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Ch 10: A man reaps what he sows

Posted on 2010-09-19

The first glimmer of sun appeared over the horizon, rousing Edwards from his restless sleep. Late in the night, four of his men had relieved Davis and Stevens from their posts, allowing the footmen to return to Pemberley. Although Darcy's servants were good men and devoted to their master and his family, he still breathed a sigh of relief to have Wickham guarded by his own men.
 
He yawned and stretched as his bare feet hit the rough carpet. How many years was this your home, Bradley? I am glad you finally have the parsonage now. George Darcy was beyond generous to build this place for you, but the parsonage is still so much nicer a dwelling. He shook off the morning chill as he quickly dressed. It has been a long while since I have been without my valet. Reminds me of my last deployment. Unconsciously he rubbed the scar on his left side, all that remained of the wound that had effectively ended his military career and nearly took his life.
 
Pulling on his boots, he allowed his eyes to fix on the soft colors of the sunrise glowing in the small window. A new day. But my problem remains, what to do with young Wickham? His weathered features settled into a frown. Pushing himself to his feet, he briskly strode out of the bedroom into the dining room where Wickham remained bound to the chair as he had been last night. Two of Edwards' men sat at the table with him, engaged in a game of chess, warm cups of coffee placed on either side of the board.
 
"Sanderson, Elmer," Edwards nodded as he greeted them on his way to the kitchen.
 
"Sir." They nodded back, knowing he would not have them rise at his entrance. They had served under his command in the army, and knew their master's peculiar ways well.
 
Moments later, Edwards returned coffee and plate in hand. The manse had no staff, so his men had brought cold food from his own estate, and coffee. They dare not forget their master's coffee. Drawing a long sip from his cup, the gentleman sighed. Ah, just the stuff to start the morning with. It is going to be a long day. "When did you relieve Fredrickson and Knightley?" He sat down directly across from Wickham, who dozed uncomfortably in his bonds.
 
"About two hours ago, sir," Elmer replied, looking up from the chess board. He was a small, wiry man with a round face and a shock of red hair. His hazel eyes gleamed with intelligence.
 
"He's been pretty quiet, sir," Sanderson glanced back at Wickham. The jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face gave the man a sinister appearance, but Edwards knew better. The scar had been earned saving the life of his commanding officer. No more loyal a man could be found. "Once he saw that he could not talk his way out of the ropes, he shut up and fell asleep."
 
Nodding, Edwards studied Wickham for a long moment. "Very good." Silently, he ate the bread and cheese he had brought from the kitchen.
 
As the gentleman finished the simple meal, his prisoner began to stir. With a groan, Wickham lifted his head and tried to open his eyes. He blinked painfully in the morning light.
 
"Quite a headache you are nursing there, I would imagine," Edwards noted as he drained his coffee.
 
"Ugh!" Wickham grunted, smacking his lips, trying to rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth.
 
"I imagine you would like to break your fast?" Edwards' voice sounded the genial host, but his eyes were warily fixed on the man.
 
"I would," Wickham whispered as he screwed his eyes shut, trying to clear the fuzz from his head.
 
"If you would be so kind, Elmer, and bring our guest some food." Edwards nodded at the smaller man. "Promise good behavior, and I will have Sanderson here untie your left hand so you can feed yourself."
 
Wickham's head bobbed unsteadily in agreement. Sanderson cautiously untied his hand, but seated himself in the chair to Wickham's left. Elmer dropped a plate in front of the prisoner and landed a cup loudly beside it. Slowly, Wickham brought the cup to his mouth, his lip curling at the biting black brew.
 
"I take it you do not have a taste for coffee, sir." Edwards smiled as he rose to return to the kitchen to refill his own cup.
 
"Bitter, uncivilized stuff," Wickham muttered as he placed the cup back on the table and took a bite of bread.
 
The remainder of Wickham's meal passed in relative silence. Elmer and Sanderson returned to their chess game while Edwards watched closely.
 
"Quite a good game there, I would say, eh Wickham? Very well matched opponents, I wager this could end in a draw."
 
The prisoner glanced at the game board, shrugging as best he could. "I would not know; I do not play."
 
"I find that surprising, young Wickham."
 
Neither man spoke for many minutes. Finally, Wickham sighed in frustration, drawing his hand down his face and raking his unruly hair. "I have had enough of this game now, Mr. Edwards. Untie me, and I will be on my way."
 
"Excuse me, sir?" Edwards had the grace to look shocked, although he felt no such thing.
 
Rolling his eyes in aggravation, he shook his head in wonder. "I said, untie me and let me go. Enough of this game! I will remove myself from Pemberley, and all will be as it was." Darcy really is taking this thing too far this time.
 
"I heard what you said, Wickham." Edwards leaned his elbows on the table and regarded the disheveled man. "I am just surprised to hear you demanding such a thing. You know very well I cannot do it."
 
"Why the blazes not!" An angry fist slammed down on the table.
 
Immediately, Sanderson jumped to his feet and grabbed Wickham's hand, forcing it back down to the arm of the chair.
 
"Call off your dog, Edwards!" he snapped angrily. So Darcy has finally grown a spine and my welcome here is worn through. I see that quite clearly. The rest of this is unnecessary.
 
"Carry on Sanderson," the gentleman countered calmly, watching as his man bound Wickham's hand once again. "Now that we have order returned, let me ask you, sir, why do you demand to be released?" You think this is some sort of game you are playing here, young Wickham, but you have crossed a dangerous line.
 
"Why?" The derisive note in the steward's son's voice was not lost on his listeners. "Because we both know what we are playing at here and I have had my fill. Darcy has his baubles back, no harm was done. Release me, and I will be on my way. Surely the Master of Pemberly is as anxious for my absence as I am to give it to him."
 
"You seem to be missing a very important point, sir." The magistrate leaned in toward his prisoner. "You are clearly guilty of a crime. Last night I saw clear evidence that you entered both Darcy's and Georgiana's rooms and stole their property. You were a guest in their home, and reduced yourself to a common thief!"
"You are making a crime out of nothing at all!" Wickham's face screwed in disgust. "Had you not caught me last night, Darcy would never have missed those trinkets. They were worth nothing to him, nothing at all! How can you call that theft when he would never have missed them?"
 
"I am afraid, sir, that the law does not agree with you." Edwards leaned his chin on his fist. "You were found with property that does not belong to you and that you were not given permission to have on your person. You, sir, are a thief." You truly do not understand the gravity of what you have done. You are a greater fool than I imagined.
 
"Darcy will never press charges! His father would not have wanted that. He will insist that you free me!" A new note of urgency entered Wickham's voice, the strain beginning to show in his eyes. He must be joking. He cannot possible be serious about this!
 
"I am afraid, sir," Edwards rose to pace the length of the table, "that Darcy's wishes make very little difference. You see, it is not the man you wronged who will prosecute you, but the law of the land, the law that I promised to uphold when I took the responsibility as magistrate."
 
A little color drained from Wickham's face. "I did no harm to anyone. You can see that. Untie me and let me go. I have learned my lesson; I will not bother Darcy ever again."
 
"As much as I would like to believe you, sir, that has little bearing on your current situation. You do not seem to understand the position you have placed me in, Mr. Wickham. It would be wrong of me to take the law into my own hands. Regardless of what I may or may not believe about this situation, I can only uphold the law. I do not make it myself. In this I am as bound as you are right now."
 
"But others…" the bound man pleaded. All men have a price.
 
"Are not me," Edwards finished for him. "I am afraid that what you did last night, Mr. Wickham, is a hanging offense. Beyond that, I am quite certain that there is a writ of debt issued for you in Manchester. I have a man dispatched to find out . If it is as I fear, it will do nothing to help your case."
 
"But, but…"
 
"It is out of my hands. You had best hope for mercy, Mr. Wickham, for your best expectation is prison or transportation."
 
"Darcy will not stand for it! He will speak on my behalf, his father…" This cannot be happening!
 
"I would not be so certain of that. Or have you forgotten what you tried to do to his sister last night? I have no doubt you would have forced her beyond a kiss had we not happened upon you when we did. That leaves Darcy precious little motive to plead for mercy on your behalf, Mr. Wickham. I am not sure, given your past history with him, that I would counsel him to do so."
 
The magistrate watched as the weight of his words settled on the young man. A fearful understanding dawned on the steward's son, and a small shudder ran down his spine.
"I do not know if you are a man of prayer, George Wickham. I would suppose that you are not. However, this would be a very good time to change that. I am afraid I am not a man disposed to mercy right now, justice seems to need to be served instead."
 
The magistrate's deep blue eyes fixed Wickham's for a long moment. With a chill, the young man realized that, for the first time in his life, he would not be able to talk himself out of his dilemma. His charm and good looks were worth nothing in this situation, while his transgressions were weighing painfully against him. He swallowed hard at the thought of the hangman's noose. This cannot be happening! It cannot! Darcy would never…but this man would. He would. He swallowed hard again, slumping back in his seat, an unfamiliar but very real fear growing in his gut.
 

Bridget Cooperton blinked as the rays of morning sunlight poured into her guestroom at Pemberley. Stephen is already up. He is such an early riser. The night before had been a long one indeed. Georgiana had cried hysterically in her arms for most of it. Finally Bridget had called for Mrs. Reynolds to brew an herbal tea to calm the young woman and allow her to sleep. It was very late when she finally climbed in bed herself.
 
And now the difficult part begins. She sighed as she swung her feet down to the rich, soft carpet. Last night I held her as she sobbed, as a mother would. But this morning I must speak to her firmly as a mother does. I can only hope the dear little thing will listen to me. She still does not understand Wickham's true nature. The innocent little girl wants to believe it all a misunderstanding. Somehow she still sees her brother the villain in all this. I must get her to see the truth. Presently, she rang for her maid. Mr. Cooperton had  sent word to his own estate just after he had placed Georgiana in her care. He had instructed his man to pack his things and Lilly to prepare a trunk for her mistress and come to Pemberly with two other servant girls.
 
"Good morning, madam," Lilly bobbed her blonde head in greeting. The young woman had served her mistress for several years now. Although she was not a French trained lady's maid, her mistress found no fault in her. "I packed several of your morning dresses. Do you wish to choose?"
 
"No, not today, I am quite content to place myself in your capable hands." The matron smiled gratefully at the young woman who had proven herself a discreet, steady, and reliable girl, things she valued far more than speaking French and dressing hair in the latest fashion.
 
With a curtsey, Lilly excused herself to fetch her mistress' tea and gown, but before she made it to the door, Mrs. Cooperton asked, "Did Millie and Patty accompany you?"
 
"Yes, mum. They are in the servants' quarters, mum. Do you want me to fetch them?"
 
"No, not yet. I will need them after I have had breakfast and spoken with Miss Darcy. Please see that they are ready for my call."
 
"Yes, mum." Lilly disappeared through the doorway.
 
Not long afterwards, Mrs. Cooperton appeared downstairs in the small dining room for breakfast. Her husband was already there, enjoying his morning tea. Rising to greet her, he took her hand and pulled her toward him to kiss her cheek, checking first to make sure none were there to witness.
 
A worn smile lit her face. "Good morning, Stephen," she said softly, pleased that their morning ritual continued even away from their home.
 
"You had a long night with her, Bridget?" he asked, pulling her chair out for her.
 
"It is the way of young women, I'm afraid, to carry on so in trying moments. She really is not so different from Evie at that age." She settled herself in her seat as her husband served her from the sideboard.
 
Sighing, he gently placed a plate and tea cup in front of her before returning to his seat. "I suppose you are correct, my dear. A father is apt to forget such things." He laughed with a wry smile. "I guess both our girls were a bit like that before they came out, were they not?" I cannot say I miss those days, never knowing what would cause the tears to flow!
 
"They were indeed, dear. Miss Darcy is still very young, and without a mother to guide her. But she is a good sort of girl, and she will do well if can just get her through this trying age." Poor Darcy, left on his own at such a time.
 
Their conversation trailed off as they heard footsteps in the distance. Soon, Georgiana herself appeared in the doorway. Both her guests rose to welcome her. Dark circles beneath red rimmed eyes gave testament to the trying night she had just risen from. Nodding to the couple, she went to serve herself from the food laid out by the servants, but little seemed appetizing. Finally she joined the Coopertons at the table, leaving a few empty seats between herself and her guests.
 
The silence soon became awkward, driving Cooperton to break it. "It is a lovely spring morning. So nice to finally see a break in all the rain." Please girl, do not begin to weep. I never have been able to tolerate the tears.
 
"As much as my flower garden loves the early rains, I do grow tired of all the grey clouds and gloom. Do you not, Miss Darcy?" Bridget smiled gently at the young woman, encouraging her to rise to the occasion.
 
"Yes, Mrs. Cooperton, I do. I find a sunny morning so much more agreeable than a dreary one." Though her voice was thin, clearly, Georgiana was making an effort to play the part of a proper hostess in the absence of the Master of the estate. "Have you seen my brother this morning, Mr. Cooperton?" she asked a little timidly.
 
"Not yet, Miss Darcy. I believe he retired very early this morning, and I do not expect to see him until afternoon perhaps." Cooperton held his breath, hoping this would not set the girl off.
 
"I see." Miss Darcy bit her lip and blinked hard for a moment, staring down into her plate. "He is usually up so early. I suppose I expected him to be here waiting on me."
 
"Do not worry, my dear," Bridget quickly offered, sensing the source of the girl's distress, "I am sure he will see you this afternoon when he has had ample opportunity to refresh himself."
 
"I am sure you are correct, Mrs. Cooperton. Thank you." Georgiana lifted her tea cup, though her hand shook slightly, and took a careful sip.
 
"Well, ladies, if you will excuse me," Cooperton rose from the table, "there is some correspondence I must attend to this morning." He nodded at his wife, who smiled gratefully in return, and left the ladies to their own.
 
For a long time, they ate in silence, neither knowing how to start what would prove to be a difficult conversation. Finally, they had finished their meal and were sipping tea, killing time.
 
"Georgiana, would you please join me in my sitting room? I think we need to talk, but the dining room is not the place for such conversations." The servants do not need to overheard what I must say.
 
Bowing her head nervously, the girl replied, "Yes, Mrs. Cooperton."
 
Together they returned to Bridget's rooms. After they settled themselves for a moment, Mrs. Cooperton began, "You know I have two daughters of my own. And three sons."
 
"Yes. I think I have met one of your daughters," Miss Darcy's voice was meek.
 
"They are both older than your brother, so I am surprised that you should remember either of them." She rose and wandered thoughtfully to the window. "You remind me much of them, you know."
 
"I do?" The girl gasped in wonder. How could she speak of me so after my foolishness last night?
 
"Indeed it is true, Miss Darcy. All girls go through a time where they are neither a little girl nor a grown-up woman. It is a very trying time indeed - a time of chafing under rules that no longer seem to fit, of romantic notions and foolish deeds." Her voice became serious as she turned to look at the young woman. "I do understand, Georgiana."
 
Dropping her face in her hands, the young woman fought to hold back the tears. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Cooperton! I am so sorry! I see what a foolish girl I was last night. I know I disappointed my brother dreadfully, and all of you…"
 
"You did, my dear girl, you did. But I do not think you truly understand the degree of danger you put yourself in." I am certain of it.
 
"But I do, Mrs. Cooperton, I do." Georgiana lifted her head, her blue eyes pleading. "I disobeyed my brother, I went into the garden at night instead of to my rooms. I allowed George to speak to me without a chaperone. When he spoke of eloping, I even thought about it, but just for a moment. I know it was improper, but it was so romantic. He said he loved me…"
 
"Enough," Bridget's voice turned harsh now. "Truly you know nothing of love. You ignore the word of your brother who loves you dearly and put yourself in the power of a man who has never loved anyone but himself!" Stupid, stupid girl!
 
"But that is not fair! I know George  was wrong, but he has been treated so unfairly…"
 
"That is the last time I will hear you say such a thing, Georgiana. Nor will you continue to refer to Mr. Wickham in so familiar a manner." Bridget's face darkened with anger as her voice became harder still. "What do you know of Mr. Wickham's misfortunes?"
 
Affronted, the girl crossed her arms indignantly and glared back at Mrs. Cooperton. "Father promised him the living, and Fitzwilliam gave it to Mr. Bradley instead. Mr. Wickham would have let him remain the curate; I am sure of it. So Mr. Bradley would have lost nothing …"
 
"Maybe your father wished Mr. Wickham to have the living at one time, but it was far from promised to him. Did your father tell you that, or did Mr. Wickham?"
 
Creasing her brows as she thought, Georgiana slowly replied, "It was Mr. Wickham."
 
"If your father wanted Mr. Wickham to have the living, he would have left the advowson to him in his will. He did not! Your father was a careful man. If he wanted something done, he made sure that it was done exactly as he wanted it. He would never have left such a thing to chance. It was not an oversight on his part. He left it in your brother's hands to decide whether Mr. Wickham was fit to have the living. We are all most assured that he is not."
 
"That is not fair! Who are you to decide? What do you know of Geo… I mean Mr. Wickham's character? He has always been so kind to me. Until last night…" her voice trailed off in confusion.
 
At least that is a good sign. Mrs. Cooperton watched the girl thinking. "We know a good deal more of his character than you do, my dear." She rang for her maid who quickly appeared. "Lilly, would you please send Millie and Patty here."
 
"Yes, mum." With a curtsey, Lilly disappeared again.
 
"Who are they?"
 
"You will see in a moment, Georgiana." Bridget sighed. I am afraid you will see much more than you want to see. A moment later, two young women appeared at the door. Although they were clean and neat, their dresses made their positions as servants clear. "Miss Darcy, this is Millie," the brown haired girl curtsied carefully if a bit awkwardly, "and this is Patty." The other girl followed suit. "Please, girls, take a seat.
 
The two maids looked at each other nervously, not sure what to make of the situation, but they obeyed their mistress' instructions.
 
"I know that it is not usually your place to sit and converse, girls." Bridget began soothingly, "but today will be an exception. I find I am in need of your particular help."
 
"How can we help you, mum?" Patty, the more outspoken of the two asked, brushing stray red locks from her face. Mrs. Cooperton has always been a kind and fair mistress and the girl was pleased to be called upon to help her.
 
"First, I must ask you not to speak to anyone, anyone at all, of this conversation. " She reached into her pocket and withdrew several coins. "I value your promise greatly." With great seriousness she pressed the coins into the girls'  hands. They stared I surprised at the glittering shillings.
 
"We promise, mum," Millie whispered, a little afraid of where the conversation would go next.
 
"Very good. I thank you for that. Now, the help I need from you today is for you to acquaint Miss Darcy with the character of a Mr. George Wickham."
 
Georgiana was startled to see the immediate change in the maids' countenances. Both girls seemed to grow angry and agitated at the mention of his name.
 
"You may speak freely. Nothing you say in this room will be held against you. Nothing at all. In fact, I insist that you speak honestly and openly in this matter," Bridget admonished firmly.
 
"Beggin' your pardon, miss," Patty glanced from her mistress to Miss Darcy, "but that man is not fit to speak of in polite company."
 
"No?" Georgiana sat up straight in astonishment.
 
"No, mum," Millie softly agreed, looking up shyly.
 
"He is the worst sort of man there is, Mrs. Cooperton," Patty turned to her mistress, somehow feeling safer speaking her mind to the older woman.
 
"What kind of man would that be, Patty?" Her mistress nodded and smiled encouraging at the girl's openness.
 
"The kind that says he is a gentleman, and then leaves a girl with nothing but a baby in her belly," she spat venomously.
 
Springing to her feet, Georgiana glared at the short red-headed maid. "How dare you say such things!"
 
Rounding on Georgiana, Bridget rebuked, "She says them because they are true. Now sit down and listen."
 
Flushed with embarrassment and tears welling in her eyes, Georgiana meekly returned to her seat.
 
"Go on, Patty, please."
 
"Beggin' your pardon mum, but that dog took to hanging about my sister two years ago. He talked all pretty to her and made her believe that he would marry her. She believed him, she did. Ended up carrying his babe, she did, and when she told him she sprained her ankle* he just laughed and walked away, never spoke to her again." Patty's fists balled in rage and her fair skin flushed. "My poor sister got sent to family in Scotland. I'll probably never see her again because that cur left her with her leg broke**!"
 
"No! He could never… He said that he…"
 
"That he loved you, miss?" Patty glanced up at her mistress as she drew her conclusion. "That is what he done told my sister too. But that man never loved anything 'cept gettin' his chimney swept out!***"
 
Georgiana blushed at the indelicate language, never having heard a woman speak so.
 
"It is true, Miss Darcy," Millie finally spoke, looking timidly at the young lady. She shrank back as she felt Georgiana's angry gaze. "It were not only her sister he done bagged. My sister, she were born the same time as me, me and her looked just alike. After Patty's sister were sent away, my sister caught his eye. But sometimes, he would see me and could not tell us apart. He would try to kiss and touch…"
 
"Enough! I do not want to hear…" Georgiana exclaimed.
 
"You will sit down and you will listen." Bridget stared at her with a stern, motherly expression until the girl obeyed. "This is not about what you want to hear. It is time for you to learn the truth about your favorite."
 
"I would push him away and tell him I were not Abby. Then he would go to find her. It were not long before she were in trouble too. Jes' like he did with the others, he up and left my sister high in the belly and without…" Millie's throat tightened in grief. "She died trying to birth his bye blow.+ That man killed my sister sure as if he slit her throat." She spat the final word with a venom Georgiana had never heard before.
 
"Thank you, girls." Mrs. Cooperton laid a soft hand on Millie's shoulder, comforting the grieving girl. She rang for Lilly once again. "Please, Lilly, would you take them down to the kitchen and see that they are given a nice tea and some biscuits."
 
"Yes, mum," Lilly curtsied gracefully, smiling genuinely at her mistress. She suspected what was going on, and appreciated her mistress' kindness to all involved. Gently, the lady's maid ushered the two younger women out.
 
Now alone, Bridget fixed her gaze on Georgiana. "He is not the gentleman you supposed him to be."
 
That cannot be true! They must be lying! They must. How could George have done those things? Weakly the young woman walked to the window to gaze out over the estate, her mind whirling.
 
Wisely, Bridget stood back and gave the girl the chance to consider what she had seen and heard. This will be a deciding moment in her life, poor dear. Will she believe the truth that has been set before her? Oh, heavenly Father, let her eyes open, let her see. Do not allow her to continue in her folly, or she will be lost to us all. She silently prayed as she studied her charge.
 
Georgiana kept her vigil for a long time. Finally her shoulders began to quiver and she gulped back a little sob. Immediately, Mrs. Cooperton was there beside her, a warm arm around the girl's shoulders leading her back to the couch.
 
"How could he, Mrs. Cooperton? How could he do those things? How could he do those things and say that he loved me?" She wept into her hands. "He does not love me, does he? He only wants…" She could not finish.
 
"Your dowry, my girl. I am afraid that is the sad truth of it all. Your father sought to keep your monetary worth a mystery to protect you from men such as Wickham. Men who would see your value only in terms of the number of pounds you could bring to their coffer. I am sorry for you to learn the truth of it all in such a way, my dear."
 
Georgiana wept a little more. "Fitzwilliam knew, he knew. That is why he did not give George…Mr. Wickham the living?"
 
"Yes, that is exactly what happened. Your brother has known Wickham a long time, and has tried to help him. Your brother is a man of good principles, who tries very hard to live by them. George Wickham has no principles and pursues only the pleasures of the moment." She stroked the young woman's hair softly.
 
Perplexed, she looked up at her comforter, her brows knit in confusion. "Surely Father  could see it too. Why did he love Mr. Wickham so much?"
 
She pulled the girl into a motherly embrace, sighing, "I truly do not know, my dear, I do not know."

After his initial shock and revulsion had worn off, Darcy continued to read his father's  journals. His appetite for the information contained in them was voracious, so he read through the night and into the early morning, until the dawn began peeking into the study windows.
 
He heard his father's voice speak so many things. Some things he had heard his father say often enough: how proud he was of Fitzwilliam Darcy, how much he loved their son. He always thought of me as their son. That's how he differentiated between us. Wickham was his son, but I was theirs. But the journals also spoke of many things that George Darcy never voiced to their son.
 
Chief among them was the crushing guilt that drove him in all matters concerning George Wickham. Always, it was guilt that pushed him--guilt that this young man would never have his place, even as a younger son of the estate. His father's folly had assured that. Forever, George Wickham would carry only his father's first name, never his last, and would therefore never have what by right should be his , had he been born to Anne Darcy. Father could see what George was becoming, but could not stop himself from giving in to him because of the guilt.
 
Bradley tells me over and over that I must forgive myself for what I have done. But how am I to do that? Every time I see the hurt in Anne's eyes, I hate myself all over again. And when I look at the boy, I see in him a younger version of myself. His eyes, his mouth, they are mine. Our son has his mother's eyes.
 
Countless times, Anne has assured me of her forgiveness--that she has taken Bradley's counsel and chooses not to hold this thing against me. What a woman she is! I know that she means it, that her words are true. She tells me her hurt is not for what I did, but for what I am doing now. She tells me I am ruining the boy, and it pains her to watch me take even more from him. But I have already done so much wrong by my son, how can I deny him the little I have left to give?
 
She warns me that I am pushing away our son by my actions. I can only hope that someday our boy will understand. He must. He is such a fine young man. I am so proud of the man he is becoming. That is surely his mother's influence on him.
 
Bradley tells me over and over that a good father disciplines the son whom he loves. He warns me that I am showing the boy no love in giving him what he wants and looking the other way when he errs. I suppose my curate is right. I am not. Once again, my friend has forced me to see the sad truth of the matter. I do not love the child. All I feel toward him is guilt. But it is enough to keep me jumping at his whim, a fact that brings me no pride.

 
His father's words rang over and over in his mind. I do not truly love the child… Darcy laid the journal aside and began to pace the room, muttering to himself, "All these years I believed he loved George Wickham better than me. To see now that he never did. He never did. Oh Father !" Though he did not feel entirely comfortable about it, a bitter weight slipped from Darcy's shoulders, knowing that he was not lower in his father's esteem than his boyhood rival. "It was guilt alone, oh Father, what guilt to have to carry. No wonder you lectured me so sternly about keeping myself under good regulation when I left home!" He paused at the window, watching the first lights of dawn reaching above the horizon. Weariness descended upon him heavily, like a blanket, weighing him down. "I must speak to Bradley. I cannot sort through this alone. But first I must sleep. I must have my wits about me before I try to take on what my father has left me."
Weighed down by exhaustion, he returned the journals to their place in the book shelf and trudged up the stairs to his room, only stopping to pull off his boots and cravat before falling into bed, asleep.
 

*pregnant
**having a bastard child
***sexual intimacy with a woman
+ illegitimate child

Well after midday, refreshed and more alert, Darcy was once again in his study. Knowing he would not offend the Coopertons, he chose to have a tray brought in, rather than dine with them for luncheon. He sighed. I don't even know where to begin. He rubbed hard at his temples, hoping answers would somehow come. A meek knock on the heavy door to the study broke his reverie.
 
"Come in."
 
Slowly the door opened and Georgiana peeked in. Over her shoulder, he could see Mrs. Cooperton nodding.
 
"Please, Georgiana, come in," he encouraged, beckoning his sister in.
 
"Go on." Bridget pushed her through the door gently and closed it behind her.
 
Sensing his sister's need, Fitzwilliam rose from behind the desk and met her at the door. They looked at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Finally, she threw herself into his arms where she was met with a warm embrace.
 
"Brother, I am so sorry. I have been such a fool!" She sobbed as he led her to a chair. "I have accused you of treating Mr. Wickham unfairly, when all along it was you who were being used so unkindly!" Darcy drew a breath to speak, but she stopped him with a hand on his wrist. "No, please, let me speak. I must!"
 
"All right, I will listen," he assured softly, relieved at the direction the discussion was taking.
 
"I took Mr. Wickham's word over yours. I should never ever have done that. You have always cared for me and protected me, all the more so after Father died. I should never have listened to him criticize you. I was so vain, hearing all his flattery! I am so sorry, please forgive me." Growing more disquieted, she rose and walked to the bookcase, staring up at the shelves for a long moment. "I disgraced you, embarrassed you in front of your friends, our friends, last night. You had privileged me by allowing me to join you, and I behaved so badly before them all! I even insulted Mr. Bradley, your guest of honor." Tears poured down the young woman's cheeks as she felt the weight of her humiliation. "You were right to dismiss me from your company.
 
"But then I disobeyed you, I defied you, and went into the garden. It seemed like such a romantic notion, but I see now how stupid I was." She turned to face him. "Mrs. Cooperton sent for two of her maids to come and speak with me. It seems…" her voice quivered briefly, "…it seems that Mr. Wickham dallied with their sisters and ruined them both. One of the girls died in childbirth, the other will spend the rest of her life banished from the family, in Scotland. Now I see how easily that could have been me!" Her composure broke and she crumpled to her knees on the floor, sobbing into her hands again.
 
Without hesitation, Darcy moved to her side, hunkering down beside her, embracing her in his strong arms.
 
"Please, forgive me!" she wept.
 
"I do, Georgiana. I do. I am just so relieved that you have listened to Mrs. Cooperton. I am so sorry that you had to see George Wickham as he truly is. It is not a pleasing thing, I know." He held her tightly. "You are safe from him now. I cannot speak my thankfulness enough that you are safe." He helped her back to her feet and guided her to sit once again.
 
"What have I done, oh what have I done? How can you bear to look at me? How can I ever face our friends again? How can I ever look at Mr. Bradley?" Tearful eyes looked up at him. "Please, do not make me."
 
Pressing her into his now tear-stained shoulder, he rubbed her back. "Oh, dearling, you know I cannot do that." I cannot let you follow the same path that our father took. I cannot allow you to be lost in your guilt. "We all forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself."
 
"How do I do that?" she pleaded.
 
Darcy smiled wearily to himself. "I do not honestly know. I cannot say what that looks like. I know some of it will come as you have to live with the consequences of your actions. You will have to face all of us, and see that we forgive you. I think that will help you find the strength to forgive yourself. I have written for our cousin Richard to come. I will ask him to take you to our Aunt Matlock for a time. She will help you prepare to come out in ways that I cannot. She will help you overcome the things that led to last night. As you do that, I think you can begin to forgive yourself, knowing that you will not go this way again. We will also seek out Bradley. There is no one else I know who is more able to answer such a question than him." Tenderly he kissed the top of her head.
 
"But he must hate me!" she argued.
 
"No, Georgiana, you know that is not true. I think it is you that hates yourself right now, not him, and not me." He tipped her chin up so she would look him in the eye. "I am disappointed in your behavior. That is not what I expected from you." He sighed as his eyes fell upon the shelf full of his father's journals. But then, that is not what I expected from him either. "But we all disappoint the ones we love at times. If we cannot forgive and move on, then what do we have left? To grow old and bitter and resentful? I think not." He shook his head decisively. "I think not. That is not how I would wish to spend the rest of my days. Would you?"
 
"No, but please, do not send me away, I promise…" If I could make such a mistake here, what might I do there?
 
"I am not sending you away. Pemberley will always be your home. I will never send you away. You are going to visit Aunt Matlock because I am ill-equipped to teach you what you need to know for your coming out. I am not fit to teach a young lady, we both know that. You need her help right now. Richard's sister, Helen is nearly your age and is also preparing to meet society. It will be good for you to have someone to share it all with."
 
The young woman wilted with disappointment. Helen will think I am a fool. She probably will not even speak to me.
 
"I am not banishing you. Please trust me." His eyes pleaded with her. Please do not make me become stern with you.
 
She nodded reluctantly, biting her lower lip with anxiety. "Will you tell them?"
 
"I must tell Richard, he is your guardian as well, and he needs to know. Together we will decide what is appropriate for the rest of the family to know. You can be certain that if your aunt finds out, she will forgive you too." His heart wrenched at her crestfallen look. "But I do not think Helen needs to know if that is what you are worrying about." His suspicion was confirmed when he saw the relief in her eyes. "You keep saying you want to be treated as an adult. This is what that means, taking responsibility for your mistakes, not hiding from them, and then making things right. Is that not the repentance that Bradley teaches?"
 
"Yes. I do not think I like it very much, though." She pouted, looking very much the little girl.
 
"That matters very little when you are a grown person. I am afraid that is a lesson you must learn now." A sharp knock at the door drew Darcy's attention. "Yes?"
 
Davis opened the door slightly and announced, "The Reverend Mister Bradley to see you, sir."
 
"Show Bradley in, Davis. Thank you."
 
"Very good, sir." Davis disappeared.
 
"Brother?" The distress in the young woman's blue eyes was clear.
 
"Do not prolong this. Now is the perfect opportunity for you to say what you need to say. I will be here with you." Darcy allowed his countenance to grow stern.
 
Swallowing hard, she meekly whispered, "Yes sir."
 
A moment later, Davis reappeared with Bradley at his side.
 
Immediately, Darcy was on his feet, walking to the doorway to greet the vicar. "Good afternoon, sir," he smiled warmly, "would you care for some tea?"
 
"I think I would, Darcy. Thank you very much," Bradley nodded, allowing his eyes to drift toward the timid young woman. "Good afternoon to you Miss Darcy."
 
Her composure broke, and she began to cry, hiding her face in her hands.
 
Brother and curate exchanged weary glances. Nodding with understanding, Bradley crossed the few steps to Georgiana. Dropping to his knee beside her seat, he touched her shoulder with his fingertips. "Miss Darcy?"
 
"Oh Mr. Bradley! I am so sorry! I treated you so badly last night. Mrs. Cooperton has helped me see so much. I was horrid to you!" Her tearstained face peeked out above her hands. Red rimmed eyes beseeched the vicar for forgiveness.
 
"Your parents would be very proud of you at this moment. I am as well." He held her eyes for a long moment. "It takes a great deal to confess one's error. Be assured, I hold nothing against you." I am grateful you have had an opportunity to see your error and turn from it. Not all girls are so fortunate. I pray this is the first step in many such good decisions.
 
Darcy joined them and laid his large hand on her back. "I am proud of you too," he said softly.
 
"Really?" she whispered, craning her neck to look up at her brother.
 
"Yes. Now then, you get yourself cleaned up and go attend Mrs. Cooperton. I am sure she has much more to talk with you about." Kissing the top of her head once more, he released his sister and walked her to the door. Stepping out for a moment, he requested tea be sent. Wondering what he would say, he turned back to his guest.
 
"You look like you had a long night as well, young master."Bradley smiled gently as he settled himself in a chair near the fireplace. I should think you slept very little by the shadows under your eyes.
 
"I dare say the circles under your eyes match my own, sir," Darcy laughed softly as he seated himself.
 
Silence descended, leaving both men feeling somewhat awkward. The arrival of a servant with tea relieved both of them.
 
"So, tell me of your evening," Bradley finally ventured, lifting his teacup to his lips.
 
Darcy sighed behind his own teacup, taking a long sip before he answered. Fixing his eyes on the bookcase, he softly said, "I needed my father's wisdom last night. I finally started to read his journals."
 
Somberly the vicar nodded. So that is what is haunting your eyes, my young friend. The ghost of your father's sins. I am so sorry you had to find out at such a time and in such a manner.
 
"You knew. You have always known." The young gentleman slowly turned his eyes on the vicar.
 
"I have. Your father… he trusted me with his confidences. I was honored by that trust, and I would never violate that, no more than I would violate yours. He had always intended to tell you, when he felt the time was right. He wanted you to know. He just did not know how to tell you." Bradley set his cup on the small table and leaned back in the soft chair. "It was very difficult for him. He was very ashamed of what he had done."
 
"I could see that in many of the pages he wrote." Darcy's brows creased and he looked at the ceiling for a moment. "What I do not understand is how such a thing occurred. When I left for school, he lectured me so sternly on keeping myself under good regulation." Anger tinged the young man's voice.
 
"He knew firsthand why it was so important."
 
"But how could he?" Darcy sprang to his feet and began pacing across the fireplace. "I know such things are done, yet you could not have condoned such behavior from him!" Accusation filled his eyes as he stared at his guest.
 
"No, I did not," Bradley sadly agreed.
 
"Then why?" the young man demanded, whirling on the vicar. "Why? How could he have betrayed my mother in such a way? And how many more…"
 
"None. Let me put that question to rest for you, Fitzwilliam. There were no others."
 
Darcy leaned his arm across the mantle, sagging in relief.
 
Slowly, Bradley rose and went to him. Laying a hand on the younger man's shoulder, he reassured, "George Darcy loved his wife very dearly, son, very dearly. There were no others. Come, I will tell you the story as I know it. Since you have read your father's words, I am betraying no confidences."
 
Together, they walked back to their seats. "He indeed loved Anne Darcy, and she him. But sometimes, the deepest of love is forged in the fire of deep trials." Bradley stared at the empty fireplace, a fitting reminder of the empty place that the couple's deaths had left. "I met your parents when I became curate here, in the months before you were born."
 
Darcy watched the faraway look on Bradley's face as he drew upon his memories.
 
"They had been married nearly five years by the time I came here, and they were very excitedly awaiting your arrival. They had long hoped for an heir. I sat with your father when it was time for your birth.
 
"It was then he told me of your mother. Their match was like most of those in their sphere, more a business transaction than anything else. But something happened for them during their wedding trip. They came to love each other very dearly.
 
"But all was not easy for them in those first five years, they suffered through several miscarriages. With each one, your mother suffered deep melancholy, each one deeper than the last. Those periods were difficult for your father to understand. He was a young man, still impatient and not able to feel her sorrows. They grew apart with each loss. Your father had great hopes that your birth would be the event that began to heal the breach.
 
"Sadly, that was not to be. Despite the fact that she was safely and easily delivered of Pemberley's heir, her melancholy returned in force. She withdrew from everyone, especially your father. He was very hurt and very angry. Finally, she announced she was taking you to visit her family. Your father allowed it, hoping it would somehow ease her heart, but he was angry at the same time." Bradley exhaled deeply and took up his tea cup once again.
 
Darcy waited patiently, his elbows on the chair arms, chin on his fists. I never knew that of my mother. I do not believe I ever saw her like that. I always remember her smiling. He sighed. How much do I not know of my parents?
 
"It is hard to talk about your father this way, you understand. To speak of the man he once was, it is almost a disgrace to his memory. Please, Fitzwilliam, please, remember, the man I am speaking of became the man that you knew, the man we trusted and respected. He took his mistakes and learned from them, that is what you must keep in mind." He turned pleading eyes on his listener.
 
Slowly, Darcy nodded. "You are right, it is difficult to think of my parents this way. But knowing these things does not change the people they were, the ones that I knew. It is good to keep that in mind. Please, continue." Though he knew his words to be true, it was difficult to believe them even as he spoke them out.
 
With a deep breath, Bradley began again, "The longer your mother was away, the angrier he became. He loved her, and he could not deal with the fact she would not receive his love. He began to wash away his sorrow in drink. Most nights he fell asleep in his study, after far too many glasses of port.
 
"The running of the estate suffered in those days. The old steward had died and a new man had not taken his place. That was when he brought in Old Wickham to fill the position. He and his wife came to Pemberley while your mother was away.
 
"The Wickhams had been married for ten years when they moved to Derbyshire, and they had no children. Like most women, Lavinia Wickham was desperate for a child. One night, she came to the house, looking for her husband. She found your father, in his cups, here in the study."
 
Looking down, Bradley breathed deeply and frowned. "I cannot say for certain what happened then, but at the end of it, he had entered into physical congress with her.
 
"Their dalliance did not last long, a month perhaps. But at the end of it, she was carrying her child and Old Wickham was left to stand Moses.* None of us ever really knew what Old Wickham believed about the boy. Lavinia was content to allow him to believe the boy was his son. She had too much to lose if she confessed to her adultery. Her husband was not the kind of man who would suffer such a violation lightly. He would have divorced her for certain. But she was quick to let your father know, and held it over him all her remaining days."
 
Darcy pushed himself heavily to his feet, feeling the need to move, lest the tension become unbearable. Purposefully, he walked to the window and gazed out a few moments. "I am relieved to know it was short lived. I do not think I could bear knowing he kept a mistress."
 
"He did not. After Lavinia informed him that she was with child, guilt consumed him. He realized the consequence of his actions, and it devastated him. He sank into a dark place, darker than your mother ever knew. He barely spoke to me in that time. When he did, he could only see how he had failed all those around him, his wife, his heir, and this natural child whom he could never acknowledge." Pressed by the tension himself, Bradley joined Darcy at the window.
 
The two men gazed out on the estate, appreciating the peaceful landscape before them.
 
"Your father was a man of good principles, Darcy. In his anger and unforgiveness, he allowed his baser nature to overcome those principles, but he had those principles nonetheless."
 
"I know, Bradley. I know. I think that is what makes this so hard. Because of that, this is so difficult to believe of him."
 
The vicar sighed thoughtfully. "Even with the best of principles in place, it still falls on us to follow them.
 
"Your mother finally returned home. She had been gone for well nigh three, or was it four, months? I do not know what happened while she was gone, but she was a changed woman when she returned. It was like the old Anne Darcy was back, according to your father. The first month she was back was wonderful.
 
"But your father was consumed with guilt. On my counsel, he confessed himself to your mother, fearing the worst, that she would leave him again and never return, but he could keep the secret no longer. The guilt was too much.
 
"She was very angry at first, very angry. She felt his betrayal most keenly. She could not accept what many wives tolerate with equanimity. But as we talked, she finally saw that she could continue in her anger and resentment and make that the picture of the rest of their lives, or she could forgive and try to rebuild what they once had."
 
"She chose to forgive him," Darcy said decisively, remembering his father's words. "He never understood how she could. I do not think he forgave himself. But the grace she extended him gave him the will to continue."
 
"Exactly, exactly." Bradley nodded emphatically. "That one decision your mother made changed the course of all of your lives. Slowly your father came back to himself, and they rebuilt the love they had tasted so early in their marriage. It was not easy, but together they created a marriage that few of their circle could understand. It was truly a love match, hard won to be sure. But one worth envying." And many did.
 
Darcy raked his hair with his hands. "Now I am faced with the same decision, am I not?" He turned to face his vicar once more.
 
"Sadly, you are. He never forgave himself, and that devastated not only him, but left his natural son to pay the price as well." How many times have I grieved that fact? I pray you will not follow in your father's path in this matter.
 
Silently Darcy strode to the bookcase, carefully choosing a particular journal from the shelf. Opening it, he read over the entry briefly. "He said that you told him that a father disciplines the son he loves. He wrote that you convinced him he did not really love George Wickham."
 
"That is true. He was manipulated by guilt where that boy was concerned, not love. He did that young man no favors by constantly giving in to his demands while putting no requirements on him. Had your father forgiven himself his own mistakes, I think he could have handled the boy more effectively."
 
"So now I am left to pay the price for both of them." A stain of anger colored Darcy's voice.
 
"I am afraid so, young master. No, it is not fair, but it is the way of things." Bradley moved from the window to lean on the edge of Darcy's heavy mahogany desk. "So what will you do with the legacy your father has left you?"
 
Carefully, the young gentleman returned the journal to the shelf. Turing deliberately toward Bradley, he said softly, "He would not have wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I must forgive him. That would also mean I must forgive Wickham as well." Darcy's demeanor suddenly changed as he began to pace angrily once again. "But how can I just allow him to walk away! After what he tried to do to my sister, how can you expect me to just let him go!"
 
After a long pause, Bradley replied, "I ask no such thing of you."
 
"You will tell me that the good Lord requires it of me. Turn the other cheek…" bitterness dripped from his words.
 
Again, the vicar allowed the words to hang long in the air before he finally responded. "I have said no such thing, and I will say no such thing, for it is not true."
 
Stunned, Darcy turned to face the older man.
 
"Forgiveness means that you release your right to judge him, and return it to the One who judges us all. It does not mean that you free him from the consequences of his actions. How would that be an act of love? Your father never loved this natural son of his, he never brought him under discipline. It was that which brought us to this place. You have the opportunity to right that wrong against young Wickham. Forgive him, but love him, and let him feel the consequences of his behavior." Bradley's voice was barely above a whisper now. "Right this wrong, and allow both of you a chance at a better future."
 
"You would not send him to dance on nothing.+" The words were more a statement than a question.
 
"Do his actions truly deserve that?" Bradley kept his tone carefully neutral.
 
This would be far simpler if they did. But in reality he did little more than impose on us. I cannot justify his death on that alone. With a sad shake of his head, Darcy answered, "No, no they do not. But neither should he walk away."
 
"No, he should not. He must finally learn that we all must reap what we sow.^^" The vicar stared at the carpet. "There are no easy answers, I am afraid. I think we should speak to Edwards."
 
"Yes. Richard will be here soon, late tomorrow, I think. I sent for him last night."
 
"Good. I think that was wise."
 
"Cooperton too." Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the impending headache. "He lost two maids to Wickham's dalliances. He should speak to this as well."
 
"There is wisdom in a multitude of counsel, Fitzwilliam.++ There is no reason for you to try to do this alone." Bradley clapped the younger man's shoulder.
 
"For that I am truly grateful," Darcy sighed, the weight of his situation still heavy on him.
 

^Num 32:23
*To stand Moses: a man is said to stand Moses when he has another man's bastard child fathered upon him and he is obliged by the parish to maintain it:
** PR 3:12
+to dance on nothing- to be hanged
^^Gal 6:7
++Pv 15:22

Ch 12: Do not withhold discipline from a child

Posted on 2010-09-26

Fredrickson looked at Knightley and shook his head. "He is driving his hogs over Swarston-bridge, ain't he?1" The rugged looking, dark haired man laughed softly.
 
"It be a wonder 'e can sleep so sound." Knightley frowned with pursed lips. "For a public man2 'e certainly is a bell swagger3. I never head such hoggish4 from a man who should be begging not to swing."
 
"Ya think he is right, that Darcy will save him from the sheriff's picture frame?5" The big man yawned and rubbed his face hard.
"I know 'e did before, but it were not 'is sister bein' imposed on then." Knightley looked at Wickham, still bound in the chair, sagging against the ropes, asleep. "No, I can not see it."

Tomorrow was the day, the day he would face the hangman. He knew a hundred different ways to describe what he would do in the morning, but they all amounted to the same thing. He would die. Darcy had spoken against him at the trial. There was no one left to rescue him.
 
"There were so many things I planned to do. It was not supposed to be like this. Old Darcy promised me the life of a gentleman…No, not promised, he never did promise anything. He wanted to give me that living. If only I had taken orders before it was vacant! Then Darcy would have had to give me the living. But that would have meant being someone's curate, paid no better than a servant! Doing all the work with none of the reward! Had I only taken orders, the parsonage would have been mine!"
 
Mercifully someone--he knew not who--had provided him with bottles of drink. He reached for the first bottle.
 
"At least this way I'll feel nothing," he muttered, taking a deep draw off the bottle.
 
The beverage was fruity and potent. Soon he had finished the first bottle. But something was wrong, he was not drunk. Bewildered, he reached for the second bottle, quickly polishing it off. Still, he felt no different. A third and a fourth produced no effect either. Frantically he reached for yet another, only to be stopped by a large hand.
 
"Enough. It is time."
 
Roughly, his hands were bound behind his back. His heart raced, his anxiety climbing. Soberly, far too soberly, he watched the man in front of him take his place at the noose, the floor dropping beneath him, the rope creaking under his weight. His face, uncovered, knotted into a grisly death mask.
 
Moments later, he felt a push between his shoulders and his feet were carrying him to the gallows. Heart in his throat, he breathed faster and faster, knowing that soon he would draw breath no more. The rough rope bit into his neck, tightening painfully. Words spoken behind him could not be made out as the blood roared in his ears. The floor gave way…
 
Wickham's head snapped up as he drew in labored breaths. Soaked in sweat, he looked around the moonlit room to see Edwards' men on either side of him. He was still in the manse, not yet meeting the hangman's noose, instead he was facing a second night bound to the hard chair.
 
Slowly his heart calmed, and he began to breathe more normally. Three times now he had dreamt this dream, each time growing worse than the time before. This was the first time he had felt the floor give way beneath him.
 
What have I done? What have I done? Sweat burned his eyes, but he could not wipe it away. I am not ready to die. I do not want to die. But they will not hear me. If only… His throat knotted painfully. This is all that prig6 Darcy's fault. If he had only given me what I wanted… He did this to me! It is his fault, and yet I am to hang for it! Impotently he struggled against his bonds.
 
Knightley turned to look at Wickham, a severe expression in his dark eyes. He said nothing, but made his displeasure clear, crossing his arms over his chest. Wickham ceased his struggles.
 
But why would they hang Darcy? Being a rich coxcomb has never been a hanging offense. But stealing from one is. He sighed heavily, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. My father warned me of this; he told me I would be topp'd7 if I did not change my ways. He saw this coming! He knew I would… Had his watchers been studying his face, they would have seen a look of dawning horror and understanding bloom over his features. He knew I would finally go too far! I have. It is what I have done!
 
But what can I do now? I must speak to Darcy. If I apologize to him…surely that is all he wants. If I can but speak to him, he will end this farce. He dropped his chin to his chest, heaving a heay sigh. Oh, but my dream, my dream. He refused to listen to me, he would not hear it. He, too, said I had gone too far and no apology could matter. What if that is true? What if that is true?
 
Sounds in another room intruded into his thoughts, drawing his attention to the familiar voices.

"What has been done with him?" Colonel Fitzwilliam demanded, his strong hands flexing unconsciously into fists.
 
"My men have him bound in the next room. He has not moved from his chair but for the necessities since we incarcerated him. He is going nowhere, Colonel," Edwards replied in a cold voice.
 
"Of course, I did not mean to question you. I have every faith in your efforts, sir." Fitzwilliam dropped his head in acknowledgement of the older man.
 
"No worries. I understand. It is different when it is your family that is affected. Do you care for coffee, sir?" Edwards looked toward the kitchen.
 
With a sheepish smile, the colonel nodded, a wry smile creeping across his rugged features. "You have indeed given me a barbarous expensive habit, for it was you who introduced me to the stuff! Now I must keep both tea and coffee in the larder!" He laughed companionably. "I will gladly take a cup."
 
A moment later, they were quietly sipping their coffee. Edwards regarded the younger man for a long moment. "I have sent a man to Manchester, where I suspect there is a writ of debt outstanding for young Wickham."
 
"Why bother? He has already committed a hanging offense."
 
"You should know, it is not wise to overlook any possible advantage," Edwards admonished.
 
"Too true, sir," Fitzwilliam drew a deep breath then released it. "Any simpleton could see that it would come to this. Why Uncle Darcy kept feeding that fool's demands, I will never understand. He was far too generous for his own good."
 
"Nor I, I am afraid. It seems that was the one place where my friend's wise judgment would fail him."
 
"Wickham was left a legacy that should have been his stepping stone into a respectable life, yet he squandered it all," the younger man spat angrily. "Had I behaved that way…"
 
"You would not be in a place to soon retire to an estate of your own." A rugged eyebrow lifted.
 
"How he had the idea that he, the godson, should be entitled to more than me…"
 
"The younger son of a great man?" Edwards finished for him, a frown pursing his lips.
 
"Precisely. I must admit, I think that is what has most offended me in this whole affair."
 
A room away, Wickham's eyes grew wide as he listened to the two officers coldly discuss him and his fate.
 
"He received every bit as much as if he were Darcy's younger brother! Yet what does the man have to show for it!" Fitzwilliam's voice snarled from the other room.
 
As much as if I were a brother… Did he really give me so much? He squeezed his eyes shut, considering this new thought, comparing it to the stories he had heard at school about gentlemen's younger sons. A cold chill crept over his face. The colonel is right. He did give me that much. Somehow it did not seem so much then. If only I had known.
 
I wonder, could it be possible? He was so generous. Could I have been his son?What a laugh that would be. To see Darcy's face to know that I am his brother! What a joke! There is nothing to prove that I am not He chewed at his chapped lips thoughtfully, playing out the possibilities in his mind's eye. No, even I could not convince them of such a thing. There is nothing to prove it. Old Darcy's reputation, his character they all forbid that such a thing could be possible. No, trying to play that card would only make things worse. Besmirching Old Darcy's name would only seal their resolve against me.
 
They were my friends once. I knew they would stand behind me. They would rescue me. But no more. An unfamiliar hopelessness descended over the young man as he realized what he had lost and the bitter price there would be to pay.

The following morning, two men strode from the manor house to the manse. The freshness of the morning was just giving way to the more pronounced warmth of the day.
 
"Colonel Fitzwilliam has already gone ahead?" Bradley asked.
 
"Yes, he wanted to speak with Edwards again. He still calls him Major Edwards. Richard thinks very highly of our magistrate," Darcy replied thoughtfully. He listened as their footsteps crunched on the gravel path. "I remember when Father had this stone put in place. This path used to be quite muddy, and Mother would get cross with him tracking mud all over the freshly cleaned floors." He laughed to himself, quickly becoming thoughtful again. "Who else knows?"
 
"Your father confided in me. I have spoken of it to no one until now. He never told me that he shared his secret with anyone else, and I have been given no reason to believe that he has. I think Edwards suspects it though."
 
Darcy nodded, sighing. "I do not know what to do. I wish to honor my father's memory8 and not bring this to light. Yet I hate disguise."
 
They walked on in silence for several steps, each lost in thought. Finally Bradley ventured, "Does his true father's identity make a difference when considering what he has done?"
 
"If anything, I suppose it makes his imposition on my sister worse. But for the rest, no, it does not."
 
"How should it factor into the consequences he should experience?"
 
"Do you not teach that the Good Lord is no respecter of persons?9 If that is true, then it should not matter who he is, only what he has done."
 
"Will it do young Wickham any good to know the truth of his parentage?" Bradley stopped walking and looked Darcy in the eye.
 
The young gentleman stared into the morning sky. "Of that I am not sure. It is a difficult question. In truth, I think it would make him even more angry and bitter against us all." He rubbed at his temples, wishing for answers. "Did he ever give you any idea of whether he wanted Wickham to know?"
 
"That is difficult to say. He never said one way or the other, yet that in itself is revealing to me. You see, he spoke of telling you, and asked me several times when and how I thought he should speak to you. There was much he wanted you to understand. But he never talked of allowing Wickham to know. To me, that would say he did not intend to."
 
Darcy blinked in the sunlight. "I suppose then I will honor my father's wishes as best I know them. I will not speak of it."
 
Beginning to walk again, Bradley agreed, "Nor will I."
 
"How did my mother do it, Bradley?" Darcy's voice was so soft the vicar could barely hear it.
 
"Do what?"
 
"Forgive him? He…he…with the wife of his steward! How could she forgive that, and then have the proof of his indiscretion in her house constantly?" Dark eyes looked off toward the rose garden that reminded him of his mother.
 
"Your mother was a woman of great strength, Fitzwilliam--a very special woman. But I can tell you, it was not easy; far from it. There were days when she would wrestle so hard with it that it took all the strength she had to even speak to your father. No, it did not come easy for her." Bradley looked down, contemplating the gravel under his feet.
 
"Then how did she finally overcome the anger and pain?"
 
"She made a choice--every day. We talked of it many times. Our savior gave himself as a sacrifice in payment for our sins. Each day, she chose to let that sacrifice be enough payment for your father's sin against her, as it was enough for our Good Lord." Bradley paused a moment, remembering. "It is what we all must do when we have been wronged. It is never easy, but with practice, it becomes less difficult."
 
"So then it is just a choice, a simple choice?" Darcy asked, incredulous.
 
"A choice, yes, but never a simple one."
 
"That was all it took for her to trust my father again?"
 
"I never said that, young master. That is not the case at all." The vicar looked seriously at the younger man. "To forgive and release that bitterness and pain, that was the work of a choice, sometimes made over and over again each day. Restoring the relationship though, that was another matter. For that, your father had to work diligently to show himself a man worthy of trust. Make no mistake, they had to work very hard to make things right again."
 
"I did not think it could be so easy for him," he sighed and began walking once again.

A short time later, Darcy and his vicar joined Edwards, Fitzwilliam and Cooperton around the plain dining table in the manse. At the far end sat Wickham, bound, Elmer and Sanderson on either side of him.
 
"A man should hear what is being said of him in judgment," Edwards remarked as he tied Wickham's own cravat about his mouth. "But we have no need of interruption. If we need to hear your words, I shall be quick to release you to speak. No, do not look at me so. You and I both know you cannot keep your remarks to yourself. You proved that quite well last night. So we will keep you quiet." With a nod, the magistrate returned to his seat at the head of the table.
 
Darcy watched Wickham out of the corner of his eye. The arrogance that he had expected to see was gone. Instead, defeat bathed Wickham's countenance. Dark circles shadowed fear filled eyes. Is it possible that he has finally begun to see?
 
"Ordinarily I would call such a meeting in a public place," Edwards announced, clearing his throat. "But in deference to you, Darcy, we are handling this in private, for now at least."
 
Around the table, the men nodded somberly.
 
"We are faced with deciding Mr. George Wickham's fate. All here, save Fitzwilliam, saw the evidence of Wickham's theft from the Darcy residence. Both the value of what was stolen and the fact that he burglarized a dwelling, make this a hanging offense that must be taken before a proper judge for sentencing to take place. I am not permitted to pronounce sentence on a felon."
 
"It is likely that his sentence will be commuted to prison or transportation," Cooperton observed softly.
 
"Not for theft in a dwelling," Fitzwilliam countered. "I have heard no judge have mercy for that."
 
"But he did not break into the house," Bradley pondered aloud, "He was an invited guest. People fear being attacked in their own homes. That is why the crime exacts such a high price. But does not his status as a guest mitigate the crime?" The vicar glanced at Darcy briefly.
 
Pursing his lips and frowning thoughtfully, Darcy nodded, but did not comment.
 
"You would have him walk free?" The colonel turned on the vicar in exasperation.
 
A ray of hope lit Wickham's eyes for a moment, but dimmed with Bradley's answer.
 
"No, by no means am I suggesting that." The vicar frowned and shook his head.
 
"I sent a man to Manchester, where our friend last visited. The merchants there had come together with a writ of debt against him. We might surmise that his thievery was the act of a desperate man, a man likely to become more desperate with time. I would expect that he is apt to thieve again, or worse."
 
At this Wickham's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head violently, but no one attended.
 
"Death is too good for him," Cooperton muttered angrily over his tea cup.
 
"What is that?" The magistrate turned toward his neighbor, an eyebrow raised in question.
 
"If you ask me, death is too good for him." Stephen turned his angry glare on the bound man, watching all remaining color drain from the prisoner's face. "He stole the lives of two of my maids."
 
"He did not kill them," Darcy said softly, brows creasing.
 
"I did not say that he did," Cooperton snapped. "Dinah was sent away from her family, her friends, all she knew, banished to Scotland because of her dalliance with him. Had Abby not died in childbirth, the same fate would have befallen her. The lives of those girls were stolen away. Dinah will have to live out her days suffering for what was lost to her. Death would cut his earthly suffering short far too soon."
 
The men were silent for a long time, considering this new perspective.
 
"Prison then?" Edwards suggested quietly.
 
"No," Fitzwilliam shook his head decisively, "I have heard Wickham practice his craft. He would too soon talk himself out of the place. That is not a chance I am willing to take." He leaned his elbows on the table.
 
"I agree, his life should not be easier than the one he left those maids to live." Cooperton leaned on his fist, rubbing his knuckles against his thin lips.
 
"You are not considering the army then?" The colonel sat back upright, affronted. "I have had men like him under my command…"
 
"…and I would not wish that fate on any company!" Edwards quickly finished for his fellow officer.
 
"No, I fear he has enough friends to buy himself a commission, and the life of an officer is far easier than he deserves," Stephen slowly agreed.
 
"What of the Navy then?" All eyes turned on Darcy now. "Despite all he has done, I would still seek to honor my father's feelings for Wickham. He would, I believe, want to see him with the opportunity to redeem himself. Prison offers him no chance. But the Navy would."
 
Again, silence enveloped the room. Wickham stared wide-eyed at his boyhood rival, unable to believe what he heard. Navy! I want no part of that! That is worse than prison! They send the press gangs into the prisons to empty them out! That is little better than a floating prison!
 
Finally, Richard slowly nodded. "There are no commissions to be bought there. No one can say that a seaman's life is anything but difficult. He is too old to serve as a cabin boy, so a landsman is all he could be. A no crew will stand for a slackard, he will have no chance for idleness. But under a good Captain, he could do well enough for himself."
 
"A Captain who would keep him ship board," Cooperton nodded ,considering the possibility, "and who would know of his history, one who would not tolerate his proclivities. That might do."
 
"I know such a man!" Fitzwilliam's hand landed forcefully on the table. "Captain Rogers, he is just now taking a new ship and in need of men. I did him a good turn a few years back and he owes me a favor now. I have no doubt he would be willing to take on Wickham. He is a fair man, but a strict one; he runs a tight ship."
 
"Some would say the Navy is a death sentence," Edwards noted reluctantly. "Others argue it is little better than prison for landsmen at sea. It would be sufficient punishment for him."
 
"I will buy his debts in Manchester," Darcy broke in. "I do not wish to see the merchants suffer for his selfish ways."
 
Bradley nodded, but it was Cooperton who cut in, "And if he shows up on land again without leave, you will see him in prison for those debts without a second thought."
 
Darcy blinked slowly, pressing his lips together hard.
 
"So gentlemen," Edwards extended open hands to the men at the table, "have we a course of action that will serve the demands of justice?"
 
Slowly, each one nodded. While each approved for different reasons, none could find grounds to object.
 
"Then we will give Wickham a moment to speak for himself." Rising slowly, Edwards walked to his prisoner and deftly removed the gag.
 
Wickham swallowed hard several times and stretched his neck. Finally, he looked at his accusers, trying for a defiant expression, but falling far short. "What would you have me say?" he demanded.
 
"I suppose there is little to say, really. You may accept the sentence we have pronounced for you, or you may take your chances with the judge." Edwards crossed his arms over his chest, glowering down at the younger man.
 
Wickham turned his stare on Darcy. "Do you really believe this is what your father would have wished?" he challenged, but the typical steel was gone from his voice.
 
Darcy bit his lip as he considered his reply. "It is as much as many fathers do for their younger sons. It is not so different from what the colonel's father did for him. So, in what way would it be objectionable to him? You were his godson, Wickham; would he really do more for you?" He held the younger man's eyes without wavering.
 
For long moments, their contest of wills continued, finally though, Wickham relented, his chin dropping to his chest. "I am for the Navy then."
 
"Have you nothing to say to the man you have wronged?" Edwards nudged his prisoner's shoulder.
 
Slowly he raised his head. Wickham opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again, twice. "If you release me, I will never trouble you or your family again."
 
"I would not put on another family the suffering you have inflicted on mine." Darcy shook his head and rose solemnly to his feet. "I will trust the arrangements to you, Cousin, and our good magistrate." He dipped his head toward them and then turned on his heel to leave. Bradley's hand on his arm restrained him for a moment while blue eyes met brown.
 
The vicar nodded encouragingly. "I believe your father would be pleased," he offered very softly.
 
Accepting his words with a brief nod, Darcy removed himself from the manse. Slowly he walked back to the manor house.
 
Father, I hope I have done right for everyone involved.
 

1-He is driving his hogs over Swarston-bridge.-This is a saying used in Derbyshire, when a man snores in his sleep. Swarston- is very long, and not very wide, which causes the hogs to be crowded together; in which situation they always make a loud grunting noise.
2- Public Man-A bankrupt.
3- Bell SwaggerA noisy bullying fellow.
4 Hoggish Rude, unmannerly, filthy.
5-Sheriff's picture frame--gallows
6-Prig-A thief, a cheat: also a conceited coxcomical fellow.  
7-Topp'd: slang for hanged
8- Deut 5:16
9-Ro 2:11, Acts 10:34

Ch 13: A wife of noble character*

Ten days later, two men rode up to the great house at Pemberley. Met by groomsmen to take their horses, they quickly mounted the stairs. Davis greeted them and showed them inside.
 
"Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Edwards to see you, sir," Davis announced as his master studied his ledger.
 
So soon! I hope this bodes well. Rising to his feet, Darcy directed, "Show them in."
 
Quickly, Fitzwilliam and Edwards entered the familiar room and waited for the door to close behind them.
 
"Please sit," Darcy said, as he uneasily lowered himself into his chair. Please, have good news for me. You wear our officers' masks and I cannot see through to what you are bring me.
 
"Go ahead and ask, Cousin, I can see the suspense is killing you," Fitzwilliam gently prodded, a wry smile lightening his countenance. You have become so much more transparent than the serious boy you once were. When did this happen?
 
Darcy sighed softly with relief. "So it is done then? All went according to plan?" He bit his lip in anticipation. Please tell me there were no disasters along the way.
 
"Yes," Edwards confirmed, glancing at the other officer. "You might even say it went off with military precision." The two men laughed softly.
 
"Rogers' ship, HMS Redoubtable, will leave Portsmith in just a few days. Rogers readily agreed to take on Mr. Wickham, despite knowing all the facts. Life will not be easy for him, but Rogers is a fair man. If he survives, he may actually have something to show for himself." A look of cold satisfaction crept over Fitzwilliam's face. "It is time he tastes the fruits of his labors."
 
"Before you ask," Edwards added knowingly, "I left Fredrickson and Knightley behind to see that Wickham is on the ship when it sails. We are taking no chances." I have no desire to endure such an event again. He will sail with the Redoubtable.
 
"And Wickham himself?" Darcy reluctantly asked, his lips curling into an unconscious frown.
 
Edwards raised his eyebrows. Why would you be concerned for him?
 
"It was strange, I will be honest with you, very strange indeed," Fitzwilliam began.So few men would care about such a thing at a time like this. They would be glad to wash their hands of the lout. You are a rare breed, my cousin, and I am glad to call you friend. "There were moments when he was exactly as you would expect, still trying to talk his way free. But then there were times when he would become very quiet, even thoughtful, as though perhaps the weight of his actions was hitting him. I do not know what to make of it."
 
Accepting the information, Darcy simply nodded. Then we have indeed done the right thing. Bradley was right. "Thank you for all you have done for my sister and me."
 
"You are welcome. We are family, after all, and Georgiana is as much mine to care for as she is yours," Fitzwilliam said softly.
 
"It is no more than what your father would have done for me, or what you would do for me yourself," Edwards replied cordially. Pushing himself to his feet, he rose stiffly. "If you will excuse me, I should be getting back to my home."
 
On their feet now, Darcy and Fitzwilliam shook Edwards' hand and watched him leave.
 
"Coffee? Tea? Port?"
 
"Port…definitely port." The colonel lowered himself heavily into his seat. He leaned his head back wearily.
 
Pressing the glass into his cousin's hand, Darcy leaned back against the desk. "Tell me."
 
"Just listening to that ungrateful fool day in and day out, it was nearly unbearable. I am not accustomed to enduring such prattle. My men would never dare voice such complaints to me." He rubbed at his temples, grimacing. "Yet when I was nearly ready to gag him myself, he would stop and, for fleeting moments, seem to have a bit of clarity. Perhaps the time at sea will give him an opportunity to think.
 
"Rogers keeps his men on the ship, only his officers have shore privileges at port. So he will be denied many of his usual diversions. Seamen tolerate little, especially from the landsmen aboard. The favor he is used to acquiring by his golden tongue will not be there. It will be a rude awakening for him."
 
"Hopefully one will come," Darcy sighed, sipping his port.
 
"If it does not, it will be no fault of yours. You have given him the chance for it. What he makes of it is his own doing." Wearily, he rubbed his face. "I had no idea that Georgiana was so naïve."
 
"I am glad your mother has agreed to take her for the next few months and prepare her. Clearly I have no idea what a young woman needs. I feel like I have failed her." He dropped his head into his hands.
 
"Do not judge yourself too harshly, Darce," Richard sharply admonished. "No offense, but your father would have done just as you did. She needs a woman right now. You have done everything a man could do for her." Quietly he sipped his port for a moment. "It was good of you to arrange for Miss Lackley to travel with her. Mother was delighted to extend the invitation to include her as well. Miss Lackley impressed her last season. I believe Mother said she was a very poised and proper young woman with many excellent prospects. She will be an excellent role model for Helen and Georgiana."
 
"She has been a good friend to my sister," Darcy sighed. "I can be honest with you, though. I confess that was not my only motive."
 
"I thought not. I imagine you would find it awkward to be in company with her without your sister present?" His cousin smiled archly. I have seen the fawning way she looks at you, and I cannot imagine you have welcomed it.
 
"She is a sweet girl, with a good dowry, who will have no trouble making an excellent match, but I have no interest in her as a wife. She is too young, too much a girl still." Pushing himself off the desk, the young gentleman began to slowly pace the room. "I have no wish to offend Lackley, but his sister is not for me. Having her away to London with your mother and my sister will put her in the presence of many young men who are more suited to her charms."
 
"And away from you and your brooding ways." Nodding his approval, Fitzwilliam followed him with his eyes. "You have never been satisfied with the marriage market."
 
"No, I have always found it distasteful. Now even more so." Darcy paused at the bookcase that held his father's journals. How shallow it all is.
 
"What has changed? How is it worse than before? Match-making mama's conspiring with their conniving daughters on how to lure you in was not bad enough?" A cynical laughed followed.
 
"I suppose that it all remains the same, does it not? No, Fitzwilliam, I am the one who has changed." Reverently, Darcy ran his fingers down the black leather spines of the journals.
 
"Bradley?"
 
"In part, I suppose." He began to pace again. "But there is more to it. I have been reading my father's writings, his journals." Darcy sighed heavily. "I miss him."
 
"I admired your father very much. Uncle Darcy was one of the few men I have ever looked up to, despite his few faults."
 
"You have never spoken of his faults before." He ran his hand idly through his unruly dark locks.
 
Fitzwilliam laughed. "You are your father's son. I could not speak to you of his failings, though there were few enough to speak of." He rose to stand beside his cousin near the window. "He had very few vices, you know. He kept himself under good regulation nearly all the time. I never saw him in his cups nor looking at any woman but your mother. You know I cannot say that about many, even within our own family. Your father was truly a model of gentlemanly behavior.
 
"But there were moments when his temper got the better of him. They were few and far between though. Occasionally, he could be dour and critical, but your mother was always the balm that settled him out of those moods.
 
"They had a very rare and admirable relationship, your parents. Not one in a hundred, I think, knows such a bond. I do not think my parents ever had such a rappor. You are a very lucky man to have seen it. I imagine you want the same? That is what you have seen in Uncle Darcy's journals?" There is such a wistful look in your eyes. What are you thinking, Cousin?
 
How much you do not know, Fitzwilliam. I wish I could tell you, but I will not dishonor his wishes or his memory that way. You know he was not perfect; you do not need to know the depths of his imperfection. I suppose what he became was more important to all of us that what he was. That should be what we dwell upon. Sighing, Darcy turned to look at his cousin. "I have read of some of my father's failings from his own perspective and how much he depended on my mother to help him through them. You are right, they shared a love that I envy, and I suppose I do want that kind of relationship too. My mother was a strength to him, she helped him to become what he was. He trusted her and turned to her for her wisdom. Who would not want such a partner in life?
 
"Yet, it seems that what I desire is not valued by the Ton. The principles my mother had, that shaped my father, also shaped our family life. Everything that I am, it seems, was shaped by her choice to live by her principles. And yes, before you ask, Bradley was there to help her. I will always be grateful for him. He helped them through some very difficult days.
 
"That aside though, I am finding that the woman I am seeking is very unlike one to be found in the London crush. I want a woman of principles, who is willing to live by them, not by the whim of society. One who can understand what it means to have the lives of others dependent on her choices, one who cares about the lives entrusted to her by taking on the role as mistress of this estate. One who can be to me what my mother was to my father." Shaking his head, Darcy sighed heavily.
 
Fitzwilliam laughed softly. "That is a very tall order. I wish you good fortune finding a lady who will suit you. When you do, make sure she has a sister who will take an old soldier like me." With a wink and a nod, the soldier returned to his port.
 
Darcy made a face, laughing hard.
 
Slowly he set down his glass allowing it to clink softly on the table."You think I am joking? No, man, if you find such a gem, I require that she have a sister, elder, younger, it does not matter which. You must promise to write me from wherever you are and I will come to claim her. Do not look at me like that! I am deadly serious. I am as repulsed as you at the match-making and fortune hunting I see. A lady of principle and virtue would suit me well."
 
"Even a poor one? I thought you had made it a point only to consider women of substantial means." Dark eyebrows rose archly.
 
"Now that I have made my fortune and am ready to retire from the Army, yes, I can afford a poor gentlewoman. However, were she to be rich, far be it from me to reject her because of her wealth!" Rakishly he raised his brows.
 
"Well, I have an eligible young lady staying with me now," Darcy said with ill-contained mirth.
 
A look of horror blossomed over the colonel's face. "That horrible Bingley woman?"
 
"How can you say such a thing of my guest? You have barely had three words with her." With mock severity, he crossed his arms over his chest.
 
"That was two more than I needed!" Fitzwilliam stammered, studying Darcy's face. His eyes narrowed as he frowned at his cousin. "Such a jest to have at my expense! Here I trust you to find me the woman of my dreams, and you direct me to that harridan!" He jokes so easily now! Who could imagine?
 
Laughing richly, Darcy smiled smugly at his cousin."You know me better than that, Richard. Just consider that payback for all those times…"
 
"All right, I must concede that point." He sighed, a wry grin lifting the corner of his lips. "But you must know that I was serious…"
 
"I understand. I promise if I ever find such a mythical creature, she will have a sister, and I will bid you come and find her." Darcy laughed, a little sadly. I am just not sure such a woman exists.

"Just three more days, Rebecca!" Georgiana fairly danced around her blue sitting room. "Can you imagine? Just three more days until my dashing cousin whisks us off to London!"
 
Miss Lackley laughed in bemusement at her friend. "Was it not just a few days ago that you were sulking about, crying that you were being banished from Pemberley?" How quickly your moods change!
 
"That was before I knew you were included in the invitation to my aunt's! I had no idea she had requested you to come as well!" The young woman grinned and spun around, laughing merrily. "I am so happy that you will be there too!
 
Your aunt is a lovely and influential woman. I am honored by her invitation. She is so gracious. With a wry smile, Rebecca nodded and laughed, "I cannot help but wonder how much of your glee has to do with leaving Miss Bingley behind."
 
Giggling, Georgiana covered her mouth with her hands. "I cannot believe you just said that!"
 
"As if you had not thought it." Crossing her arms over her chest, the older girl tapped her foot impatiently.
 
"But I did not say it!" Georgiana curled up in a chair near her friend, "Tell me what she was like when she was visiting you." Surely she must have made quite a spectacle of herself. She certainly has done so here.
 
At the invitation, Rebecca flopped into the nearest chair. "Oh, she was awful! I cannot tell you how awful! All the things our brothers have said about the women of the Ton, I am sure she is the embodiment of them all!"
 
"No, she could not have been…"
 
"Indeed she was!" Blue eyes darted about, remembering. "When she was with me, all she could talk about was the gossip of the Ton. I heard all about how horribly Miss T was dressed and how poorly accomplished Miss M was. Over and over again, all she could do was pick at and criticize everyone she knew. Of course, she was all compliments towards you and me."
 
"Really?" The younger girl wrapped her arms around her shoulders. "I wonder why?"
 
"Is it not clear?" The strawberry-blond beauty taunted gently. "She has been out for a long time, she is nearly on the shelf! Miss Bingley is desperately looking for a rich gentleman husband, and either of our brothers will do."
 
"Oh no!" Georgiana sprang to her feet and started to pace the room anxiously. "What a terrible thought. She could be my sister! That cannot be. That cannot happen! We must do something!"
 
What began as a small laugh grew until Miss Lackley was consumed by her mirth. She finally wiped the tears from her eyes. "You cannot be serious!"
 
"Of course I am. Are you not concerned? Would you want to call her sister?"
 
"Of course not! I was quite happy to see her gone from our home. Her brother was a lovely man. Such a perfect gentleman." She sighed happily for a moment. "I would be happy to have him stay again, but not at the price of tolerating her. Our brothers are not fools, Georgiana. Quite the opposite, in fact. They know a fortune hunter when they see one, and they are not impressed. They certainly do not need protection from the likes of us."
 
"You are certain?"
 
"Absolutely, dear." Rebecca smiled sweetly, reassuring her friend. "Now tell me of your aunt's letter. You said she already has plans for us. I want to hear everything."

"That was a lovely supper, Darcy!" Bingley cried, settling comfortably into a large chair near the fireplace in Darcy's sanctum. "What a fine thing that the ladies wished to retire early tonight. It seems quite some time since we have been able to have a conversation by ourselves!" He reached for his tea and plate of biscuits.
 
"So it has been," Darcy replied absently.
 
"What has been troubling you? We have been friends too long now for me not to know when you are preoccupied." The saucer clinked softly as he set it gently on the table. "I pray this is not over my sister tonight." A look of alarm overtook his features.She has gone too far this time. I know it! "I realize she said some very untoward things to you tonight. Perhaps I should have intervened more directly. I just did not want to cause more of a scene than was already there." If only he knew how much worse she could have been! I would rather not think of it.
 
Shaking his head and suppressing a shudder, Darcy replied, "No, do not fear…"
 
On his feet now, Bingley walked to the fireplace and leaned against the mantle. "I know I need to control her better. She was abominably rude! She was the same way at the Coopertons! Oh Darcy! The way she fought and criticized Mrs. Cooperton, I could hardly fathom her behavior. It was mortifying! You would have thought the woman was deliberately torturing my sister with false tales of the expectations of an estate's mistress. Caroline railed and ranted that you, the fine and proper Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, would never have such expectations of his wife!
 
"Nothing could convince my sister that it was so. She left the Coopertons loudly declaring she would prove Mrs. Cooperton wrong. Then tonight, when you had the audacity to agree with that lady, it just pushed Caroline over the edge. I am so very sorry. It seems there are moments when she is totally beyond all control."
 
Slowly, the gentleman joined his friend at the fireplace. "Bingley, it is all right. Truly. I have been preoccupied to be sure. I have had many things on my mind but, perhaps fortunately, your sister has not been one of them." Although I do not for a moment envy you having such a harpy in your family.
 
"Indeed?" His friend nodded. "I am so relieved! You have been such a good friend to me, I could not live with the possibility that my sister…"
 
"Enough of her!" Darcy interrupted lightly. "So tell me of your time with Cooperton and Lackley. Were they of assistance to you?"
 
Relieved, Bingley returned to his seat and his tea. "Both of them were true gentlemen, and offered me generous support. Lackley showed me a great deal of what it takes to run a place. I never knew how much work the management of an estate entailed! Somehow I thought…"
 
"That you just purchased a place and it would run itself?" The dark haired man laughed gently. "I have heard many say that. Often those are the ones that employ stewards to do their work for them, and they are perpetually disappointed in their profits. I have always been of the mind that to truly do well, an estate must be run by its master."
 
"Your friends seem to agree with you and, I must say, their ledgers seem to agree as well." The blond man paused for a sip of tea. "I think I should not begin with too large a place, and possibly lease first to see what I am getting myself in to."
 
"Cooperton's advice?"
 
"Precisely, though I imagine you would have said much the same."
 
"I would. I had three years during my father's illness to slowly take over Pemberley, learning from him and his steward. I am grateful for that time. I would not want to be thrown into it as you would be if you were to suddenly buy a large estate. I have found the running of such a place to be more complicated than I ever thought." Darcy paused, staring into the crackling fire, "Did his solicitor have any prospects for you?"
 
"He did, he did indeed!" A slow boyish grin spread across Bingley's face. "There is a place called Netherfield Park near the town of Meryton in Hertfordshire that sounds like just the place for me to cut my gentleman's teeth. Would you come and see it with me? I would feel much more confident to have your opinion on it." When his friend hesitated, he added, "When I told Caroline I would expect her to act as a proper mistress, as Mrs. Cooperton instructed, she decided she wished to return to London, to stay with friends. She wants nothing to do with such 'low tasks' as she calls them." He chuckled. "I have asked my other sister, Louisa ,to serve as hostess. She is engaged to be married to a Mr. Hurst, who is currently doing business on the continent and will not return for some time. You will be relieved, I am sure, to know she does not share most of Caroline's views."
 
Darcy considered his friend's words thoughtfully for a long moment. No Miss Bingley? Perhaps this is worth considering. Finally he replied, "With my sister in London, it might be a very good thing for me to take some time away. I have not spent much time from here since my father's illness. The business of spring planting is all but finished and there is a lull to be enjoyed. All right, I will go with you to investigate this Netherfield Park and see what Hertfordshire has to offer."
 

* PR 12:4

Intermezzo 1

Posted on 2010-10-05

25 years earlier
 
George Darcy sat alone in his study, staring into his coffee cup. The warmth of the cracking fire did nothing to dispel the cold that had settled into his heart. Lifting his eyes to the window, the night's darkness somehow reflected his mood. I have never been more alone.
 
Two months ago, Anne had returned with the baby. Both were happy and healthy after a four month absence to be with her family. That first month was like returning to the early days of their marriage. The woman he had loved had finally returned to him. Shifting uneasily in his seat, he sighed. One month ago he had confessed his indiscretion to her. Anne was devastated. They had hardly spoken the entire month.
 
I wish I have never told her. Angrily he pushed himself up from his chair, for a moment wishing he had not ordered his servants to remove all spirits from his private study. Leaning heavily on the fireplace, he shook his head. No, I had to tell her, Bradley was right, the guilt was too much to bear. She deserves the truth. She did not deserve what I did. But what now? Is this all that will be, cold civility and fumbling attempts at banal conversation over meals? I never thought…
 
His reverie was broken by a soft knock at the door. Somehow the sound was unfamiliar, not the purposeful sound his servants made. "Come," his own voice sounded strange in his ears.
 
Slowly the door opened and a timid figure clad in robe and nightdress appeared.
 
"Anne!" he exclaimed, hurrying to her side. "Are you well? The baby…"
 
"We are both well," she softly replied, drawing her robe more tightly around her.
 
He could not read her expression, but clearly she had had little sleep.Her eyes--has she been crying? His gut wrenched at the thought. "Please come in." He guided her to the settee and carefully sat beside her, waiting.
 
She stared into the fire for a long time, gathering her thoughts. Finally, she glanced up at him. His hair was tousled and his cravat and neck cloth gone. His waistcoat lay over his desk and his shirt hung untucked. A tortured look haunted his handsome features. Bradley is right, I must talk to him. She sighed. "I must ask you a question, sir," she whispered, dropping her eyes once again. "Why?"
 
Her voice seemed to echo loudly off the walls despite the fact he could hardly hear her words. His heart seized in his chest. Why indeed?
 
When he did not immediately answer she continued, "Did you love her? Did you…desire her?" Anne's voice cracked as she forced back her tears.
 
"No." This time the answer came quickly and decisively. "No, I did not."
 
Buoyed by his response, she courageously met his eyes. "Then why, George? I have to know."
 
Dropping his face into his hands, he rubbed is eyes hard, trying to drive the image of her pain back far enough that he could speak. "Does it really matter?" His voice was low with grief. "How does that change what I have done or my responsibility for it? I betrayed you Ann, and I am sorry." Unable to contain himself, he sprang to his feet to pace. "I have failed you…and our son abominably. Why I did does not matter, it does not change that I did." Falling to his knees before her, he cried, "My Anne, please, please forgive me. I cannot continue with this distance between us." He rested his forehead on her knees, quietly waiting his fate.
 
Bradley says I must forgive. I have no choice in that. Drawing up her courage, she laid her hand softly on his unruly curls. "Our parson says I must forgive you, it is my Christian duty, and so I will…"
 
His head shot up, a forgotten hope lighting his eyes.
 
"…but…"
 
The word fell like a rock into his belly.
 
"If ever I am to trust you again, if ever we are to be as we once were…"
 
His heart caught in his throat at the possibility.
 
"I must understand why." Resolutely, she set her jaw, waiting, trying to drive away the fear. What reason can he possibly give me for not keeping his vow to me? Can there be any cause that would allow me to trust him again? I cannot see it.
 
How can I admit such a thing to her? She will hate me for my weakness. But then again, she already does. What more is there to lose? If there is even a chance…I must. "On Anne," he stared over her shoulder, unable to meet her eyes. "This was my fault and mine alone. I can blame no other for it. I felt nothing for her, nothing. In truth she is a selfish, manipulating woman who found my in my cups and offered herself to me in my weakness."
 
Unconsciously, she shook her head, anger rising. That is not good enough. Too much port and you take to the arms of another? I can never trust…
 
George felt her pull back from him. Desperately he continued, "Anne, I was angry and hurt. I drowned myself in port so I would not feel."
 
Startled her eyes flashed, locking on his. "Angry? Hurt? Over what?" she demanded loudly, jumping to her feet. Stepping back from him, her hands outstretched and shaking, she continued stridently, "How dare you! What right did you have…"
 
"What do you mean Anne? Have you no idea of what I have suffered?" he exclaimed, his temper flaring dangerously. He retreated to the fireplace, leaning on the mantle.
 
"What you have suffered? You? Excuse me sir, but it was I who suffered, not you! Or have you forgotten the four babes that I lost?" Shock and hurt mingled with the fury in her eyes.
 
George felt his chest tighten as an angry flush rose on his neck. "What would you know of suffering, madam?" Bitterness sufficed his voice. He balled his hands into fists so tightly they shook. "It was only babes you lost, ones you never even knew and now you have a healthy son…"
 
She gasped at the coldness of his words.
 
"But each time I… lost… my… wife," his voice broke as he stumbled on the words, "…my dearest, precious wife."
 
The crackling fire became loud in the silent room as Anne considered her husband's unexpected words. Hesitantly she stepped toward him, laying her hand on his arm.
 
He pulled away abruptly as though burnt. "Have you any idea how much I suffered?" A frightening glint came into his dark eyes as he took her shoulders in his large hands. "You stole my wife from me! With each loss you drew farther and farther away from me, into your rooms, into yourself, until my wife was gone. I lost my wife!" For a moment, he stood panting, his fury spent. Slowly he released her to pace the room again. "The port numbed my pain. When Lavinia came to me, I was so angry---Anne I am so sorry--I wanted to hurt you as badly as you hurt me. I was wrong, I should never have allowed my temper to…" he could not continue as he leaned against his desk, face in his hands trying to contain the ragged sobs.
 
For a long moment Anne stared at her husband, her heart breaking. I never knew. In my own grief, I did shut him out. A fresh sorrow washed over her. I hurt him and I never knew! What have I done? She flew to his side, clutching at his hands, pulling them away from his face. "George…"
 
The sound of her voice speaking his name arrested him.
 
"I did not know. I had no idea. I …hurt you?" Tears flowed down her cheeks, matching his. "I see now, I see!"
 
"It does not excuse what I have done, nothing does!" he protested weakly, moving to lace his fingers in hers.
 
"No, you are right. But now I understand." She pressed her forehead against his hand for a long moment. "I understand hurt and I understand being angry and alone. I hate that I never saw I was doing that to you. Yet, I find, if I am truly honest, I cannot hate you for that."
 
Astonished, he tipped her chin up to gaze into her tear-filled blue eyes. "What are you saying?"
 
Drawing a deep breath, she answered, "Will you forgive me for…for taking your wife from you? I was wrong to hurt you that way." She blinked at him earnestly. I thought I was the only one wronged here. I was so certain of my own innocence, but it is not so. He was wrong, yet so was I. What a fool I was to be so vain to think he was the only one. " Perhaps if we both forgive, we can begin anew?"
 
"Oh, Anne!" he exclaimed, drawing her into his arms. "My precious, precious Anne, I am so sorry I allowed my hurt and resentment to build. I should have…oh so many things I should have done differently. Even if you can never forgive what I have done, I forgive you, my love." He squeezed his eyes against the fresh flowing tears that he wiped away into her hair. "Let us begin again and I will become the man you deserve. Help me become that man for you and for our son."
 
Melting into his embrace, she nodded. "I love you George. I want to put this behind us and look ahead. I do not want this last month to be the way of things for the rest of our lives. We will work at this and make it right. I fear it may not be easy. I find that I am less perfect than I thought…" she laughed ruefully as she gazed up at him, loosing herself in his loving eyes.
 
"You are perfect enough for me, my love. It is I who am far from it." Tentatively at first, he leaned down to kiss her. She reached up to meet him, tangling her small hand in his hair.
 
Perhaps we can make this right even now.
Continued In Next Section