Page 16 of Fitzwilliam Darcy An Honourable Man
Rosewood Manor
Pushing back from the table, Richard patted his stomach and groaned. “I feel as though I could use a nap. I am entirely too full!” His pronouncement made Arthur laugh and he almost choked on a mouthful of water.
“Richard, where are your manners!” William chided.
“I do not know where I left them, Cousin, and I am too tired to look for them at the moment!”
William chided, “Then we must get you back to Pemberley, so you can rest, and I hope, find your manners. I, for one, cannot wait to spend an entire night in my own bed. Excuse me while I find my brother and sister and have a word with them before we depart.”
“And I cannot wait to impose upon your hospitality and enjoy a night in one of your fine beds!” Richard retorted, winking at Arthur. Then he whispered loudly enough to be heard, “A soldier takes every opportunity to impose upon those who lead lives of leisure.”
William shook his head at Richard’s antics and headed for the door, almost clearing the room before remembering a concern. Turning, he enquired of Arthur, “Will Millie be well if I leave her here tonight? I mean, without anyone with whom she is familiar? Do you need to stay with her?”
Arthur had already finished eating, so he stood and stepped closer to William, eager to explain. “No, sir. She is used to a number of people caring for her, and she is content as long as she is not by herself. She is especially frightened, though, when she awakens alone.” He concluded, beaming proudly, “But other than that, she is a very good child.”
William could not suppress a smile at the young man’s obvious pride in Millie. “You are very kind to take care of so young a charge.”
Raising his chin, the youth replied confidently, “It is my Christian duty to care for widows and orphans, so the Bible teaches. Moreover, I am used to children, as I helped with my younger brothers and sisters. My mother says it will serve me well when I have children of my own.”
William clasped his shoulder. “You are correct, and your mother is a wise woman. Still, you are a good man to take such prodigious care of her.”
Arthur flushed as red as his hair, dropping his head in embarrassment. “I thank you.”
William stepped into the hall then, moving in the direction of the grand staircase. He glanced up the stairs to see Evan already half-way down and waited for him at the bottom.
Grabbing his brother’s hand as they met, Evan absently shook it as he proclaimed, “I have not seen Ana this happy in—I cannot remember how long! How did you ever accomplish this miracle? Is Millie really ours?”
William’s smile was kind but weary. “As her newly commissioned godfather, I can assure you that she is most definitely yours. However, we agreed to talk about it all tomorrow.”
Evan held up both hands as if in surrender. “Of course. I am walking on air, and I forget that you are tired. Forgive me!”
“No apologies needed. But I would like to tell Gigi I am leaving, if it would not be an inconvenience.”
“None at all. You will find your sister in the nursery rocking an already sleeping child to sleep.” They both chuckled. “But I will not mind if she stays there all night—and she may. She is entitled to be thrilled about the child.” Evan continued, “She is perfect, and not just because she is the very image of my Ana.”
“That was the first thing I noticed about the girl. She could be the child in the portrait at Pemberley, the one painted when Gigi was three.”
“Yes! I had not thought of it, but you are right,” Evan exclaimed, “the portrait of your entire family, where Ana is sitting on her mother’s lap!”
William’s face fell just a little. “Yes, that is the one.” Patting Evan’s back as he passed him, he added, “I pray she will bring you both joy.”
“She already has,” Evan said hoarsely. “How can we ever thank you?”
“Just love her as you would your own.”
“You know I will ...we will.”
“That is why she is here.”
~~~*~~~
The sound of Georgiana’s clear soprano caught William’s attention long before he reached the door to the nursery. She often sang as a child, and even as a young woman, she accompanied herself on the pianoforte. However, it had been years since he had heard her sing and never something so simple, so heart-warming.
Stopping just outside the door, he peered in to find her sitting in the chair he had given her when she was expecting her first child, still rocking Millie. Fortunately, for him, her head was bowed so she could not see his struggle. He was finding it hard to keep his composure as she sang a nursery rhyme their own mother had sung to them.
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so.
Call up your friends, dilly, dilly,
Set them to work
Some to the plough, dilly dilly,
Some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly,
Some to thresh corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly,
Keep ourselves warm.
Lavender's blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so. 1
Hearing a deep sigh, Georgiana glanced up to find William in the doorway. She waved him forward as she stood and placed the child in her own small bed, laid a stuffed rabbit beside her, and pulled the satin counterpane over both. Having endured the tiring journey, Mille did not awaken, instead she turned to clasp the toy and snuggle deeper into the soft pillow.
Georgiana leaned in to caress the soft curls around her face and placed a kiss on her forehead. Straightening, she contemplated the child for a second before turning, walking to William, and immediately falling into his arms. Her body shook as she cried quietly against him. Tenderly he held her, rubbing her back until she calmed, then he led her out into the hallway so they could speak without fear of waking the sleeping child.
“Arthur assures me Millie will be well if he does not stay, but I will leave him here if it will ease your mind.” Georgiana was shaking her head no even before he finished.
“Forgive me if I frightened you by crying. I am sure she will do well. I was just overcome with joy as everything is just so perfect,” she managed through her tears. “I have longed to see a child in that bed for so many years and tonight…” A sob caught in her throat, and William pulled her back into a hug.
He murmured reassuringly, “You will be a wonderful mother.”
“I will do everything in my power to be the mother Millie needs.”
William lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “Of that I have no doubt.” She beamed. “I came to tell you that we are leaving. As I said earlier, I shall explain everything tomorrow, but tonight I wish to go home and sleep in my own bed.”
Standing on her toes to kiss his forehead, she then playfully pushed him back a bit. “Go home, Brother. You have done so much, and you will need your rest, as I have many unanswered questions. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
He winked at her and turned. She took another step towards his retreating form. “I know you are anxious to learn how Miss Lawrence has fared while you were gone. We have not heard a word from Pemberley, so I can only assume all is well.” For the first time that evening, she saw worry cross his face.
“I have heard nothing either, but I am hopeful she is progressing.”
“I wish that as well, for your sake as well as hers. I have my art supplies ready. Perhaps I could call on her soon?”
“Perhaps.”
Pemberley
As the coach bearing its tired travellers stopped in front of Pemberley, it was already quite late, which deeply disappointed William. He had harboured hopes of arriving in time to say goodnight to Elizabeth. But as late as it was, she was most likely in her room preparing for bed if not asleep already. His glum expression was duly noted by Richard.
“Heavens, Darce! You look as though we have just arrived at Rosings! I thought you would be giddy with relief to be home!” His loud guffaws as they exited the coach caused the footmen standing at attention to steal glances at each other, then just as quickly, resume their stance as they saw Mr. Darcy’s frown.
“I am tired, Richard! That is all!”
“And I am the Prince Regent!”
William groaned as he proceeded up the steps to find Mr. Walker opening the door. “Mr. Darcy, sir, Colonel Fitzwilliam, it is so good to have you both back so soon. I hope your trip was pleasant.”
“Yes, Mr. Walker,” William responded. “The trip was not as difficult as I imagined it would be.” By that time, Mrs. Reynolds had joined them, and he addressed her. “Please have a room prepared for my friend here, Arthur Fielding.” He nodded in the direction of the boy. “Richard will, of course, be staying in his usual rooms.”
The elderly housekeeper smiled at the young boy before promptly returning her attention to William. “Very good, sir. I am so pleased you are home.”
William took note of the meaningful look Mrs. Reynolds gave him. Nearly a lifetime spent with her had taught him what that look meant. She needed to speak to him in private.
Before he could say anything, however, she gave instructions to the maid that had followed her to the foyer. “Constance, show Mr. Fielding to the green bedroom, the Colonel knows where his rooms are located—they are always kept ready.”
As the maid bobbed a curtsy in reply, Mrs. Reynolds focused on William. “I shall order hot baths prepared for you immediately and send everyone a tray with supper afterwards, if that meets with your approval.”
Before William could answer, Richard crowed, “Mrs. Reynolds you are a mind reader!” Then motioning for Arthur to join him, he slung an arm over the boy’s shoulder, and they ascended the stairs behind the maid. “Come, young man, as a future soldier, you have much to learn about enjoying the kindness of generous people.”
William and Mrs. Reynolds both watched with amusement as Richard continued his banter up the stairs and on down the hallway, his voice still loud enough to be heard long after he was out of sight. Turning to each other, they smiled and shook their heads in mutual acknowledgement. Then the housekeeper’s mien sobered.
“Would you have just a moment, sir?”
“Of course. Shall we go to my study?”
Without any further words, she followed Mr. Darcy down the hall.
~~~*~~~
Elizabeth had fallen asleep rapidly, but the scenes running through her unconscious mind brought worse night terrors than she had experienced in the past. This time she could see him clearly .
A tall, blond-haired man, obviously drunk, his face distorted with rage. He was waving a pistol, yelling obscenities, and accusing her of disloyalty. He grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully behind her as he hissed, “You plotted to leave me—your husband! After all I have done for you, this is the thanks I get!”
Her hands gripped the sheets tighter, twisting the linens first one way and then another, as in her dream she tried to break free of him.
“ You shall learn what happens to those who betray me!”
Suddenly a young woman holding a child came from somewhere behind, interrupting his fierce rant and trying to distract him. He swung the gun in her direction.
“ You! You were the one who assisted her! I should kill—”
Elizabeth stepped in between them just as a loud blast reverberated through the room. Her head exploded with pain at the same time she caught sight of the mother and child being splattered with blood. Was it hers? Suddenly a large red stain began to spread across the mother’s breast. Horrified and unbelieving, she watched as the woman and the child sank to the floor. Abruptly rough hands were grabbing her arms, pulling her back around. The madman’s face was only inches from hers, and he appeared to be shouting, though Elizabeth could hear nothing as the darkness claimed her.
Bolting up in the bed, Elizabeth’s breath came in great gasps. Immediately, a certain phrase broke through the chaos— y our husband.
With that horrible revelation, the veil that had begun to lift since she had been at Pemberley slammed shut, and Elizabeth slipped back into the abyss she had occupied after the fire.
In her current state, she now believed that Pemberley was Northgate, and she reached for the doll lying by her pillow and slipped out of the bed. She ran from the bedroom into the sitting room and finding it locked, went on into Mrs. Drury’s room. The elderly companion, asleep for hours, did not hear Elizabeth slip through her room and into the hall. Completely unaware of her state of undress, Elizabeth ran through the house, her sole focus on escaping from him .
The household was asleep except for the servants patrolling the halls and William, who was completely unaware of her distress. Swiftly she navigated the long hallway to the grand staircase, only encountering the footmen once she got that far. She eluded the first by swiftly sitting down on the stairs as he passed below and another by rushing into the lone room downstairs that was familiar—the library. Going straight to the doors that opened onto the terrace, she worked for some time before she managed to unlock one. Flinging it back, she ran out onto the terrace unsure of which way to go. The familiar gravel path to the stables caught her eye, and she began to run.
~~~*~~~
The hour was late by the time William finished bathing and eating, and though he was weary, sleep would not come. Mrs. Reynolds’ account of how Elizabeth had thanked her for pouring a cup of tea intrigued him. Could it be that she was coming to her senses? And, if she was, what would it mean for their relationship? If she truly remembered everything, would she hate him as she had after Kent? Every dreadful thing he could imagine kept him from finding any rest.
After two hours of staring blankly into the flames still flickering in the hearth and consuming two glasses of brandy, the overwhelming desire to see Elizabeth overrode his better judgment. Pulling his robe on over his nightshirt, he opened the door to the servants’ hall, and grabbing a candle, advanced in the direction of her bedroom. Since he was well familiar with the house, it took little time for him to arrive at the secret opening. He blew out the candle and stepped inside, standing perfectly still until his eyes adjusted.
It was several moments before he realised she was not in the bed or even inside the room. Moving closer, he touched the mussed sheets, evidence that she had lain there earlier, and found them cold. His eyes flew to the French doors, which were closed. Moving swiftly to them, he tried the handle but found it locked. Something compelled him to go onto the balcony, and as he stepped into the cool night air, he caught sight of something moving across the manicured lawns below, but he could not see it clearly.
A paralysing fear washed over him. Was it Elizabeth or was she elsewhere in the house? And if it was Elizabeth, why would she wish to escape? Had someone or something scared her? Had he been foolish to believe she was improving because she had not once tried to escape Pemberley as she had Netherfield?
Twirling around, he reached the servants’ hallway in a few long strides and began the trek back to his room. Arriving there swiftly, he pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat off the back of a chair, racing into the hallway. Reaching the grand staircase, he cleared the stairs faster than ever before, slowing down only when approached at the bottom by a footman.
“Have you seen any guests downstairs since you have been on duty?” William asked a little too forcefully, his composure almost spent.
Taking in the Master’s unkempt appearance and never having seen him in such a state, the footman replied nervously, “No, sir.” He swallowed a large lump in his throat, wondering if he might not have been diligent. “I have been on duty since dark and have seen no one.”
“Carry on,” William declared in his Master of Pemberley voice, and the footman, eager to be out of sight, bowed and hurried back the way he had come.
As the footman scurried away, William noted that the library door was the only one not entirely closed and hurried there. Once inside, he found the door left open and ran through it onto the terrace. Now convinced that the figure he saw earlier must have been Elizabeth and that she had escaped via that door, he followed the gravel path, zigzagging through the gardens towards the stables. Not slowing, he reached the tree-lined lawn in front of the stables and stopped abruptly, scanning his surroundings with no sign of her. He began to question his decision not to alert the staff straightaway.
No! If Elizabeth sees strange men combing the grounds, looking for her, it would only exacerbate her fears.
It was a moonlit night, but a cloud passed over at that moment, making it impossible to see anything other than the outline of the barn. William cursed the fact that he had not thought to grab a lantern but as he waited for the light to reappear, suddenly Elizabeth’s destination became clear. Moving swiftly around the barn to the back, he entered the same door he had used to show her the kittens. Silently, he stepped inside and stood deathly still, praying he did not frighten her.
At last, the sound of hay being moved about assured him she was indeed in there. With very few steps, he stood at the entrance of the stall that held Stockings and her kittens. He waited for the moon to illuminate the barn through the tall windows that ran along the walls, and when it did a moment later, Elizabeth was clearly visible. She was sitting atop a large pile of hay in one corner, her knees pulled towards her chest, clutching the doll she had previously given up. She had all the kittens about her, as though they might afford protection from whatever demons pursued her.
Even in her dishevelled state, she was beautiful, and it took his breath. In her haste to escape, her loose braid had become undone, and her tresses hung down her back and across her shoulders—unrepentant dark curls flying in all directions. A white cotton gown with blue satin trim along the neck, sleeves, and under the bosom was all she wore. One thin cap sleeve had fallen off her shoulder, causing the neckline to slip lower on that side, exposing the top of a breast. If not for the frightened look in her dark eyes and the way she scooted further away when she saw him, he would have thought this the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld.
“Elizabeth?” His voice sounded more composed than he felt.
She violently shook her head. Then wrapping her arms around her knees, she buried her face there, atop the doll, and wept. His heart broke.
“Elizabeth, it is Fitzwilliam Darcy ...William. I will not harm you.” He took a small step forward, and she whimpered.
Knowing he must take control, he commanded stridently, “Look at me!” Adding in a much softer tone, “Please, Elizabeth.” Slowly she raised her tearful eyes to study him.
“I am not him. I am Fitzwilliam ...your William. Say my name, Elizabeth. Say William.”
Time stood still until she murmured, “William.”
Letting go of the breath he held, William deliberately moved closer, one step at a time. He soothed her as he neared with tender words. “That is right, sweetheart. It is William, and I have never ...nor will I ever hurt you. In your heart, you know that.”
Her eyes never leaving his, he finally got close enough to extend his hand, palm up. Elizabeth’s eyes flicked from his face to his hand and back. He nodded and cautiously she extended her hand until it lay in his larger one. He smiled reassuringly and brought his other hand to cup her small one.
“You are safe with me, sweetheart. Now, let us get you back to the house.”
Helping her to her feet, he noticed for the first time that she was not wearing any shoes, and her feet were scratched and bleeding. He adjusted her sleeve back where it belonged, took off his coat and draped it around her as she clasped the doll. Buttoning two buttons to keep it around her, he slipped his arms under her knees and picked her up.
Meeting her dark eyes from only inches away, he pleaded, “Trust me, Elizabeth. I will protect you with my life.”
Her only answer was to lay her head against his chest.
London
Lady Rutherford’s Ballroom
Lady Gwendolyn Waltham surveyed the ballroom from the doorway. Her dark blond curls, swept up into an elaborate display, were interspersed with ruby-encrusted combs. Her burgundy velvet gown was of the latest style, cut exceptionally low, displaying her ample cleavage and still-small waist. A single large ruby, surrounded by diamonds, dangled dangerously between her breasts, while the matching earrings adorned her ears, both had been presents from her late husband. Every eye turned to stare, before returning to their conversations.
Now that she was no longer the single centre of attention, she despised these events. At one time, her entrance would have stopped the music and the conversations. Now, there was a new crop of debutantes every season, all younger than she, if not more beautiful, and it forced her to work harder for male attention. Her inspection of the occupants of the room ended with the sight of Cecile Preston at the other side of the ballroom, locked in an animated discussion with two women.
So, the ugly duckling has returned to London. Perhaps, Gwendolyn thought, she would glean some information from Cecile regarding Fitzwilliam , since she had so little luck in Derbyshire. That accursed Georgiana had been no help at all!
With a great deal of practiced theatrics, she crossed the room, meeting the eye and nodding to every man in her path. Her lips were barely lifted in a knowing smile as she skilfully conveyed her availability. Only the swift poke of an elbow by a diligent wife kept some of the men from returning her greeting, and she suppressed a laugh. Now it was up to them to make a move.
If she could not convince Fitzwilliam to share her bed, she was not above securing another man’s devotion—even one with a boring, stupid wife—but only if he were wealthy enough to merit the trouble. However, until someone more tempting came along, she still meant to concentrate on the most devastatingly handsome man of her acquaintance. Moreover, though Fitzwilliam seemed impervious to her machinations at present, she felt confident that he would eventually surrender to his baser instincts. As she considered this pleasant development, she slowly made her way to Cecile Preston.
Oblivious, Cecile was in the middle of a lament over the same handsome man. “And I am sure this cousin has used her illness as an opportunity to seduce him. Otherwise, why would Fitzwilliam’s feelings have changed so drastically after having practically courted me for weeks? Why would a man, who is known for his reticence, take in this mysterious cousin, allowing her to reside at his beloved Pemberley? No, I am convinced there is something more than meets the eye in that relationship.”
The other ladies nodded in agreement, which only encouraged Cecile to continue boldly. “Knowing Fitzwilliam as I do, I imagine he feels he is under some obligation to this woman. I would be very surprised if an announcement of their engagement is not forthcoming.”
Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had positioned herself behind the trio and overheard this bit of news. She was incensed! Surely, the Fitzwilliam she knew was not enamoured of that small, dark creature. Why, she was not even beautiful! Promptly burying her annoyance under an abundance of boldness, Gwendolyn stepped in between the ladies, facing Cecile.
“Cecile, darling!” She took the mouse’s hand without its being offered. “How good to see you again!”
Noting with satisfaction the ire in her expression, Gwendolyn continued. “I had no idea you were back in London. I had to return for business, and imagine my surprise to walk in here and find you holding court!”
Cecile barely hid her disgust. “Oh, Gwendolyn, darling,” she parroted her nemesis, her smile never reaching her eyes. “I was hardly holding court .” Motioning to the women Gwendolyn had ignored, she added, “Have you met Lady Matthews and Lady Dawson?”
Gwendolyn’s pasted smile froze. She would be forced to acknowledge the ones she had so callously disregarded moments before. Turning, she eyed the women suspiciously. After all, were they not all jealous of her?
Cecile continued the introduction. “Ladies, allow me to introduce Lady Gwendolyn Waltham.”
Before either of them could speak, Gwendolyn retorted, “Charmed,” and quickly faced Cecile again. Somewhat amused by her single-minded rudeness, the other ladies threw sympathetic looks at Cecile over Gwendolyn’s shoulder and walked away.
When the two were no longer within hearing range, Cecile said boldly, “In answer to your greeting, I cannot possibly convey my feelings at seeing you again so soon.”
Understanding her meaning, Gwendolyn smirked. “I can assure you the feeling is mutual.”
She waited for another retort and when none was forthcoming, ventured, “I wondered if you had heard from our dear Georgiana of late. The last I heard, she was truly worried about her dear cousin—the one staying at Pemberley for her health.” Gwendolyn would never admit that her source was a maid paid to collect gossip and not Fitzwilliam’s sister. Cecile’s face was an unreadable mask as she kept silent.
“I understand she is not progressing as well as they would have liked because someone tried to turn Georgiana against her from the very beginning of her stay . ”
Cecile stiffened slightly before slowly smiling. “I have it on good authority that Mr. Darcy is very enamoured of his lovely cousin, and they plan to marry.”
“And that sits well with you because…”
Cecile continued to smile and lied. “I am fond of Fitzwilliam, but ours was a friendship, nothing more. If he finds happiness with his cousin, then I will wish him joy.”
Gwendolyn drew herself up straight. “I thought surely you would be devastated if he did not offer for you.”
“No, I believe it is you who will be devastated when the inevitable happens, Gwendolyn, dear.” With that, Cecile swept past her and joined her true friends.
Flushing with ire, Gwendolyn realised that several people standing nearby were studying her. Lifting her chin in defiance, she started to move forward, when a warm baritone voice and a firm hand on her arm stopped her.
“I have never seen a more beautiful...” Gwendolyn turned and Count Stefano’s gaze drifted from her face to the ruby and back again. “Gown,” he concluded.
Gwendolyn smiled at the tall, regal-looking, blond-haired gentleman, taking in his toned body and exquisite clothes. “And do you often go around admiring ‘gowns,’ sir?”
“No. I actually admire the woman in the gown, but I was afraid to admit as much so soon. Not proper, you see.” His green eyes laughed and a flash of white teeth split his tanned face. Her breath caught, as he bowed over the hand he had stolen, brushing it with a kiss.
“Count Francesco Benso de Martino, at your service, madam.”
~~~*~~~