister, Lady Cathie, more Carlton House lovelies. Elizabeth grunted and massaged her sleepy eyes.
“Will you come back to our bed tonight?” he asked softly, and she nodded after making him wait just a few minutes longer.
“Will you forgive me for not telling you sooner?”
Again she nodded, and he could see that the storm had passed. “William?”
“Yes, Lizzy?”
Her eyes began to twinkle. “Can we get some food sent up, please? I am famished. See if Cook can make up some spinach-and-cheese puffs. And some ham. Maybe those tarts we had last week—the cherry ones. Oooh, and honey. I have a craving for honey with pickles…”
Darcy walked over and quite energetically pulled her into his arms.
“One more thing”—she looked deeply in his eyes—“I do not want to be in the same room ever again with Caroline Bingley, is that understood?” Darcy nodded in agreement. He was so relieved, he would have agreed to most anything. This was an easy promise.
“I will have to explain something to Jane. I don’t know what I would do if I ever saw that husband-stealing, wretched, common tart person again!”
Not many of life’s wishes and dreams can come true, and certainly Lizzy’s hopes to avoid Caroline were thwarted almost immediately. A short while after Lizzy’s porcelain-throwing demonstration, and much to everyone’s surprise, Lizzy’s mother passed away quietly in her sleep. She had been a relatively young woman, merely in her late forties, and so, although the poor woman had been ailing for quite some time, complaining for years, in fact, the first impression in the little town of Meryton was that the doctor must be exaggerating the seriousness of her condition, might want to examine her again. After all, she was known far and wide as a sound sleeper.
When her demise was confirmed, the second impression was that it was such a pity—she had so counted on her husband dying first.
Jane and Lizzy both agreed that their mother must be absolutely furious, wherever she was. There was a cruel injustice in this, of her being denied time to reap the rewards of having her two eldest daughters so wealthy and well situated, and then there was her youngest married to a handsome, if disreputable, commissioned officer. Three of five daughters married within a year. It was almost biblical. Why, she was a female Moses having led her two remaining unmarried daughters to the very edges of the Promised Land and then not being allowed to enter.
For his part, Mr. Bennet was certainly as put out as his wife, possibly more so, horrified at finding himself suddenly alone at the forefront of his family, a man who had paid little if any attention to their needs before. He had no idea of what to do, so he did what had worked so well for him in the past. He went into his library and remained there, never to come out, at least not until he was absolutely certain that the body had been examined by her physician and carted away, and positively not a moment before he had handed the unpleasant responsibility of funeral arrangements to his son-in-law, Darcy. A situation which seemed completely natural to all concerned.
The funeral day had the appropriate grey cast along with a slight drizzle of rain when the little group of mourners gathered around the open grave site. Mr. Bennet stood with Kitty and Mary on either side. Darcy had a protective arm around Lizzy, while Charles was doing the same with Jane. The only one of the sisters not there was Lydia, who was due to deliver her third child at any moment and could not make the journey south.
Charlotte and Mr. Collins, Charlotte’s parents, and one or two representatives of the Meryton community were also there. It was not a large group, but a group that sincerely mourned the passing of a member from their small circle.
If anyone had asked her opinion, however, Elizabeth would have suggested that there was one too many mourners for her liking at the funeral. A very uninterested Caroline Bingley was spied yawning in the background, shivering and rolling her eyes at the Reverend Collins’s heavenly words. Jane had been delivered safely of a baby girl a few weeks prior to her mother’s passing, so Caroline and her sister and brother-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, were already residing at Netherfield Hall, Charles and Jane’s leased manor house situated a few miles from Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s home.
“We’ll return to your father’s house and have a short rest.” Darcy cupped his wife’s elbow, steering her in the direction of Longbourn and to their room after the early morning burial with its damp air. “I’ll have them get a nice warm fire going for you. We’ve plenty of time before the luncheon at Netherfield.” They were staying in her old bedroom, the one she had at one time happily shared with her older sister. It was a charming reflection of both Jane’s and Lizzy’s distinct personalities—flowery wallpaper, chair flounces and pink bows alongside books, a writing desk, walking boots and stick. The drizzle of rain had thankfully stopped, leaving behind only the clouds and gloom. Lizzy nodded to her husband, and so the couple made their excuses and returned for a nap before venturing to Jane and Charles’s home.
Relieved of her gown and ankle-length pantalets, Elizabeth scooted onto the bed and snuggled into the pillows feeling warm and cozy, her stomach finally settling down from its daily pilgrimage upward. It was such a relief knowing that she could now relax, but not so her wonderful husband. Her exhaustion, her health, her pregnancy, all were his now constant concern, often causing him sleepless nights.
As she sipped her hot chocolate, she prattled on to him about the morning service and how kind everyone had been and about the pretty flowers. However, her speech became quieter and her words stilled completely the moment he began undressing for bed. He possessed a magnificent figure, the viewing of which she never tired, and his regimented routine always fascinated her. It rarely varied.
He first loosened his neck scarf and waistcoat, then sat erectly upon a chair to remove his boots. Next he stood and unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs, careful as always to place any jewelry on the nightstand beside the bed. His waistcoat, scarf, and shirt were next removed in that order, folded and draped with the utmost care across the back of his chair. After unbuttoning his breeches, he sat at the edge of the bed and yanked them off, folded them, and laid them neatly across her old dresser.
“Oh, bravo.” She clapped, grinning impishly.
He turned and arched his eyebrow at her.
“You zany scamp—you have unhinged me with your recklessness.”
His eyebrow went somehow higher.
“You unbuttoned your pants before you sat on the edge of the bed, and not after, as is your usual order. Such extreme behavior—whatever possessed you to such flights of abandon?”
“Are you quite finished?” His lips twitched with humor as he lowered himself back onto the bed and let out a heartfelt sigh. “Now please be quiet. You are exhausted and need your sleep. All I ask is one uninterrupted hour, Elizabeth.”
“Did you see who was at the grave site?”
He groaned.
She was snuggling farther down into the covers while motioning toward her aching back, so he slipped his hand down within her chemise and kneaded and rubbed until her tense muscles began to relax, the warmth and firmness of the back rub quickly beginning to loosen all the anxiety of the sad morning. Giving her shoulder a quick kiss when he finished, he pulled his wife’s backside against him, and they then easily fell into their normal spooning position from home, fingers intertwined together, arms laced, and hugs secured.
“Did you hear what I asked you?”
“Yessss.” He sighed, no immediate sleep in sight. “I imagine you are speaking of Lady Catherine and Fitzwilliam. I saw them only briefly, and they were gone before I could approach.” In truth, he felt very guilty that he had not contacted her directly during her illness, only receiving reports from Fitzwilliam and her doctors. The sight of her there today shamed him and brought to the forefront of his mind the folly of holding this grudge. Life was short, he was learning, and never to be taken for granted.
“She looked very pale and fragile, did she not?”
“Yes, she did.” She could feel him shift uneasily. “I’m not that surprised that she was there, really,” he said quietly. “In some fuzzy area of her brain she has accepted that you are part of her family, and family obligations are paramount to her.”
They were silent for a moment. He pulled another cover over them.
“Did you remove your stockings?”
“Elizabeth, I beg of you to be quiet.”
She was, for a moment.
“If you don’t remove them, your feet will become very warm, and then you shall have nightmares. And your boots will smell.”
His teeth ground for an instant, but he contained himself. “I never have nightmares—largely due to the fact that I seldom sleep anymore. And my boots do not smell.”
They were silent. He suddenly sat up and removed his stockings, again placing them with the utmost precision atop her dresser.
He’d make a fine valet, she thought briefly. Best not to voice that opinion out loud.
They were silent.
“Did you see Caroline Bingley?”
Darcy fought back an unpleasant curse. He was learning that infinite patience needed to walk hand in hand with marriage. “Yes, dear, I did. Will you be all right with Caroline there today?” he whispered.
“Yes, of course.” It was so quiet in their little room. “The real question is, will you?”
Gently he turned her chin, tilting her head back toward him.
“Elizabeth, let sleeping dogs lie.”
She smiled and nodded, kissing his mouth tenderly, but her heart and her newfound insecurities were fighting a silent battle with logic. She gave out a noncommittal “mm-hmm.”
Darcy sighed. This is going to be a long week.
The prior evening, Fitzwilliam had dreaded another lecture from Aunt Catherine. For two hours, she had vacillated between arguments for going to the funeral to pay her respects, or for not going and continuing the family conflict. In the end, as he knew it would, family duty won out over personal pride, and her carriage took them the long thirty miles to Meryton for the funeral, returning them back to Rosings almost immediately afterward.
Upon their arrival back to Rosings Park, Fitzwilliam barricaded himself within the business office with orders to all who would listen that he was not to be disturbed, unwilling to admit the fact that he was thoroughly mystified by his own accounting methods of a previous visit. He pulled at his hair and muttered vile obscenities, searching through what seemed like hundreds of receipts and reports and tenant requests. Everything looked the same, and nothing added up or made any sense.
Lady Catherine’s daughter, Anne, was in her bedroom suite, fearful that somehow a remnant of the illness that had felled Mrs. Bennet would return doggedly attached to her mother or cousin. She breathed into a boiling pot of clove-and-basil ointment, clutching a towel around her head, allowing only her paid companion to accompany her.
So it was that Lady Catherine sat alone that evening, her memories agitated, her ire poking the embers of her thoughts into flames as if bringing a dimming hearth fire to life on a winter morning.
It is insupportable…that he should look so well, never missed me at all, the ingrate! Where is the loyalty among the young these days? He’s even gained a little weight! Dread flooded her confused brain . Or, perhaps that is water retention. Oh no, the poor dear is retaining water. Oh, dear God, he probably has developed serious heart ailments of which he is not even aware!
Fitzwilliam burst into the room. “Do we grow peas?!”
She was startled, her thoughts still agitated. Already mourning the passing of her beloved Darcy, she stared at him several moments before she could respond. “What… yes, I believe we have lentils, peas, and barley on some farms to the north.” She gulped back the sense of foreboding that always arose when Fitzwilliam attempted anything agricultural. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing… nothing…” He began to close the door then stopped, staring intently back at her, nearly obscured within the deep shadows of the doorframe. “By the by, have you ever heard of gray mold?” She could see he was clutching a written report her estate manager had prepared shortly before the accident that had incapacitated him for nearly eight months. She let out a whimper.
The day following the funeral an exceedingly kind note was delivered from Elizabeth to Rosings Park. Among many pleasantries and concerns expressed for her health, Elizabeth thanked Lady Catherine for attending the funeral and expressed her sincere hope that they would see her again soon.
Very courteous, very proper, Lady Catherine thought to herself, so pleased was she that her heart began to thump again, the cavernous labyrinth of her rather bizarre mind beginning to expand and contract with plans and machinations.
“It is as I have always said,” she spoke aloud to her daughter, Anne, as the young woman sat testing her vision by placing one hand alternately over each of her eyes. “Breeding is inbred, Anne, remember this. It cannot be crushed by paucity of means. A gentleman is a gentleman to his bones, and his offspring cannot help but absorb this.”
Anne gave an involuntary shudder and checked the pulse on her left wrist. She compared this to her right. They differed. She was doomed.
“Perhaps I was too harsh on the girl, even though she rudely spurned all my attempts to help her. The poor thing must be in want of a mother’s direction now. It really never was her fault that she was so impertinent or ill mannered; after all, she never had the advantages that should have been hers, had she had a more civilized upbringing.” Catherine glanced toward her daughter for verification, a daughter who now held two fingers against her neck to verify her previous pulse readings. “Anne, you have such exquisite posture, and you know you look absolutely glowing in that shade of lavender.”
Anne wheezed.
As excited as Catherine was becoming, she was hard put to retain any sort of dignified expression. “Imagine that mother attempting to raise five daughters without a governess! My goodness, how can a young girl possibly be expected to acquire any polish in that havey-cavey sort of atmosphere? I always felt that was odd, didn’t you? Her mother alone was obviously not up to such a task. Yes. Well, I can understand now how dear Elizabeth could have resented my kind offers of assistance.”
Catherine turned sharply toward her butler, the man innocently bringing in her afternoon tea and cakes. “It was never her fault, after all. I hope you realize that now!” she snapped.
Jamison automatically inclined his head for forgiveness.
“The poor dear had no training. None whatsoever! Think on that, Jamison, and try to show a little compassion in the future!”
“I am desolate, your ladyship.” The penitent Jamison bowed and backed out of the room.
“Fitzwilliam, are you in there? Fitzwilliam!” she called out as the footman forced the business-office doors open. “Why has this door been bolted?” When she looked closer at her nephew, she saw that he looked like death itself, his hair standing on end, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his side. “Whatever is the matter?” She saw nothing but disaster in his bloodshot eyes.
“Evidently we took care of that gray mold, but now—brace yourself, woman—now we may have leaf yellowing. Damnation for this cursed bad luck of ours!” He took a giant pull straight from the bottle. “By the way, what the hell is leaf yellowing?”
“Do not tell me that you spent two hours last Easter boring me to tears with your explanation of Linnaean taxonomy and you cannot figure out what leaf yellowing is. They are leaves that turn yellow, and we eliminated them last month.”
He growled, slamming his hand down on the desk in exasperation.
Crossing to his side Catherine began to rummage wildly through a disordered pile of receipts from the desk. “Are you still trying to do those books?” she demanded incredulously.
“I am not altogether convinced that your estate manager had an accident.” He snatched the receipts back. “He was more than likely taking the easy out and attempting suicide.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I would never allow him to commit suicide before he finished the books! You must be mad.” She promptly walked around to the front of the desk.
“We are going to visit Longbourn tomorrow morning. Please arrange for the carriage to be ready at nine.”
Fitzwilliam grimaced and rubbed his hand raggedly over his face, slouching farther into the chair. She had a scrawny old neck that he could break like a twig. Tossing his pen onto the desk, he cast a malevolent look at her.
“Gracious, toughen up, will you? Why, when I was your age, I was a wife and a mother and the most brilliant hostess in all of London. I could throw a party for three hundred, go without sleep for days on end, and yet be ready at a moment’s notice for Lord Louis’s political meetings. I will have you know, young man, that in those long ago days, my opinion was greatly regarded in the highest circles of government.”
“Excellent,” he said as he handed her the ledger and walked from the room. “Then you finish up—I’m going to bed.”
Late the following morning, Elizabeth and Jane were resting in their mother’s room, looking through some of her keepsakes. To Elizabeth’s amusement, there was little to be found among them of her childhood or, for that matter, the childhood of any of her sisters, but Jane’s life was on display from birth until her marriage. Locks of hair, notes on her progress, dance cards from assemblies.
“I seem to have been somehow misplaced in here”—she smiled and indicated the albums—“along with my poor sisters, save but one.”
Jane was humming a lullaby as she sat in her rocker, nursing her baby. “I was the first born, Lizzy. Firstborns are always fussed over more.”
“I am not offended, Jane. I only wish I could have had the kind of closeness with my mother that you enjoyed.”
“I truly think she would have wanted that, too, but then you were always much closer to Father, weren’t you? You and Father were both cleverer than the rest of us. I imagine it probably intimidated her.”
Lizzy leaned over to stroke the head of the baby as it nursed, then touched her own stomach absently. Darcy and she had decided that no one would be told of her pregnancy until they were reasonably certain that it would be successful.
They sat in silence for several minutes, Lizzy poring over old letters and Jane staring contentedly out the window.
“Lizzy?”
“Yes, dearest?”
“I noticed at luncheon yesterday that you avoided Caroline but spoke with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Do you still feel a strained relationship with Charles’s sister?”
Lizzy broiled inside at the very thought of that wanton but schooled her appearance to appear complacent. It was neither the time nor place to have her talk with Jane about Caroline.
“I am sorry if in any way I offended you or Charles. It was not my intention. I was only lost in my own thoughts.”
“I don’t think anyone noticed.” Jane placed her baby across her shoulder to rub its back. A small burp, one of a mother’s greatest rewards, quickly followed. She settled the child at her other breast. “Darcy was attentive to her, kind and thoughtful as always, so I don’t think she noticed anything untoward.”
Lizzy froze. “Was Darcy speaking with her? I hadn’t realized.” She spoke evenly as she refolded the letters. At that moment, a terrified-looking serving girl knocked on the door. With a pale face and a trembling voice, she whispered that there were visitors downstairs.
Since purchasing his commission in the spring of 1806, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had been involved in the worst battles of the Peninsular War, from the Battle of Vimeiro in 1808 through Coruna, Porto, Talevera, counter attacks at Fuentes de Onoro, Ciudad Rodrigo, pushing eastward to Salamanca, Vitoria, Maya, and into France. He had suffered through unthinkable deprivations, unbearable heat and mind-numbing cold, sloshed through mud and ice storms, fought savagely amid the slaughter and brutality of men driven insane with hatred and revenge.
And yet… all these seemed preferable to sitting across from his aunt Catherine for the two-and-one-half-hour carriage ride from Rosings Park to Lizzy’s family home, Longbourn. If she poked his knee one more time with that bony finger of hers, she would be retracting a bloody stump.
“Cut line, Catherine!” he finally hissed.
“I beg your pardon! I realize I am old, Fitzwilliam, and feeble…” He snorted his opinion of that. “… and feeble,” she yelled, indicating with a circle of her finger her heart area, “but I do believe that as matriarch of this family I have a right, nay, a certain obligation to point out the error of your excesses. Never mind that you are involved in illicit relationships with opera dancers and shop girls. Never mind that you cuckold titled members of the aristocracy…” Suddenly she halted midscreech, looking confused.
“Well, please don’t stop there, Aunt. That cannot be the end of your tirade, surely. We have another hour yet to go sealed within this tomb of horrors, and you have not even begun to mention my excessive drinking, my indifference to my heritage, or my disloyalty to Somerfield House.”
“Yes!! Oh, thank you, Richard, thank you. I knew there was something I had forgotten!” She laughed. “La, my mind sometimes…”
Fitzwilliam moaned.
The demon reentered her body. “You do realize that idiot brother of yours has yet to marry and produce an heir. Of course, I have tried to reason with him, but he’s nonsensical, prancing about with those artist friends of his. You have obligations, young man, to your family, and yes, to your heritage. Heaven knows what you see in these loose women…” She flung up her hand. “Do not even dare to speak of it to me. I can interpret an eyebrow waggle when I see one! Only destruction and misfortune can come from this behavior. There is no future with harlots, as well you know. You are behaving like the very worst rakehell of Carlton House.”
“Forgive me, but is there a very best type of rakehell?”
“This amuses you? If your sainted mother were alive today, this would kill her. Your health is failing you, Richard. Your career will be affected. I demand that you settle down and marry immediately. Why can you not select from the daughters of the many excellent families that are within our circle? My goodness, Pamela Tyson Briggs must be nearly twenty years old and has the hips of a good breeder.”
“She has the hips of a good rhinoceros,” he mumbled.
And the discussion began its inevitable spiral downward after that.
The carriage arrived at Longbourn at nearly half past noon. It was a vastly improved Longbourn from when Lady Catherine had last visited, that horrible day when she confronted Elizabeth, shouting out her views on the unsuitability of any sort of relationship between the poor country girl and Darcy.
Both Darcy and Bingley had together refurbished and beautified the old household of their in-laws. The garden was once again fine-looking, the house itself painted, the roof repaired, the drainage problem that had flooded the front yard and back was easily solved by Darcy, and the inside saw new wallpaper, sofas, tables, and draperies courtesy of Bingley.
It was an elegant little manor house that now stood before Catherine as Fitzwilliam handed her down from the carriage and they began to walk up the drive.
“Well, it seems quite an unexceptional home,” she offered kindly. “Much better than I remembered.” Perhaps the girl was not as much beneath her nephew as she had believed. Guiding her by the elbow, Fitzwilliam proceeded to lead her down a lovely little walkway through the front flower garden, a path that was lined by a beautiful low box hedge. It was a lovely day, the quiet interrupted only by the chirping of the blackbirds, the robins, the Tits—Blue, Great and Coal.
When they reached the first of four stepping stones that led to the main front veranda, a strange sort of keening noise began, faintly at first, growing louder and nearer in proximity. They stopped, quizzically looking first at each other and then about them. The sound grew more strident.
It was then that a medium-sized porker appeared from around the back of the house, streaking across their path and squealing at an ear-deafening pitch, followed closely by a barefoot, unkempt serving boy wielding a butcher knife and swearing like a drunken sailor. Catherine gripped Fitzwilliam’s arm and tightly closed her eyes.
They stood frozen for several moments. “Steady on, old girl.” Fitzwilliam struggled valiantly against the urge to laugh.
Catherine stared straight before her and swallowed. “Richard, really… you know how… Richard, I dislike… cant terms… such as ‘old girl’… Was that a pig?!” she finally spit out.
His chin hit his chest as he bit his upper lip. It was a while before he could speak. “Actually, I believe that was dinner.”
She winced and paled.
“Remember, dearest, in warfare it is always best to choose your battles.” He squeezed her elbow gently. “Shall we proceed?”
She shut her eyes again and nodded.
Compassion replaced the apprehension that had nearly paralyzed Lizzy after sending the serving girl to find Darcy. There was true anxiety in the face and mannerisms of the proud woman who stood before her, and Lizzy curtseyed respectfully to her new aunt. “Lady Catherine, I cannot tell you how happy we are that you are here.”
Catherine nodded, nervously shifting her feet. “I am very sorry for your loss, Elizabeth. Please accept my condolences to you and to your family.” Her voice wavered only once, and she cleared her throat, pulling fretfully at her gloves before continuing. “It was never your mother’s fault, nor her wish, I am sure, that her garden is so small.” Fitzwilliam turned his head to the side, coughing once to cover his bark of laughter.
“That is very kind of you to say, Lady Catherine.” Lizzy motioned for them to be seated. “Your condolences are dearly appreciated.”
“It’s Aunt Catherine, now, Elizabeth.” Catherine bestowed upon her a brief, strained smile that quickly faded. She stared at the ceiling, perhaps hoping to discover written there some mutually enjoyable topic of conversation. Finding nothing, she sighed.
“It’s good to see you also, Richard, dear friend. How are you able to be away from Paris at this time?”
“I am on the diplomatic circuit, Elizabeth. I have been shuttling between London and Paris for several weeks now.”
At that moment, Darcy entered the room. “Your ladyship,” he said quietly as he walked toward his aunt and bowed, taking both her hands to kiss. Her eyes were on Darcy and him alone now. She fought back a warm smile that would have betrayed her joy, but her eyes grew moist with emotion.
“You look very well, Darcy, indecently so. Marriage certainly agrees with you. How is your heart?” She poked her finger into his hand to see if an indentation remained which would expose his water retention. There was none. She nodded in relief and smiled.
“My heart is quite well, Aunt Catherine. Thank you.” He took a step toward Fitzwilliam, and they both shrugged at each other before pulling up their chairs.
The four sat down and made small talk for a while, Elizabeth surprised that her reaction to Lady Catherine was so different from their initial meeting. Perhaps living with Darcy has made me more compassionate. A strong feeling of love for this new family of hers welled up within her.
Like Darcy, Catherine was accustomed to a world where people jumped when she spoke, where people never entertained the thought of voicing an opinion contrary to hers. The Darcys and the de Bourghs and, for that matter, the Fitzwilliams, all took for granted their world of privilege, would know no reaction to their existence other than acquiescence to whatever they wished.
Experiencing a surge of empathy for Catherine, Lizzy noted the way the older woman looked at Darcy, all the love of a mother toward her own son. In the end, it turned out they had something very important in common after all—they both loved him dearly. Absently, Lizzy placed a hand on her stomach. She must have had a smile on her face, because she noticed Catherine was looking straight at her.
“Elizabeth?” Catherine looked deeply into Elizabeth’s eyes. “You are with child, aren’t you?” Elizabeth’s and Darcy’s heads shot up with a start, and Fitzwilliam let out a hoot.
“Are you, Elizabeth?” he asked with delight.
Darcy knew not what to say, but Elizabeth answered happily, “Yes, Aunt Catherine, I am.”
“All right, Catherine, I realize you know all and see all, but how on earth did you divine that?” His aunt amazed Fitzwilliam with her ability to wheedle information from people that they had previously been able to keep secret from the rest of humanity.
“Well, Fitzwilliam, if you did something more than ride horses all over the Continent, drink inferior brandy, and chase loose women, you would be able to spend some time studying human nature. Elizabeth has placed a gentle hand on her stomach each time I have asked about her health, and then she has looked contentedly at her husband.” Catherine smiled proudly.
“You are a wonder, Aunt!” he proclaimed.
“Yes, of course I am.” She was mildly surprised that the fact even needed to be voiced.
When Catherine and Fitzwilliam stood to leave, Lizzy reached out and took her new aunt’s hand in both of hers, sincerely regretting the shortness of their visit. “I am so sorry my father was not here to greet you. I know he would have been greatly honored by your visit, Aunt Catherine.”
“Well, of course he would have been, my dear. Indeed, who would not?” Catherine patted Lizzy’s hand in return.
Darcy walked up to her and kissed her cheek, “Thank you, Aunt, for coming today. It has meant a great deal to both Elizabeth and me.” Tears welled up in his aunt’s eyes as she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “You have shown yourself to be the better person, and as always, you have my sincere admiration and love.”
“Stuff and nonsense. This is family, and family is the most important thing in the world. Didn’t I always teach you that, Darcy? Both you and Richard?”
Fitzwilliam tucked her hand under his elbow. “Indeed you did, Aunt Catherine. You taught us well.”
“You must all come to Rosings soon, perhaps next month,” she announced grandly as the door to her carriage was closed. Her mood was ecstatic, a new burst of enthusiasm for living putting bloom to her cheeks, and she looked lovingly through her carriage window at the smiling couple.
“Your father and sisters, also, Elizabeth. It will do them all good to get away from this horrid little house anyway.” She settled back into her carriage then suddenly came forward, poking her head out of the window again. “Your sisters will benefit greatly from my experience. Mark me on this. I will have them drawing in two weeks. And I have heard your sister Mary is a great proficient on the pianoforte. She shall be able to use the one in the children’s wing, as long as she’s in no one’s way and does not play too loudly.” With that, she nodded to Fitzwilliam, and he signaled the driver to be off.
Darcy and Elizabeth spent the next few weeks with her father, ensuring that the new housekeeper was well established before they returned to Pemberley and Georgiana.
Try as she might, Elizabeth could think of little else but what Jane had told her about Caroline and Darcy, although she did not dare bring up the subject again, considering the last episode, what with her unfortunate destruction of furniture and all. However, a seed of doubt had been placed in her mind.
If she had only asked Darcy what had really transpired between Caroline and her husband at Netherfield, she would have eased her fears.
Darcy had been avoiding Caroline as much as possible the afternoon of the funeral luncheon; however, after seeing Bingley walk away from a conversation with him, the siren struck.
“Caroline, I didn’t see you there, excuse me.”
She had brought him a cup of tea. “I believe I prepared this as you like, cream and no sugar.” Her eyes skimmed over his shoulders and chest and boldly wandered down farther before returning lazily to his eyes.
“Thank you, Caroline. That was thoughtful of you. I am sorry I have not had the opportunity of visiting with you.”
“I understand your dilemma quite well, Mr. Darcy. However, I do admit to a fear that you have been attempting to avoid me this whole week. I hope that our friendship has not been strained because of your change in marital status?”
Caroline was generally all smiles and fluttering eyelashes at the sight of any man. Resenting her loss of Darcy, especially to Elizabeth, she exaggerated this affectation with him, thinking it made her more alluring and feminine. It did not.
“Not at all, Caroline. It is just that my time has been quite taken up elsewhere these past days. I am sure you can appreciate that the loss of Mrs. Bennet has been felt deeply by her family.”
“Yes, this is the essence of a family in mourning, I have noticed.” She gave a wicked little laugh as she motioned to Mr. Bennet, sitting alone in a corner with his back to the room and examining an old manuscript, Kitty and Mary arguing over who would take the last seedcake, and the Reverend Mr. Collins quoting Philippians to any poor soul who would listen. “The only thing wanting are jugglers and the elegant Lydia dragging along her dutiful husband, Wickham, picking at his teeth.”
She had a hard, cruel mouth when she spoke, and Darcy wondered how he had ever thought her attractive. It infuriated him that she believed she could insult his wife and her family even as they mourned. “Please excuse me,” he said coldly and turned to leave. Caroline clutched his arm and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You are the most noble and long-suffering of men. I don’t know of another who would take on this ridiculous family with such grace and dignity.”
Darcy gently pried away her fingers. “You are gravely mistaken, Caroline. I am neither noble nor long-suffering. I merely love my wife with all my heart. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to speak with Mr. Bennet.”
Caroline watched angrily as he approached his father-in-law, who stood to shake his hand and embrace him in thanks for all that Darcy had done. It was obvious he was gifting Darcy with some bookish treasure they both admired.
Caroline was furious. She was still only a tradesman’s daughter, regardless how wealthy her father had become or how many peers she had bedded. The idea that the poor little country innocent, Eliza Bennet, was now among the elite of the land was galling in the extreme. Caroline decided it was time for her to either finally win him or trade in on their nasty little secret.
In was not until late September that Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mr. Horace Bennet, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam descended upon Rosings Park for a short two-week visit with Lady Catherine and her daughter, Anne. Aunt Catherine was overjoyed to have her two darling nephews back in her home and was determined to make this visit unforgettable, removing forever the strain that had tested them over a year before.
Nothing of the prior rancor would intrude on this visit, and she made certain that all were afforded the best of servants and rooms. As they began arriving in the late afternoon, Catherine greeted each personally and suggested they retire to their suites to rest and refresh themselves. Dinner would be served at eight that evening.
Lizzy was amazed at the difference in her reception by Lady Catherine, let alone the attention being lavished upon them all. Her father had his own suite of rooms across from theirs, both breathtaking in their splendor. The view from the balcony was beyond beautiful, the very best in the manor, overlooking the park and the lake beyond. Flowers, candies, and fruit had been placed everywhere, and a bath would be drawn, for both husband and wife in their respective dressing rooms, whenever they desired.
“This is unbelievable.” With awestruck reverence, she wandered through room after room then out onto the massive stone balcony. The view of the park really was overwhelming.
“You needn’t whisper, Elizabeth. Rosings Park is not holy ground, no matter what my aunt thinks.”
“To imagine this is where you were sleeping while I was stuffed into Charlotte Collins’s tiny little cottage, listening to her husband’s ruminations on St. Paul and the place of women in the home.”
“You are very much mistaken, madam.” Darcy walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her fast-expanding waist. “I’ve never stayed in these rooms before. These rooms are usually reserved for visiting royalty. No, my pathetic room was down another hall and much smaller. I think she’s attempting to make amends,” he whispered in her ear.
“Well…I must admit to it working—I feel a bit less animosity with every door I open. Why, look at this sitting room, William. I have never seen so much silk and gold in my life! Look at these murals! And even the ceilings are magnificent!!”
“The real telling point will be the bed. My old bed here is an abomination.” They walked back into the bedroom toward a massive canopied four-poster surrounded with heavy brocade draperies. Beautiful antique tapestries lined the walls of a room crowded with elegantly carved furniture, crystal, and marble anywhere there wasn’t gold. Darcy immediately jumped atop the bed.
“Good heavens! She really must be feeling guilty. This is certainly a great improvement on my old bed. I should have married you long ago, Miss Bennet—my back would have been spared years of agony.”
Elizabeth turned to the huge double doors of their balcony, opening them wide to better enjoy the gardens that were just beginning to explode with autumn beauty and fall flowers. “The fragrance from these gardens is overpowering. It makes me feel quite wanton.”
“Well, in that case, come over here, ducks.”
Elizabeth turned toward the bed but barely saw her husband now lost amidst the curtains, pillows, bolsters, and feather covers. He raised up his hand. “I’m in here. Wait there, and I’ll come over and fling you up top.”
She ran giggling to the side and tried to leap up, but her legs were too short and her stomach grown too big. She bounced backward. Darcy was at her side immediately, and together, they laughingly hoisted themselves onto the mattress and then collapsed into laughter.
“Do you realize that King George himself, as well as many from the royal court of Vienna, princes from Spain, even the Dauphin have all slept in this very bed?” Darcy was struggling to pull them over toward the center.
“They may very well still be here…”
Georgiana was already speaking with Lady Catherine and looked up as her brother and Lizzy entered the room. “Good evening, Brother,” she said as she ran to greet them.
“Ah, there you all are at last. Georgiana, Anne and I have had a wonderful visit while you all were napping. I hope your rooms are to your liking and you are warm enough.”
“Warm enough?” Fitzwilliam scowled. “Are you mad, Catherine? It must be nearly eighty-five degrees up there, at least as hot as Spain in July. It’s late September, you know, not early January.”
“Well, you may be accustomed to sleeping on the ground, exposed to heaven knows what with cloven-hoofed animals and ensigns milling about, Hottentots running naked here and there. But gently bred ladies, especially those who are breeding, need warmth and comfort.”
Fitzwilliam bowed. “And, evidently, parboiling.”
Lady Catherine’s foot began tapping in aggravation. “Richard…”
“Very well, I stand corrected, once again, dear Aunt Catherine. If Elizabeth, Anne, and Georgiana are comfortable, the Hottentots and I can just open a window.”
“Well, no need to drag foreigners through the house.” Nodding majestically to her guests, Catherine turned toward Lizzy’s father. “Mr. Bennet?” She smiled warmly, and her eyes twinkled. My goodness, but he is quite a handsome man. “Would you be so kind as to escort me in to dinner?” Quite handsome.
“I would be most honored, your ladyship.” Catherine placed her hand upon Mr. Bennet’s arm while Fitzwilliam escorted Anne and Darcy escorted his wife and sister into dinner.
All at once, the doors to the dining room were flung open to reveal a magnificently decorated table in the finest-looking room Lizzy had ever seen. There were huge murals painted on the walls and ceiling, and tapestries that rivaled any museum’s. Vases of immense floral bouquets graced the halls and table. Larger-than-life statues in cut stone stood in a huge circle that surrounded the dining area. Massive crystal chandeliers glittered above, being magnified by huge gilt-edged mirrors. It was breathtaking.
“Darcy, you won’t believe who’s still in service here. Old Margaret MacLeod. Can you believe it? I’ve had my eye on that bit of fluff since she was a vixen of seventy-two.” Each heavily ornate chair had its own footman who hurried forward to assist with seating.
Everyone laughed, except for Lady Catherine, whose eyes narrowed at him. “Richard! I really cannot condone this manner of discourse. Old Margaret has been with me practically from my conception, even before, if my memory serves. Please show her some respect.” Lady Catherine took her place at the head of the table, motioning to the others to be seated.
“We often speak of you, you know,” Catherine continued, nodding for the wine to be poured. “Yes. When I assure her you will probably one day be hanged, well, it just seems to cheer her so.”
It was a pleasant surprise to Mr. Bennet, the atmosphere in the dining room so informal and lighthearted, everyone laughing and talking at once. It wasn’t at all what he had expected. A rather unusual family, this, not the stuffy aristocracy he had vaguely remembered from his youth and had been dreading. Not in the least.
He looked first at Fitzwilliam, whose head had shot back with laughter at his aunt’s remark. Mr. Bennet liked Fitzwilliam immensely, admiring his disarmingly easy manner and gentle wit.
He cast his gaze at his son-in-law, who had become a constant source of friendship and strength to him. It was evident now that the proud, arrogant man Mr. Bennet had feared would dominate his beloved daughter had never really existed at all. In reality, Darcy was a well-read, educated gentleman, and more importantly, someone who adored Lizzy, providing her with a happy, secure home.
He looked across at Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, normally shy and modest away from her brother’s side. She was relaxed and laughing heartily here, a reclusive beauty emerging in their midst.
Finally, he looked to his side at his beloved Lizzy, happier than he had ever seen her. What a shame her mother could not be here with us, to see that our daughter is so blessed. He felt suddenly overcome with the grief of his recent loss.
“Mr. Bennet,” called Aunt Catherine. “No introspection is allowed at table this visit. There will be no serious thought tonight in deference to the youngsters with whom we find ourselves. We would not want to call attention to their intellectual inferiority in any way. We are family and will enjoy the time we have together, for too quickly it can be taken from us.” Aunt Catherine looked meaningfully at him. She understood the devastation in losing a spouse, no matter how tenuous or difficult the relationship. It was half of your life that would never return.
“My very thoughts, Lady Catherine,” replied Mr. Bennet after a moment’s pause.
“Tell me, Mr. Bennet, how can we amuse you during your visit? Do you hunt?” Lady Catherine was spooning her turtle soup, blowing delicately to cool it.
“No, Lady Catherine, I am afraid I do not,” Mr. Bennet replied, also sampling his soup. “I am certain an animal would sooner die of laughter than gunshot wound if I even made the attempt.”
“Excellent, excellent. I abhor blood sports of any kind, animals being far superior to many people of my acquaintance.” She selected a small roll and broke it, dipping it deftly into her soup.
“Charades? Do you enjoy charades, Mr. Bennet?” Motioning to a footman, she signaled him to clean up the crumbs that had mysteriously appeared around her plate after she broke open the roll.
“Unfortunately, I detest them, your ladyship.” Mr. Bennet nodded when asked if he would like more soup, and his wineglass was again filled. “More often than not, I shout out the answer so that I can return to my seat and then feign embarrassment at my faux pas. With my advanced years, younger people usually assume me to be lack-witted and forgive me.”
“Wonderful. Very clever.” She was beginning to warm tremendously to her guest. “Anne thinks they are absolutely ludicrous, and I am in complete agreement with her. Even though she would be an excellent player, if her health would permit it.”
They all glanced over at Anne, who blushed at the attention being shown her and then spit something she could not chew into her napkin.
“Cards, Mr. Bennet? Do you play cards?” Lady Catherine was pointing energetically to him with the leg of a small capon. “Answer this correctly, Mr. Bennet, and we have the promise of an exceptionally enjoyable two weeks ahead of us.”
“I am afraid, your ladyship, that I tend to drift off while playing cards. At least I make a concerted effort to, and then I deliberately snore very loudly in the hopes that I will be thought enfeebled and asked to retire early.”
Lady Catherine was overjoyed. “Thank heavens. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have the perfect houseguest in our midst, and I was afraid this was going to be a taxing two weeks of nonsense. Now we can just relax and do whatever we want. I, for one, plan to read, eat, and sleep, hopefully not all at once.”
Mr. Bennet relaxed visibly. “I believe I know now why Lizzy loves this family so well.”
Darcy had little prepared Lizzy and Mr. Bennet for the quality of service and the quantity of food served. There was at least one attendant for each person at table, and a stream of servers coming and going with all variety of removes—exotic meats and strange vegetables, out-of-season fruits, and generous libations. There was even a string quartet in attendance, playing at the far end of the room.
Mr. Bennet watched amazed at the carefully orchestrated ballet of service. If they were not so professional, he could easily have expected flying trays and dropped puddings, he mused.
“Darcy, I see you two have the imperial apartments up there in the golden tower. Quite an improvement, or so I was informed by your valet.” Fitzwilliam had finished up his meal and was leaning back in his chair. “While you are dreaming happily in the suite usually reserved for royalty, try to keep in mind that I am located over the poultry house. It is just as you remember, I am sure—thumbscrews, the rack, chains on the walls. You both must come and visit me there once the ice lining the hallway thaws. Bring a physician.”
Lady Catherine was unsympathetic. “When you finally marry—and you will marry, Richard, even if I have to drug you—you also will have the use of one of the larger suites. Until then, you will have to make do with the rooms you have always occupied.” She leaned over to feed pâté to several of the whimpering dogs who had gathered at her feet. “I’m not made of money, you know.”
“Well, I was thinking, dearest Aunt, that since I am now a famous and decorated war hero, you would feel obligated to accommodate me with one of the grander suites, a suite befitting my new stature and popularity.” Fitzwilliam grinned devilishly at his aunt, who was summoning her faithful retainer, Jamison, to her side. She handed the man three of the dogs, one at a time.
“Well, I am surprised, Fitzwilliam. I am truly surprised.” Catherine motioned for the fruits and sweet desserts to be brought in by the waiting footmen.
“What surprises you—that I would attempt to capitalize on my newfound fame in order to upgrade my rooms?”
“No, my dear, merely that you were thinking.”
Amidst the groans and the laughter, Catherine raised her hand to protest. “No, I am quite serious, Richard. One hears such shameful reports about the conduct of our army, and you and your little flock of associates in particular were most scandalous.”
“Yes, Cousin,” beamed a mischievous Georgiana. “There were some very outrageous incidents hinted at in the papers. One in particular I always wondered about—did your officers really smuggle in ten opera dancers disguised as French prisoners?”
The shocked and discomfited look on Fitzwilliam’s face made Darcy light up with amusement. He had heard the story two years before over an entire night of drinking when Fitzwilliam was home on leave. “Yes, old man, please tell us the story of the ten opera dancers.”
Fitzwilliam shot him a daggered look. “It was not ten!” he declared, incensed. As they all waited in silent suspense for his further explanation, he exhaled a disgruntled breath. “All right, all right. There were only eight of them, and it was not as unseemly as you imply, brat!” He squirmed at the laughter now incapacitating them all and looked away, fighting his own laughter. In point of fact, it had been worse than unseemly, it had been downright debauched. The women actually were common Portuguese whores disguised as French prisoners, had been paid by a pool of money collected in a hat passed by him and his fellow drunken officers (eager to take advantage of the women’s generous holiday rates) and then, to the accompaniment of their giggles, the women had been used as dinner plates. He vaguely remembered a drunken moment in which he was eating fried eggs and kippers right from within a naked woman’s…
“He’s blushing!” Elizabeth was delighted. “Oh my goodness, Richard, please enlighten us!”
Knowing what had happened, Darcy was in heaven. “Oh yes, Richard,” he mimicked Elizabeth’s high-voiced excitement. “Please enlighten us.”
“This is not now, nor ever could be, dinner conversation!” He began to bluster with his embarrassment. “You are making me out to be some sort of deviant, and that could not be further from the truth! We lived in ungodly conditions and suffered horrible deprivations…”
“That must have been those times when the Duchess of Hanover was not renting a nearby villa in some quaint Spanish town. I heard you saw quite a bit of her…” Catherine’s eyes were like slits. “…and still do.”
Georgiana wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. She’s such a peahen.”
Darcy was laughing, his eyes dancing with delight. “Lord save me, I had not heard of this. And where was the duke during these encounters?”
Elizabeth nearly felt sorry for her cousin-in-law, but not nearly enough. She turned to Georgiana instead for the gossip. “Is she the one with the really large”—she hesitated, raising her hands briefly before her chest—“inheritance?”
Mr. Bennet stared in wonder. They may have been the bluest of the blue bloods, among the most aristocratic of aristocratic families, but a true family they were, with all the fights, teasing, suspicion, and retribution inherent in the word. It was definitely a family that was insane, but whose family was not?!
Georgiana, joining in the raucous laughter surrounding her, suddenly became uneasy when she realized her aunt was intently watching her. Catherine’s concerns often shifted quickly and without warning.
“Georgiana!”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine.” Georgiana jumped to attention, turning toward her imposing aunt.
“Should you not have made your presentation by now?”
“Yes, Aunt Catherine, however…”
“You must be nearly thirty-seven, I should think. Never tell me you have not been brought out yet.”
Darcy came to her rescue. “Aunt Catherine, Georgiana is but nineteen. We decided to wait an extra year because of Elizabeth’s mother’s passing and the baby being due .”
“Also, I am a bit shy and truly didn’t feel really ready before this year.” She gulped and stared nervously at her aunt. “I am not overly fond of crowds, you see.” Huge understatement, that.
Darcy and Georgiana’s eyes met. They had discussed this moment, but her knees still wobbled. He smiled his encouragement and nodded. The time had finally come, and there was no avoiding the unavoidable. “Aunt Catherine.” Her voice crackled a little, and she began to blush. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes before proceeding in her sweetest voice. “Dearest Aunt Catherine, would you be so kind as to sponsor me?” Georgiana, having finally blurted out her request, glanced momentarily to Darcy for reassurance. The barn door had officially been thrown open.
Catherine looked up, stunned that it was even a question. “Why, yes, yes. Of course.” She blustered and rocked back and forth in her chair. “Who else in this room could possibly qualify as your sponsor?” Although she tried to look nonchalant, a small tear ran down her cheek.
Catherine had only two unfulfilled dreams in her life. One was to plan the grandest society wedding ever for her daughter and nephew at St. George’s Cathedral. The likelihood that her daughter, Anne, would marry, now that Darcy was taken, was remote at best. She had swallowed that bitter pill and learned to live with it.
Her other dream was to present her daughter at court and preside over her coming-out. Anne had been too sickly all her life for either. Over the years, Catherine watched as her friends, one by one, had presented their daughters and then their granddaughters.
Finally, one of her dreams would be coming true.
Georgiana jumped up and ran to her, threw her arms around Catherine’s neck and hugged her. “This will be a most wonderful year. I just have a feeling about it,” she declared to everyone at the table as tears moistened her aunt’s eyes. “There will be a new baby in the family, my presentation at court, finally, and…” Georgiana looked devilishly at Fitzwilliam. “Perhaps if we are very lucky, a bride for my cousin!”
Everyone toasted this proclamation—everyone except Fitzwilliam, who very dramatically turned over his glass to the cheers of the men and the indignant squeals of the women.
After dinner, when the ladies left the men to their cigars and port, Lady Catherine turned her attention to answering any questions concerning pregnancy and childbirth she believed Elizabeth must be anxious to ask her. As she was opening her mouth to speak, they heard a raucous burst of laughter coming from the male threesome remaining in the dining room.
She stood for a moment and stared curiously at the door. “It is so very odd. That always happens when Fitzwilliam and Richard entertain the men after dinner. I hope I have enough port set aside; it is something that they certainly seem to enjoy so.” She sat back down and removed several pages of script from her ample bosom. “Now, Elizabeth, I have written down my beliefs concerning this time of your pregnancy, all of which I will give you to take home. I have knocked about this world much longer than you have, and since, thankfully, your mama is no longer around, I want you to feel free to inquire of me anything that may be concerning you at the present time.”
Lizzy stared blankly at the woman, her mind a tumble of terror.
“Go ahead. Ask away. Speak freely. Never be shy.” Catherine’s smile quickly began to go grim. They stared at each other for several moments. “Elizabeth, are you deaf or merely dumb?”
“Thank you, Aunt Catherine, for your concern. You are very kind, but I assure you I have no questions.” She bent her head over her ever-present book, praying that the inevitable discussion to come would be brief and somehow not humiliating. Or that a comet would fall from the sky and come through the roof.
Lady Catherine scowled. Lizzy was nearly five months pregnant, already quite large, and without a mother’s guidance, even a mother as odious as the late Mrs. Bennet. “No need for such courteous regard for my sensibilities, dear. I give you my wisdom freely.” Taking Elizabeth’s hand, she proceeded to launch into a long list of mother-to-be dos and don’ts, making especially clear all her thoughts and opinions on fresh air and exercise while with child (she was totally against them both, the reason being that the child’s limbs and lungs were much too small and thereby would too easily tire), on eating large amounts of fresh fruit and vegetables while with child (again, another problem in that they produced poisonous gas within the system, infecting the unsuspecting unborn), and on getting plenty of sleep while with child (positively the worst thing one could do, as that it placed the child in awkward positions for long periods of time that could cause facial disfigurement).
Also strictly forbidden were excessive laughter and spicy foods and any sort of physical expression of emotions, especially marital obligations.
“I suspect that it must frighten the baby, you know, all that bouncing and moaning and such. And then there is the problem of that protuberance repeatedly going in and coming out, going in and coming out, going in and coming out…” She rolled her eyes, all the while ensuring that Georgiana and Anne were not listening. After one or two seconds, she motioned Lizzy forward again, whispering very gravely into her ear, “At least that’s what the earl and I decided when I carried Anne. In retrospect, however, it may very well have frightened the earl more than the babe.”
Lizzy stared at her for several seconds, her lips twitching. “Thank you, ma’am,” was all she could finally squeak out.
It was turning into a horror of a night. There were room-rattling booms of thunder and frightening light flashes, both competing with the rain that slashed across her windows. Catherine heard and saw none of it, her mind occupied solely with events of the past. Though not quite an old lady yet, she was well on her way, or at least that was how she felt on nights such as these, the nights she sat alone with her memories.
She had more memories now in her life for company than realities, so she often would revisit her youth and what she considered her “useful” days. Just now she was thinking back to the summers and springs and autumns when families thought nothing of caravaning halfway across England and Scotland to visit, loaded with gifts and servants and dogs and children.
She smiled, remembering all those children, especially her two boys, so different from each other and yet boon companions, mischievous, competitive, and loyal as brothers. She laughed softly. Had there ever been a time they were together that was not disastrous for her?
She loved those boys fiercely, especially Darcy, as if he was her own, and perhaps he would have been if she hadn’t chosen the path of prestige over love. She rarely admitted to regretting anything in her life, but that decision, in retrospect, had possibly been a mistake.
There was a soft knock on her door. “Come in,” she called, dabbing away any trace of her melancholy.
“I wanted to say good night,” Darcy said as he entered, closing the door behind him. It had been his lifelong nightly ritual when in residence to visit her before he retired. He looked sleepy but happy. Even with his hair tousled, without his jacket or cravat, he looked magnificent.
“Is everything all right? Is Elizabeth settled?” She reached out her hands to him.
“Yes, everything is perfect. She’s rather overwhelmed by your kindness to her and to her father. I am, also, by the way. Thank you, Aunt Catherine.” Darcy took her hands and, after kissing them both, he sat next to her on her settee. He tucked his aunt’s arm through his own.
“Well, I behaved rather badly before. I do freely admit it, but only to you. I will deny this to anyone else. I was so very disappointed, you see. I had really come to believe that you and Anne would marry one day.”
“I always told you we would not, though. Neither Anne nor I wished it. Why did it come as such a surprise?”
“This may come as quite a shock to you, Darcy, but I can be a very stubborn, opinionated person.” She immediately raised her hand between them in order to deflect any protests to which he would certainly give voice. He remained aggravatingly silent.
“No, please don’t contradict me.” She lifted one eyebrow at his firmly sealed lips. “I know my faults, few as they may be.” When Darcy dared look, he saw she was grinning back at him, and he laughed softly.
“Tell me truthfully, how did Richard fare in overseeing?”
He groaned then laughed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Well, we just went over a few items; it will take awhile to review everything, but all in all, it is rather a mess. He cannot add, you know, nor spell, and his record-keeping is abysmal. He paid several merchants more than once, and we’ll need to contact your tenants to see who actually forwarded their rents. I’ll tell you one thing, however—he has a real love for the land. He kept excellent accounts of crop and timber proceedings. He’d make a good tenant farmer, maybe even an adequate squire one day.”
“I tried to sit with him, but we’re like oil and water so much of the time. He has no experience in running an estate this size, no training to speak of, being a second son, and yet he was the only one who stepped forward with assistance.”
“I am sorry this all came about. I had no idea you were that ill, or we would have been here. As it was, he informed us about it later, when you were already on the mend.” Darcy shook his head “Regardless, I should have contacted you; it was unforgivably childish of me to sulk so long, and he never told me about your steward or your secretary! Both incapacitated at the same time—imagine that. Quite a bit of bad luck, that.”
“Don’t give me that smug look!” She glanced sideways at him and smiled. “Yes, Darcy, I know they are old—just as I am, but, heavens, I cannot just push them out if they don’t wish to leave! I owe them so much, and they are part of my family. They are just as much a part of Rosings as I am and I will keep them all around me for as long as I can!”
They sat together for more than an hour and talked about old times and memories long forgotten. They laughed a little and cried a little until Darcy let out a great yawn and stretched his arms.
“Well, I must get to bed, and so should you, Catherine.” He helped her to her feet, and she suddenly appeared very tiny and frail to him. Gone was her immense wig, and in its place, a graying braid rested over her shoulder, most of her hair hidden under her favorite nightcap. Her feet were in slippers instead of the higher-heeled shoes she wore to give herself a needed inch or two, and the wrinkles around her eyes and face were more exposed now that she was unadorned with powder or lip rouge or the mysteriously moving patch that Richard and he used to laugh about.
“I don’t sleep as much as I used to, Darcy,” she said. “As you get older, it becomes harder to turn off memories, and believe me, they devil you to distraction at night. You get off to bed, though. The storm is still wailing outside, and you have a lovely young wife awaiting you who will want comforting during all the thunder. You need not give this old woman any more of your time.”
Darcy hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead before saying good night. Then she was alone again. She thought that perhaps she would go to Anne’s room and check on her, a mother’s habit that would never die.
Picking up her candle, she went out into a hall dimly lit with wall sconces, smiling when she saw Darcy close the door to his suite of rooms. That was good—another of her babies would soon be safely in bed.
She padded her way down to Anne’s suites to look in at her sleeping daughter, walking over quickly to close the windows that were allowing in some of the pouring rain. Clucking and grumbling, she brought a towel from the linen drawer and placed it over the rain-soaked carpet. Will these children never learn to listen to me? She harrumphed.
With relaxation still eluding her, she decided to check on the other rooms, to make certain servants were everywhere if needed. Jamison had done a good job, she noted to herself, as there appeared to be a footman every ten feet, the lightning outside illuminating the old mansion every few moments. She turned down the far hallway toward Fitzwilliam’s rooms, laughing to herself at his earlier comments. He truly was rather far from the main part of the house. He and Darcy had always had the west wing of rooms to themselves whenever they visited. She felt bachelors should have their privacy, especially from a nosy old aunt.
She saw a faint light below his door . Is Fitzwilliam still awake? It must be nearing 3:00 a.m. The two footmen assigned there bowed at her approach, which she amiably acknowledged, and then on her signal, one knocked softly on the door. After a few moments, she heard her nephew’s gruff bark. “Who is it?”
“Eleanor of Aquitaine. May I enter?”
She heard him chuckle. “Enter at your own peril. The Lionheart is in residence.”
When the door opened, he arose slowly from his seat before the fire. Her eyes immediately focused on the balcony doors as she approached him. They were flung wide, allowing in the cooling air.
“Good heavens, Richard, it’s raining outside, you fool.” She marched over to the doors to close them, barely refraining herself from closing the windows also. “It is freezing in here.”
“Aunt Catherine, the rain is not coming in this direction, and the room is only now beginning to cool down. God in heaven, woman, how can you think it freezing? Are you completely devoid of blood?” His eyes were scowling even as his lips fought off a smile.
“What a ridiculous thing to say! Of course I have blood, extremely blue blood, as you well know, and don’t call me ‘woman’ in that tone, as if I’m a tavern wench or camp follower or French.” He turned away to hide his grin as she sat in the chair next to his.
“What on earth are you doing up at this late hour?” She leaned toward him as he sat, stared at him with concern, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. An empty glass and nearly empty whiskey bottle were on the table next to him.
“I couldn’t sleep.” His voice sounded a bit rough. “It happens to me now and then, especially during thunderstorms. That’s why I like the doors and windows open. I dislike being locked in when it rains.”
“You’re a young healthy man; of course you can sleep. Don’t be ridiculous! Apply yourself.”
As he settled his back into the chair, he studied her face from lowered eyes. Much of the weight she had lost during her illness had not returned, and he noticed that her skin looked paper-thin, that her graying hair looked wiry where it was not confined within her braid. She looked brittle almost, fragile as glass.
“God, but I feel old tonight, Richard.” She removed her cap to vigorously scratch the back of her head, yawning loudly. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, and she saw a room in disaster—clothes and shoes thrown about, dishes resting upon the floor. His valise was opened but unpacked and rested on a bench beneath his window.
Her eyes grew huge. “Good heavens!” She was certainly wide awake now. “Richard Fitzwilliam! Did I not send up a footman to act as your valet this visit?” As any mother would instinctively do, she arose from her seat and began picking up shirts and pants, straightening chairs and stacking the amazing array of dirty plates, all the time grunting and clucking her tongue with every dirty stocking and wrinkled neck scarf.
This was the last thing he needed this evening. His eyes rolled in irritation. “Yes, you did… I sent him away.”
She turned to him. “Whatever for?”
“He didn’t like me.”
“Well, of course he didn’t like you— he’s a servant!” After placing the folded clothes upon his dresser and the plates on the sideboard, she sat back down again. “To paraphrase our dear Lord, ‘No prophet is without honor except with his own valet.’”
For a moment she engaged in a struggle to return her nightcap properly to her head, finally assuring herself that it was situated correctly. Exhausted from her ordeal, she sighed loudly. “Not all servants are as loyal as your batboy, O’Malley. Where is he, by the way?”
Fitzwilliam rubbed his eyes. “That’s my batman, not batboy, and for some unexplained reason, he wished to remain in London and spend some private time alone with his wife before we return to Paris.”
His aunt’s only response was an uninterested, “How fascinating.”
He regarded her with a mischievous grin on his face. “And what on earth are you doing up at this late hour, stalking the hallways like the demented Lady Macbeth?”
“Well, as people age, they don’t need quite as much sleep as the young.”
“In that case, I wonder that you bother coming up to your room at all,” he mumbled then grinned when he saw her glare.
“I heard that. You are becoming much too cheeky, young man. I was talking with Darcy, if you must know.” She smiled. “It was good to speak of old times again with him. But he went off to bed, and so should you!” Her gaze slid once again over the bottle on the table then to the empty glass. Their eyes met.
“You seem to be drinking quite a bit, Richard.” Her voice had grown serious and quiet. “Much more than I ever remember, and I am growing more and more concerned about you, do you know that?” Her brow arched in inquiry as she watched him, waiting for his response. She was never one to be subtle.
“Awww… please do not start in on me again, Aunt,” he groaned. His shoulders hunched forward, and he rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his neck with his hand. “I am not up to battle form tonight.”
“This is not to be borne, Richard, it really isn’t. You have such a… a heaviness about you at times that it breaks my heart. If there is something bothering you, you should speak to someone. Speak to Darcy. Do you feel ill? Or do you still feel the effects of the battles? Your injuries? Waterloo? Talk to a doctor, perhaps, but find out what troubles you so.”
He stared into the fire for a long time. Although the nightmares and flashbacks had, thankfully, begun to lessen, lightning and thunder always seemed to trigger his memories once again. How could he tell anyone of what he had been through, what he had done, what brutality he had seen these past ten years, battle after battle, mankind’s atrocities to the weaker and more vulnerable? War was nothing but legalized butchery. It was condoned insanity.
The ghosts of the past would sometimes flood back with the dark, so he kept the candles burning. Still, he was haunted with the sounds of men and animals screaming, the smell of blood and gore in his hair and on his hands, the smell of urine and shit and fear, the screams of maniacs in the heat of battle, the soldiers who viciously raped and tortured. His eyes squeezed shut at the memories. The storm outside raged on.
“What are those?” she asked, pointing to a stack of letters strewn across his desk.
“Believe it or not, those are words of sympathy I am still writing to the families of fallen soldiers, telling each and every one how their sons and husbands died valiantly in battle in the service of their country.” His voice sounded lifeless, and his eyes were red-rimmed. “That is finally the last of them, for now.”
“Is there any truth to what you write?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged. “I’ve written hundreds of these letters, thousands perhaps. There is no way to know how even a fraction of them met their ends, but no one wants to think of a loved one dying without honor or dying alone. I just hope it helps someone, somehow.” How could he describe to her the mutilated corpses, stripped naked and robbed, buried in mass graves with no hint of their identities? God, he felt so old tonight.
He was tempted to pour himself another drink but stopped, ashamed for her to see him. She looked different without the wigs and jewels, paint and elegant clothes, older than her fifty-odd years, rather grandmotherly and touchingly concerned. He would pour himself the drink once she left, and then maybe he could get a few hours sleep yet.
He reached over and grabbed her hand. “Thank you, dear Aunt, for your concern, but I shall be fine.” He squeezed her hand and released it, fighting off the depression that could sometimes devastate him. He sensed that she watched him but would not allow himself to look into her eyes.
“Richard,” she said softly. “Richard, look at me, Son.” His eyes finally came up to hers. “Whatever is causing this melancholy, do not try to drown it in drink. It does not work.” Tears began to well in her eyes and blur her vision. “I know that it does not work because I have already tried.” By the end, her voice was a mere whisper.
They stared long and hard at each other. He broke the gaze first, and she could sense that he was closing his feelings, drifting from her once again. Soon his familiar emotional barricades would be up, and he would be joking and teasing to fend off his demons.
She stood, her heart saddened, not knowing what else to do or say. It had become increasingly apparent to Catherine that Richard had lost his place in the world during the wars, weighed down by all the years away, years of sacrifice made for his country, memories and regrets for what he had seen and all the years of normal living he had missed. He could not give up hope for a future now that the wars were over. Well, she simply would not let him. It was time for him to rejoin the living.
“You must somehow find your way home to us, Richard, in both body and soul.” Her voice was gentle but firm, and she looked lovingly down at his bowed head.
“Remember, Son, true character is revealed in the dark.” Her hand softly cradled his cheek. “And I have every confidence in yours. You are a fine man.” She kissed his forehead. “Choose life, dearest.” When she began to straighten, his hand brought her cheek back to his for a moment. She could feel the moisture of his tears.
“Good night, Aunt Catherine.” He spoke so brusquely and low that it was barely audible. “And thank you.” Reaching the door, she turned to say something but saw he was again lost in thought.
After the door was shut, Fitzwilliam studied the bottle he had automatically reached for… and stopped.
He replaced the cork.
“To bed,” he whispered as he pushed back his chair.
Unknowingly, Catherine had won.
He chose life.
Lady Catherine and Mr. Bennet spent the first day of their visit discussing common ailments and aches and commiserating with each other over the loss of a spouse. She personally took him on a tour of the house and grounds, and was very impressed with his knowledge of horticulture. He was particularly interested in her many greenhouses, where flowers, fresh vegetables, and exotic fruit were grown year round. He lingered in the greenhouse that specialized in experimental farming and talked at length with the head gardener.
“Mr. Bennet, I have saved the best for you, I think, for last.” They came back into the house and headed up the long marble staircase to the second floor. The staircase ended directly before an impressively large set of double doors at the middle of the first landing.
“Whatever can you show me to exceed the wonders I have already seen, your ladyship?” he asked and then stepped back in awe when she opened the doors to the Rosings library.
“I believe we have the most extensive private library in the country. My husband was an avid reader and collector of rarities.” She arched her eyebrow. “I think if he could have, he would have moved his bed into this room. I want you to feel at home here.”
Mr. Bennet walked hesitantly into the two-story wonderland and spun around slowly. He had never seen so many books, so many rarities housed in glassed cabinets, so many manuscripts and globes. A huge mullioned window with beautiful roses and twining vines dominated the back wall from top to bottom. There were four circular stairways leading to the balcony surrounding a second level of books and glass cabinets, and a series of sliding ladders against two of the main walls. It was magnificent.
“I am overwhelmed,” he whispered as if in church. “Thank you, dear lady, for this.”
“Not at all,” she replied kindly. “You deserve some time to indulge yourself. You need only ring for anything you want.” She pointed to a bell pull near the massive fireplace. “We shall see you later for dinner?” she asked. Still in shock, he waved her vaguely away and wandered into his holy of holies.
Elizabeth awoke later that evening to Darcy crouched on his heels before her, his hand resting gently on her stomach. She had fallen asleep after dinner as the others talked quietly around her, and now they were the last to retire. “Elizabeth, do you know that when I called your name I could see a ripple move across you here!” His eyes were filled with awe, and she smiled up at him.
“I noticed earlier that whenever you speak, I am able to feel him move slightly.” This was the first time they allowed themselves to speak openly about their child. “It started earlier today, thank goodness. I confess I was beginning to worry a bit.”
“You said ‘him.’ Do you have inclinations in that direction?” he asked, helping her to her feet.
“Right now I feel only happiness and relief that there is movement. Whatever it is will be fine with me. What of you, William?” He nodded and kissed her lips tenderly. They then held each other for a long time before turning to make their tedious, slow ascent up the staircase again. Even though she looked happy, Elizabeth’s eyes were rimmed and dark, her body moving unsteadily behind the stomach that appeared suddenly larger each day. Darcy worried at the spurt of growth within her, anxious that perhaps there were twins coming, and she was so very petite.
“Your aunt seems very happy now about our marriage.”
“Yes, she does, but her attention shifts are legendary. We will have to wait to see which way the winds blow.”
As they entered her dressing room, Darcy called for her maid. “Oh, Lizzy, your legs are swelling up badly. You will not be walking tomorrow.”
“No, please, William. I so love my morning walks. You know that.”
“You will be better served by staying in bed resting with your feet up.”
She tried to protest, but he put up his hand to stop her. It was then that he noticed a letter had arrived for Elizabeth from her sister Jane but had been left unopened.
“What does your sister write?” he asked, trying to divert her attention. He crouched before her to help remove her shoes.
“I’ve no idea. I haven’t opened the letter yet, as you can well see.” Lizzy was disappointed at the thought of not being able to get outside in the morning air, and her mood had shifted to definite crankiness. “Why do you care if I read the letter from Jane?” Yes, she definitely was in a bad mood.
He looked up at her patiently. “I care because she is your sister, and you love her. That is all. If you do not wish to read it, it is your concern alone.”
Immediately regretful, she caressed her husband’s cheek in mute apology then turned her back for him to rub. “I think your son has landed on my spine,” she said softly. “Forgive my testiness, but I hate that you feel distress about me so much.”
He leaned down and kissed her neck. “I myself may be a bit at fault and will try to restrain myself in the future, I promise. Just let me know whenever you need anything…or whenever you do anything…or whenever you want anything, so I can be there with you.”
Elizabeth privately rolled her eyes then turned to smile sweetly up at him, pointing once more toward her back. Almost as soon as he began to massage her, the maid entered. The bashful young girl waited patiently for him to finish. “Please help your mistress get ready for bed,” he said and dropped a kiss on his wife’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few moments.” He walked into their bedroom and then into his own dressing room and closed the door. The letter marked urgent, which he had received from Bingley, sat on a tray. He picked it up and read it again.
Dear friend,
Would it be possible for you to come to Netherfield Hall as soon as possible? Please tell Elizabeth nothing. This is of a somewhat private nature, a very personal problem. Forgive the secrecy, but something has come up that may be important.
Yours,
Charles
He was impatient to learn if Elizabeth had received some further explanation in the note from Jane, and concerned that whatever its contents were, they would bring stress to his wife. But in the end, he decided to wait and not press her. The last thing he wanted now was to cause Lizzy any anxiety or concern. Her pregnancy was taxing them both to the limits, and they still had four months left. Four months, kill me now, God. He sighed and shook his head. If there was a problem, which must have been the case, else Bingley would not have even suggested keeping something from Elizabeth, he would quickly find a solution. But it would be best if he could evaluate it first.
For Darcy, not to be in full possession of the facts was pure hell. The knowledge that those facts could in any way distress his beloved wife was unacceptable in the extreme. I hope I can help with what’s to be done, whatever Bingley’s problem may be, he reasoned. But I will protect Elizabeth and our child before anything.
Lizzy awoke the next day to a bright and beautiful morning, her husband already up and dressed, sitting at the desk in their room, writing a note. “Oh good, you’re awake.” He sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her tenderly. “How are you feeling this morning, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked, thinking to himself that she looked very drained.
“I feel a bit tired.” She squinted back at him through sleepy eyes.
“I was just leaving you a note. Fitzwilliam and I are off for the morning to check on some timber problems. I have arranged for you to have your breakfast brought up here, and I would like you to spend this entire morning, at the very least, in bed and resting. Is that understood?”
Groggily nodding, she scratched her ear then lifted herself up on her elbow, foggy about what she had just agreed to and even where they were. She pushed her hair back to look blankly about the room and shrugged. “Yes, your lordship.” She plopped her head back down on the pillow. A loud, indelicate yawn caused her husband to laugh.
“That’s my girl,” he said, kissed her, and was off.
Within an hour of his departure, Lizzy was up, dressed, and downstairs, ready for breakfast. “Lizzy, I had heard you would be staying abed today.” Her father was surprised to see her in her walking shoes. He and Lady Catherine were sitting alone at the breakfast table.
“I cannot imagine why you would think that, Father, especially on a beautiful day such as this. Good morning, Aunt Catherine.” Lady Catherine smiled broadly at Lizzy. “I believe William was somewhat concerned about my swollen feet, but as it happens, they are quite acceptable today, so I am going out.”
“Well done, Elizabeth. I don’t approve of lying about, nor would I allow unnecessary swelling in any part of my body, especially feet—very bad for the posture. There is no profit in assigning physical limitations upon oneself or in behaving as if one were an invalid. My own daughter, Anne, would have been a great exercise enthusiast if it were not for her own large feet. Quite threw off her balance.”
“Elizabeth, where are you off to?” Lizzy’s father began to rise, seized by a growing panic at being left behind.
Lizzy thanked the footman who set her breakfast dish before her and then grabbed several pieces of toast. “I thought I would cross the park and visit Charlotte Collins to see her new little one. Won’t you join me, Father? I am sure our cousin, Mr. Collins, will be there, and it must be ‘interesting’ to hear his ideas on child rearing.” Lizzy smiled at the apparent relief on the face of her father.
“Of course, I have provided Mr. Collins with all of his ideas, including those on child rearing. It is best not to leave that sort of business to new parents. Anne and I will join you.” Mr. Bennet’s eyes crossed. Although Catherine de Bourgh had proved a much more enjoyable companion than expected, the thought of both her and Mr. Collins within the same room was more than anyone could be expected to endure.
“Are you not awaiting Fitzwilliam and Darcy to return with their observations from this morning’s inspection? And then, of course, Darcy still has to finish his notes from the other night.”
“You are absolutely correct, Elizabeth. My, your vigilance toward Rosings is most admirable. Yes, I am sure that Fitzwilliam and Darcy will both want to get my input into whatever their observations are. I am afraid, Horace, that you will have to proceed without me.”
A visibly relieved Mr. Bennet quickly regained his composure. “What a great disappointment this will be to Mr. Collins and his good wife.”
“Of course it will be, the poor dears. However, they will join us tomorrow for dinner. Make sure they know this. I so hate disappointing those beneath me, you know.”
Mr. Bennet deeply regretted not remaining at home with Lady Catherine. He felt miserable and trapped and duped by the fates. In his arms lay Charlotte’s wriggly baby, Everett, a happy, rambunctious infant who was at the moment enthralled with Mr. Bennet’s nose, attempting to force his little fingers inside. In fact, they were all feeling miserable and trapped, obligatory listeners as they were to the Reverend Mr. Collins’s rapturous description of darling Everett’s latest bowel movement.
Everett was an incredibly beautiful child, much to everyone’s surprise, except for his adoring parents, of course. “He is my life and my joy, Lizzy,” Charlotte whispered. “He has made everything worthwhile.” With that said, she glanced meaningfully at her husband and then back at her boy. “How are you feeling, Lizzy? You look exceptionally tired today; are you getting enough rest? You know this childbearing is not as easily accomplished as we thought as young girls.” Charlotte and Elizabeth were snatching snippets of conversation the moment the reverend turned his back. At this time, he was reaching for a shelf behind him, searching for his Bible.
Lizzy grinned and hastily whispered back when Mr. Collins turned his head to sneeze several times from his allergies, “I am feeling fine, Charlotte. However, I do find I am often in possession of not only titanic feet but also a baby suddenly leaping about whenever he hears his father’s voice.” Charlotte and Lizzy giggled toward the floor.
After a few more minutes of Mr. Collins’s monotonous monologue, he suddenly closed his eyes and raised his hands in deep supplication to the Lord. Lizzy leaned toward Charlotte. “I also have had some very troubling dreams that have caused me to wake in the middle of the night. That tires me more than anything.” Charlotte stared deeply into her friend’s eyes, sensing a troubled spirit.
“Mr. Collins, could you and Mr. Bennet please excuse us? Forgive me, dear, but I must have a private moment with Elizabeth.” Mr. Collins looked reprovingly at his wife, unhappy with this interruption of his personal address with God, while Mr. Bennet gamely attempted to rouse himself from a trancelike stupor.
Charlotte took her baby from Lizzy, patting and kissing the child’s head as it nestled happily into her shoulder. At her husband’s continued silent reproof, she pronounced the sentence that no man on earth can withstand. “I am truly sorry, dear,” she whispered, “but it is regarding female trouble.” Mr. Collins’s face drained of all color. “Female trouble,” she mouthed once again, nodding.
With that, both Mr. Collins and Mr. Bennet quickly waved them off, avoiding at all costs any possibility of eye contact.
Alone outside in the sunshine and peace of her garden, Charlotte laughed softly. “I tell you, Lizzy, that is the most useful phrase I have learned as a married woman. No man seems to want to know about female trouble.”
Laughing, Lizzy made her way slowly to a secluded bench.
“Now, what is this about bad dreams? I find that most interesting. I know I had many dreadful nights when I was carrying Everett.”
Lizzy hesitated at first but then confided to her friend about her concerns with Caroline Bingley and Darcy, hinting broadly at their relationship years ago. She said she sometimes found herself dreaming of them together, or of her strangling and disemboweling the meddlesome redheaded witch, slicing open her throat or gouging out her eyes. Charlotte’s eyes opened wider and wider with each description of mayhem.
“Well, that is rather serious, I suppose. Oh, but, Lizzy, you cannot really believe that Darcy would betray you. He is so much in love with you that he would never consider hurting you, and it is not in his character to deceive.”
Lizzy smiled as she leaned her head back, letting the sunshine wash over her for a moment. “Oh, be honest, Charlotte. Don’t you think it is within everyone’s character at some point to deceive? Whether it be for good intentions or bad is the telling point, but I do agree that he would never deliberately hurt me or disgrace his family.”
Charlotte sensed, however, that the idea of Caroline and Darcy still bothered Lizzy. “Didn’t Jane say that Caroline was involved with someone? I had the impression she was almost engaged.”
Lizzy snorted. “‘Almost’ is never as good as ‘is’ in my estimation. Also, ‘engaged’ is not nearly so fine as ‘married.’” Elizabeth became more and more animated as she continued. “And ‘married and settled on another continent’ is best of all. Besides, Caroline’s been ‘almost’ engaged more times than any other woman I know.”
By midafternoon, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were already waiting in the reception room for Lizzy and her father to return.
“Compose yourself, brat. Did you really believe you could just command her to stay home and she would?”
Darcy looked bewildered, affronted. “Yes, of course I did.”
“Good God.” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Well, it’s your head, Darcy. It was splendid knowing you.” Hearing Elizabeth and her father in the hallway, he left quickly.
“Hello, dearest. Was that Richard rushing off? How odd. Oh, we had such a wonderful visit with Charlotte, and her baby, Everett, is glorious. Such a beautiful child emerging through the services of such a father—who could have imagined…?” Lizzy’s voice trailed off when she saw the look in Darcy’s eyes.
“Could you excuse us, please, Mr. Bennet? I wish to speak privately with my wife.” Sensing trouble, his father-in-law was already making a hasty retreat.
Lizzy’s eyes were huge as saucers and innocent as a newborn. “Whatever is the matter, William?”
“You know perfectly well what the matter is, Mrs. Darcy.”
The certainty of this remark slowed her in her short waddle over to a seat. “No, I definitely do not, Mr. Darcy, else I would not have asked.” Now riled by his rudeness, she plopped down primly, raised her chin to stare boldly up at her pacing husband, and impolitely kicked one after the other of her shoes to the side.
For a moment he just glared at her then stooped to pick each up. “I believe I told you, madam, to stay in bed and rest.” He pointed directly at her with one of her shoes. “Your legs were very swollen and sore last evening. Am I mistaken in this?”
“Evidently, you are unaware that my legs and feet are much better this morning.” Pulling up her skirt, she stuck her feet straight out for his perusal. Lizzy congratulated herself on the graciousness of her reply.
“And what of the staircase, Mrs. Darcy, that gloriously lethal block of greased suicide? Perhaps now you will tell me you had a footman assist you down the staircase, as I instructed you to do?” He loomed over her, his hands fisted at his waist, her shoes now badly mangled. “And do not bother to lie to me, Elizabeth. I have already asked.”
She blinked her eyes rapidly, caught in his trap like a rat. “I walked very slowly and carefully, and held onto the banister.” She hated him when he was right.
“Elizabeth, I confess I do not understand your flippancy. If you did not truly desire children, you should have told me outright!” Darcy knew the moment the words were said that he had jumped far over the line.
“Mr. Darcy!” She was up in a shot. “That is a terrible and unfeeling thing to say.” Tears immediately welled within her eyes, and Darcy at once regretted his outburst.
“Dammit, woman. Forgive me, but I am very concerned. You have had so many problems with this pregnancy—the nausea, the swelling, the exhaustion. I want you in a controlled environment where I can ensure your safety and the child’s health.”
“Mr. Darcy,” she choked out in anger, “I was at Charlotte Collins’s home, not insanely rolling around in a field somewhere. We were with my father and Mr. Collins, two gentlemen who are capable of summoning help on the off chance that I would become seriously ill. And I was careful on the stairs! I was! If you think me so thoughtless and heartless that I would endanger our baby on a whim, then you should have entrusted this task to another and not have married me.” With that, she hurriedly padded past him and headed toward the grand staircase, stumbling awkwardly in her haste, slipping once in her stocking feet on the slick surfaces. She clutched at the railing for support.
“Elizabeth! Slow down, and be careful!!” Darcy was at her side in a flash, grabbing at her arm. However, there was no way in the world that Elizabeth wanted to be touched by her husband at that particular moment, so she roughly pulled her arm away and used both hands to steady herself as she climbed the stairs. Darcy had no recourse but to walk behind her, angrily grumbling, all the way to the top.
Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were not seen at dinner that evening, but they were, unfortunately, heard.
At dawn on the following morning, a contrite Darcy pulled his wife’s back against him in bed and kissed the nape of her neck. “Cut line, Lizzy,” he whispered, his hands tenderly cupping her breasts. “You cannot still be angry with me.” He could hear the chuckle as she rolled onto her back and looked up into those beautiful eyes she loved so dearly.
“Never tell me! I thought you were still mad at me.”
“Well, yes, but you look so beautiful when you sleep, especially with your mouth shut, that I can’t hold onto anything but absolute adoration.”
“Does that insulting line generally work with all your wives, Mr. Darcy?”
“We’ll soon see,” he whispered back.
Lizzy and Darcy were very late for breakfast that morning, everyone else finished and discussing the day’s activities. When they entered the dining room, they were both smiling like lunatics. Elizabeth avoided Aunt Catherine’s eyes, realizing that she had just enthusiastically participated in activities that would certainly ‘frighten the baby,’ while Darcy looked around the room in a smugly contented manner.
“God, but everything smells wonderful in the morning, especially food…” He patted his stomach as they made their way to the sideboard.
“Yes, and especially when you haven’t eaten the night before,” muttered Lizzy.
“Well, thank heavens you are both up; it’s nearly time to change into afternoon caps. I was afraid you would be ill all day.” Lady Catherine eyed them warily then turned to order the replenishment of the breakfast buffet. “You were ill earlier, were you not?” Lizzy and Darcy nodded once and then avoided all further eye contact. “Oh, Darcy, you’ve had another letter delivered here. It’s on the salver.”
Darcy walked over to pick up the letter as Elizabeth passed behind her father, distracting him with a kiss atop his head while stealing leftover toast from his plate. She bent down to kiss Georgiana on her cheek.
At that moment, Fitzwilliam came sauntering into the room. “Good Lord,” he groaned loudly when he caught sight of Darcy’s preposterous grin. “Taking to sleeping in, I see.” He walked over and took a plate from the footman stationed at the buffet. “ Very reminiscent of Pemberley, I must say. And there is joy once again in paradise. Thank heaven.”
“Fitzwilliam, is this not now your third breakfast? How in heaven’s name can the empire afford to keep you fed?” Catherine studied her nephew’s plate in awe.
“Well, dearest, actually, I have been known to shoot new recruits for their rations.” He sat down happily and buttered his bread. “And besides, I much prefer to think of this as my first lunch.”
Darcy read the note from Bingley with alarm.
Dear Darcy,
I am in dire straits, old friend. I need you at Netherfield as soon as possible. Please hurry, and again, please do not say a word to Elizabeth. Hurry.
Charles
“Is something wrong, William?” Elizabeth stood at the breakfast buffet watching her husband’s brow darken.
“No, dear, nothing much really. However, some business does seem to have arisen that I will need to attend to as quickly as possible.”
“No trouble at Pemberley, I hope.” Georgiana quickly looked up from her tea.
“No, no, Georgiana.” Darcy folded the letter and put it into his pocket. “But it is something I must see to as soon as possible. Elizabeth and Georgiana, I am afraid I shall have to leave for a while. I will notify you as soon as I can ascertain the length of my departure. Aunt Catherine, is that all right with you? I should only be a few days at most.”
Catherine looked insulted.
“Whatever do you mean, ‘Is that all right?’ Why of course it’s all right! They are both welcome in my home for as long as they like.” Catherine picked up her teacup, muttering crossly to herself before her focus was derailed by several of her dozen or so dogs, now fighting over the scraps of ham and bacon and cheese she had thrown to them on the floor. “Spartacus! Ulysses! That is beyond enough! You are worse than spoiled children.” Two King Charles spaniels stopped for a moment and then assailed each other once again. “Whatever gets into those two?!”
“A few days?!” Elizabeth stopped halfway into her chair. “William, what is the issue?”
“Nothing, dear. Boring stuff really. It is the… drainage. Yes. A new drainage system is being tested by Charles at Netherfield Hall, and I promised him I would help out if he ran into any difficulty.” He leaned toward her to kiss her head. “Evidently, there’s a glitch, and Bingley is in need of some consultation. You know I am widely regarded as the local expert on drainage.”
Fitzwilliam mumbled into his coffee, “Evidently, water really does find its own level.”
“I will go and speak with him,” Darcy continued after glowering at his cousin, “and if I am unable to quickly remedy the situation, I will put him in touch with whatever professional is needed and return immediately.”
“Go take care of that business. I can watch over our Lizzy for as long as you need, Darcy.” Mr. Bennet, as usual, displayed no desire to know what problems there may be concerning physical operations of the estates. He immediately forgot about Darcy and hurriedly set upon finishing his breakfast so that he could return to “his” magnificent library.
“Thank you, sir. I will return as quickly as possible.”
Elizabeth was worried, despite his assurances. She knew his every mood and nuance; he was plainly concerned about more than drainage. She smiled sweetly at Darcy when he touched her hand and kissed her cheek.
The following morning, Lizzy watched from their bedroom window as his horse rode away. He sits so well on his horse, and he’s so handsome and kind and brave and noble and sweet and bold and heroic. Placing a protective hand over her stomach, she decided to have a word with their child.
“I must speak with you (we will settle on a name soon, I promise). Papa will be gone for a little while, helping out your uncle Charles. You will come to realize, when you are older (say one day old or two) that this is often the case with your father, since he is the most clever and decent of men. The happiness of many people, as well as our own, rests on his magnificent shoulders.”
She walked slowly to the bed. Still morning sleepy and already lonely for her husband, she lay down, tenderly holding her stomach. She yawned and smiled.
“Your mama is very clever also, you know.” Lying on her side she brought her knees up and cuddled her stomach in her arms. “I put a trinket in his coat pocket to surprise him, a locket within which is a lock of your mama’s baby hair. Hopefully this will make him feel so hideously guilty and wretched that he will return to us sooner than he had thought.”
This was, incredibly enough, Elizabeth’s first brazen attempt at wifely maneuvering, and she was quite proud. She was also extremely tired, gently patting her tummy and pulling the cover up to her shoulder, relieved that the little sprite within her had finally stopped booting her spine.
“Mrs. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy.” Her maid was trying to wake her by gently shaking her shoulder.
“William?” she garbled and looked around, blinking at the semidarkness of the room.
“No, ma’am, sorry, it’s just me, Cara. A message was delivered to you from Mrs. Bingley. Lady Catherine thought it might have something to do with Mr. Darcy’s errand. She said I should bring it right up to you.”
Elizabeth tried to shake the sleep from her thoughts, surprised to look around and see a darkening room. “What time is it?”
“Nearly supper time, ma’am.” Cara curtseyed and left the room.
Jane wrote a letter? Wait! I had another letter on the windowsill in my dressing room. Oh my, that was two or three days ago. Lizzy tore open the new message, dismayed with herself for not having read the earlier one.
Lizzy,
We have arrived safely and are having the most wonderful time. I feel very guilty about enjoying myself so much and Mama gone so recently, but after all that sadness, it is good to be alone with Charles and the baby, and just relax. Charles says we are to spend a second month here, so please do not worry.
Were you as surprised as I at Caroline’s generosity? She has, unfortunately, broken off another engagement, evidently. It happened before mama’s passing but is something of which we have only now learned. She arranged this trip for us shortly after that. You see, there is good in everyone, even Caroline Bingley. Give my love to Papa and William.
Lizzy got up from the bed and went to her dresser, searching for the original letter from Jane, and found it in the back of a drawer.
Dear Lizzy,
I wanted to let you know that Charles and I will be away for at least one month. We are going to Bath for a small vacation as a gift from, of all people, his sister, Caroline. It seems she has been planning this for a few weeks.
Perhaps that is what she and Darcy were discussing at Mama’s funeral luncheon. They seemed to be very secretive; remember, I mentioned it to you? This does seem more something you or Darcy would think of, rather than Caroline. But I am being very ungracious, as this is a most generous gift.
I will write to you upon our arrival there. Have a wonderful time with Father. Give him and Darcy both our love.
“Caroline?! I didn’t expect to see you here. Where is Charles?” Darcy had handed the butler his coat and hat, and was immediately shown into the formal drawing room at Netherfield Hall. He looked hastily around the very familiar room, immediately feeling the vague apprehension he always experienced when alone with “the Viper,” as he and his cousin sometimes called her. All of these emotions were evident on his face as Caroline beckoned to him, her hands outstretched in welcome.
“Mr. Darcy! How wonderful to see you, handsome as ever I must say! Charles told me to expect your arrival and that I should make you as comfortable as possible. You have only just missed our sister, Louisa, and Mr. Hurst. I believe Charles said he had some urgent matter and then suddenly galloped off. He asked me to have you wait for him, said he would return as soon as possible.”
After giving her a chaste peck on her perfectly rouged cheek, Darcy took a seat across from her. She looked charming in a simple, pale country frock, the neckline of which, though low, was demurely trimmed with delicate ecru lace. Her fiery red hair was loosely tied back with ribbons. It was a puzzle to Darcy how she could continue in looks as she grew older, while her character seemed to diminish.
“Where is Jane?” he asked, nodding at her butler’s offer of tea.
Caroline waved off the butler, announcing she would pour, and then stared blankly at him for a second. “Oh, yes! Jane. Jane has gone to London with the baby. She is seeing her doctors there.”
“I hope they are in good health. That isn’t the problem about which Charles means to talk, I hope?” Why ever would Jane be in London, seeing doctors, without Charles? Apprehension brought Darcy forward on his seat. If anything were to happen to her beloved sister Jane, Elizabeth would be devastated.
“Oh heavens, not in the least. She and the child are visiting her aunt and uncle Gardiner. Please calm yourself. Charles will join her there shortly. She is doing splendidly, and so is the little one.”
Relieved, Darcy rested back again in the chair, fumbling for his pocket watch and instead finding the locket Lizzy had slipped inside. The feel and look of it was familiar and an immediate comfort to him, bringing a quick grin to his face. Lizzy knew him so well. The locket had been given to her when she was a small child by her mother, and it meant the world to her. It contained some of Lizzy’s first baby locks. What a conniver she had become! Well, maybe I can find out what’s wrong and have my solicitor take over the problem. I can send off a message to Hastings & Griggs tomorrow and then leave early Friday morning, back home by the afternoon. Thirty miles is not a great distance. That thought brought back a vivid remembrance of one of his and Lizzy’s early battles, that long year before they wed, and in particular, his opinion that the thirty miles between Rosings Park and her parent’s home, Longbourn, were not nearly enough. He winced with the memory. God but he had been insufferably arrogant with her in those days.
“Do you know what Charles was contacting me about?” Darcy asked finally, replacing the locket in his pocket.
“I haven’t a clue. He doesn’t share his personal information with me, and I don’t share my private, personal life with him.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood in alarm, and his eyes glanced up quickly as Caroline advanced toward him with his tea. He tried in vain to deflect his vision from the exposed mass of white flesh bouncing toward him. Her low-cut gown, though perfectly in fashion, left nothing to the imagination. Nothing about Caroline was left to the imagination.
Suddenly, the immense parlor seemed too small to contain them both. In panic, Darcy began to rise, but she pressed his shoulder, encouraging him to sit back and relax. Her breast just slightly skimmed his ear as she leaned across him to pour cream into his cup. “Let me service you, sir,” she whispered. “It’s not often I have the opportunity to please a man as handsome as yourself.” Deep cleavage loomed before him.
Elizabeth will rip my head off. His thoughts were calm, his castration inescapable.
“You will stay for dinner, won’t you?” Caroline continued as she settled back into her chair. Darcy was squirming in her presence, and his reaction thrilled her. It was, after all, a reaction she was completely expecting. She could afford to go slowly now; they had all night. “Hopefully, Charles will be home by then. He must be mortified to have had to leave like this; he’s such a kind soul and would be devastated if he thought he had offended you in any way. Pray, do not become angry with him over this and storm off.”
“No, of course not, Caroline. Charles is the finest of friends. I don’t mind in the least.” His hand clutched Lizzy’s locket.
“What do you hide in your pocket, by the way? I am intrigued by what little I have seen as you keep returning to it over and over. Is it some extravagant watch fob you’ve purchased? A diamond stickpin, perhaps, or a pearl? I do adore pearls.”
“Far from it, Caroline.” He held the locket loosely in his hand, the chain dangling. “As you can see, it is a very simple, inexpensive locket.” She reached out her hand, and he reluctantly placed it there. “It is my wife’s,” he said meaningfully.
“A child’s heart locket, with a cutting of hair. How quaint.” Her lip curled as she swiftly assessed what little monetary value it held. Smiling politely, she turned the locket over and over in her hand and then returned it to him.
It was seven o’clock in the evening, and Charles had still not returned, so Caroline called for the dinner to be served. They ate a delicious meal and talked of old friends and common acquaintances. Caroline could be a very warm and charming companion when it served her purpose, and she had many humorous stories of Carlton House escapades. A gracious hostess, she frequently signaled for the wineglasses to be refilled.
“Caroline, this has been a very pleasant evening, but I am growing concerned about Charles. I hope nothing’s happened to him on the road.”
“More than likely his meetings went over time. Perhaps he has taken refuge for the night. You know very well that my brother, Charles, can easily become muddled. Business affairs go quite over his head. He doesn’t possess your natural brilliance and experience. Frankly, I am of the belief that his attentions have been so taken with his marriage and new family that a problem arose of which he was unaware until it grew too late. He is most fortunate to have a friend like you to whom he may turn.”
Darcy had never been someone who appreciated or sought out flattery and was becoming more and more guarded with Caroline’s adulation. In possession of an accurate and honest opinion of himself, knowing most of his own strengths and admitting to more than a few weaknesses, he rarely courted others’ approval. He eyed Caroline narrowly. Her brother had left the house and never returned, and she appeared unconcerned by it all? Something was not right about all this. The Caroline he knew was many things: self centered, amoral, cruel, calculating, and diabolical. However, she was a good sister. She loved her brother.
He was also keenly aware that they were alone, late at night, in this big house deep in the country, thirty miles away from his wife, a wife who would slaughter him if she ever found out. Good God. He had a mental image of three cackling Lizzies standing before a caldron, stirring and stirring what appeared to be his head grinning from the pot, his eyebrow raised in slight alarm. He chuckled and looked toward the fireplace.
“It’s so good to see you smile and relax, Mr. Darcy. You are devastatingly handsome at rest but even more so when you smile. I daresay that your responsibilities have more than doubled now with your new family. I’m sure that you often wish to have some time away from all those obligations and give yourself… relief?” Above her wineglass, she smiled wickedly at him, the last word of that sentence a taunting question. Darcy’s heart started to quicken as her tongue licked the rim of her glass. She had a long, soft tongue—he remembered that.
“It is too late now for you to return to your aunt’s estate. More’s the pity, the roads are treacherous after all this rain we’ve had. Charles would insist that you stay here in your old rooms this night. He will return soon, I am quite certain, possibly even later this evening. Let us retire into the drawing room and have our brandy.”
As they sat and talked before the warm fire, the effects of the wine and the brandy began to percolate, and Darcy had to remind himself not to have too much of a pleasant evening. But, God in heaven, it was a relief to be away from the stress of the baby and the estate problems of his aunt’s, his sister’s fears about the upcoming presentation, his cousin’s guilt from the war—even if for just a few hours. Yes, it was like old times to sit here with Caroline and flirt and laugh and gossip about old friends. And drink. How long since he had felt the effects of a tad too much alcohol? In fact, he was already good and foxed. He closed his eyes as the room spun around him, resting his head on the back of the chair while he loosened his neck cloth. He shook his head vigorously and squeezed his eyes. Nothing was helping.
“Are you tired, Darcy? It is getting very late. Perhaps we should go upstairs to bed?” He was startled awake by Caroline’s husky tone.
“No, no, ’m fine, Caroline. ’M a bit sleepy, though. Oh, thank you. And just what is this brandy called?” He reached out his glass to the footman who had opened a new bottle. “It’s actually very good. Very smooooth. Barely feel a thing.”
“Well, that settles it. You will be staying tonight, seeing as you, my friend, are well into your cups. I’m certain Charles will be along by the morning.”
Doubt and suspicion struggled for a coherent foothold in Darcy’s well-oiled brain. His eyes narrowed at her, making Caroline begin to giggle. “Upon my word, of what are you afraid, Darcy? I am but a small, frail woman, and our history is long over, is it not?”
“Actually, Caroline, m’ dear, ’m afraid we really have no history.” Ha! Surprised her with that one. Darcy tried to keep his voice steady and friendly and his mind alert. She was still somewhere in that room. Had to be alert with Caroline, he remembered that.
“Well, then, you have no reason to refuse my hospitality. We are both of us adults, Darcy, and old intimate friends. If Charles has not returned by tomorrow, we can send a note around to see why he has been detained.”
It all sounded so very reasonable to him, the words she spoke ones of hospitality and kindness, so why did he feel so guilty? Ach! He was just so bloody tired. Darcy shook his head to clear the fog that had settled in, and rubbed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Is something wrong?” Caroline asked innocently.
“No, no, nothin’ really, Caroline. Jus’ wonder why Charles would ask me t’ come here and then leave. Are you certain Jane’s all right? Why would he leave Jane ’n city and come back here t’see me?”
“Well, I believe his problem is of a very personal nature, one that he felt more inclined to discuss here at Netherfield. Shall we retire?” Nothing was making sense to him, but Caroline never did make sense. He remembered that.
Darcy had stayed in this house many times and had always had the use of this particular bedroom, so he relaxed and finally allowed himself to feel at ease. His first time here had been those long weeks when he met and fell in love with Elizabeth Bennet. During those early days, she had also stayed at Netherfield to nurse her sister Jane, who had become ill during a visit— that had been hard having her so near to him and then falling head over heels for her. Of course, there also had been the small problem of her hating the very sight of him. He had ached for her until returning the following spring, finally courageous enough to ask for her hand a second time after her initial rejection. Yes, this house had many powerful memories for him, but being alone in the place with Caroline should not be one of them and would be impossible to share with his wife.
He shuddered to think of her learning about this. The picture of three Lizzies boiling his head was replaced with one of her leveling a blunderbuss at his groin. Even though the images had changed, she was still cackling. If it was not so late, he would tie himself across his horse and escape to her father’s home. But Mr. Bennet was not home either; he was at Rosings, too. He was, wasn’t he? Darcy groaned and hiccoughed. His thoughts were tumbling around, rarely connecting or making sense.
Without thinking, he took another draw from the brandy bottle. Then another. I am worrying needlessly. ’Course I am. Caroline and I have both matured and gone our separate ways. She’s been ’gaged ’bout five times since we were together, at least five times, certainly enough times t’ have forgotten me. And she’s m’ dear friend’s sister, after all. Good ol’ Bingley. He convinced himself that perhaps he had misjudged her, and even if not, there was a lock on the hallway door that he had fastened and a chair secured beneath the knob. Ha! He chuckled to himself. She was crafty. He remembered that.
He sat heavily on the bed and unbuttoned his breeches. This is so unlike good ol’ Bingley, he reflected as he tugged off one boot, the momentum of the movement rolling him over on his side. “Oooops.”
He lay there, his cheek pressed into the sheets. They felt nice and cool against his skin. Don’t like mysteries. Like concrete things. Mr. Concrete. Mr. Drainage. I hope he and Jane aren’t having difficulties. (Hiccough) I would hate to be in the middle of that one. Ha! I have my own marriage to contend with, without trying to figure out another’s. He righted himself slowly, shaking his head to settle all the confusion. He tugged off his second boot, reverse momentum continuing him over, facedown onto the bed in the other direction.
“Oooops.” He began to laugh, softly at first and then loudly snorting as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Don’t snort, Darcy. Ha!” He nearly tumbled forward as he placed the second boot down very carefully next to the first, which had apparently moved, then stood to remove his shirt, pants, and smallclothes, staggering a bit. Respectfully holding the locket containing Lizzy’s hair, he tried several times unsuccessfully to kiss it, finally placing it reverently on the nightstand next to the bed. “Good night, m’little angel,” he whispered to his phantom wife.
He waved bye-bye just before he passed out.
He was dreaming of horses. Beautiful Arabians and Andalusians. It was a painting he had seen as a child come to life. They were charging toward him, but he was thrilled, not frightened. Suddenly there was his father’s beloved mount, Jezebel, another distant memory from his childhood. Jezebel had been a magnificent beast. She and the grand old stallion, Caesar, were both responsible for many of the current stock in the Pemberley stables, and they were both running to him, as if they were young again and alive. All at once he was atop Jezebel, enjoying the wind blowing through his hair. She galloped faster and faster, her sinuous strong legs moving beneath him, changing again into a huge bird that flapped her wings, and off she was flying, over Pemberley and over Netherfield and over Rosings.
I should return home, he tossed about fitfully once or twice, fighting the joy of shirked duty, but he felt so free. No worries about babies or stress or complications, only the soft, sweet breeze on his face, now the tender erotic sensation of moisture tingling his neck and back, the sensuous feeling of arms and legs wrapping around him, full breasts pressed against his bare back. Oh my, but he really and truly loved women’s breasts, was always guilty about his unseemly and unwavering obsession with them. It was indecorous and common. If only he could stop smiling. He grinned happily now at how warm and soft they were, like spongy pillows, firm and big. He imagined his Lizzy before him, slim once again as she was prior to the pregnancy, her breasts not the tiny delicate buds she possessed before but engorged with milk as they were now. He loved looking at them and touching them. Hell, he reasoned, this is my dream. I can think whatever I want. He hoped she would breast-feed the baby for a very long time, possibly twenty years or so.
His chuckle turned into a moan as he found himself becoming more and more aroused, and he began to force himself awake, forgetting completely that he was not at home.
“Lizzy?” he gasped in pleasure, a soft tongue moving inside his ear and then delicate nibbles on his neck, a small, warm hand reaching around from behind, taking him and stroking him harder and harder. “Oh God, Lizzy?!” He was waking quickly now. She was never this bold with him, not usually, anyway, and his hand moved instinctively backward to grab at her. But… something was terribly wrong. Something felt different. Rounder. Sitting suddenly upright, he turned to face Caroline. Lying behind him, she was wearing the sheerest of nightgowns and smiling the brightest of smiles.
And she was still intimately holding him in her hand.
“Surprise!” She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.
Darcy swatted away her hand and jumped from the bed, then grabbed at the sheet to hide his nakedness, still staggering a bit. “What in bloody hell are you doing, Caroline? How did you get in here?” He stared stupidly at the adjoining door to the sitting room that now stood wide open, while the hall door still remained solidly barricaded.
“Why, I’m seducing you, Mr. Darcy.” She grabbed at the sheet he had wrapped about him so tightly and, hand over fist, began pulling him back into the bed. “At least I am making an attempt at it! You could help me, you know.”
“The hell you are.” Darcy yanked furiously back on the sheet and stood fuming, his fists clutching the material. “The hell I will!”
“Oh, come back to bed. Don’t be such a child.” Her gaze drifted up and down his body as she stretched out her legs and pulled her nightgown hem up to her knees. Reclining seductively on her side, she patted his half of the bed.
“Mr. Darcy, you are aging uncommonly well, I must say. Your shoulders are much larger than I remember. In fact, everything is larger than I remember.” Grinning, she arranged her hair over the pillow then rested her arms above her head, which lifted her breasts seductively.
“Honestly, Caroline, you must be insane… or a congenital idiot.” She pouted and began again to reach for his sheet. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop this at once!” Glaring at her, he angrily flung the sheet in her face then stomped over to the chair, roughly beginning to dress, throwing on his smallclothes, pants, and shirt. He was staggering still and somewhat drunk, his head pounding wickedly. He wanted to vomit. “You must be mad, woman! Have you no sense of decency left within you?” He sat down with an “oomph” to pull on his boots. “Sneaking in on a man… taking liberties… got me drunk…” He slammed down his foot to settle his boot firmer. “God damn it, Caroline! God damn it to hell! I feel violated! Of all the imbecilic, asinine stunts you have pulled, this is by far the worst.” He slammed down his second boot to settle it. “How dare you do this to me! I gather that Charles and Jane are miles from here, and that I have been a dimwitted ass.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Well, you are never an ass, Darcy.”
He shook his head in disgust.
“I did say, ‘Surprise.’ And I am not insane, as you say, or an idiot. I know what I want and shall not be denied.”
“Bah! If you are not insane or an idiot, I recommend you not breed. Madness could be hereditary!”
“Darcy, do grow up!” She slapped the bed, sounding exasperated. “We are both adults, and there is no one who would know. Surely you must remember that the regent’s court is quite sophisticated. No one thinks twice about this sort of thing.” She pouted at his wrath. “Oh, you used to be much more fun.”
“I am married, you idiot! Your brother is one of my dearest friends! His wife is my sister-in-law! Gad, I cannot believe even you would do this, Caroline,” he huffed, trying to clear his head but feeling nearly as drunk as when he had retired. “Besides, our one brief moment together was over ten years ago, and I have moved on with my life, matured. What in the world would make you think I was even remotely interested in you? I really wasn’t much interested back then, and believe me, madam, I am even less interested now.”
She pursed her lips, vastly annoyed at his comments. “If you would only but notice I am in even better looks than I was when we were younger. Don’t tell me you have lost all interest in sex since you married that country frump?” She sat upright in the bed, leaning back on her hands, thrusting her body into a seductive pose. “Or has she completely turned you away from the sport?”
She finally really looked at him, noticed his stance, his facial expression. Everything revealed his sincere disgust of her, and she began a slow rage.
“You’re like a bitch in heat, Caroline, and I don’t mean that in a Carlton House good way either. Truthfully, the only thing I do see from here, Miss Bingley, is that you are not a natural redhead. Good evening, madam,” Grabbing his coat, he stormed out the door, slamming it on a tirade of curses and crockery from within. He was down the stairs in a moment, somehow saddled and mounted his horse, and was gone within fifteen.
It was still the middle of the night, however, dark and starless, and he was still drunk. He made his way as far as the Longbourn barns, where he collapsed into a mound of hay, falling fast asleep, his preferred companion to a scheming redhead being the old mama cat who curled herself up at his back. He slept as an innocent, deeply and gratefully, having escaped “the Viper’s” clutches once again.
Unfortunately, however, he had not remembered to retrieve Lizzy’s locket from his nightstand.
Darcy’s return to Rosings late the following afternoon was greeted with much excitement by his wife, relieved that the visit had been so much shorter than expected. She explained that the baby had missed him and that she was no longer comfortable sleeping alone, especially in that large, cold bed. They retired to their rooms soon afterward, and she watched as he removed his dusty riding clothes, curiously encrusted with hay, and as he handed his baggage to his valet to unpack. While he loosened his neck cloth, a hot bath was being prepared for him, and he slumped back on the settee, his arm snug around her waist.
“Did you see Bingley?” she asked.
“No, he wasn’t there at all,” he replied truthfully, omitting the fact that Caroline had been.
“I didn’t think he would be. You know that letter from Jane I failed to open? It appears they are vacationing for the month. Why ever did he ask you to meet him at Netherfield, then?”
He mumbled something and then kissed her forehead, telling her that his errand had been for nothing. “Just a miscommunication,” he muttered into her ear. She quickly forgot it, happy he was safely home with her again.
“The big discussion at the moment,” Lizzy informed him, “is Lady Catherine’s sponsoring of Georgiana for her presentation at court! We have been up all night, talking.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Darcy was soon laughing and marveling at her energy.
“We have even been pressing Fitzwilliam into rehearsing his services as escort, practicing the delicate art of train maneuvering.”
“Is he any good?” Darcy shook his head in laughter.
“He nearly decapitated her, insists he cannot possibly be expected to work with tablecloth. We might need the real thing on which he can practice. Something in silk may be easier for him to handle.”
“I wish I could share your excitement about this, but I am dreading her entrance into society. I won’t have my baby sister anymore.”
Lizzy smiled her understanding. He was such a very good man, and he looked so boyish with that wistful, half smile on his face. “She will always be your little sister, my love; you both will always be there for each other. But it is time she was allowed to spread her wings. We cannot delay this any longer.”
Just then Georgiana knocked softly on their door. “Might I enter?” The quality of her voice seemed suddenly very grand and sophisticated to her brother’s ears.
“You see”—Darcy’s eyes looked cheerless—“she’s already speaking as if she’s a forty-year-old duchess.”
Lizzy giggled and patted his cheek lovingly. “Enter, Your Grace,” she called out.
The door was flung open to reveal Georgiana with her nose high in the air. She was wearing her childish flannel nightgown, the bosom of which was heavily padded beneath the material, giving her an overweight, matronly appearance. A tiara of dead flowers sat upon her head, and a tablecloth was tied around her neck, resembling a long white train. Epaulets from one of Fitzwilliam’s old uniforms dangled from her ears. Lastly, her feet were encased in old socks, and she held Darcy’s walking stick in her hand as if it were a scepter. She glided regally into the room, ruining the effect completely by bumping into a chair and rubbing her knee for a moment before standing up straight.
“You will now address me as the Grand High Exalted and Honorable Lady Georgiana Catherine Darcy, spinster, if you so please.” She raised a quizzing glass of their late uncle Louis’s to her eye to observe Darcy and Elizabeth. They all burst into laughter.
“Well, perhaps I have nothing to worry about just yet.”
The following week, Darcy left with Mr. Bennet early in the morning, returning his father-in-law to Longbourn. Although Mr. Bennet had been horrified at the prospect of meeting Lady Catherine, going so far as to publicly bemoan his fate at being away from his books and projects for so long a time, it was with some degree of sadness that he left her company and Rosings Park. He shivered a bit at the thought of his empty house.
Darcy turned a concerned glace at him across the carriage. “Are you chilled, sir? We can stop for more hot bricks at the next station.”
“No, William, I am quite warm. I was only thinking of Lady Catherine.”
Darcy’s momentary surprise turned to amusement. He nodded at his father-in-law. “She has had the same effect on many a younger and heartier person than yourself, sir.”
Mr. Bennet smiled. “She certainly is a force to be reckoned with, is she not?” He turned his gaze out the carriage window, his mind drifting back in time for a moment. “You know that she was generally regarded to be the great beauty of the county in her day, do you not? I myself was quite enamored of her—from afar, of course. Many a young buck was.”
Darcy smiled at the thought of Lady Catherine as a flirtatious young girl or as a beauty driving youthful Corinthians to distraction. “I am afraid that I can only think of her as my beloved aunt or as a well-coifed battering ram, depending upon her mood.”
“I understand completely. Thinking of a parent figure as once enjoying youthful urges is a repellent and unpleasant undertaking for the young.” Mr. Bennet suddenly laughed and turned to Darcy. “Shall I tell you something you may find even more disturbing?”
Darcy smiled back at him and nodded. “Feel free to do so, sir.” Knowing Mr. Bennet’s humor to be so similar to Lizzy’s, he had learned to appreciate their talks more and more.
“I find her still damned beautiful.”
Elizabeth had been spending more and more of her visit in her room, her swollen feet once again worrying her and her back throbbing. She received word of Caroline Bingley’s visit as she sat drinking chocolate and resting. “Downstairs?!” she gasped. “Here?! To see me?!” She could scarcely believe her maid as the young girl ran off to search for a pair of slippers that would fit.
Elizabeth was frozen with fear. Dear God. Here, in the same home, were the two people that she feared most in the world. What if Lady Catherine turned on her now? She was in no physical shape to take them both on at once. Her first instinct was to take the coward’s way out and faint. I should really remain in my room, bolt the door, and send down my regrets. It is what William would want me to do. It is definitely unhealthy for me to venture anywhere, being as I am so unsteady and wobbly. Then suddenly, she noticed that the swelling in her feet had receded. “Traitors,” Elizabeth hissed.
Her trust in Catherine was tenuous, her confidence in herself as solid as jam preserves. This will not go well for me, I fear. She struggled to her feet. Why is William never here when I need him? Where is Fitzwilliam? Perhaps he can come down with me. She sent her maid off to find him as a footman arrived to help her slowly make her way down into the parlor.
Well, here was a scene from hell, she thought to herself, a nightmare revisited. She found Lady Catherine sitting across from Caroline, both turning their dead, doll-like eyes toward her as she entered. Anne was also on the settee, along with her ever-present companion.
“Ah, Elizabeth. Finally you have come down and joined us! You have a visitor.”
Elizabeth waddled into the room with as much grace as possible, horrified at the note of censure in Lady Catherine’s greeting. “Yes, I see that, Lady Catherine. I am all amazement at this rare honor.” Lizzy crossed the room and sat alone in a high-backed chair positioned between the two opposing sofas.
“We have had quite a revealing chat while waiting for you to arrive.”
To Elizabeth’s disgust, Caroline looked beautiful in a fawn green batiste gown that complimented her red hair and pale skin. She looked stunning. Lizzy hated her. She felt like a dead, bloated cow left out in the sun to explode.
“Although Miss Bennet and I are but recent acquaintances, your ladyship, I have friendship of long standing with your wonderful nephew, Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth eyed the redhead from under lowered lashes. Suddenly she looked a little too redheaded, if Lizzy was any judge. If I were only a little lighter on my feet, I could poke that beady little eye from her perfect little face. “Evidently your memory is failing you, Miss Bingley. I am Mrs. Darcy now, and our acquaintance is of several years’ duration, not moments.”
Caroline grinned slyly, knowing she had made a direct hit.
“Elizabeth, must I remind you to please be more gracious to your guest?” Lady Catherine’s voice was cold and cutting, and she glanced disapprovingly at Lizzy. I knew she would turn on me at her first chance. Lizzy sighed deeply. I am done for, a bleeding corpse for when he returns. It serves him right.
What Lizzy had not noticed, however, were Aunt Catherine’s eyes narrowing as they looked back to Caroline. “You must forgive my niece, madam.” She turned her attention once more to Lizzy. “We must strive to be more Christian, my dear. It is never good form to speak unkindly to tradespeople. We must always be unexceptional and condescending in our manner with those who are in service… and therefore beneath us.”
Elizabeth, who had been blindly staring down at her folded hands, feeling miserable, froze. A glimmer of something—hope, maybe? Shock, certainly!—made her head snap up and her eyes dart quickly to her new aunt.
“I beg your pardon, your ladyship.” Caroline, refusing to acknowledge an offence, seemed amused with the older woman’s apparent confusion. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. Older people are so dear. She patted the edges of her mouth delicately with her napkin . If only they did not hang onto life so tenaciously. Like this old goat. She delicately sipped her tea, placed the cup lightly back onto the table then smoothed a hand over her very French, very fashionable, very expensive gown. She began to speak, but Catherine raised her hand.
“No matter, young woman. But please be kind enough to commence with your presentation. As you can see, my niece is with child and cannot be bothered for too long a period of time. And I do hope you’ve had enough presence of mind to bring chemisette samples.” She nodded to Elizabeth and then to Anne. “And a goodly variety of fichu caps in sensible shades of white. I am hopeless when it comes to imagining these colors from their names. Don’t you agree, Anne?” Anne nodded morosely, cleared her left nostril, and then gagged up some phlegm into her handkerchief.
Other than that, it was dreadfully quiet in the room. The clock on the mantel, a clock that had once graced the boudoir of Marie Antoinette, ticked on and on. Caroline stared uncomprehendingly at Lady Catherine, affronted by the Countess’s error. “Your ladyship has been greatly misinformed, most likely by Miss Bennet here.” Caroline looked angrily at Lizzy. “I am no tradesperson.” Her nostrils twitched at the mere scent of that word. She pulled herself up into a most majestic seated posture.
The condescension apparent in Lady Catherine’s voice of before turned cold and hard. So did her eyes. “You must forgive me, madam. I was unaware before this that you are ill.” Her eyes did not move; in fact, she momentarily did not look human. “Evidently you are experiencing the unfortunate effects of continuous brain seizures.”
Caroline’s natural color completely deserted her, leaving only the painted surface.
Lizzy stopped in midsip, her gaze darting back and forth over her cup, between the women.
Anne sneezed.
“Sorry…? What…?” Caroline sat rigidly on her chair. Her eyes were blinking wildly.
“My niece has already twice informed you of her name; however, as yet you seem incapable of retaining that small parcel of information.” Caroline’s eyes moved from Lady Catherine to Lizzy and then to Anne. Caroline returned her gaze back to Lady Catherine.
“But, if indeed you are not someone who has, unfortunately, become mentally impaired through disease or accident, then, I must say you have adopted a most impertinent attitude for a seamstress.” A small, thin smile broke the gravity of Catherine’s face, and her eyes became oddly merry again. “And, I would modify your prior comment to state that, although you are, indeed, a tradesperson, you are apparently not a very good one. You will never be a great success with this offensive sort of attitude.”
“I-I-I don’t understand what you are saying, your ladyship.”
“Are you not Miss Bagley, the seamstress my dear friend Lady Jersey recommended?” Aunt Catherine raised her quizzing glass.
“No, madam, I most certainly am not!” A brilliant flush of color rushed to Caroline’s face and was spreading from her cheeks into her bodice. In her indignation, she began to rock forward and back on the chair.
“Just who are you, then? Who are your people?” Catherine snapped open her fan and worked it vigorously. “By what counterfeit means have you gained entrance into my home?” Her eyes flashed with indignation. Quietly, Jamison and two footmen entered the room.
“My name is Bingley, Lady Catherine. Caroline Bingley.”
“Bingley? Bingley? I have never heard of such an odd name. Are you quite sure?”
Unaware how to answer that question, Caroline opened and then closed her mouth. “Of course I am quite sure! It is my name, madam! How would I confuse it?”
“ Bingley?! No, no, no, that’s too absurd. Are you having fun with me, missy? ‘Bamming me,’ as the young and uncouth would say? I must caution you, it is well known that I do not approve of merriment in any manner, very bad for the humors. Merciful heavens, Bingley indeed! How you can sit there and presume… I believe that is a variety of produce, anyway. No, no, no, you must be mistaken.” With that final proclamation, Catherine proceeded to flatten out the pleats on her skirt and closed her fan.
Caroline was as bright red in her face as in her hair. “I assure you, Lady Catherine, my name is Bingley! Bingley!” If steam could truly be produced by the human body, it would by this time be escaping through Caroline’s ears.
Lady Catherine turned toward Elizabeth. “Is this person actually known to you, or is she merely aspiring to an association with her betters?”
Elizabeth could hardly speak. She cleared her throat. “Yes, actually, I do know her, Aunt Catherine.” Not wishing to expose her enjoyment, Elizabeth tried to enunciate from behind her teacup. “My sister Jane Bingley is married to her brother, Charles. Charles Bingley.” Adding the name Bingley again so often had not been necessary, but it had been fun, so Elizabeth couldn’t resist throwing it out there once again. “They have just had a daughter, Marianne Louise Bingley.”
“Good Lord, more Bingleys?!” Aunt Catherine’s eyes were ablaze. “Madam, I must tell you that I have a total of ten greenhouses on this estate alone and have no need of your fruits and vegetables. You will fail miserably in this business if you are as sloppy with your research as this indicates.”
“Your ladyship!” Caroline screamed. “We are not fruit vendors! Or street merchants! And we are also not common snipes like your niece here and her ragamuffin family!”
The quiet that followed was dreadful. Truly dreadful. Lady Catherine arose slowly, all color absent from her face. She loudly slammed the business end of her walking stick onto the floor.
“My good woman, you are speaking of my niece! A member of my family. Married to my nephew. Her father is a gentleman, who has just left this house having been my guest for two weeks.”
Caroline sat back and stared at Lady Catherine in mute shock.
“I believe I can speak for myself and for both Mrs. Darcy and my daughter, that we are no longer interested in your produce, or whatever it is you have come to sell. Take your samples and good day to you, madam! I say good day to you, and I mean it most heartily!”
Turning aside, she motioned to her butler. “Jamison, please show Mrs. Bagley out. Through the service door, Jamison! Not the front!”
Jamison had taken Caroline’s elbow and was leading her, when Lady Catherine clarified her orders. He quickly switched directions, toward the service entrance, and Caroline was gone.
It was very quiet for several seconds, when suddenly Anne blew her nose and sniffled. Lady Catherine patted down some stray hairs on the side of her coiffure as she turned to Lizzy. “Well, that was rather enjoyable, wasn’t it?”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped.
Catherine began to rise from her seat. “You know, dear, I don’t believe we should wait dinner for Darcy. It looks like the rain may be delaying his return from your father’s. I do believe he would be very vexed with me if you postponed your dinner too long.”
Just then Fitzwilliam came running into the room.
“I came as quickly as I could. Is everything all right?” He stole a worried glance at Elizabeth.
She looked like the cat that had gotten into the cream. “Oh, yes, everything is quite splendid, thank you.” Elizabeth reached for his proffered hand. With the proper momentum and one or two false starts, she was even able to rise from her chair. “I am famished!”
Darcy had indeed delayed leaving Mr. Bennet’s house to return to Rosings after a light drizzle had churned the roads and slowed their journey. Mr. Bennet found he was not looking forward to an evening alone and begged Darcy to stay for early dinner, a favor which Darcy could hardly refuse. Kitty and Mary had been in London with their aunt and uncle Gardiner and were due to return later that week.
Although eager to return to Elizabeth, he was glad that the last two weeks had given him the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her father, and wanted to continue in the man’s good graces. They had surprisingly much in common—a love of books, an interest in horticulture, and a mutual devotion and respect for a certain young lady.
When the light dinner was served in his library and a fire made to warm the room, Mr. Bennet began to show his son-in-law some of his most favored manuscripts and drawings. Dusty books were dragged out from under piles of writings, and original sketches from a variety of well-known artists were thrown in stacks next to new plantings being readied for his experimental garden.
“Sir, you have a treasure trove here. Have you ever catalogued these items?” Darcy lounged in Mr. Bennet’s desk chair, looking over a very rare handwritten Bible, whose pages were beginning to crumble from exposure.
“There is never enough time, William, never the right occasion. And I confess that I am not very well organized. Lizzy helped me often, but I’ve let it all go bad again.”
“Well, I would be glad to send someone over to help you. Let me see about procuring a librarian for you, initially, every day for as long as it takes, and eventually, perhaps once or twice a month for upkeep. These are much too rare and valuable not to be protected.”
Mr. Bennet was overcome with gratitude. Lizzy’s husband was indeed a very excellent fellow.
It was late when Darcy reentered his coach and was off again for Rosings. He was exhausted and aggravated with himself for delaying his departure for so long. It will be well after midnight by the time we return now. He parted the carriage curtains to look out. I pray she won’t be too worried. He urged his driver to go as quickly as the wet roads would allow and then settled back for the long ride home.
Lately, his concern for Lizzy had become obsessive, all encompassing. She loved him deeply, and her emotions were so erratic that he feared causing her stress of any kind. Hopefully, she will have reasoned that I stayed a while due to the rain and to comfort her father. He watched anxiously as the terrain flew by the window. “Please try to go a little faster, Henry. Thank you,” he called up to the driver.
They finally pulled into the great stone-encased portico of Rosings at just after midnight. Darcy thanked his driver, tipping him extravagantly for the speed and care he had taken, and then entered into one of the side halls. It was eerily quiet. Few lamps were lit in the foyer, and it seemed that only the night butler was awake in the great house. Walking quickly through the downstairs, he handed over his greatcoat then stood at the foot of the grand staircase.
He was always taken aback at the oppressive quiet that could chill a manor house this size. It was positively tomblike with the endless marble floors and soaring ceilings. Huge statues cast ominous shadows in the diffused light. The smallest sounds were magnified tenfold, and his footfalls had been echoing loudly in the halls as he walked. He cursed himself for a fool, he should not have stayed so very long at Mr. Bennet’s. Hopefully, Lizzy was asleep upstairs and not in a frenzy of worry.
He heard a faint sound in the distance, up in the higher reaches of the house, somewhere in the dark. He waited.
It was Lizzy’s voice far off in the stillness, coming from upstairs, possibly from the small sitting room in their bedroom suite. He could discern nothing of what she said, but he began quickly to climb the staircase, making it his heart’s destination. After a moment, he recognized the deeper timbre of his cousin Fitzwilliam’s voice.
Their voices grew in strength and distinction. He had just approached his sitting-room doorway when Lizzy burst into giggles at something Fitzwilliam had said, and then they both began laughing. It was in that attitude which he found them, vastly amused with each other, laughing so heartily, in fact, that they never heard the door open or Darcy walk slowly in behind them.
The room was stiflingly warm, the candles softly illuminating the two merrymakers as they sat side by side, their backs to the door. Both of their chairs were pulled up companionably before the fireplace, both sets of feet up on footstools, shoes off, coffee cups and biscuit remains on the small table between them. What struck Darcy was how tightly they held each other’s hands across this brief expanse, their fingers interlaced. Fitzwilliam brought her hand up to his lips to kiss as they laughed once again.
It was really quite a cozy, heartwarming domestic scene—that is, if it hadn’t been his wife and his cousin.
He stood there a moment before he was captured in Lizzy’s side vision. “William!” she cried as she jumped up from the chair and ran around to him.
“It’s about time you returned, brat. We feared highwaymen had snatched you.” Fitzwilliam smiled broadly and began to stand. “We didn’t even hear you enter.”
“Evidently,” Darcy said, his tone as ice cold as his eyes. Lizzy was just reaching her arms up to him when he stepped back and walked over to the decanter of port on the desk behind him.
“I was very concerned that you would be grievously worried about me, Elizabeth; however, plainly I had no reason for distress. It’s good to see you in such agreeable company, alone here with my cousin. Such good company, in fact, that he was able to relieve your darkest qualms.” He poured a glass for himself, downing it in one gulp, then he slammed the decanter down on the desk.
Fitzwilliam gave a grunt. “Aw, now…don’t start to pout, Darcy. It doesn’t become you. You’ll get wrinkles on that elegant brow of yours.” Chuckling, he sat back down in his chair to finish off his coffee, tossing back the few remaining biscuits. He was annoyingly amused, making Darcy all the angrier.
Lizzy stood motionless, confused, staring up at her husband. “Well, of course I was concerned. Richard has stayed with me for company and was a most welcome support. I would think you would be glad of that.” She was both surprised and hurt at his reaction, her voice barely audible.
“Oh, I know he always has your best interests at heart, don’t you, Fitz? In fact, ever since he first set eyes on you, Elizabeth, your best interests have been uppermost in his thoughts, amongst your other many lovely attributes.” Lizzy gave a little gasp.
Fitzwilliam put down his cup and burped, excusing himself. He used his napkin to brush the crumbs that littered his pants and jacket, then began to wipe his hands. “A word of caution, if I may, Cousin.” He turned to stare steadily into Darcy’s eyes. His voice was very quiet. “Do not say anything now that you will later regret.”
Darcy leaned back on the desk with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flaming daggers. The two cousins stared, unspeaking, for several tense moments.
The colonel sighed and shook his head. “Very well, I will leave you both. Good night, Elizabeth.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Don’t fret, dearest—Darcy and I have had bigger rows than this, much bigger, and have survived.” He tossed his napkin to Darcy as he passed. “Good night, brat.” With that, Fitzwilliam left the room.
Lizzy turned and stared at her husband in disbelief. “William! How could you?!”
Darcy struggled to loosen his collar, a dark and hateful look on his face. “You know, that’s another thing, my name is Fitzwilliam—Fitzwilliam Darcy. Not Fitz, not William, but Fitzwilliam. I am awfully sorry if it gets you muddled, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
He sat down heavily into the desk chair and immediately turned his back on his wife. God, I am so tired, so very tired of waiting for this child. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his fingertips, feeling guilty and petty and stupid. He knew perfectly well that there were no illicit feelings between his cousin and Elizabeth, knew he had made a muck of things this night when he should have been trying to keep stress from her, knew he should have told her of his disastrous encounter weeks prior with Caroline.
Lizzy struggled to pick up her shoes, waddling out of the room with tears beginning to sting her eyes. I am supposed to trust him without question, and he does this. She was fighting emotions from anger, to hurt, back to anger again. How humiliating! How will I ever face Richard again? Ugh! My feet are killing me. She wanted to go pound on Fitzwilliam’s door so she could complain about her husband, but she realized that was not the best nor most logical plan at the moment.
Am I to have no friends at all? Is he allowed jealousy with no basis in reason, while I am allowed none, when he’s already admitted to a relationship with that woman? She walked slowly to their room, angrily swiping away her tears with the back of her hand. He looks very tired though. He looks tired and concerned. She stopped by her dressing room and pressed a hand to her heart. We’ll be home soon in London, and then we can relax and wait for the baby.
All will be fine as it once was.
It has to be.
For the first time in his life, he looked a mess. When he walked into her dressing room, he was barefoot, his hair wild, his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion, his coat off, and his shirt pulled out from his pants, the tails hanging down from his waist. Their eyes met.
“May I?” he asked quietly. She had been standing before the immense French doors overlooking the garden, staring unseeing across the moonlit expanse, a brush in her hand. She turned to look at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she nodded, offering him the brush.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I find it hard to hit upon a comfortable position when I sit on that antique vanity chair, and I am so very tired tonight.” He tenderly took the brush from her hand and began to glide it through her soft, shiny hair, then set down the brush to loosely braid it for her. Quiet surrounded them.
“Shall I rub your back?” His hands lay warm and gentle at her waist.
She nodded, and when she looked up, she saw him watching her in the dark reflection of the window. He looks so sad and tired, and her heart broke for him. She placed her hands upon his.
“Forgive me, Lizzy,” was all he could manage to say as he pressed his forehead atop her head. She turned quickly and reached up, struggling onto her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck. They stood like that for a time, holding each other, then softly kissed.
He led her over to the bed, helping her up the two steps and onto her side to rest. Sitting next to her, he began to massage her back and hip through her night robe, a sad, embarrassed look upon his face.
Finally, he spoke. “I’ll apologize to Fitzwilliam in the morning. I don’t know what came over me; I think I may be losing my mind. I saw the two of you holding hands and…”
She turned on her back and placed a finger to his lips. “Hush! It is all right, William. I was crying, and Richard heard me, so he asked if he could enter. He was almost equally concerned, you see. I welcomed his company because it was frightening waiting alone for you with that storm blowing.”
Darcy lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms, pulling a coverlet over them. “I don’t think he sleeps well. Catherine is concerned and wants me to speak with him; it seems that some nights he just roams through the halls. I imagine he was lonely as well.”
“He is such a kind man, William. Truthfully, if you had come home an hour before, you would have seen a hysterical banshee instead of a wife.”
He took her palm from his face and kissed her soft hand.
“You’re tired, William, and you worry much too much. Let’s go to sleep. This will all be over in a few months.”
He grunted loudly. “I’ll collapse well before then,” he murmured in her ear.
The following morning, he found Fitzwilliam at breakfast early, as he knew he would. Fitzwilliam had to be off and on the roads to make London late the following day.
“Morning, Cousin. And how are we feeling today?” Fitzwilliam called out when he saw Darcy approach the breakfast room.
“ We feel like a complete ass, thank you very much, and how do you feel, Cousin?” Grabbing a cup of coffee, he sat down across from Fitzwilliam, stretching his long legs before him.
“Very well, actually. Finally slept like a baby.” He was eating three eggs, ham, and bacon. He also had a huge slice of buttered, freshly baked bread, which he was carefully stuffing into his mouth. “God, you are so predictable.” He let out a hoot of laughter. “I knew you’d feel absolutely miserable this morning. Made the whole thing completely worthwhile.”
“You truly are a black-hearted bastard.” Darcy roughly rubbed his sleepy eyes and then destroyed the achingly perfect coif his valet had given him by rubbing his hands through it. Resting his cheek on a fist, he gazed in amazement at the quantity of food his cousin could consume.
Fitzwilliam stopped in midbite. “What?” he groused defensively then swallowed. “An army moves on its stomach.”
“Well, it better not be going far. You’re going to be puking before the first road station.” He motioned with his hands for Fitzwilliam to pass food to him.
Fitzwilliam handed him an empty plate, sliding an egg onto it and a huge slice of ham. He then reached for the scones for both of them.
“I’m going to try to get an extended leave the month Lizzy’s due to deliver. Let me know if you need me for anything before then.” Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and stretched, finishing up his morning coffee.
Darcy nodded. “Thank you, by the way, for staying with her last night. At least you kept her calm. I, however, managed nearly to give her apoplexy.” He grabbed several pieces of toast.
“I know you, brat, and I know what is eating at you. There is no evidence for it. Many women never miscarry; some miscarry and then go on to have a perfectly normal delivery. Your mother had a history of troubled pregnancies. Her death was unfortunate but not something that will happen to Lizzy. You are worrying unnecessarily and driving everyone insane.”
“Then why are you taking leave at the time she’s due? Hmm?” It appeared that Darcy’s appetite was returning with a vengeance as he reached for Fitzwilliam’s nearly empty plate to bring it across and add any remnants onto his own. He grabbed for more toast and pastries.
“That’s entirely different,” Richard said. “That’s me. I am a military genius, or hadn’t you heard? Battle-ready whenever needed.”
“You’re an idiot, and you want to be there to torture me when the child is born,” replied Darcy, finishing up the ham and scones.
“That’s true, too.” Fitzwilliam nodded deeply and in complete agreement. “Where do you go from here?” Fitzwilliam had poured himself one more helping of coffee and was ready to push away from the table.
“We go directly to London; I want Elizabeth to be as near to the best medical minds as possible. I have left nothing to chance, believe me. Her physician is world renowned and has assured me he will be in residence, near Pemberley House, the entire final month. Furthermore, he guarantees that the midwife he has secured is the very best. Also, I have contracted with no less than three other physicians and apprised them of the situation. They have all agreed, for a not-so-slight remuneration, to remain in town that last month of her pregnancy. It is all costing a small fortune, but the peace of mind is priceless.” He stared unseeing out the window, not bothering to hide his distress from his cousin.
“Something else is bothering you—out with it.”
“What if there are twins in there?” Darcy shook his head. “She’s so big, much larger than I had imagined she would be at this point. But mayhap it is because she’s such a tiny thing. I don’t know anymore. The proportions appear all off to me. And her delivery is not until sometime at the end of January.” He sighed heavily. “At any rate, do not forget about Georgiana’s debut and presentation. That will require Elizabeth and me to reside in London from before Christmas and then throughout the entire social season.”
“I have been trying to forget. Georgiana cannot be ready yet for this. I’m not ready yet for this.”
“She can, and she is. She and her maid have already arrived in London, and she’s commenced shopping. From what I have heard, she and Elizabeth are planning a major campaign. To them, we go to London for the dressmaker, not for childbirth. It’s a good thing I’ll be there to keep Elizabeth in check, or she’ll be wielding that immense body of hers around every shop in town. As Georgiana’s other guardian, you will be expected to be on hand for the presentation at court and the presentation balls and Almack’s, so save some leave time for then, also. One must never forget Almack’s.”
Fitzwilliam threw down his napkin and pushed back his chair. “Well, evidently I’ll be using a lot more time this year than I had anticipated. I do have it coming, unfortunately, so that should not be a problem. Surely, though, you will want to present her at court yourself alone?” He looked hopefully at Darcy. “You are, after all, her closest male relative.”
“Forget it, Richard. We will jointly have that pleasure. As her co-guardian, I would not think of depriving you of this bliss.”
Fitzwilliam smiled evilly.
“I’ve just had a delightful thought. Do you realize, Cousin, that if our baby girl is not successful in her first season, if she does not snag a prospective suitor, if she is not married by next year, you will have to go through the whole season again, Almack’s and everything, and without me. I’ll be in Paris with the returning army of occupation.”
“Black-hearted bastard,” Darcy mumbled to his cousin’s retreating back and finished off the last of the coffee.
Leaving Rosings had been harder on Lizzy than she could ever have imagined three weeks before, let alone two years ago.
Once Darcy and Lizzy had entered the carriage, Darcy called up to his driver, “Henry, take your time going home. I’m bound that we’re going to enjoy this solitude.” He settled himself back into the seat and pulled Lizzy to him, resting her back on his chest for support then, finally beginning to relax, he stretched long legs out to the seat across from them, and they took off toward home.
They rode for a long time in silence, his cheek resting on top of her head, his arms encircling her and holding her close. “This could go on forever, and I wouldn’t mind,” she whispered sleepily.
Her back didn’t hurt for once, and her feet weren’t too swollen. She was in heaven. He kissed the top of her head and rested his cheek there again. Both of them closed their eyes to the rest of the world.
“Oh, William, in all the excitement last night, I forgot to tell you something.” He groaned a little in reply, preferring his drift into unconsciousness to conversation.
“You will never guess who came to see us the day you escorted Father home.” He barely heard her voice. The carriage was rocking like a cradle, and he was half asleep and half awake. “Caroline Bingley.”
The name slowly made its way into his brain but elicited no impression for several seconds. Suddenly, his eyes popped open.
“Who did you say?” He attempted to sound casual.
“Caroline. Caroline Bingley.” Lizzy giggled at the memory of the beast’s meeting with Lady Catherine. “I imagine she actually wanted to see you but had to settle for Aunt Catherine, Anne, and me.” Darcy’s heart began pounding, his voice trying to remain steady.
“What did she have to say for herself?” he asked.
“Nothing too much. At first I was horrified having both Caroline and Aunt Catherine alone in a room with me, but believe me, it wasn’t long before Caroline was being eviscerated by Aunt Catherine.” Lizzy gave a delighted chuckle, any attempt at pretending indifference being long forgotten.
“I’m sorry to be so gleeful about it, but it was truly a sight to behold, watching someone else being attacked by your aunt. I have the distinct impression either Aunt Catherine is completely dotty or she is the slyest fox in the henhouse.”
“More than likely it’s a combination of both.” Darcy closed his eyes, trying not to panic. It didn’t sound as if Caroline had said anything to her. He should have just told Lizzy the truth about Netherfield, saving himself from another lie. I can tell her everything later, he reasoned, after the baby is here.
“She didn’t give any explanation for a visit though?” he asked.
“No. I truly think that Aunt Catherine had her so confused that she completely forgot what she was about.” Darcy smiled, relieved that Caroline’s deception and his visit to her were still unknown to Lizzy.
“That’s the first time I heard you call her Aunt Catherine instead of Lady Catherine.” He kissed her head again and rested his chin on it. “I think we are making real progress.”
“I’m feeling more part of the family every day. After ten or twenty years, I shall be right at home in all this luxury.”
“Get some sleep, will you? I need the rest.” He pushed his hat down over his eyes and closed them, letting his thoughts ruminate. Why in the world had Caroline come all that way? What could she have up her sleeve? He began drifting deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.
“By the way”—Lizzy’s voice sounded groggy—“where is my mother’s locket? I should like to be wearing it when I have the baby.”
His eyes opened with a shock. The locket! Oh, dear merciful God in heaven, he didn’t have the locket. He had left it at Netherfield and never returned.
“William? Are you sleeping?” He didn’t answer her and remained very still. “I’ll pester you tomorrow,” she murmured and was soon snoring softly. Darcy, however, was not going to sleep any time soon.