Page 62 of These Dreams (Heart to Heart Collection #1)

Chapter sixty-two

Darcy House, London

I t had been an entire day, and Broderick had been no help yet. Richard walked slowly up the steps to Darcy House, barely seeing the brick and stone as his mind turned over more prospects. Of course, he must give Broderick more time to find whatever answers could be found, but Richard could not afford to wait longer. He must confront his brother, but how to do it?

His heavy tread stopped on the steps, though the footman already had the door open. Perhaps he ought to go now, instantly, to Matlock house and declare his knowledge of events. Surely, his father would support him! The entire family must have been already apprised of Darcy’s return, and a conference with his father was only the proper thing to do. He glanced up at the door, hesitated, and had just resolved to return to his carriage when a voice hailed him from the street.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam! I declare, I had not thought to encounter you here in Town just now!”

Richard cringed in recognition. Caroline Bingley! His face twitching in feigned pleasure, he turned to offer her a polite bow. “Good afternoon, Miss Bingley.”

She bustled to the steps, her companion following quietly behind. “Such a lovely afternoon it is! Mrs Temple and I were just at the milliner’s, and now we are to the dressmakers, so you see, we have been all over Town today.”

Richard glanced up the street and, indeed, the Bingley carriage awaited at the corner. “Is there a shop in this neighborhood, Miss Bingley? I was not aware.”

Miss Bingley had sidled near to him now. “Naturally, no!” she laughed. “But I directed my driver to bring us through Grosvenor Square, though it was a bit out of the way. Some of these streets we are often obliged to pass through are most unsuitable for ladies to travel!”

“That is lamentable,” he agreed. “If you will pardon me, Miss Bingley, I am afraid—”

“Oh! Do not let me detain you. Far be it from me to interrupt a gentleman about his business. Perhaps I shall leave my card for Miss Darcy, for I should dearly love to visit her if she has returned to Town with you. You arrived only yesterday, did you not?”

“I am afraid she has not come,” he answered shortly, annoyed at the freedom the woman took in stalking him like a cat after a mouse. Had she not found someone better to her liking in the last two months? Apparently not, as she was batting her lashes and peering hopefully toward the house.

“Oh, that is a pity, Colonel. I am certain that Miss Darcy deeply appreciates your diligent assistance with all her affairs, so that she may not be bothered with trips to Town just now. Do you think she shall come out next Season? I am certain, Colonel,” here, she rested a hand on his arm and graced him with a knowing smile, “that she shall be a great success, particularly if properly guided.”

“I am certain she shall, and it is well that it shall not be for me to direct her. Another will undertake to support and guide her.”

“That is wise,” she comforted him, “for a young lady’s first season must be delicately planned so that only the most suitable gentlemen are permitted to pay court to her.” She touched long fingers to her breast and nodded modestly. “I am all too familiar with the struggles of a débutante, sir, so my thoughts go out to Miss Darcy as she prepares for the coming year. Oh, my,” she smiled and withdrew a fan from her reticule, “has not the day warmed rather unpleasantly? I should not have expected it for so early in the year.”

He glanced at the iron sky, the walks still damp from the morning’s rain, and cocked a curious eyebrow at her. “I do not find it warm at all, Madam.”

“Oh, but it is so humid! I declare, I think I shall stifle in this fur, if I am not permitted a moment or two to remove it and breathe properly!”

Richard closed his eyes briefly. How was he ever to be rid of the woman? “Perhaps you are in need of some refreshment?” he heard himself suggest, and wished he could bite out his own cursed, well-bred tongue.

“Colonel, you are too kind! Why, that would be the very thing, do you not agree, Mrs Temple?” She turned and fairly led him up the steps to the house, requiring no one to show her to the drawing room. Richard groaned inwardly and glanced at the clock. An insufferable quarter of an hour would pass before he could be back about something useful, and during that time he feared the woman would contrive some means of throwing herself upon him. Just to be safe, he took a seat as far from her as he could while her tea was served.

She prattled on mercilessly, telling him all the gossip of all the people he never cared a whit about. He struggled not to roll his eyes. What did she take him for, another woman? He swallowed his tea politely, trying not to let his smile freeze in place by occasionally repeating her own statements back to her.

“How interesting,” he forcibly enthused. “Viscount Malvern engaged to Lady Serena Ashby. A fine match.”

“Oh, but that is not the half of it!” she flipped her hand in his direction. “Why, I was speaking with Lady Matlock not two days ago, and she informed me that the Season shall see yet another great match before it concludes.”

“Another? You don’t say.”

“Why, yes, but it is all a great mystery! Simply everyone is talking about it. Apparently, the names of the parties are a marvelous secret, for it has not been made official, but a gentleman from a noble house is to wed a lady of good birth and over ten thousand per year! Everyone is simply beside themselves trying to guess who it could be. Personally, I think it must be Lord Wallace and Lady Blackthorne, but the Countess was rather close on those details, and I shouldn’t wonder! It sounds as if she is in the confidences of both, and it promises to be the wedding to end the Season.”

“Interesting,” he mused, and this time, he meant it.

“Well, I am afraid I must be going,” she preened. “My appointment simply will not wait, but it was so good of you to invite us in to refresh ourselves. I always say that it is the mark of true gentility, to be ready to receive guests at any time.”

“Not at all, Miss Bingley. I am glad to be of service,” he bowed, and as his head dipped, sighed in relief. At last, she was going!

“Oh!” she turned at the door, as if she had forgotten something. “Do give my regards to Miss Darcy. I fear I am quite in arrears with my letter writing, but I do miss her terribly.”

He nodded, trying to conceal his impatience. “Indeed, Miss Bingley, I shall convey the message.” He looked up to signal the footman to open the door, but the man posted outside was already opening it for someone mounting the front steps. Richard caught a sharp breath. That could only mean….

“Well, now, it has been such a pleasure, Colonel. I always said, did I not Mrs Temple, that you are the kindest gentleman of my acquaintance.”

Richard bowed one more time, but his eyes were not on the lady. The door was open fully now, and a tall, dark figure was silhouetted in its frame. It was as if he were watching a shipwreck unfold, seeing each moment pass before his eyes at the speed of eternity. Miss Bingley turned, and her hand flew to her mouth. Her knees buckled, and Richard caught sight of her wild, white eyes as her head and arms snapped back in the most impressive fainting fit to which he had ever borne witness. Half-heartedly, he took a step nearer to lessen her fall, but he was too slow, and her aim too precise, as she tumbled helplessly into the arms of the newcomer.

“Well, Richard,” Darcy frowned, shifting his weight to place the lady’s inert form into the footman’s arms. “I did not know you were in the habit of distressing the guests into unconsciousness.”

Richard merely turned and beat his forehead with the heel of his hand.

Cheapside, London

“O h, I do hope Miss Bingley is not injured,” Elizabeth took Darcy’s arm as she stepped from the carriage. “That was a rather dreadful fall she took.”

He looked down at the mirth dancing in her eyes. “I think she might have recovered well enough from her fall, had not she fainted again when she roused to see you tending her.”

“Alas, I am not a skilled nurse. Poor Miss Bingley! I am certain that Lydia will see to her every want with prodigious care, until she is well enough to travel to her home. Are you certain,” she paused and looked up to him again, “that you would not prefer to remain here as a guest of my aunt and uncle as well?”

“You ought not to tempt me, Elizabeth.” He clasped her hand firmly as it rested upon his arm, and took the remaining steps with resolve.

“William,” she stopped him again when they had gained the top, “why did the colonel not join us to pay this call? I thought you said that this young lady staying with my aunt and uncle was a friend of his.”

Darcy narrowed his eyes as he stared at the door. “She is a friend of mine, and I owe her my life. She may, perhaps, have been something even more to Richard.” He looked down to her again. “Perhaps it is best that we do not ask. The lady was unfortunate in her marriage, and some wondrous coincidence has brought her under your uncle’s wing. More, I do not know, save that my cousin was unusually terse on the subject.”

“I see.” Elizabeth faced the door just as it opened, and waited to be shown in to her aunt.

A mália was beginning to like Mrs Gardiner very much. The woman’s open cheer had unsettled her somewhat at first, being so far removed from the formality of her own upbringing. After a full day in her company, Amália had come to think that she might also have liked some degree of liberty about her home. The Gardiners were in trade, she had learned, and not even heirs to a family interest, as her own father had been. Thus, they had never been of what her father might have deemed as “good” family. They were, instead, simply good people.

Luncheon was a moderate affair in the Gardiner’s household, with Mr Gardiner returning home from his nearby warehouses to join them. She surveyed the simple, hearty fare, and was trying to determine which offering was to be taken first. She glanced at her hostess and observed the lady smilingly spreading the napkin over her lap. Amália hastily did the same with her own, which she had placed to her left out of habit. Mrs Gardiner caught her eye with a gentle twinkle, then proceeded to discreetly demonstrate all the customs that were foreign to her.

She had the distinct sense that Mrs Gardiner was arranging her life rather more than she would confess to accommodate her. The early afternoon was spent in a leisurely perusal of fabrics, brought from Mr Gardiner’s warehouses and displayed, so she was told, so that Mrs Gardiner could approve the quality of her husband’s new supplier. It was some time before she happened upon the realisation that Mrs Gardiner intended to have dresses made up for her from her favourite choices, and Amália suffered some in mortification for the delight she had shown. Oh, this was simply too much! But the lady would not hear of her protests, and simply marked the selections with a knowing smile.

Two hours later, they walked together into the drawing room in search of employment. “Have you ever played the instrument much, my dear?” the lady asked.

“No, Mrs Gardiner, but I sing.”

“You do! We will simply have to find some music that you like. Here, are you familiar with any of mine? Oh, no, this piece will never do, I believe Mary may have left it. Ah, here we are! I believe Lizzy favoured this piece. Do you know it?”

Amália read slowly over the music, but shook her head. “No, I am sorry, Mrs Gardiner, but I could learn it. It reads beautifully.”

“We may come back to it, then. I would much rather begin with something you know.” She leafed through a few more selections, pausing here and there when one of interest caught her eye, but not finding one that satisfied her.

“Mrs Gardiner? You have mentioned your niece… Elizabeth?”

“Yes, my dear. She is about your age, I think. She and her sister Lydia are staying with friends just now in Derbyshire.”

Amália’s brow furrowed and her fingers caught one another. “If you please, Mrs Gardiner, I know this may sound strange, but… is your Elizabeth known to…” she hesitated and bit her lip. What, precisely, did Mrs Gardiner know about what had transpired in Portugal?

“Known… to Colonel Fitzwilliam, is that what you were about to ask? Why, yes, I believe they were introduced by Mr Darcy. My husband tells me you met Mr Darcy as well, is that true?”

Amália felt her cheeks flush. So, the name she had heard from that poor man belonged to a real woman—one who was intimate in this very house! And if she was real, then the whole nightmare had really happened. She put a hand to her forehead. After all that had taken place, everything she had fled in her home country, the entire episode with the man imprisoned seemed a distant horror. “He is come back to England, Mrs Gardiner?” she asked hesitantly.

“You did not know, my dear? Yes, I understand he is. I just received Elizabeth’s letter yesterday. It must be nearly a fortnight now that he has been back on English soil, for it took him some days to reach Pemberley. Poor Mr Darcy, we all thought him dead! Such a wonderful thing it was to hear. I thought at first that Lizzy had taken leave of her senses when she wrote that he had returned—she was staying at his home, with his sister, do you understand. I would expect we shall see them sometime soon, but she did not give any details of their plans. I believe they will intend to marry, and so we should be hearing more almost immediately.”

Amália accepted another piece of sheet music from Mrs Gardiner. “They are not married? Forgive me, I thought they must have been.” Her brow pinched. Had not that poor man cried out his heart’s agony from his cell, clinging to that same name over and over again as if it were his last grip on life? And all for a woman not married to him?

“No,” Mrs Gardiner was chuckling. “I have yet to know all, but I suspect if I were ever to force Lizzy to share with me her entire history with Mr Darcy, I would be both shocked and amused.” She sighed, then smiled at Amália. “I cannot express the joy I felt when I heard he had been found, and was home alive. Poor Lizzy, we all thought she would die of despair last winter, but they were never engaged, you see, so she would not confess the source of her heartbreak. I can hardly wait to see her with him! I feel it might answer for a great many wrongs.”

Amália looked down to her hands, but welling within her heart was a sense of… satisfaction. Yes, that was it. Her defiance of her husband, her flight from her home, the rollicking voyage when she had set off to chart her own course—all of it had been for a purpose. She and the gentleman were no longer in Miguel’s power, and this Elizabeth might hold the one she loved.

And Richard… well, if she could marry no other, at least she would know where he was in the world. Her fingers knotted. What she would have given for the freedom to stumble into his arms yesterday, just as this Elizabeth had surely done with her love! That familiar burning choked her throat, and she started rapidly blinking to conceal the sting of her eyes.

Mrs Gardiner was still looking at music when Amália saw her hands fly to her breast. The sheets fluttered to the ground, forgotten. “Oh!” Mrs Gardiner rose from the piano seat, her face awash in surprised pleasure. “Oh, dear me, Lizzy! Mr Darcy! Oh, sir!”

Amália glanced up in confusion to see her genteel hostess nearly dash across the room and into the arms of a young woman with dark hair, merry eyes, and a plum-coloured traveling dress. Beside her stood a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman, who greeted Mrs Gardiner’s happy tears with warm grace. He bowed to her, then immediately looked to Amália.

Nothing about his appearance would have induced her to recognise him, until she saw those soft, brown eyes—so like Richard’s! —and heard the rich, familiar timbre of his voice. She rose, unsteadily, and he came to take her trembling hands in his own.

“My dear lady,” he bowed, pointedly addressing her without using her husband’s name. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you again.”

She must have answered, though if she did, she doubted her words were coherent. She was trembling too violently, as the memories of her fear and the awe of that horrible place—her former home—rushed back upon her. He did not seem to require her answer. Instead, he brought the young woman to his side.

“May I introduce you to my betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Amália began a stiff curtsey, but the other lady stopped her. “Oh, no, this will never do!” She grasped Amália’s hands and held her gaze. “The pleasure is entirely mine.”

Amália tried to smile and blubbered some gratitude, feeling utterly foolish. Her best efforts to contain herself were for naught, for she broke into helpless tears. Overwhelmed by the confusing swirl of emotions, she felt the mortifying drops slipping down her face as her voice shook. And then, the other lady did something that startled her completely.

Elizabeth Bennet wrapped her in a warm, sisterly embrace, and held her tightly as she trembled. “Welcome to London,” she spoke softly. “You are safe here, my friend.”

The great tide of all she had pushed back swept over her. Amália clung desperately to the English lady and wept in earnest.