Page 24 of Fitzwilliam Darcy An Honourable Man

London

The Beeson Residence

The dinner party was quite large, and Caroline Bingley had high hopes of turning a few heads after she had accomplished what she came for—spreading the gossip about Eliza. Sarah Beeson, an acquaintance from Mrs. Latimer’s School, had granted her request to host her in London but it came with a price. She had insisted that Caroline and a number of their schoolmates attend her Grandfather Beeson’s birthday celebration and ball, and make themselves available to dance with the men who would be present. Caroline had not been anticipating this soiree with delight.

“Thank you for the invitation to stay with you, Sarah!” Caroline declared with false sincerity, grabbing her friend’s hand as they lead the parade back to the music room after dinner. As they slowly moved forward with the crowd, she justified their relationship. At least the home is elegant, even if the occupants are not , she mused, taking in the large bevelled crystal chandeliers, numerous gilded mirrors, dark mahogany tables, imported Persian rugs and other expensive furnishings.

While it was true that Mr. Beeson was in trade, a connection Caroline normally avoided whenever possible, they were wealthy. And after all, Mrs. Beeson’s grandfather had been an earl and she was accepted among some factions of the ton, which in itself redeemed the family somewhat. Otherwise, Caroline would never have considered Sarah worthy of her time, as she was not fashionable, good company, or accomplished.

As she, Sarah, and their little coterie gathered in a small alcove near the open doors to the balcony, Caroline stood out in her tangerine gown, her choice of colours making all of the others look positively sickly in their pale pinks and whites. As always, she became the centre of attention in the less than stellar group and turned the conversation to her recent return from Hertfordshire seeing an opportunity to further her first priority–ruining the good name of Elizabeth Bennet.

“I do not think I could have endured one more day in Meryton,” she said, waiting until all eyes fixed on her to continue. “There is no refined society in that awful wasteland. My brother’s child whines constantly, and his wife is a shrew who ignores me completely—which is the only good thing I can say about her. As I have said many times before, she brought nothing to the marriage—no dowry, no connections. I cannot abide that Charles has forced me to associate with her and her equally appalling family.”

Suzanna Carlson, another tradesman’s daughter, wrinkled her nose in a look of contempt. “From what you have said, Caroline, they are people of the lowest sort. Why ever did your brother condescend to marry someone with such a family and no dowry, especially when he could have done so much better?” Left unsaid was the fact that she herself had chased Charles Bingley for over a year, but he had never given her so much as a sideways glance. Truth be known, not only was Miss Carlson very plain, but her disposition was too much like his sister’s for Charles to be tempted.

“Two words, Suzanna,” Caroline opined. Everyone quieted, anticipation building as they awaited the pronouncement.

“ Arts and allurements ,” she declared with absolute authority. There was much murmuring among the group as everyone nodded knowingly.

Rebecca Watley, a mousey, thin woman interjected, “Mother says many strumpets use those very things to secure decent men—the very men who should have been courting me!” Her voice got higher as she became more flustered, waving her hands about. “I mean us —but for the temptations offered by these trollops, I might have been married already.”

There was another round of mumbled agreement from the unattractive band, each now convinced that they were likely the victims of such women since they were unmarried.

“And that, ladies, is the very reason that I have hurried to London,” Caroline trumpeted. Eyebrows rose in unison, as ears perked up again. “It is my Christian duty to warn a good and decent man of my acquaintance of a similar scheme being perpetrated against him at this very moment by a deceitful woman.” She was very pleased to see eyes widen and mouths hang open in expectancy.

“Do tell us who, Caroline.” Sarah whined. Caroline never understood Sarah’s penchant for whining instead of speaking clearly as it always made her skin crawl. But she forgave the whining in this instance, since the high pitch of Sarah’s voice drew everyone’s attention.

Throwing her head back in righteous indignation, Caroline peered down her nose, as her eyes circled the group. “I expect you to keep this our little secret,” she warned at full volume, knowing full well they would do as she wished and shout it to the heavens. “I intend to warn Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

A chorus of gasps pierced the air.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy?” Marjorie Simonds lamented, almost moaning his name. “He is so handsome. My mother said if she were just a little younger—”

“Oh hush, Marjorie!” Gladys Pope scolded. “We have all heard how your mother would do this and that, if she were a little younger. Let us hear what Caroline has to say about Mr. Darcy.”

A worshipful look suffused Theodora Berman’s face. “If you ask me, he is simply divine. I used to swoon whenever I was in his company, though he has scarcely been seen in London in years.”

“I agree, Theodora. I tried to get his attention in my first season. He was the most handsome man of my acquaintance,” Muriel Burnett sighed. “Do tell us, Caroline, though I cannot help but wonder if he would even heed your advice. He is very much his own man according to my father.”

“I have no doubt he will listen to me as we are such good friends. I have known him for years.” Caroline added purposefully, “And it is that intimate knowledge that tells me his kind heart has led him into this unfortunate circumstance.”

Caroline poured her heart and soul into the tale she spun about Mr. Darcy’s distant cousin, so much so, that her performance would have put to shame many an actress on the London stage. Unbeknownst to her, there were two people not of her group, listening with more than benign curiosity.

Lady Gwendolyn Waltham was near Caroline, and upon hearing Mr. Darcy’s name mentioned, moved close enough to hear everything. She began to wonder. Could it actually be true that the unattractive little woman I observed at Pemberley with Fitzwilliam was not his cousin, but an imposter who fled her husband and sought to insinuate herself at Pemberley?

An unbidden smile appeared as she contemplated this new intelligence. In some ways, this twisted tale offered her a ray of hope. Or perhaps Fitzwilliam knows who she is but enjoys her ... hmm ... company. Could his staunch sense of decency and honour have developed a crack in its facade or, with any luck, a large fissure?

Gwendolyn smiled for the first time in days. If my dear boy is going to cast propriety to the wind, then why should I not be there to catch it? Surely he did not mean to cast me aside with that whore Leighton.

Sudden thoughts of Count Francesco came to mind. Lately, he had been preoccupied with business matters and had neglected her, leaving her to find other escorts to soirees such as this, and he was no longer showering her with jewels as he had when their acquaintance was new. The presents had been a great incentive to tolerate his attentions—well, that, and his proficiency in bed. Still, he was so sure of himself that he expected her to be available whenever he deigned to visit. A return to Derbyshire would kill two birds with one stone—warning the count that she was not one who would tolerate being taken for granted, and, if she were lucky, relighting an old flame. The time was ripe to approach the reticent Mr. Darcy again. She smirked as she passed the roomful of insignificant people on her way to the man who had escorted her, the elderly Lord Greenwich.

Fitzwilliam simply must be tired of that ugly, diminutive toy by this time. In any event, there is nothing to be gained by staying here.

Also, within range of Caroline’s diatribe was George Wickham, who had stepped out on the balcony to avoid a jealous husband. The sound of the name of his old nemesis being bandied about just inside the open doors garnered his curiosity. He moved closer, being careful not to be noticed by the small band of women gossiping in the alcove.

He was surprised to see someone he recognised holding court—Charles Bingley’s sister. This was a woman whom he knew had used her brother’s friendship with Darcy to chase after him for years now. As he listened, she wove an illogical tale of a married woman and the heir of Pemberley. Knowing Darcy as he did, Wickham was about to dismiss the tale as a fabrication when Miss Bingley mentioned the woman’s name—Elizabeth Bennet.

Was not that the maiden name of the count’s wife? This Bingley woman did mention that this cousin had run away from her husband.

His interest peaked, Wickham headed straight for the door to collect his coat and hat, eager to contact his man and have him investigate this visitor to Pemberley. Knowing not to make claims that he could not irrefutably prove, he was determined to ascertain the lady’s identity before confronting the count with the evidence. A wide smile split his face as he practically ran out of the house to await his carriage. Five thousand pounds would go far towards settling his expenses and putting him back in the game, and he was determined that no one would collect that reward but him .

Pemberley

The Library

The house was silent except for the footsteps of Mr. Cravets as he made his rounds, checking the doors, windows and vacant rooms. Nevertheless, this night when the footman checked the library, he was startled to find Mr. Darcy still occupying the room with only one small candle and the fireplace for light. It was obvious that the Master was not himself, from his state of undress to the strong smell of liquor saturating the air, and he was not reading a book as he normally did. Undeterred, the long-time servant added more logs to the fire and asked the Master if he could perform any service for him. Summarily dismissed, he bowed slightly before slipping back into the hall leaving Mr. Darcy alone.

After an hour of tossing and turning, William had come downstairs clad in the clothes he had donned after getting out of bed—a shirt, which he had not taken time to button, and breeches. It was late, and he presumed no one would be awake to see him retrieve a bottle of imported brandy from the liquor cabinet. It seemed the only solution for sleep after his conversation with Georgiana. Her insistence on talking before they went to bed meant a sleepless night for him, as their conversation played over and over in his head.

“ Brother, may I speak to you for a moment?”

William’s brows raised in question. Something about the way she held herself made him wary. He was not sure that he could handle another difficulty after today’s episode with the wolf.

“ We are all exhausted. Can it not wait until tomorrow?” he proffered kindly.

She took a deep breath and blew it out, but did not meet his eyes. “I would like to say this while I still have the courage.”

“ That sounds ominous,” he tried to jest, but she did not smile.

Standing aside, he motioned his sister through the door. Once inside, she glanced about as though she had not seen his private rooms hundreds of times when she lived at home. He waited. Finally, her eyes met his, and a lump formed in his throat at the pain clearly visible in the blue depths. He had always tried hard not to hurt her.

“ I know you love Miss Elizabeth. Lord knows, even I have come to care for her like a sister. But it is obvious, after what I witnessed today, that you will never be satisfied to live together as friends, and I cannot fathom how this situation can turn out well for either of you. She is married. If she stays here, it can only bring the both of you terrible heartache. Surely you know that. Would it not be better to send her to your estate in Scotland or Ireland where she would be safe from her husband but not a temptation for you?”

William took one step towards her, and Georgiana fell into his embrace, sobbing. He laid his head atop hers, and they stood like that for some time, neither speaking. Finally, almost to himself, he whispered strangled words into her hair.

“ I have tried not to love her.” He gathered his strength. “I have no idea what the future holds, but it must include her. I cannot live without…” He trembled, struggling for control. “Please do not ask it of me.”

Georgiana cried harder, and he held her even tighter. Eventually, she quieted. Sniffling, she stepped back to wipe her eyes, then smiled wanly, kissed his cheek and opened the door. Just before going out, she offered tenderly, “You have my support, no matter what you decide. I love you, Fitzy.”

He made a great effort to smile. “I love you, too, Gigi.”

Once in the library, meaning to have only one brandy and leave, William became comfortably ensconced on the sofa. Watching the glowing fire, he was lost in the flickering flames and his own contemplations as he swirled the amber liquor in the glass and mulled over his resolution to stop at just one drink. Instinctively, he realised that the oblivion to be found in a bottle might destroy him. Drowning one’s sorrows might provide temporary relief for manageable struggles, but with unfathomable heartaches, one ran the risk of drowning along with them. Even so, he needed the oblivion tonight—so he poured another glass and then another.

Not a half-hour after Cravets left, the candle on the table had almost burned out, leaving only the light from the fire. Soon afterward, Elizabeth quietly opened the door to the library and stealthily moved inside in search of a book, a small candle in her hand.

William held his breath at the sight. She was dressed for bed—the front of her lace trimmed, yellow silk nightgown, a present from Georgiana, clearly visible. Over her shoulders she wore an eyelet dressing gown which was loosely tied at the waist. Her hair was loose and hung down around her shoulders like a silky veil. It was obvious that she had dressed as quickly and carelessly as he. Unmindful of his presence, she promptly made her way to the wall of books and held the candle higher to peruse the titles. As she did, the sleeves of the dressing gown fell back, revealing the bandages covering her arms. A deep sorrow pierced William’s heart as he wondered if her wounds were keeping her awake.

Since he was in an alcove, Elizabeth could not see him reflected in the light from the fire until she reached a certain point on the bookshelves. Suddenly, he appeared in her peripheral vision, and she turned to gasp. He was half-sitting in the corner of a sofa, his legs and bare feet spread along the length of it. His hair was dishevelled, his beard dark enough to be visible, and his clothes were clearly rumpled. Though he watched her, he said not a word.

“I ... I could not sleep,” she began to mumble disjointedly. “I thought to find ...” Her eyes dropped to his open shirt, where dark hair covered his chiselled chest. She swallowed hard. “...to find a book ... something to read.” She could not seem to form another sentence or gather the strength to move.

William perceived the exact moment she became aware of his state of undress, and he was mesmerized by the way her eyes widened and got even darker. Though the amount of liquor he had drunk made him unsure if he was dreaming, he stood, steadying himself. In spite of all he had consumed, he was surprisingly graceful as he walked slowly towards her.

Elizabeth followed his progress, barely remembering to breathe until he finally stood inches from her. Without breaking eye contact, he took the candle from her hand and set it on a bookshelf. Blue eyes stayed locked with brown, as he ran one hand gingerly along the arm with the least injuries, stopping before he reached her bandages. She was not a dream.

“Are you in pain? Mr. Woodwright left laudanum if you need it to sleep.”

“I am not in pain at present. Between Mrs. Reynolds’ herbal draughts and Mr. Woodwright’s salves, it is not too painful to bear. I shun laudanum, as I do not wish to lose my wits. I have spent too much time unaware, and I will not return to that state.”

William nodded absently, his gaze never wavering.

“Then why?”

“My injuries are not what robbed me of sleep tonight. You were.” His eyes closed briefly in exhilaration, before opening to devour her again.

“Please, forgive me. I should never have presumed to kiss you today. It seems I only bring you pain and suffering.”

“On the contrary, sir, you have been my rescuer, and though we both know it can only lead to heartache, I welcomed your kiss.”

Leaning in until their foreheads met, he groaned her name. His warm, brandy-scented breath was hot against her skin, and she shivered as he pulled her into a tight embrace. In spite of the bandages, she grasped his forearms as his hands slid around her waist, pulling her as close to him as he dared. A few seconds more and he could resist no longer.

He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose before claiming her mouth, first tentatively, then with ever increasing passion. Lost in the kiss, his hands slid down to her bottom, drawing her hips hard against his. When at last he began feathering kisses across her jaw to the spot below her ear, she found the strength to speak.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam, I love you so.” Her words instantly sobered him, and he began whispering endearments as his hands moved to safer places, and he buried his face in her hair.

“My love ... my darling ... my Elizabeth.” Stilling his head atop hers, he waited for his heart to stop pounding and his ardour to cool. “I love you more than life.”

It was several moments before he continued. “Forgive me, sweetheart, for I am a beast. You are injured.” He barely touched one bandage. “While I thought only of—”

“Shhh!” she soothed, rising on tiptoes to brush her lips softly across his. This simple act of affection gave him leave to claim her mouth once more, and they were lost as William deepened the kiss with every answering move of her tongue. It was some time before they pulled apart, both panting with desire. She let her head fall back, her loved-filled eyes meeting his half-lidded gaze. “I know it is wanton of me to say, but I desire you just as much as you desire me.”

A great sadness enveloped him, and he sighed. “I fear that if I were to truly show my love for you, it would only do you more harm. You deserve to be more than my mistress.”

“You could never hurt me by loving me. It is you who would suffer, for you ought to have a proper wife and children.”

“And you are worthy of a true marriage! If I cannot have you—have children with you—I will never have another.” He pulled her closer, clinging to her desperately. “Do not ask me to let you go, for I cannot.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, tears slipping from beneath dark lashes. “We are both lost.”

He kissed the tears away, and she tried to smile. “And I thought I was strong enough to leave you—”

“No, please,” he whispered as more quick kisses from her stopped his protest. She took a deep breath, caressing his face, and studying it as though trying to memorise every part.

“If I were not selfish, I would have left days ago ... for your sake and for your safety. But, God forgive me, I cannot stop wanting your love.”

Suddenly she leaned back, lifting her shoulders with new confidence. “I have decided. I will be your mistress, have your children. You can send me away to your home in Scotland or Ireland—anywhere—and no one will ever know. If I stay here, it will only cause your ruin and put you in harm’s way.”

He clasped her so tightly that she could barely breathe. “You would be mine, bear my children, knowing we cannot marry?” She nodded against his chest, so he lifted her chin up, willing her to look at him.

Seeing the concern in his eyes, she responded, “I will have your children ... no one else’s.”

He kissed her then, willing everything he felt in his heart into the kiss and feeling Elizabeth’s love for him as she returned it with equal fervour. As he quit the kiss, he began talking animatedly.

“I know a vicar who I believe will perform a marriage ceremony for us, though he may not be able to keep official records. I shall write to him today. Until then, I ...” His lips curved into a small smirk. “ We must check our desires.”

He crushed her to his chest again. “You have made me the happiest of men, Elizabeth. I shall never love anyone but you, my darling. In my heart, you will be my wife. I shall provide for you and our children in my will. Georgiana and Evan will know everything, along with Richard. They will take care of you and our children if anything should ever happen to me.”

“Do not speak of such things!” she pleaded. “I could not live without you ever again.”

“Richard should be returning to London soon and when he does we shall travel together. It will give me the chance to meet with my solicitors to add provisions in my will for you and our future children. But, you must know this, wherever you decide you want to live— my estate in Scotland or Ireland— I will live with you. I have no intention of ever being parted from you again.”

This time when his mouth claimed hers, it was with more tenderness than passion. He tried not to think of his own desires, and kissing across to her ear, he whispered, “Soon, my love. Soon.”

~~~*~~~