Page 35 of Fitzwilliam Darcy An Honourable Man

Rosewood Manor

Before dawn the next day

While Evan Ingram made preparations to follow Cecile, Georgiana stood mesmerized by the way her husband gave orders to the men gathered around their coach. Footmen were frantically loading trunks onto the conveyance. Meanwhile, several of the best marksmen from Pemberley as well as Rosewood, all dressed in travelling clothes, were systematically loading rifles into a trunk especially made to store them for travel and sliding pistols into pockets sewn into their jackets. She was full of pride at the way Evan took charge of the situation—sure and swift. It brought to mind memories of William. They were much alike, her husband and her dear brother—men who could be counted on to take command and inspire confidence when adversity arose.

Evan had heard from enough of his scouts to determine the direction the coach carrying Elizabeth was travelling—towards Liverpool. Liverpool! Georgiana cringed at the thought. Liverpool was a shipping port, and from there Elizabeth could be spirited out of the country in a matter of days, never to be seen or heard from again. Trying to calm her anxiously beating heart, Georgiana repeated the mantra she had clung to since Evan had decided to go after Elizabeth. All will be well. All will be well.

Having explained everything to his satisfaction, Evan glanced to the portico to find Georgiana standing in a shadowy corner of the large front entrance. Though it was still quite dark and the front door was closed, he could nevertheless make out her outline simply from her light blond hair. It reflected the glow of the torches on either side of the steps even though she stood perfectly still. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he took the steps towards her two at a time, well aware that he must get on the road immediately if he was to have any chance of overtaking the coach carrying Cecile and Elizabeth.

Reaching the portico, he gathered Georgiana in his arms, leaning his head atop hers and feeling her begin to shiver while he held her as tightly as possible. All he could think of at this moment was the way they had made love that night—as though he were leaving forever.

“You should not have come out in this cool air. You will fall ill.”

Georgiana shook her head against his chest, trying hard not to cry. She pasted a smile on her face as she leaned back just enough to look into his eyes. “Evan Ingram, I have ridden across Pemberley at this hour since I was old enough to sit upon a horse. It has never made me sick.”

“We both know that you were out at that hour only because you insisted on doing whatever your beloved brother did. Besides, I am sure he made certain you were well clothed for the weather. This dressing gown over your night shift is not sufficient to ward off this dampness.”

“That is why I am hiding in this corner. I do not want the others to see me dressed as I am, but I could not let you go without saying goodbye.”

Immediately, she pulled back from his embrace and grew solemn as she stared at him.

“Promise me.” She took both his hands and squeezed them tightly as she brought them to her heart, all the while searching his eyes. “Promise me that you will send me posts all along the way—just so I will know what to tell Millie when she asks about her papa.”

Evan knew just who needed reassurance. “I will, my darling. I promise.”

He kissed her, pouring all his love into the endeavour. At length, he began to feather light kisses across her face before gripping her so tightly she could barely breathe. “I will return before long with Miss Elizabeth. I have no doubt that Darcy, and probably Richard, will be in pursuit as soon as they receive my express. We shall likely converge in one place to discover her well and bring her home. Try not to worry—just pray for us all.”

Cupping his chin, she pulled his lips back to hers in a searing kiss. Then blinking back her tears, she whispered, “I love you more than life itself, Evan Ingram, and I shall pray for you every minute you are gone. Now, do what you must and return to me.”

Grateful for Ana’s courage, Evan touched his forehead to hers. “Take care of Millie, and tell her that her papa loves her dearly.” Georgiana nodded and he pulled her close for one last kiss before whispering, “I shall see you both soon, my love.”

“Soon, my love,” Georgiana repeated, biting her lip as he turned and ran back down the steps. He was in the coach in an instant, and it began to pull away into the mist as soon as the others settled inside. Hanging partially out of the open window, Evan waved until they faded completely out of sight in the fog.

Essentially all alone now, Georgiana allowed herself the luxury of crying. Still standing in the damp night air, she stared at the long driveway that had taken Evan from her and cried until she had no more tears left.

Be safe, and come back to me.

The Landmark Inn

Liverpool

Morning

Glancing about the small, unattractive room, Cecile Preston had to wonder why the sign over the inn door boasted— the finest accommodations in Liverpool. If this was the finest, she would have been loath to see the worst! Granted it was clean enough, but it was obviously quite old and very plain, with only a few well-worn pieces of furniture gracing each room. The curtains and counterpanes were equally as old and quite faded. However, this was where Wickham said for them to wait, and wait she would! With the funds he had provided, she had reserved a suite with two bedrooms and a small sitting area. At least, she reasoned, each bedroom had a balcony overlooking the water.

The view of the sea was the only redeeming feature, and Elizabeth had hurried out onto the balcony that adjoined her bedroom as soon as she had arrived. At this moment, she was examining some ships in the distance, so Cecile moved to the doorway to observe her. The smell of salty air was invigorating, and Cecile took a deep breath. Then the wind shifted in their direction, and the smell of the fish market nearby replaced the more pleasant odour with one not so pleasing. Elizabeth seemed not to notice, her eyes never leaving the vessels on the horizon as she shaded them with her hand.

It had been awkward trying to study her rival for Mr. Darcy’s affections in earnest whilst they faced one another in the carriage. Thus, Cecile was pleased to have this chance to observe her unnoticed. Sweeping Elizabeth’s comely form with envious eyes, she began a mental inventory of her assets and liabilities. Miss Elizabeth was entirely too short—just over five-feet tall with a slender figure and full breasts, which undoubtedly made fitting her gowns difficult, she thought. Her face was pleasant enough, she supposed, with a small nose and straight, white teeth that, she had to acknowledge, were perfect. Furthermore, Cecile would concede that her dark hair was lustrous, and her equally dark eyes had merit, still her complexion was much too tan, obviously the results of excessive time spent in the sun.

No, she ultimately concluded, she does not even compare to the quality of the women who have pursued Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Cecile prickled at the recollection of the myriad of dinner parties and balls where she had stood in a corner, ignored, while the beautiful women in attendance threw themselves at every eligible gentleman, including Mr. Darcy. Well aware of her lack of desirability, she had never been foolish enough to attempt anything so bold with any man. Thus, she was reduced to being an observer and not a participant at those type endeavours. Releasing a heavy sigh, Cecile realised that this pattern had followed her throughout her life until Fitzwilliam Darcy had begun to notice her. And for a few short weeks, she had revelled in the jealousy of the women of the ton. For once in her life, she had been the one everyone envied!

Suddenly flustered by this bit of remembrance, Cecile concluded with a huff— there is absolutely nothing about the physical appearance of this woman that would explain Mr. Darcy’s enthralment!

Unexpectedly, the second she settled on Elizabeth’s unsuitability, Cecile comprehended what irked her most about the woman. During this entire trip, she had been unable to fathom why Elizabeth had agreed so readily to leave Fitzwilliam Darcy—to leave behind the safety of Pemberley for his sake. There was no doubt that she would have done the exact opposite, choosing to protect herself, so her disapprobation of Elizabeth was really an attempt to soothe her seared conscience. Elizabeth Lawrence, or whatever her name, had scruples—something she was sorely lacking— and it galled her.

Still observing her rival, Cecile began to ponder the man who called himself her husband. Wickham had never disclosed what the count had done to make her flee or what he might do to Elizabeth when she was returned to him. The few times that Stefano had been mentioned, Elizabeth had been more worried about his harming Darcy than any concern for herself. Would the man kill Fitzwilliam if he were to come after her? And what would Elizabeth do once she realised that she had been deceived? Quickly, Cecile pushed those worries into the same minuscule compartment of her soul that held her conscience. Reduced to her present circumstances, she reasoned, there was no room for sympathy for anyone other than herself.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her musings. She opened it to find a maid holding a tray of tea and sandwiches—enough to suffice until dinner—so she stood back to let her enter. Surprisingly, as the maid set the tray down, Cecile noticed that it held delicate china cups with a matching teapot, something that seemed out of place in the barren room. Smiling, she sat down and poured a cup of the steaming brew before the maid could even exit, adding a lump of sugar before bringing it to her lips. It was just what she needed to calm her nerves, so she enjoyed another sip before rising to collect Elizabeth.

She was still staring solemnly out towards the sea, and before Cecile could speak, she enquired, “Do you suppose that ship is the one to take me from Fitzwil—” Her voice cracked as unbidden tears came, and she took a ragged breath, trying to recover. “From England?”

Cecile turned to find the ship that Elizabeth had indicated, shading her eyes from the sun’s glare with her hand. She hoped that Elizabeth would not ask the name of the ship on which she was to sail to the Americas, as no passage had actually been purchased.

“I cannot tell for certain. There are too many ships in port. It could be any one of them, or it could already have docked, I suppose—or none of these at all. The ship to the Americas could yet be at another port in England picking up cargo. I understand it does not leave for at least a week.”

“Oh ...” Elizabeth said desolately, the tears sliding from her eyes despite her best efforts to stem them. She swiftly wiped them away with the backs of her hands. “I hoped to sail right away. If he finds me, he will not allow me to leave.”

“The count?”

“William ... Fitzwilliam.”

Cecile frowned at the mention of the man she had coveted for so many years. “If I may be bold enough to ask, did you deceive Fitzwilliam as the rumours say?”

Elizabeth did not hesitate to answer, though she continued to stare out to sea. “Do you really think anyone could delude him? He is the most intelligent man I have ever met.”

Cecile considered the proclamation. “Then, pray tell, how could you have married someone like Stefano or have convinced Fitzwilliam to help you hide from the man?”

“It is a story too long to tell, but know this—I did not marry the count of my own volition. As for Fitzwilliam, he and I have known each other for many years. At one time we were ...” Her voice faded away. “But when my sister told him of my escape from Stefano, he offered to help me.”

“The count was so cruel that you had to flee?”

“Apart from the fact that I despise him, he is a cruel drunk and thinks nothing of striking anyone who disagrees with him. I was kept a prisoner, first with draughts and afterward, with locks. I was not allowed to see or hear from any of my friends or family. He threatened to kill anyone who dared try to see me and to kill me if I escaped.”

“And yet you were a virtual prisoner at Pemberley, not allowed to leave there or be out in society.”

Elizabeth’s countenance grew wistful. “For Fitzwilliam Darcy, I would gladly be a prisoner ... for his love. He is the kindest, gentlest man I have ever known.”

“Yet, you were willing to leave him.”

“To keep him safe from harm, yes, I would do anything.”

Cecile stammered, not understanding such devotion. “Yes, well, he certainly did not offer such kindness to me. True, he was civil, always the gentleman, but certainly never overly kind, nor did I see any extraordinary gentleness in his nature.”

Elizabeth turned dark eyes on the woman who had tried to secure Fitzwilliam for herself. “He shows his true nature only to those who are well acquainted with him.”

“Nonsense!” Cecile declared. “I have known him for years—he practically courted me for a time—and he has never been warm or very caring. Duty and honour are all that concern him. He has apparently duped you into thinking he is something that he is not—a romantic. You would do well to remember that all men are consumed with satisfying their own desires and cannot be trusted. Take my word for it.”

Elizabeth’s knowing smile made Cecile uncomfortable. “Then you do not know him, or you would not say such things.”

Indignantly twirling around to return inside, Cecile called over her shoulder. “Our trays have been delivered. Come inside and eat if you wish, or you may stay out here and sigh wistfully over a man who exists only in your imagination.”

Elizabeth watched her go with mixed feelings. Talking about William had renewed her longing for him tenfold. Moreover, now that she was close to leaving him forever, it was bittersweet to know that he had shown a side of himself to her that no other woman, including Cecile Preston, would ever know. Taking a deep breath and willing herself not to cry, she turned and entered the sitting room.

Liverpool

Evening

As the coach made its final approach to the villa that Stefano’s father had purchased years before, the two men inside were equally glad to be parting company—or at least pleased not to be in such close proximity any longer. The house would provide ample space so that they would not have to see each other unless they wished to do so. During the trip, they had almost come to blows on several occasions, though each had refrained when recalling his greater agenda—Stefano’s desire to capture Lizzy and Wickham’s desire to collect his reward.

Now, as they halted outside the small but pleasant country house just outside of town, Wickham began to take notice of the number of servants who milled about. Including the men on the coach, he knew that the count had at least seven servants and perhaps more inside. Though a few were women, maids and such, the majority seemed to be guards—men who looked as though they could handle with ease any disturbance. A little nervous about how he would collect his money should the count decide to deceive him, Wickham pushed the fear aside.

If he tries to swindle me, I shall go to Darcy and offer to tell him where to locate the woman and the count. I just imagine he would be willing to pay the same price to get this woman back and avenge his pride.

Stefano had no more than climbed out of the coach, before he began laying out his plans as they walked up the steps. “I shall arrange for some warm water to be sent to your room at once. Get dressed immediately, as I shall expect you to call on the inn and retrieve my wife.”

Wickham looked at the man as if he were mad. “I cannot call on them at this late hour nor expect them to remove themselves to this house tonight. It would be better to wait until the morning. Besides, it would cause much less notice if they voluntarily quit the place in the morning.”

Stefano was not happy, but on closer deliberation, agreed with Wickham’s judgment. “Very well, but first thing tomorrow, you will fetch my wife. Do you hear?”

Wickham casually called over his shoulder as he walked ahead of Stefano to the door, “Yes, I hear.”

Entering the premises, he was pleasantly surprised to find a comfortable home. Stefano, who quickly caught up with him, explained that the house was mainly one level, with the bedrooms occupying the second floor. A young maid, who greatly resembled one Wickham had seen at the count’s rented townhouse in London, appeared out of nowhere. Stefano nodded to her. “Florenza will show you to your room.”

As he followed the maid through the house, Wickham tried to count the number of people he encountered. In his estimation, the number of servants was now up to ten—four women and six men. After showing him to his room, the maid was about to leave when Wickham addressed her. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The woman looked at him blankly and shrugged as if she did not understand. He assumed she did not, as she had the same dark characteristics of all the servants whom Stefano had bragged of bringing with him from Italy. He was frustrated to find that she probably spoke only Italian, as he hoped to bribe at least one of the servants to provide information about the count’s plans. If all the servants were from his mother’s country, that was unlikely to happen. Wickham cringed to think that he had allowed the count to replace the driver and footmen with his own men before they left London. In hindsight, he would have liked to have had a few men loyal to him close by.

Pemberley

Mrs. Reynolds was not surprised to see the express rider galloping up the drive and was most pleased that she happened to be on the front portico when she spotted him. Hurriedly, she descended the steps to meet the man, unwilling to wait until he came to her. After retrieving the post, she instructed a footman to see after the horse and motioned for the messenger to follow her. She was eager to share the missive with Mr. Walker, who was just as worried over the present situation. Though much younger, the rider had to do a bit of a quick-step to catch up with the housekeeper, who was definitely not standing in place waiting for him. As they mounted the steps, she assured the young man that he would be fed and given a place to rest, and that she would have some expresses of her own to dispatch.

Mr. Walker was busy in another part of the house when he heard voices in the foyer and immediately returned in the event he was needed. When he arrived, Mrs. Reynolds was hurrying towards him waving a post.

“It seems we have heard from Mr. Darcy at last!”

Quickly making her way to her office, Mr. Walker on her heels, she began opening the missive the minute they were inside the door. She scanned the short paragraph swiftly as Mr. Walker’s eyebrows rose higher and higher in anticipation.

“What luck!” she declared. “Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are on their way directly to Liverpool! Mr. Ingram will have help when he arrives to confront his sister and whoever else may be aiding her in this scheme. I am so relieved for Mrs. Ingram’s sake, as I know she must fear for his safety. Our dear boy will not let anything bad happen to his brother, nor shall the colonel.”

“We should inform Mrs. Ingram as soon as possible to ease her distress.”

“According to this, Mr. Darcy sent her the same information, but I shall send her a note in any event. I shall tell her that I am also sending an express to Liverpool to inform Mr. Darcy of Mr. Ingram’s journey in that direction. The Master has given me an address to use while he is there—

Barnwell’s Boarding House. It is where he stays before he travels to Ireland. If you would call a footman, I shall have a note ready for Miss Georgiana shortly.”

As Mr. Walker left to find a footman, Mrs. Reynolds stilled, and her eyes searched the heavens. You have answered my prayers to keep my dear boy safe so many times, Lord, but I am asking once again. Only this time I need to ask more of You. May it please You to keep my Master William, Richard, Evan and Elizabeth safe. I know You will not fail me.

Wiping the tears that had gathered involuntarily, she took a deep breath and sat down to compose her notes, confident that all would be well now that it was in the Lord’s hands.

It was no time at all until a man was mounted and on his way to inform Georgiana of the situation. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Reynolds, Georgiana was reading her own copy of the express about that same time. Luckily, the housekeeper’s note reached Rosewood in time to keep Georgiana from sending a duplicate express to William in Liverpool.

On the road to Liverpool

Between Birmingham and Stafford

Several miles outside Birmingham, the rain began coming down in sheets while lightning flashed and thunder roared relentlessly. The howling wind blew against the coach with such force that it rocked from side to side as well as back and forth. More than once, William held his breath wondering if this time the coach would succumb to the wind. The roads were now dangerously slick, and Richard and Mr. Williamson exchanged worried glances. They had watched William clench and unclench his jaw for the last few miles as it became obvious that they had gone as far as they could. The next small establishment would have to suffice as there was no hope of reaching the more elegant inn in Stafford.

Not eager to suffer his cousin’s annoyance, Richard had held his tongue but was aware that he would have to act soon. Fortunately, William’s coachman, Mr. Burnside, took that judgment from his hands by pulling the coach off the road and into the yard of a small inn. He did so without hesitation, knowing the master would agree with him if he decided they were in danger.

William sighed audibly, and Richard responded in an attempt to soothe him, “Darce, you realise that we cannot chance one of the horses breaking a leg in this mud, especially since our next change of horses is in Stafford. If we continue in this deluge, we could all end up in a ditch.” William closed his eyes, shaking his head in agreement though he was too disappointed to reply.

“Stay in the coach, and I will enquire if they have rooms enough for us,” Richard commanded. Then he smiled and began to chuckle as a spray of water blew in the now opening door. “Pray we do not have to lodge in the stables, vicar!”

Several minutes later, the colonel ran back though the rain, his boots already thick with mud, sliding in the muck with each step. He almost fell several times before reaching them. Jumping back inside the coach, and shaking the water from his head, he cheerfully exclaimed, “The proprietor says he has one large room left which we may share. There is also room in the servants’ quarters over the stables for the driver and footmen. Best of all, there is food and drink aplenty!”

“Then let us get out of this deluge, have something to eat and get some rest,” William replied with more equanimity than he felt. “If we retire early, we may be able to make up lost time by rising even earlier than usual tomorrow.”

Mr. Williamson raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement of Richard’s slight smile. Both expected this to happen. “I think that a splendid plan,” the vicar offered while managing to squelch a smile of his own.

The night found them sleeping on folding beds in a backroom normally used as an extra dining room—the large table had been moved to one end after they had eaten and still held some bread and such. Though the lodgings were not perfect, each was content to be dry and warm, due to the large fireplaces at both ends of the room. It seemed that Richard and Mr. Williamson were very weary as they nodded off first and were already snoring.

William, as usual, could not sleep. The weather reminded him of the night he found Elizabeth at Netherfield and how, even now, she was afraid of storms. Was she out there somewhere in this storm needing his reassurance?

Thoughts of her brought back memories of time spent in Scotland and Ireland, trying not to love her, and his heart began to ache. Those two years had taught him the cruelty of being without the one you love—no arms to embrace you, no lips to kiss. He closed his eyes and the softness of Elizabeth’s lips, the scent and feel of her skin, the way she melted into his body came flooding into his senses, and for a few seconds, she was in his arms, her head under his chin; he could smell the lavender in her hair. Her delightful laughter had just filled the air when, all at once, a long sequence of thunder and lightning assaulted the inn, startling him from his trance. Disappointed that it was only a dream, he rose from the bed.

Walking to a window near the fire, he pulled back the curtain to watch nature’s fury playing out in the darkness. As another bolt lit up the porch outside, he saw her face reflected in the pane, just as he had at Netherfield. Dropping his head in his hands, he cried quietly. Will I ever find you Elizabeth? Can I live if I do not?

A hand patted his shoulder, startling him. “We will find her, I promise,” Richard said softly. “You need to lie down and rest, even if you cannot sleep.”

Nodding his head in resignation, William did as his cousin instructed and lay back down. Finally, he drifted into a fitful slumber.

~~~*~~~

The next morning, neither Richard nor Mr. Williamson was surprised to be awakened before daylight by William, who explained that he had told the coachman to prepare to leave. Thankfully, the rain had let up, and the only trouble that lay ahead of them now would be the difficulty of traversing the muddy, rut-filled roads.

~~~*~~~