Page 5 of Secrets Across the Sea

Liverpool, England – 1809

Their vessel drawing near to a rainy harbour swathed in dark clouds, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and his sisters observed it carefully–the grey harbour, which held little hope in its appearance, still managing to ease Darcy as nothing apart from boarding the vessel at Boston had. At last he and his sisters might discover what had been missing since their parents died; family.

Not that they lacked that apart from their aunts, uncle, and cousins; but it was not the same. Nor could it be with Cathy locked so deep within her grief as to cause every effort made by himself or Georgie to be nullified. Taking a deep breath as their vessel moved nearer the shore, he observed the expressionless mien of his youngest sister. The pampering and love of their family would see to that in no time. She would learn to smile again, as he and Georgie had, and everything would be well.

∞∞∞

London, England – 1809

Their carriage slowing as the grand residence of Lord and Lady Matlock came into view, Fitzwilliam’s lips curled at the glow in Georgiana’s eyes.

“Oh, brother,” she gleed, “we are here; do you think they shall like me? Us? All of us? Did Aunt Catherine respond to your letters? Perhaps she shall be here? Oh, I have never had a cousin before–well, I have of course, but not one I have met. It is exciting, is it not?”

“It is quite exciting,” he chuckled, sitting straighter as the carriage swayed at the halting of the horses. “I fear the majority of your questions shall have to be answered by our family. Though,” he admitted hesitantly as a footman hurried to open the door, “I can say that I have not received any response from Aunt Catherine, however, that does not mean she never wrote. No doubt a letter or two was mislaid–mine or hers–for I have corresponded with Aunt and Uncle here, and they have said nothing regarding Aunt Catherine being ill or out of the country. It could be that we shall see her today!”

Forcing himself to use the small steps of the carriage, Fitzwilliam alighted before holding out a hand to Georgiana.

“I do hope she is here. I know what I have heard has not always been favourable, but she is Mother’s older sister. She has to be a fine woman–merely misunderstood–I am certain.”

“Indeed,” he nodded as he helped Cathy from the carriage, “for Mother named our beautiful sister after her!”

Glancing down at Cathy before following the footman inside, Fitzwilliam returned his gaze to his sister in full confusion. She had worked her face upward into as near a smile as he had seen since the year prior; save this one came wreathed with the sadness which remained in her eyes and an almost pained turn to her mouth.

She had tried! It had not been honest, but the sight of it meant she recalled the motion. Wanted her family to worry less. And, unless it was a fruitless hope he now imagined, perhaps in time it would become real?

“Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Miss Catherine,” the butler said, startling Fitzwilliam as he, first realizing the footman had been replaced by the butler, now observed the faces of three of their family.

With the soft reply of Lady Matlock, the butler inched his way from the room, those remaining as still and silent as statues in a long gallery, though far from being as agreeable to look upon, or as well-lit for that matter. The roaring fire behind the Matlocks and Lady Catherine lent an imposing appearance as harsh shadows cut across their faces; the five candles scattered about the room doing little to improve things.

If they had not sold everything in America, he might well be tempted to return there now. But they were family. Far from gregarious in their manner, and far from the love and fawning he expected his sisters to be showered with… still, they were family. And what were a few minutes of awkward silence amongst family?

“Did you have a pleasant voyage?” Lady Matlock asked at last, breaking the silence without so much as a greeting.

Back straight, Fitzwilliam let his eyes cut toward his sisters whose stiffness matched his own. For them, he would make a greater effort.

Smiling, he nodded, “Pleasant enough. The seas were smooth, though the winds died down for the better part of three days at one point; between the heat and stillness, those days of our voyage were not overly agreeable, still, we made up a day of travel soon after, so that eased things.”

Silence.

With an awkward chuckle he added, “Our chief joy, however, is in being with you all at last. We trust you are all well?”

“As well as can be expected,” Lord Matlock answered, voice rumbling in a manner that spoke more of thunder than the welcoming tone of an uncle long absent from their lives. “You three then, I take it, mean to make England your home?”

Face pulling, Fitzwilliam studied his uncle as well as the low light allowed. They had written many times since the death of his parents and he had always been quite clear as to their intentions. Of their desire to be with family. Of selling everything in America to make that possible.

So why question him now when they stood in their home?

“Of course. That has been the plan since I first wrote you; nothing has changed.”

“Of all the selfish, disdainful,” Lady Catherine’s voice rose as she struck her cane on the floor. “Bringing the ilk of your father’s line to England. Well, it shall not mar my standing, nor that of my dear Anne–your foolish mother may have sought an alliance between yourself and my daughter, I however, would never stoop so low. Worse than trade!”

“Pardon?” Fitzwilliam managed between her raging, brows furrowed as he neared his sisters–Georgiana’s posture lowering as Aunt Catherine drew closer, her cane raised menacingly.

“You have no pardon from me, though you would do well to realize your father’s folly, and your grandfather before him. Whispers of their actions against our nation were spread in some circles before your birth, yet, if you thought they might have died off in the passing years, you are mistaken. Once the death of your parents found itself in our papers, those whispers grew until they were a cacophony in my ears and it is not to be borne.” Crinkling her nose in disdain, Lady Catherine lifted her head and scorned, “My sister was perhaps the most foolish woman in history! However, though the shades of Pemberley and the memory of my sister are thus polluted, never again shall I endure such shame. Henceforth, the Darcys are as strangers, and no blessing or help from me can ever be expected by you… or any who would have acquaintance with you.”

Walking past the Matlocks, Lady Catherine again warned, “Functions, dinners, even letters. Any of these in connection to the Darcys and I sever all ties. ALL .”

The grand lady, head raised as she moved toward the door, allowed her cane to announce her pique to all, preparing any servants of hers or the Matlocks to choose a proactive vigilance. Yet, to those remaining in the drawing room, it did nothing to help; the weight of each click of her cane felt in the silence.

How? A rather simple question he asked himself, yet no answer came. Only the truth that his letters had likely never gone amiss and that she had deemed them of little enough worth to bother answering them.

Why had she come then? he wondered. She certainly had not wished to see any of them. Not even his sweet sisters.

Fingers clenched, he scowled at the door his aunt had gone through before turning to his sisters with a far softer gaze. “Are you both alright?”

Face close to tears, Georgiana gave an unconvincing bob of her head, while Catherine set a hand upon her sister’s arm. “Georgie,” she soothed, “dear Georgie, there is nothing to concern yourself over. She is nothing to us, she said so herself; we still have each other. I swear I will not leave you!”

Arms wrapped around Cathy in an instant, Georgie gave a happy laugh.

Cathy had spoken words that held feeling; and just as with her pathetic attempt at a smile outside, it gave hope. One day they may have their sister back!

That mattered more.

She mattered more.

“Darcy?” a bright, resonant voice Fitzwilliam had not heard in years questioned. “And these young ladies cannot be my cousins; surely not, for they are too tall and beautiful to be the girls you once described.”

Uniform smart, eyes alight, and a jaunty smile gave every proof that the cousin he had been so fond of had little changed, save his rank and an added expression of mischief.

“It has been some years since I was here for university, Fitz; they have had time to grow,” he teased, his sisters peering around him at their cousin.

“Has it? I claim ignorance of this, for as you can see, neither you nor I have been altered by this beast they call time. But, if you insist upon feeding it, then I would see how it has affected my young cousins. All for the better I trust?”

“Of course,” Fitzwilliam said as he directed his sisters nearer their cousin with tender reassurance. “Ladies, may I present Major Richard Fitzwilliam. Major, your cousins, Miss Georgiana Darcy and Miss Catherine Darcy.”

Giving swift curtsies the two girls were quickly met with the exaggerated bow of their cousin; Georgiana giggling at his antics and Catherine managing the tiniest of smirks.

“It is an honour, I assure you,” Fitz grinned. “Perhaps we might all go to the park tomorrow? Or do you have someplace else in mind?”

Neck prickling, Fitzwilliam turned toward his aunt and uncle who remained unmoving by the fire.

Surely, Lady Catherine’s words would not dissuade Uncle from staying in his role to them? From doing his duty by Georgie and Cathy? After all, he had been far closer to their late mother than he had to that cruel woman who had threatened him today.

Yet, the pained expression on Uncle’s face painted a picture he hoped would not mean heartache for Georgie or Cathy. Or a quarrel between his cousin and uncle.

“We would love to go,” Georgie answered shyly before turning to her brother with wide, hopeful eyes, “That is, if William says it is alright?”

How could he say no?

“Would you care to go too, Cathy?” he asked softly, her quick nod all the answer he needed. “We would enjoy that greatly, Fitz. Thank you.”

“Shall you be joining us, Mother, Father?” Fitz asked, the atmosphere heavy for all but he at his words.

A pause. A look shared between Lord and Lady Matlock. Then a brief nod.

For all their hesitance, they had made their decision. And he would do all in his power to make it the right one.

∞∞∞

Sitting at his desk as the clock slowly ticked away the hours until they would meet their relations at Hyde Park, Darcy reread the correspondence he had answered earlier before going over Pemberley’s accounts for the third time that morning.

Aunt, Uncle, the new life he and his sisters were trying to make. Would that they might be forgotten for five minutes. Surely, he might tame his thoughts that long?

“William,” Georgie cried happily as she entered his study; Cathy close behind as he looked up. “Can we leave for the park now?”

“We will be half an hour early if we do,” he answered seriously, his lips fighting to turn into a smile at the hopeful expressions before him.

“Please,” Georgie begged, her lower lip pulled ever so slightly down as she nudged Cathy, eyes wide as she motioned with her head for her sister to do the same.

Mimicking Georgie’s expression, Cathy turned her eyes toward Darcy.

Sighing heavily, Darcy agreed to their plea. He had been having difficulties enough saying no to Georgianna; with Cathy joining in he would have little chance against them.

Within a quarter of an hour the three exited their carriage at Hyde Park, few people out at that hour save those who, like his sisters, were starved for nature.

Lips curling as his sisters hurried toward the large expanse of green, Darcy lingered behind, his gaze never truly leaving them even as he listened to the trill of songbirds or admired the broad trees so rare in London.

“Can we feed the birds now, Cousin Lizzy?” the voice of a little girl asked from nearby.

Turning at the tinkling laugh of a young lady, Darcy stopped midstep.

Exquisite.

“Oh, very well. Stay close though; and that goes for all of you,” the young woman grinned down at four children who moved impatiently from foot to foot as she slowly held out a bag. “Here, take a handful each, and remember, geese are not always nice.”

Her reticule dropping as she saw them off, Darcy gave a quick glance toward his sisters who now sat safely under a nearby tree. He could afford to take a few moments to assist. Surely?

Bending to retrieve her reticule, Darcy’s face warmed as he turned his gaze upward, the bright, expressive eyes which met his mesmerizing.

Gulping, he held out her reticule as he stood, “Here. I believe this is yours.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, her gaze moving from her cousins to the bag he held, “I fear my family leaves me feeling rather like a pet mouse in a maze. I know where I am supposed to end my journey and enjoy the endeavor but am at a loss as to where I am most of the time.”

“I expect most families provide that sensation,” he answered as she accepted her reticule, gloved hands meeting for but one world shifting moment. “Though I am glad it has led you here.”

Her eyes widening at his words, he half wished he might take them back, save the expression of surprise proved nearly as delightful as the joy he had earlier witnessed.

“Cathy! Georgie!” the exuberant tone of his cousin called, followed by the reserved voices of his aunt and uncle.

“Where is your brother? He has not begun to let you roam about the city unaccompanied?”

Of all the horrid timing.

Bowing lightly to the young woman, Darcy’s lips pulled downward. “Perhaps we might happen upon one another again?” he questioned; the presence of the young lady already entering the conversation of his family behind him.

Shaking her head, she gave a small frown. “I am afraid not. I return home on the morrow, and am unlikely to return again this year. Still, I thank you for your service and conversation, however brief; it has been a welcome reprieve.”

“That it has,” he agreed.

Motioning behind him she smirked, “It seems your family is quite concerned for your wellbeing, sir. And I must see to my cousins; when it comes to birds sometimes they lose all sense.”

Another bow and he smiled, “Then we both must try to find the maze’s end. Family confusion or not.”

Dipping her head she laughed, “Definitely confusion. Take care.”

“And you,” he hurried as she began to leave, the voices of his family growing louder as he turned to face them, “My apologies for keeping you. Shall we take a turn about the park?”

∞∞∞

Near a fortnight after their day at the park, he and his cousin were to attend what would be Darcy’s first London ball since his brief stay with the Matlocks many years prior. Thus far, in his rare interactions with members of the Ton, his reception had been cordial, though brief. Whether that cordiality came from their not sharing the views of Lady Catherine, or from not being aware of the gossip and history surrounding his family, would be displayed in a matter of moments, the doors of the grand house before him laid wide as he and his cousin strode inside.

Gulping, Darcy discreetly rubbed his hands upon his clothes before shaking his head. Why should he worry? Because of Aunt Catherine? With his wealth and connections, his property and lineage, he had no reason to fear entering the world of the Ton. None whatsoever.

The usual greeting of their hosts, a short walk to the ballroom, and he and his cousin were met with an overfilled room and the glow of near as many candles. No expense or guest had been left wanting. Hopefully that lack of restraint had not been the reason for his invitation. He would rather it be due to a matchmaking mamma than that.

Gazing about the room with its dazzling mirrors, gilded, as with the decorative elements of the ceiling and walls, Fitzwilliam recalled his own reassurances mere minutes prior. He belonged. It was obvious. Everyone in the room possessed wealth or title–rarely both–and he certainly held the former well in hand. The latter, well, a titled uncle did not hurt matters. Yes, this would be the world he and his sisters would belong to; a far more opulent world than the one he and his father had known across the sea.

Striding with head held high into the center of the bustle, his cousin hot on his heels, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy surveyed his domain and the myriad of fine countenanced ladies who gracefully glided as they walked. A pity that ‘Lizzy’ had departed London, her fine eyes and wit would be a welcome addition.

If only he knew her full name. If he had he… well, it was best not to think of what might have been, surely. He had better think on how he might make this night a success. To clear the way for his sisters in a few years' time.

“Are any of your family to attend?” Darcy asked as he came to stand far enough from the dancers to talk yet near enough to observe, the beguiling miss he thought of pushed forcibly to the back of his mind.

“No,” Fitz frowned, “they are not.”

Turning toward his cousin, his eyes narrowed. Fitz had been far from pleased from the moment he had entered the newly purchased Darcy carriage. An oddity given the man’s enjoyment of nearly every social situation. When he had been to England last, Fitz had been alight when a ball with fine food and dancing were on the agenda. Could the years have altered him so greatly?

Surely not.

Observing the stiff posture and unhappy expression his cousin still bore, he shook his head.

This was too peculiar.

“Is anything the matter, Fitz?”

“The matter?” he questioned, voice stilted as he pulled himself to a fuller height. “We are at one of the grandest affairs in London, one which boasts a spectacular supper from all I have been told and with the most attractive, rich women in the Kingdom, and you ask me what is the matter?”

“That is no answer. Only evasion,” Fitzwilliam whispered as he turned his back to the crowd.

“Darcy,” his cousin moaned, “why must you press this? Neither of us will prefer my truthful answer.”

“Truthful? Tell me; we are family, there ought to be no deception.”

Expression pained, Major Richard Fitzwilliam drew him into the quietest corner of the room. “First,” he began, breath strained as he stumbled over his words, “I wish you to know this is not my view, else I would not be here.”

“Go on.”

“Aunt Catherine refused to meet you, you see, but Mother pushed and prodded, at last asking her to dine… without Aunt knowing you and your sisters would be there. I did not know this, as Mother specifically made certain myself and my brother were not there. No one knew how the evening would proceed. Proceed?” he laughed hollowly, “Well, you know how it went far better than I, for I arrived in total ignorance of your yet being in London. Imagine my surprise later when Mother and Father told me of all that had occurred–of Aunt Catherine’s threats, if one ought to even call her ‘aunt.’ In any case, they were unwilling to break ties with you or your sisters, however…”

“However?”

Sighing he whispered, “However, they had heard the rumours themselves surrounding the… the Darcy name. Acquaintances, close friends, family, each had a view. Many that, whatever your father or grandfather may have done, does not concern you. Some, that traitorous actions corrupt all generations; that your family ought to be shunned or. Or worse. Still, my parents refuse severing ties between us. Unfortunately, to appease those persons with stronger views, public functions such as these, well, they choose… not to be seen with you. Perhaps with your sisters when they come out, if tensions have eased… but not you. Not now, in any case.” A puff of air passing harshly through his nose, he fumed, “Not now.”

“Your brother then?”

“Will continue to side with Lady Catherine.”

“And you?”

“I am here, am I not? And as I said, not everyone shares such views. We are, after all, no longer at war with America. People will come around in time, I am certain. France, Napoleon, they are what everyone thinks on. Of whom they disapprove. Another year, maybe three, and all shall be forgotten.”

“All?”

“Most.”

An empty laugh forming as he turned toward the ballroom once more, Darcy shook his head. “All of the years and lost lives from this war with Napoleon and still women wear French fashions, children are taught to speak French, and men recall the wonders of French culture and literature. Yet, of America, whose battles have long ended, they recall only the anger of those years, viewing the small nation as unrefined and inferior.” Turning toward his cousin he questioned, “Shall it always be thus, do you suppose?”

“Perhaps. Though,” his cousin smirked, “I doubt the American’s think much better of us. And that too may be some time in changing. However, if some rich, American heiress wishes to change her view of the English by marrying a mere second son, I am more than happy to oblige her.”

“Fitz,” he chuckled, “I doubt you to be serious. For all your designs for a wealthy wife, surely, you would find happiness with a woman of more modest means? You are hardly a pauper yourself, you know.”

One brow raising, Fitz contorted the rest of his face into a facetious expression of deep thought before answering, “Happiness, I would agree; still, should the lady I eventually fancy prove to be rich, I promise not to hold it against her. Or if she should happen to be beautiful. Or titled. Or witty. Or… need I go on?”

Grinning at the antics of his cousin, he allowed the concerns of Lord and Lady Matlock, Aunt Catherine, and his cousin Milton to become less prominent in his mind.

Opinions could alter. And he and his cousin had come to dance, not stand about in this stupid manner. Indeed, he mused, attention drawn toward the dancers exchanging their final positions for polite bows, a fine showing tonight could prove a catalyst toward altering the negative opinions swirling around; and that would begin by not appearing dour.

“Major,” a voice boomed, those near turning toward the stocky man striding toward Fitz and he. “How are you? It has been too long!”

“Colonel Beckman,” Fitz answered, standing to attention in spite of their being in a room kept for the express purpose of enjoyment and matchmaking. “Excellent. Yourself?”

Odd. Fitz rarely provided that sort of discongenial, off-hand answer; save when he hoped to avoid some topic, or perhaps, on rarer occasions still, when hoping to avoid someone.

“I am always well,” Colonel Beckman announced, his chest puffed out rather like a peacock. “Enjoying your time in London, I imagine. All the more as I have heard whispers of your plans to purchase a higher rank once your regiment’s Lieutenant Colonel Bilgman becomes your Colonel–in one week or two if I recall. No matter. It is the way of things. Not too many opportunities for earning the rank of colonel, however. Not many. Still, I wish you every success in the attempt.”

“Thank you, Colonel Beckman,” Fitz answered, his emphasis on the man’s rank bordering on disrespectful. “I assure you, I wish you nothing but that which you desire for myself.”

“Naturally,” Colonel Beckman said, nose lifted as if displeased by the mere presence of those before him.

Rising to match his superior’s height, Fitz gestured toward Darcy. “Forgive my negligence, you have not had the pleasure of meeting my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Colonel Beckman, my cousin, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, Colonel Beckman.”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?” Beckman sneered, Darcy ceasing the bow he had begun in greeting. “Late of America? Are you that Mr. Darcy?”

“I am,” he answered, chin twitching as he stared at the man.

This had little chance of proving an agreeable encounter.

“Why, I had no idea, Major , that you had connections… in as unusual places as that. I imagine those within my regiment will find no end of interest in the topic. Wait, I tell a lie, for regiments beyond mine are sure to find interest in it. To great extents. So few men who have been raised in that quaint portion of the world come to England you see; it is sure to be the talk of the town.”

“I am certain you shall not find yourself wrong,” Fitz said, tone as welcoming as a badger protecting its sett. “You will excuse us, I am in need of a glass of orgeat to prepare myself for an evening of dancing.”

“Of course. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Darcy.”

“A pleasure,” he nodded in reply, head pounding as the insinuated insult, nay, threat, to his cousin’s situation marched through his mind.

“Fitz,” he whispered as the odious Colonel Beckman made his way to the first set of ears open to him, “I…”

Raising his hand, Fitz interrupted him, “Do not try to be the better man, Darcy… it is not up to you to fix whatever that man is intent upon injuring. What he does not know–or anyone outside my regiment for that matter–is that the payment is made, the papers are signed, and all that is missing is the announcement, which is to come tomorrow. I am, no matter what that man says or does, to become a lieutenant colonel.”

“And what of the rank of colonel? General even?”

“I must remain at this rank for a time, it is required. There is much opportunity for forgetting between now and then. Those above me have never questioned my loyalty or how staunchly I see to my duties. Hard work may yet see me a colonel… even a general if your lofty vision for my career is made sure. Either way, I gain the satisfaction of knowing I have earned it, and that is no small thing.”

Hands clenching, Darcy turned toward the crowds in search of Colonel Beckman. Thus far returning to England had given few benefits to any of his family, and now that man. That rat. HE now wished to make their lives worse still.

Gaze stilling as he spotted Colonel Beckman amid a sizable crowd, Darcy’s chest tightened, the image before him unlike any he had ever seen. For, as Colonel Beckman directed the attention of all within his sphere toward him and his cousin, the countenances of all spoke things he could scarcely give credit. A select few draped in pity or curiosity, but the majority stared in disgust, others turning their backs full to them in an attempt to cut them.

He. Fitzwilliam Darcy. A man with vast fortune, a grand estate, titled relations, fine manners, an attractive face and figure, and an education with which few could find fault… he was being cut on the word of some colonel who had spent little more than moments in his company!

Turning his back to the crowd, Darcy caught sight of his cousin’s stoic face staring at the room with his head held high.

Closing his eyes as the weight of every decision he had made fell upon him, Darcy sought to fix on the pain of his throat and head rather than the consequence of those decisions. Yet, as he opened his eyes, the determined features of his cousin facing the wrath of the Ton did not allow him to ignore the issue. His choice to return to England had been wrong. That much was clear. But how might he fix it?

Joining his cousin in stoic defiance of the judgement the majority of those in the room laid upon them, he weighed his options. Return to America with no home or family to speak of and the disgrace of his experience and heritage thick upon him and his family? Or reside largely in Pemberley, avoiding London and his family for a time until opinion shifted–if it ever did? Fitz, his sisters, they each would be heard in regard to this decision, the rest of his family however… their opinions held far less sway than they once would have.

Indeed, it may be that they held no sway at all.