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Rosings Park, 20th October.
Richard Fitzwilliam paced the grounds of Rosings Park with little care for the damage he was doing to the grass with every angry thrust of his boots. He had arrived home from London late three nights ago in a frustrated mood. It was a mood that he really had no need for, as he had achieved the task he had set himself; to be allowed to let the Bennet family learn the truth of Lawrence before the rest of the nation could. Yet the delay in telling them which had been imposed on him, had been unexpected, and thus caused this mood to come upon him. It was a delay that, as a military man, he could see the logic of, but it angered him nonetheless, because, metaphorically speaking, it tied his hands. Until the day arrived when he could tell, he was powerless to do anything save wait. And he hated waiting. In the army he had been taught the value of patience, to wait for orders before going into battle, but the battle or the command had always come soon, rapidly drifting into silence as it became a matter of every man for himself. Any comparison to this present state of affairs was as pointless as a broken pencil.
Anne Fitzwilliam watched her husband from the windows of her mother's library. A place rarely frequented by her ladyship, always by her late father, hence she suspected her husband's preference for the particular piece of ground which it overlooked. Anne knew Richard all too well, especially when something was bothering his peace of mind, thus she had come upon him soon after his first arrival in the grounds outside. What it was that was bothering him she had no knowledge of, for he had refused to tell her any of it when he had first returned to Rosings some three days ago. But she could grasp at the essentials. He knew now the reality behind Lawrence Bennet, but was prevented by his superiors from dashing to Longbourn and revealing the whole.
Anne could also see that it was a delay with which her husband's mind agreed with, thus the reason for his obvious frustration. Thirty years spent annually in his company and seven years of marriage to him, had taught her what he did whenever he needed to resolve his troubled mind. A day of pacing outside in some idyllic countryside always served as his time-honoured solace. Until now. Three days he had been at it, and still no sign that he had found peace. She rose up from her chair and walked to the doors.
Richard came to a halt the moment he heard the click of the lock. Schooling his features into an agreeable mask, he greeted her. "Anne, forgive me. I had not noticed the time. Has Lady Catherine been looking for us?"
"Richard," Anne rebuked, coming to stand before him, "I know you too well for such a mien to succeed. It is pointless dwelling upon a delay that has not been imposed by you and one that you can do nothing about."
Her husband smiled, his first real smile of three days. "How did you know I was doing exactly that?"
"I know you," Anne answered simply.
Richard clasped his wife's outstretched hand, bringing it to his lips. "Very well, my dearest, I am all yours. What do you require of me?"
"An easy task. Your company. Michael, Juliet and Charlotte are missing there father."
"Ah, a woman's usual trick. Emotional blackmail." Richard grinned wickedly.
"Blackmail? Just for that, Richard Fitzwilliam, I shall tell my mother what you have done to her formal gardens."
"Do, do," he replied, catching her in his arms. "She has not a had a good debate in months. She must be missing them."
Anne laughed with him as he brought her face level with his own. Their lips touched and the world for a brief moment slipped away.
It was broke all too soon. A servant appeared before them at the entrance of the Library, a square piece of paper in his hands. "An invitation has just arrived from Lord Devereaux, sir and ma'am. Shall I leave it with you?"
Netherfield, 21st October 1820.
"I do not see why you place such interest in this. Surely two people are entitled to a walk now and then?"
Jane Bingley turned in her window seat to face her husband. "Charles, have you forgotten how we began?"
"We, are a different case. They, are brother and sister," Bingley pointed out.
"Could be brother and sister. Neither of us believe that as well you know." Jane turned to the window again. "There is something there, or at least the potential for something, I am certain of it."
Bingley joined his wife at the window. Silently he followed her gaze to observe the couple again. "Even if there is," he allowed, "I do not think it will be easily achieved if it turns out that he has deceived us."
"He will have a hard time of it," Jane acknowledged, "but I think it will be the end result. It will just need patience."
Both turned away as the couple outside came to face the house once more. "It will certainly surprise your father if it does come pass," Bingley commented.
Jane chuckled. "Yes indeed it will. I do not imagine that there will be anyone who will not be more surprised."
"Except perhaps the couple themselves."
Jane shook her head. "No. Lawrence I think, already knows, and as for Lydia, she will learn of it through his actions."
"Do you think she will accept it though?" Charles queried. "She has had so much sadness in her life. Do you really believe she will want to risk herself again?"
"Coming to us after Wickham's death has already put herself at risk. Realising Lawrence's feelings will be easier. It is herself and her situation that she has to reconcile with more than anything. She needs to see that just because she has eight children her life is not over." Jane sighed. "She only four and twenty. That is too young to face a life of solitude."
Charles drew his wife into his arms. "I worry about her too, my love. And you are right. It is herself that needs to realise the possibilities instead of the harsh reality that tends to consume her." He paused to kiss her hair. "What does Georgiana think of it?"
"Georgiana is concerned that Lydia thinks too much about how she appears to the world. She tries to distract her, but she fears how long she can succeed in doing so. And if she is even succeeding at all."
"Perhaps Lawrence will help in that," Was her husband's last words upon the subject.
22nd October.
"Are you busy, m'dear?"
Georgiana looked up from her seat where she had been helping her daughter and son on a puzzling piece of dissected map to find her husband's head had appeared by one of the doors. "Not for you. What is it?"
Michael Blakeney stepped inside, and abruptly halted as his children rushed from their mother's side to ambush him. Once they were satisfied that he had acknowledged their presence, they returned to their map, while he walked to seat himself by his wife. He held up the thick bundle of small paper in his hand. "I have just had my father's confirmation that they will come to the ball. He also hopes that we will return to Richmond with them afterwards."
"That would be wonderful," Georgiana consented happily. "For how long?"
"As long as we wish," Michael continued. "Father knows of our plans to spend Christmas with the Matlocks and is agreeable that that week will be our leaving date." He looked at his children who had returned to playing before them. "Of course we might only be going alone. You know what my parents are like with those two."
"Indeed I do." Georgiana leant back into his arms, letting a comfortable silence settle over both of them. Idly she wished for some material with which to sketch the scene before her. Her water-colours had been rare of late due to the demands of Matthew and Annette, something she knew had to rectify before teaching either of them the accomplishment. With a smile she quietly spoke of her thought to her husband.
"I was thinking exactly the same," Michael replied, stroking her hair. "Though I dare say my skill is far from your excellence."
"I love your sketching," Georgiana replied, remembering well that a mutual love of art and music had begun their courtship.
"Much to the astonishment of my parents," Michael added. "Father always asserted that drawing and music were not the ways to woo a woman."
"That was only because he had used the more traditional way. I remember one evening when we did a duet. His eyes were always upon us."
"Your brother was surprised as well," Blakeney pointed out.
"His reason for it was different. His talent for them had always been pushed away by our relatives, for fear he would neglect the estate. Elizabeth tells me he has returned to them though, to amuse their children." Georgiana smiled as she recalled one instance that she had discovered herself; when Heloise and Lawrence were young. She had found him teaching them a song their mother had loved in the early hours of the morning while Elizabeth had to consult with Mrs. Reynolds on the daily menu. That memory brought to her mind another reminder and she realised it was the perfect time. "Of course, if Matthew and Annette decide to stay with their grandparents, we will not be alone on our journey to Matlock."
Michael turned to find his wife looking back at him with a significant smile. Pausing all thought to marvel at her beauty, he almost forgot her unusual choice of words that had made him turn in the first place. Then his found his hand moved by hers to rest upon her waist. His immediate joy was enough to call the attention of their children as he embraced her.
23rd October.
Fitzwilliam Darcy entered his wife's rooms to find a most pleasing sight. Pausing at the door, he watched with admiration as Mrs. Darcy described the view from the windows to their attentive youngest child, who watched her mother and the prospect with rapt fascination. To a man who found himself falling more and more in love with his wife by the hour the scene was too lovely to interrupt, let alone even disturb by his presence. He forgot the reason he needed her, remaining in this position until she noticed him standing there, some five minutes later.
At her look, Darcy joined her quietly, coming to a halt just in front of the window seat where she and Imogen knelt. Bestowing a kiss upon his daughter, he gazed intensely at his wife, his eyes conveying all the depth of emotion that words only cover so far. She met his gaze, returning the devotion as the world tried to slip away. Imogen shook her hand, and her parents came back to the scene before them. "What is it?" Elizabeth asked.
Darcy paused for a full five minutes as his mind rapidly tried to recollect what it was that had brought him back to his wife, other than a need to simply be in her company. "The Matlocks confirm the plans for Christmas. I have just received their reply. A poor excuse to see you, my love, but I must try to think of some for appearance's sake."
Elizabeth eyes sparkled with humour. "Yes indeed you must. Are they well?"
"Very well," Darcy replied, setting himself opposite her. "Uncle is considering handing over part control of the estate fully to Martin in the new year. Actually considering is not the right word. His physician is insistent upon it."
"Is there any worry for his health?"
"Worry certainly, but you know my Uncle. He hates winter. Lack of activity ails him rather than the reverse. I think Dr. Mitchell will change his mind as soon as some sun appears in the county." He paused as his wife seemed distracted. "What is it, Elizabeth?" He added, unconsciously speaking her name with reverence, as he always did.
"I am concerned that this matter with Lawrence will not be over before we leave for Matlock," She confessed. "We have had nothing from your cousin bar his acceptance for the ball and father seems to have lost his enthusiasm for confronting Lawrence altogether. Unless of course he already has and is under orders not to say anything to us until Richard's arrival."
"I fear you might be right m'dear," her husband replied. "In both respects. Though I hope for all our sakes that the former is proved wrong soon."
The Countryside of Meryton, 24th October.
Lydia smiled as she gazed at the view before her. It was the first smile of contentment that she had had for quite some time. Why, she knew not, and at present did not possess the care to wonder about it. Instead she just allowed the beauty of the view to wash over her, like a soothing balm, wiping her troubles away.
Lawrence observed her out of the corner of his eye. He too felt some contentment. Since that almost fateful day when he had come to her with his part confession, hoping she would forgive him and ignore the fact that he still had yet to tell her what she had asked for in the first place, he had thought that they would never feel at ease with each other again. Yet here they were, eight days later. It was a remarkable achievement. There was a part of him however, that could not help but worry about what was to come. He should have left Meryton weeks ago. His delay was costing him everything, no matter how much his mind seemed not to care. There was really now only one thing keeping him here, the one thing that, had he been able to think rationally, would not be something he should even attempt. But his feelings would not allow him to stop, to accept defeat and turn away. He would always be wondering if he did.
Lydia felt her companion's introspection and silently sighed. She respected Lawrence's apparent wish for reticence, yet she also wished he would choose to confide in her as well. It was obvious that his thoughts were troubled by some thing. She longed to ask him about it, but at the same time she knew what would be the outcome if she did. He would hide from her again. Gone would be the ease that was between them now, leaving in its place the silence that had existed between them eight days ago. And she had hated that silence. So she kept silent, waiting for the time when it would all come out. She feared that time. She had assured him that she would never think him a monster, but later her mind had begun to wonder why he was convinced that image would be the result. What task could there be that would make him appear thus? Lydia was almost afraid to think about it, for fear that she would break her promise to him. Yet the question would still bother her, whispering away at her mind. Like it was doing so now. Resolutely she pushed it away and turned to her companion. "I think it is time for us to go back."
Lawrence came out of his reverie. He drew out his time piece. "Yes, you are right."
Lydia took his proffered arm and together they walked back down Oakham Mount, each trying to think of something that would distract their minds the entirety of the journey back to Netherfield.
Some one however, did that for them, though to the opposite of what they were hoping. He came upon them suddenly, just as they had reached the path. Lawrence looked up and immediately paled. What was he doing here?
"Sir, I must speak with you," the stranger began, coming to a halt in front of Lawrence.
Lydia glanced at her companion, whose pale face had begun to cause her concern. He seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Anger flickered briefly over him, then he turned to her. "Lydia, would you go on? I will join you in a few moments."
She obeyed. It was the only thing she could do.
As soon as she was out of sight, Lawrence grabbed the man by his cravat. "Never do that again, do you hear me?" He let him back down. "I thought I told you we were to never meet in day light."
The man stood, struggling to catch back his breath. From her hiding place Lydia gasped. Doubts began to form in her mind. Fearing to see anymore she slipped away.
Netherfield Grounds, 25th October.
Lydia found herself still haunted by the image the following day. She had never seen Lawrence angry before. A part of her had doubted that he was capable of it. Until last afternoon. Seeing him almost strangle a man had brought back memories, memories that she did not like. Times when Wickham had been angry. Did all men possess such an emotion? Was she to be forever haunted by it?
And they will not see my real self, all they'll see is a monster. Lawrence's words made sense now. What was even more terrifying was that until now, Lydia had never thought he would be right. If only she had not remained behind. Not seen him do what he did. I have no desire to hurt anyone, he had said, yet I know that I will. Why could he not? What task forced him to go against his nature? Could she trust him, knowing that he was capable of such an emotion? Lydia wished she knew. She wanted to trust him, but the event that she had witnessed was hard to ignore. She could not help but think that he could become angry at her. Wickham had never been angry at her until she knew him better. Would Lawrence do the same? Was there something about her that caused men to become angry? That last thought had scared her, driving her away from the house, hoping a change of scenery would push it away from her mind. It had yet to depart.
"Lydia," a voice suddenly called.
She looked up to find Lawrence walking towards her. She came to a halt and tried to give an appearance of content. "Lawrence," she began as soon as he had reached her. "How nice to see you again. Is there some thing you wanted of me?"
Lots of things, Lawrence's mind silently replied, before he roused himself to notice her manner. Something was wrong. "Just your company. Is there anything the matter?"
"Am I allowed to ask who that gentleman was that came across us yesterday?"
"Of course you're allowed," he began jovially, trying to give the appearance that there was nothing to be concerned over. "He thought he had seen me before. I set him straight then came to find you. Where did you go?"
"Oh, I had begun my walk when Henry came up to me," Lydia replied, hoping her son would forgive her lying about his whereabouts. "Beth had fallen over and was calling for me. I spent the rest of the day with them, cheering them up."
Lawrence accepted her excuse. "Give her my best hopes for a speedy recovery. I also wanted to ask you something. I know we are brother and sister, but I was wondering if you would be willing to overlook that and agree to dance the first set with me at the ball?"
"I would love to," Lydia replied, forgetting her worries for a moment. It had been a long time since someone had asked her to dance with them. She smiled happily at him.
Lawrence rejoiced to see it. He wished he deserved it.
26th October.
Good news travels fast, as the saying goes, and the Blakeneys were happy for it to do so, at least as far as their immediate family. This in mind they went to seek them out.
The Darcys were in the library, a room that had been much improved since its last tenant gave up the place six years ago. Ensconced together upon a sofa, Darcy was quietly reading aloud to his wife and youngest child, taking every turn of a page as an excuse to kiss the former's hair.
Upon finding this scene the Blakeney's had little desire to disturb it. However the interruption was now out of their control. The door behind them closed loudly, and Fitzwilliam looked up to find his sister before them. "Georgie," he began in surprise. "Is something the matter?"
"Oh no," Georgiana assured them quickly. "We just have some news, but it can wait. We'll leave you in peace."
"There's no need," Elizabeth remarked. "What is it?"
The Blakeneys sat down, Michael taking his wife's hand in his. "In the spring of next year, Imogen will have another cousin to play with," he uttered simply.
The Darcys looked at each other and smiled. "Congratulations," Fitzwilliam said to his sister, who smiled happily in reply.
"We wanted you two to be the first to know," Georgiana began. "And to tell everyone else when I start to show. Would you mind keeping this to yourselves for now?"
"Not at all," Elizabeth replied.
Georgiana thanked them and then departed the room with her husband. Her brother turned to his wife when the door had close. He saw her troubled face instantly. "What's wrong, Elizabeth?"
"It nothing," she replied, gazing down at Imogen thoughtfully.
Darcy persisted. "Yes it is. Tell me."
Elizabeth turned to face her husband, still hesitating. Darcy's face betrayed concern however, making her decision, knowing that if she did not, he would jump to the worse possible conclusion. "I want Imogen to be my last child."
"Why?" Darcy began gently, puzzled.
"I see the worry upon your face every time I tell you I am with child. I worry myself that there will come a time when I won't be able to survive. I love them dearly, but I fear the day that I will loose them." She paused to gaze him mutely. "Are you angry?"
Darcy put an arm around her, carrying her into an embrace. "Elizabeth, my darling, I could never be angry with you. I love it when you tell me I am to be a father again, but I also worry about it. I never told you this, but my mother became very ill after I was born. Before Georgiana, there were at least two times that I am aware of where she miscarried. She died giving birth to another sister two years later. The babe was stillborn. That's what I fear. Seeing that happen to you. I could not bear to loose you like that. I made a vow that I would not the day Imogen was born." He leant forward and kissed her tenderly. "Now, my love, is that all, that is troubling you?"
"You know me too well," Elizabeth mused, leaning back into his arms. "I do not want this to mean that we sleep in separate rooms or that we no longer........" she trailed off, blushing.
"I did not think I could make you blush any more," Darcy commented. "And with regards to that, let assure you that there are ways and means." He dealt another kiss to hair. "And I will happily show them you later. For now I think Imogen wants us to continue with this," he finished, picking up the book he had lain aside, glancing at their very much awake young daughter. "I love you, Elizabeth," he uttered reverently.
Mrs. Darcy happily replied the same, leaning back into his loving embrace.
Longbourn, Meryton, Netherfield, and Rosings,
1st November - 25th November 1820.
All Saint's Day dawned, signaling five and twenty days before the Netherfield ball. It seemed to call to time, urging that thief of moments to quicken the days. And quicken them it did, for all parties concerned.
As the days settled into a pattern, conversations became less important and more routine, as each of the houses prepared themselves for the first ball hosted by the Devereauxs in years. The fine autumnal weather dissolved into the beginning of a mild winter, the calm before the storm it seemed.
Lawrence was one of the few who dreaded the fast arrival of the ball. Its date signaled to him a far more deadly task than preparing to socialise with Meryton's finest. His time was almost up. His men were getting restless, as the untimely intrusion while he was with Lydia showed. If he hesitated any longer, he could have a rebellion upon his hands. And the matter would fall out of his control, a state of affairs which, no matter how much he dreaded taking up the solution, he could not live with.
Lydia. For a brief moment Lawrence allowed himself to dwell on his chances. He knew all too well that it would be a miracle if his hopes were granted when he finally confessed the truth. But no matter how he tried to prepare himself to look upon that almost inevitable eventuality, he found he could not. A part of him still hoped all would turn out well, even though it faced a continuous attack from his other more realistic half to allow the possibility that it would not.
He feared not just Lydia's reaction. The Bennets he had come to learn were loyal to a fault when it came to their family. If by some chance he managed to achieve his dreams, would it be accepted by the rest of the family? Mr. Bennet's approval he had, but the others still remained unaware. What would their reaction to be? He feared being shunned by all, even though it was the most likely outcome. Their views would no doubt sway Lydia and he would be forced to attempt to pick up his life elsewhere, a task that he knew that he deserved, but dreaded to face all the same.
At Rosings Park the household rapidly began to prepare for the departure of the Fitzwilliams, or Miss Anne and Master Richard as they were affectionately referred. Even though the couple were not to leave until two days before the ball, Lady Catherine insisted that everything must be prepared the morning of All Saints, and as you know, she is not a woman to trifle with.
Anne was happy to see her husband calm down as the days hastened. His restlessness had not completely disappeared after we saw him last, but instead slowly lessened until his adrenaline awoke in preparation for the announcement he was to make.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam looked forward to the ball, for such occasions were considered rare events by her, as she had not attended her first until some months after the Darcys' wedding. Since then she had only been to six, a figure which would have been rapidly reduced if her mother had had any say in the matter. Instead she had been forced to surrender to her brother the Earl's requests until she saw for herself how much good they did her only child.
Her husband was of the same mind, despite his task that was before him. Before his marriage, balls had also been a thing to avoid, although he had dodged them by choice rather than by health. One might think that as a second son he had no need to fear matchmaking mothers or Aunts, but indeed he did, due to his handsome red coat and impressive active rank. This rank was often a saving grace, for it enabled him to be abroad when the London Season was usually in full flow. And on the occasions that it was not, he often canceled his leave accordingly. The Balls he did attend were only those held by his family, the Duchess of Richmond's in 1815 being a notable exception, and one which he was most grateful that it ended when it did, though it had been a damned nuisance that it was due to a battle rather than anything else.
They had agreed to stay a few days afterwards and help deal with the repercussions that would occur when Richard made his announcement. Mr. Fitzwilliam had debating the best time and the best words since the moment he had learnt he was allowed to make it. Especially as he knew the man he was to denounce. A man that even now he still held a great respect and admiration, for possessing the courage to carry out a task even himself would have had difficulty in agreeing to. Richard also feared his families' reaction to this man. He knew his cousins would come to accept it, along with the Bingleys, but the rest were an unknown quantity, whom he had had little contact with since their marriages.
Above all, Richard hated to do this to a man he called a friend, but the man would soon no longer be a friend if he continued to deceive his extended family.
As preparations for the ball were begun in earnest, plans for the departure of the Bingleys, Darcys and the Blakeneys soon afterwards were also put in motion. The three families were to say until the end of the month, whereupon the Blakeneys would depart to Richmond, the Darcys to Pemberley and the Bingleys to Pearlcoombe.
Only Lydia knew not of her plans. She feared to impose on anybody, even her parents, though to stay at Longbourn would be a last resort on her part, for she knew that the influence of her mother would do more harm than good to her children. She also did not wish to return to Newcastle, as the place would hold too many bad memories.
Upon the first of November, Lydia began to explore her third option; employment. She soon found that success of this was almost an impossibility, due to her eight children and her neglect of her education. As the days sped by, she began to feel even concerned about her future and the mask of contentment that she kept up for the sake of her family started to slip.
Her eldest sisters soon noticed it, and instantly resolved among themselves to provide a solution. A day later Jane declared to Lydia that she and her children should consider themselves guests of Pearlcoombe for as long as they needed.
This was a welcome comfort to Lydia, who began to look forward to the ball once more, glad that she had at least the promise of one dance partner for the night.
Thus the families prepared themselves with clothes and dance cards as the household aired the ballroom, hung decorations, cooked food, learnt required music and dressed their masters and mistresses.
And at last the scene was set.
Elizabeth was surveying the glowing lights outside the window of her bedchamber cast by the increasing number of candles fastened upon the building, lights carried by footman as they waited to receive the guests, and arriving carriages, when a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves round her waist, the hands closing over her own. A clink sounded as they did so, the clash of metal upon metal, created by two wedding bands and an engagement ring landing on top of each other. For Elizabeth, a single glance at the signet ring that lay of the last finger of the left hand determined to her who had his arms around her. Her husband's voice whispered in her ear, confirming her thoughts, which were by now of anything but the ball they were about to attend. "May I claim the first two dances, my beloved?"
"You may," she replied, leaning back into the loving embrace. Darcy bestowed a kiss upon her neck in gratitude, noticing with pride that she was wearing the sapphire and diamond necklace he had given her for no other reason than that she was his wife two days ago. "And the next two dances, my love?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied as her fine eyes returned to surveying the arriving carriages.
Darcy dealt another kiss, this time upon the other side of her neck. "And the two after that?" He asked, his lips brushing her skin just above the rim of her dress, which bore, in his opinion, far too low and at the same far too high a neckline. The first because he wished no others to gaze upon his wife's beauty, and the last because he alone wished to feast upon such beauty.
Elizabeth tried to keep herself calm as she voiced her acceptance once more. She felt her husband's breath as his lips brushed the front slope of her shoulder in reply. A shudder passed through her as he bestowed another kiss at the rim of her dress and undid the first fastening clip at the back. She turned round and captured his lips in a passionate kiss. As the kiss broke she felt another clip being loosed. "Fitzwilliam," she began in what was an attempt at mild chiding, although she had no objection to his present actions in general, as his arms pulled her closer, "we have barely five minutes. And in front of a window, I might add."
"Surely, we can be fashionably late," Darcy returned, running his fingers down the part of her back that was now exposed, making her look up at him with a gaze of anything but disagreement to his verbal suggestion. "As for your objections to the window, my love, I can soon remedy that," he added, sweeping her off her feet and into the safe carriage of his arms.
The Darcys were slightly more than what could be considered in public- or indeed in any -society as fashionably late, but thankfully for the couple, it was unnoticed by most of the company in the Ballroom as they took a place in the third dance set of the evening.
While Mr Darcy delighted in a display of 'ways and means' with his wife, the ball had continued its good beginning, managing a fine number of persons to incline themselves to open the dancing under their kind hosts.
Lydia and Lawrence were just two of these personages. The former had entered into the dance with some concern, for since she witnessed the latter's anger some nights ago, Lydia had been experiencing second thoughts about her agreement to dance with him. Caught up by the idea of dancing after a long period of being forcibly induced to give up such frivolity, she had been unable to refuse his tempting offer, yet after his departure, the scene which she had bore witness to the day before had invaded her mind with such force as to make Lydia wish she had refused him. Throughout the coming days her doubts had continued to rise, even though she knew it was terribly impolite to retract her acceptance. So it was that she entered into the first of their two dances with some degree of trepidation.
Lawrence, although blind as to why, was not blind to her distraction as they took their place in the set. At first he tried to ignore it, thinking it was his own worries that were producing such an illusion. However, by the fifth slight shudder of her hand when she took his, he resolved that it was no mirage. Gently, he inquired, "is there anything wrong?"
Yes, Lydia could not help but think, I wondering whether I can trust you. "I apologise," she replied instead, "this is the first I have danced in a long while. My ability to perform the required steps is making me nervous."
"Well, such neglect does not show, I assure you," Lawrence replied, his concern over her deepening when he noticed her flinch as she spoke of it. What did her husband do to make her like this, he wondered, feeling sick at the thought of it. "Tell me," he added, in an effort to drive the image out of his mind, "what are your recollections of the last ball you attended here? Does this one differ much?"
"A very great deal," Lydia replied, her memories of her past fading away as she thought of the ball nine years ago, when she had been happy. "For one, my sister Elizabeth was dancing this first with Mr Collins, whose skill in dance was severely lacking!" She chuckled at the memory. "He spent most of the time colliding into other dancers!"
"And who did you dance with?"
"With Captain Denny, my favourite officer at the time. He reminds alittle of you, for he was always well mannered and witty. I wonder what has happened to him now." Lydia paused at this point as they parted briefly. When they had resumed their place at each other's side, her conversation was centred on the present. "I wonder where my sister is. She and Mr Darcy were to dance the first set."
"I daresay one or other well-meaning guests have caught them in conversation," Lawrence remarked, as Sir William Lucas passed into his view.
Sir William Lucas has not altered both in appearance and manner since our last meeting with him, and did indeed manage to catch the Darcys when they retired for a break from the end of the fifth set of the evening. "Ah, Mr Darcy, I am quite delighted to see you and your lady wife repeat your actions from the last time," he began as the couple reluctantly came to a halt in front of him. "I'll wager you had no idea of what was to come that night?"
"You will get no argument from me sir," Darcy replied, with a smile to his wife. "I knew not what I was about nine years ago."
"And it was beholden to me to make him realise," Elizabeth teased back. "You indeed had the right mind on what was to come, Sir William."
"Yes I did indeed," Sir William replied. "I saw both yours and your sister's unions that evening. Ah, if only you had consulted me, Mr Darcy. Perhaps it would not have taken so long, hey?"
"Oh, on that I beg to differ sir," Darcy replied, with a wicked grin at his wife, "Mrs Darcy can be quite determined when she puts a mind to it."
Elizabeth knew what he was about. Pretending to be affronted, she exclaimed, "Just for that, sir, I shall retract my acceptance for the sixth set."
Darcy humbly bowed. "Will you excuse us, Sir William? I need to dissuade my dear wife of that notion immediately."
Once away, and alone in a nearby room that was devoid of people, but not of comfortable sofas and chairs, it must be said that Darcy took quite some time in his task, much to the delight of Elizabeth, that both he and his wife missed the sixth set of dancing altogether.
As we reach this chapter, the author has realised that she has neglected to mention much, if indeed anything, of the guests. She shall attempt to remedy this circumstance now.
The Bennets had come of course, bringing with them the Guests, the Smythes, the Gardiners- of whom the author is fully aware that she has abused dreadfully, referring only to their arrival and then ignoring them until this moment, for which she apologises most heartily -and the Phillipses. So far and, perhaps thankfully, for all parties concerned, a certain member of the foremost mentioned of the above families had been very much restrained. Whether this was due to her being in awe of the hosts, decorations, guests, or her husband, or indeed all of these things, one cannot say. Perhaps it is a mystery best left unsolved. Of other Meryton acquaintances that we are familiar with, only the Lucases had graced the ball with their presence, as you doubt noticed by Sir William's appearance some moments ago.
Apart from the Darcys and the Devereauxs, all the other guests of the house had attended as well, the Bingleys, Lydia and the Blakeneys, who were most pleased to greet their father when he and his wife were among the first of the arrivals that evening.
In a quest for solitude, Lawrence came to a halt in the entrance foyer, where he stood for some time at a window, mulling over his situation and the immediate future. A future which he knew, that, as of tonight, was uncertain. All was out of his hands now. His mask would be dropped this night, it unavoidable to keep it up any longer. He would not be the one to reveal himself, that task lay at the feet of another, who had only sent word of his delay the morning of this day, an item of news which he had managed to obtain from eavesdropping on conversations. This delay did not give him relief, in fact it only gave the opposite. Lawrence had long since decided that it needed to be done and got over, even though he knew that once the truth was revealed, the recriminations would be eternal.
Lawrence pulled himself together at this point and returned to the ballroom, with all the attitude of a man about to face certain death, a state with which he could not help feeling certain empathy at this present moment. His eyes sought out Lydia, finding her still with Mrs Blakeney, not seeming to have noticed his disappearance at all. Dare he ask her for another dance? No, perhaps not, he decided, remembering the task he had to complete within the hour. Instead he sought out one of the Devereauxs and endeavoured to involve himself in the scene at hand until he had to make the temporary departure.
"Are you certain?"
"I could not be more certain Aunt, I saw the event all too clearly. What am I to do? I thought he could be trusted. How am I supposed to behave to him, knowing he has done this?"
Mrs Gardiner looked comfortingly upon her youngest niece, wishing she knew what advice would be the most helpful at this moment. She had only recently joined the discussion between Lydia and Georgianna, after the latter had appealed to her wisdom and judgement in a matter with the former found unable to keep to herself any longer.
Lydia feared herself on the verge of a breakdown. The scene of Lawrence's anger had been replaying itself over and over in her mind from the moment they had left the dance floor. Unable to cope with it any longer, she had confided in Georgianna, who had in turn persuaded her to tell Mrs Gardiner, who would better know how the land lay in such matters than herself. "Please help me, Aunt," Lydia pleaded now. "I know not what to do."
"I am afraid that beyond trying to ignore it, I know not either," Mrs Gardiner replied sadly. "If he will not confide in you, Lydia, what else can you do?"
"Its too hard," Lydia uttered in the same emotion. "I have played a part for so long. When I was married, when I was with the children after his death, before I broke at Pemberley........ I hate the mask, Aunt. It is bad enough displaying it to mama and others of Meryton. I thought I could count on Lawrence to accept the real me. If I have to present a mask to him as well......." she trailed off, tears flooding her voice.
Mrs Gardiner did the only thing she could do. Wrapping an arm around her niece, she discreetly escorted her out of the ballroom. "Come my child, let us go see your children. You need a break."
"I'm sorry for being such a nuisance, Aunt Gardiner," Lydia replied as they ascended the stairs.
"Do not worry about it my dear," Madeline replied comfortingly. "You have good reason and I daresay time will heal the remaining wounds. You may look back on this and laugh one day."
"I hope you are right, I really do."
The stranger was not completely unprepared to meet his fate when his sentries came upon him that night. He had been fortifying himself for the event for quite some time. The appearance of a vicar surprised him considerably, but he accepted the man, made his peace with the lord and announced himself ready to face whatever fate they disposed to bestow upon him and his soul.
In the company of four darkly dressed men and that good parson, all covered beyond the point of recognition, the stranger allowed himself to be escorted outside. I say allowed, but he really had very little choice and had reconciled himself to the inevitable a long time ago. When they reached the middle of the field that bordered the deserted farm dwelling where he had spent his last days, the men came to a halt and he readied himself for the journey that lay ahead.
He did not need to wait long. Ten minutes later and the figure of a fifth man could be seen coming towards them. The stranger regarded this man with caution. His nemesis. He was to meet him at last. For the first and only time. Outwardly, there seemed nothing formidable about the man that the stranger had long regarded to be his enemy. He was young, the same age as he, yet also aged, a common trait, one that happened to most who walked the life of a soldier and committed themselves wholeheartedly to the task. His face, as far as one could judge in the evening darkness, was resolved, as any man's face should be when carrying out an order, no matter whether they agree or disagree with the order themselves. With this man it was difficult to tell whether he held disgust for the job that his superiors had ordered him to carry out, his face was too closed a mask. His manner held authority, disclosing a high rank, which meant a gentleman, as the British army rarely promoted men out of the ranks, and those that they did hardly ever rose higher than lieutenant. The stranger himself had only heard of one man to rise above quartermaster, but that man was certainly not the enemy that stood before him. At this last point, the stranger, his observation complete, met the eyes of his enemy and silently awaited his fate.
One of the four sentries stepped forward to meet the enemy, saluting him respectfully. He returned the salute and took the object that the sergeant had been carrying. The object in question was a rifle of the very best repute. He regarded the weapon in his hand for a moment, then calmly checked that it was ready. This done, he nodded to the sergeant.
The sergeant turned to face to the prisoner. "Alastair Jermone, you have been charged with conspiracy and treason against this sovereign land. Do you have anything to say before we pass judgement?"
"Nothing," he replied in accented English, "just a request for the name of my enemy, since he has mine, I am entitled the same right."
The enemy simply put the rifle to his shoulder and took aim. "I have many names, sir," he began as he cocked the weapon. "None of which I care to honour a traitor with. Even one who is about to die. But since you ask, I shall answer. Calverley."
The last sound the prisoner heard was the noise made by the bullet as it left the barrel. Beyond that, the rest was silence.
Calverley discarded the weapon as soon as it had fired. He stood in silence, watching as the four men picked up the corpse and carried it away. He inclined his head to the parson in thanks, then walked away himself.
Once alone he breathed a sigh of relief, then chuckled at the absurd irony of it. The task he had welcomed the least, had been the easiest to carry out. Now to the one that he welcomed the most. Would he regret such an end? He doubted not. Of course he would regret it, just as he had regretted all his actions from the moment of his arrival in the neighbourhood. Briefly he dwelled on the people that he had deceived. There were so many of them. All he had knowingly abused by playing a man who had died an honourable death a long time ago. Whose real self should be now acknowledged by him and allowed the proper regard that he should had been given long ago.
Calverley dwelled on this man for a moment longer. He was a man that he had been honoured to call a friend. An admirable officer, a brave fighter. Had he done him justice? Calverley dearly hoped so. The man had died five years ago, in battle, the fate that most soldiers preferred to meet rather than retirement, especially when war was all one had known since the age of sixteen. Calverley himself had the better life. Raised with his family, purchasing the commission of captaincy outright, rather than waiting for seniority to take care of the rise. It was thanks to this man that he had survived the war at all, having no experience before his first battle.
At this point he reached the turn in the road, bringing the lights of the house that he was returning to straight ahead of him. Casting a look about himself, Calverley brushed away what he could see of the powder burns and straightened his apparel. He slowed down as he reached the steps, thanking providence that no one had seen him leave and that the room he had to return to faced the south rather than the north side of the stately home.
All too soon he entered the foyer. As he checked his appearance in a nearby mirror, he saw behind him another who had escaped the ball for a short time too. Righting his face, he turned round and addressed. her. "Lydia, at last I have found you."
"At last, sir?" Lydia questioned lively, her good humour having been restored by the time spent with her children and her Aunt.
"Yes, I have been looking for you for quite some time." He held out a arm. "Shall we go back in? I believe we have the chance for one more dance before supper. Will you do me the honour of attending such a pastime in my arms?"
"Yes, Lawrence," Lydia replied joyfully. "I believe I will."
The dancing soon gave way to the sumptuous supper that the Devereauxs had kindly laid out for their guests in the drawing rooms nearby. As the guests all filed out of the ballroom, the Darcys remained behind, partly to take the opportunity to indulge in an amorous embrace and to seek out the footman they had asked to keep a lookout for the Fitzwilliams, whose delay had been relayed to them by express just this morning.
"I regret, sir," the footman replied respectfully to Darcy, "that their arrival has not been reported to me, as yet."
"I see. Well thank you for looking anyway, Fosset. Could you please come and inform us if they do arrive during supper?"
"Of course sir." Fosset clicked his heels together, bowed, and disappeared in the direction of the foyer. Darcy turned back to his wife with a wicked grin. "And now that we are alone, my love, where were we?"
"I think we were deciding to rejoin the others," Elizabeth replied, not resisting his embrace all the same.
"Were we? I thought we were doing this." He laid his lips upon hers, kissing her soundly. Elizabeth allowed herself to surrender briefly to the pleasure, then forced her mind to recollect where they were. Drawing back from her disappointed husband, she began to remind him. "Sir, we are at a ball, and if we do not go into the supper room soon, there will be cause for scandal."
"My love, we are man and wife!"
"And that is cause for scandal enough," Elizabeth returned lively, before leading him by the hand into the room.
"Darcy, my dear fellow," Lord Devereaux cried when the couple were in hearing distance. "There you are. Come and join us."
"Sir," Darcy acknowledged as he installed his wife in a chair, before obtaining one for himself. "Perhaps you could settle a question for me. Is it scandalous to be in love with one's wife of nearly nine years?"
"Absolutely, Darce, which is why we all are," Lord Devereaux replied, causing others at the table to chuckle. "Has your cousin arrived yet?"
"If you mean Richard, no, he has yet to appear. He sent word this morning that one of the carriage wheels had cracked and needed to be replaced."
Lawrence, who had been listening to this conversation tried not to breath a sigh of exasperation at the delay. Instead he turned to his companion. "So, where did you disappear to?" He asked her casually.
"I went up to see my children," Lydia replied honestly, as she came to a decision. "Lawrence," she began quietly, making sure none but he could hear her, "I must ask, I cannot conceal it any longer. Who was that man I saw you loose your temper at, that day at Oakham Mount?"
Lawrence sighed with shame, then reached out to take her hand, grateful that their public relation as siblings still existed yet. "Please, believe me when I say that I wish you had not witnessed that. It is an action that I regret myself. He was a man who had been working for me. I had told him never to contact me in the day, but....... Oh, Lydia, I wish I could tell you that such temper rarely exists. But I cannot. All I can do is assure you that I would never display such a temper to you or to your family. It disgusts me what your husband did to you. I would never do that to you. I could not. It is not in my nature."
Lydia gazed into Lawrence's eyes and knew not what she saw in them. Sincerity she hoped, honesty she believed, but there was a hint of something else, something that she had never seen directed at herself. Only to others, directed by their........ she flinched and withdrew her hand. She was not ready think that. Not yet.
Lawrence reaffirmed his mask and drew his own hand back to his plate, a quiet dread stealing into his heart. He had no right to hope. No right at all.
It was a dark and stormy night as the last carriage drew up at Netherfield House. Actually, it was not stormy, and the night had assured itself two hours ago that it could not get any darker. But to resume.
Fosset, who had been faithfully waiting for their arrival stepped outside and respectfully led the couple inside, answering to the gentleman's enquiries as best he could. Was the ball still underway? Yes, it was. Had supper been served? Yes, it was in the process of being served now? Had a Mr Lawrence Bennet attended the ball? Yes he had. Where could he find his cousin, Mr Darcy?
Fosset directed them through the ballroom and then to the supper table that held the Darcys and the Blakeneys. After greeting all, Richard Fitzwilliam glanced in the direction of the gentleman who had brought him here to night. And he was not disappointed. "So that is Lawrence Bennet," he remarked to his cousin as he sat down.
Darcy could not fail to pick up Fitzwilliam's tone. "You know him then?"
"Yes I do," Richard replied. "Gather the family together in a room. Its time this was all revealed."
"What about Lawrence?"
"I'll see to him." Richard rose from the table and made his way to Lydia's. Once there he halted for a moment, hating suddenly what he had to do. He placed a hand on the gentleman's shoulder. "Well, if it isn't Jesmond Calverley. Or do you prefer Lawrence Bennet?"
The Netherfield Ball; Part V.
"I met your son, Lawrence Bennet, when we were both briefly in the same regiment the day it docked at Oporto. After becoming his friend, neither of us saw anything of each other again until the fateful match at Quatre Bra. Lawrence sustained a wound to the chest, dying almost instantly. His last wish to me was to seek out his family and tell them of his life. I vowed as a man of honour to do so. With that in mind, all that I have said of my, or rather his, past is true. He was indeed taken by Collins to be brought up with a family indebted to him by foul means, whose name was not Calverley, but in fact Brenton. When Collins died, Lawrence was indeed turned out of the house and thus forced to enter the army, a wish to do his real father proud and to earn himself a living before claiming upon yours. I deeply wish he had been able to do so.
"When I returned to London after the war, Horseguards pressed orders upon me, enough to keep me busy until this year, when they asked me to undertake this mission that brought me to you. I know it will make no difference to you all when I say that I wish I had not accepted the task, but I do, most seriously. There is, or rather was, a plot to eliminate a certain nemesis currently residing on St. Helena, thus rendering him incapable of harming this kingdom and his own so recently surrendered ever again. His men had found out about it, and had sent someone to inform him. I was sent to put a stop to that man. I was to do it cleanly, that is, as cleanly as possible. I was to attract no attention to myself of any nature, and to undertake any guise I deemed necessary to complete my mission.
"I had tracked him as far as here before I entered under such a mask. Knowing your son's history as well as I did, such a mask had seemed perfect at the time. I knew full well that the deception would cause much grief to all, but faced with the alternative of this man's escape, I found I had no choice but to undertake the task.
"I soon found him, Alastair Jeremone was his name, and carried out my orders to the letter, despite my objections to doing the terrible and fatal deed. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my story. I offer nothing in response to the deception that I have caused you. I cannot. All I can say is that Lawrence Bennet was one of the best men I have ever had the privilege of knowing and that he served and died for this country with distinction."
A long silence greeted the end of this narrative, as all tried to deal with the information that they had just been dealt. All were angry at his deception, angry at themselves for not spotting said deception, filled with horror at the task he had been ordered to do, and with fear at what might have happened had his task failed.
The Darcys were the first to recover from their amazement, although they did so quietly. Fitzwilliam remembered the words of his cousin, conveyed in a letter to his father in law; greater forces at work here than just the question of entail. At the time, Darcy had not fully realised the implications of such a statement. Now he did. There are things which I am heartily glad that you do not know, Richard had also said to him. No truer words had ever been spoken.
Elizabeth also reflected on the words of her cousin law. Her other chief emotion was anger however. Anger at Jesmond's deception regarding Lydia, and the damage this deception could now do to her already fragile state of mind. Her sister had placed such trust in Mr. Calverley, a trust which to all appearances, he had abused most dreadfully. Only Georgiana had been the other person to break through the defences that Lydia had set around herself. What would she do now, with this news? Elizabeth prayed that she would not retreat once more, for she knew not how to bring her back out again.
The Bingleys and the Guests reactions consisted of much the same. Kitty was angry for her sister, and her husband was angry for her, and the Bingleys were united in trying to silently acquit Jesmond of any wrong doing in their minds and thus to pronounce him worthy of courting those beliefs that they had previously attributed to him, regarding a certain person. They also prayed that that certain person had the courage to take the risk and place her trust in Jesmond once more.
The Smythes were also united, but for very different reasons. Both lamented Calverley's refusal to confess his sins earlier and before a priest, his refusal to seek absolution and his unchristian behaviour in committing what was, for want of a better word, murder in this very parish. Both kept themselves engrossed in the search of their minds for the appropriate words from Fordyce's Sermons and other eminently praised texts to avail Mr. Calverley with at the earliest opportunity.
Lawrence, or rather Jesmond, as the author shall refer to him from now on,- also, for the reader's information, Colonel Jesmond Calverley, to be more precise -watched each person's reaction with a quiet dread filling his heart. He had expected such a reaction, indeed he would have been surprised if he had not been dealt thus, but such expectation did nothing to prevent the wretchedness that was clasping his heart at this moment. His gaze landed on Richard Fitzwilliam, a man whom previously he had had not the only honour to serve under but to count upon as a friend. Inwardly he breathed a sight of relief when he saw the expression of understanding and pity. At least one person understood fully the task he had been given. He turned his eyes to Mr. Bennet and saw the same reaction, feeling very grateful that the man had confronted him before this event, as he would not have his support either.
Lastly, his eyes came to rest on Lydia. Or in reality, the place that Lydia had last stood. For her presence had gone from that space, indeed it had disappeared entirely from the room. When such an event had occurred, he knew not, and upon this discovery Jesmond began to regret the moment of his agreement to this by now wretched plan, for all he had prayed for in the past now had no hope of ever coming true.
In the rest of the house, all was quiet, none suspecting for a moment the news that had just been announced to the extended Bennet family. Even in the rooms above the large drawing room that had served as the location for the revealing of said news, their occupants did not so much as stir.
One particular occupant was very quiet. It was a quietness that would bring alarm to anyone who bore witness to it, but alas none did. At least, none that were old enough to understand such quiet. Only one bore witness to it, the most innocent mind of all. She lay in the arms of the person, looking up at her with large blue eyes, concerned only of the event of their presence, not the reason why.
Lydia gazed not at her youngest child. Instead she gazed out the window, tears falling continually from her eyes and down her face.
Author's note: The person residing on St. Helena is Napoleon, for those that haven't gathered. A recent investigation upon the circumstances of his death found traces of arsenic in his digestive tracks. There was evidence that this poison had been in residence for quite some time. This conspiracy however, is so far of my own making.
Netherfield, 27th November 1820.
As soon as it was decently allowed, Jesmond Calverley quitted Longbourn and rode with all haste to Netherfield the next morning. Deciding against announcing his presence to the household at large, he skirted the exterior of the building, glancing discreetly in every window until his eyes rested upon the one person he had come to see.
Thankfully, she was alone. Jesmond stood for a time outside the exterior entrance to the room, watching her. All night had he spent in contemplation of what he needed to say, what he wanted to say, to her. He had not seen her at all after his announcement. She had disappeared from the ball completely. Now, he wondered if his planned speech would do anything to restore their friendship.
Lydia looked up the moment the door opened, its loud click of the lock waking her from her turbulent thoughts. Until now, every action of hers had been, for want of a better word, mechanical. Somehow, either from exhaustion or grief, or indeed perhaps both, she had fallen into a restless sleep, the like of which she now regretted she had ever entered into, for it had made her feel anything but better. How she had risen, allowed herself to be dressed, and eaten the morning's repast, she knew not, and did not care to find out. Now she gazed at Lawrence, or rather Mr. Calverley, as she should refer to him now, with sudden clarity of thought. "Why are you here?"
Jesmond felt as if a someone had stabbed him in the heart as he heard her cold tone. But then, he had expected such. "I came to apologise to you. And to try to offer my reasons for my actions. Actions which I know hurt you badly."
"What right have you to presume my feelings? What reasons can you have to offer, that will acquit yourself of any wrong?" Lydia rose from her seat. "You lied to me, Mr. Calverley! I asked you time and time again, and you refused to confide in me. Yet I treated you with all of my secrets. What was it about it me that you found so repulsive that you could not trust me with the truth? My past reputation? My late husband? Both are simply that; past. I am not the girl I was nine years ago. I hoped you would have the decency to recognise that."
"I do," Jesmond replied, flinching when he heard her emphasis on his name. "My only reason for concealing such truth was not due to any of those. I did not want to put you a difficult position with your family. If I had confided in you, you would have been forced to choose between me and your loyalty to your family and I could not have that."
"Loyalty to my family?" Lydia repeated. "Is that all you have to reply? I am an outsider with most of my family, as you very well know. Even with Kitty, my only friend from before, I do not reveal my true self with, for fear of putting a irrevocable burden on her. You and Georgiana were the only two people I thought I could trust with my self without burdening either of you. I had every right to expect the same trust in return. Instead I receive deceit and lies. I had hoped to never receive such motives again!"
"Lydia, believe me, if I could go back and change things, I would. Do you not think I agonised constantly over the part I had to play? My deception to you and everyone else? I did. But once I entered into it, I could not go back. Not until I carried out the task I had been ordered to do. If I had had any choice, I would have refused long ago. But I had none. And without the benefit of hindsight, I did not have a reason to refrain from volunteering."
"That does not acquit you from responsibility of the damage you have caused, Mr. Calverley. I looked to you, not only as a friend, but as a brother. Now to find you are neither of these things, that you are instead a stranger to myself and my family I......." Lydia trailed off, as her need to breathe took over her ability to talk. "You have committed me to behave inappropriately towards you, by behaving thus towards myself. You may claim it is due to your service to this country, but it does not excuse you of the guilt that firmly lies at your door. As for myself, I cannot help but feel personally aggrieved by your actions. You deceived me. And in doing so, you forced me to lay myself open to thoughts and feelings that I was by no means ready to accept or display. You knew well of my past grief, and the life I had led at the hands of my late husband. You knew the damage he had caused me, and yet this did not stop you from committing some of the same crimes that he did. You convinced me that not all men were like him, that I could trust my family and that I could trust persons outside my circle. Do you not realise the damage that your deception has caused me now?"
"I do," Jesmond uttered in despair, "I do realise. As I also realise that because of my deceit you will in all likelihood never trust any one again. But, of all the things I told you, you may believe in this. Not every man is out to hurt you. Just because you have eight children it does not mean that you cannot find someone worthy enough to open your heart to again. Every time I spoke to you about that, I was speaking the truth as I believed it. The truth I have seen. I had no intention of giving you false hopes concerning that. Lydia....."
"Do not call me that!" Lydia shouted back. "You have no right to address me by that name! You are a stranger to me!"
"What am I to call you then?" Jesmond countered. "We have been on first name terms for as long as we have known each other."
"Known each other! Sir, I realised last night that I have never known you!"
"Be that as it may," Jesmond continued. "If you allow yourself to fall, to suffer from this, because of me and my actions, then you have let me win. Do not let me win. It will be far better for you if you refuse to retreat into yourself again. You already allowed Wickham to do this to you. Do not let my actions repeat such a motion."
"Get out!" Lydia was too angry to listen any further. "Get out now! I never want to see you again!"
Jesmond reluctantly bowed, and quitted the room the same way he had entered. Not until he was gone from sight did Lydia allow herself to cry. Wordlessly she sank upon the sofa behind her, tears continuously falling down her face.
As angry as she was at Mr. Calverley, she was just as angry at herself. Past experience had, should have, taught her to be cautious. Yet she had trusted him. Confided in him every horrid detail about her elopement and her marriage. And in turn........... She hesitated. Had she been deceived? Perhaps, not in that respect. He had not shied from her upon hearing the story, instead he had stuck by her, tried to repair the damage that had been done, not offering a reason why, save a need that he felt had to.
Suddenly she shook herself. No, she was not going to acquit him! He had deceived her! In every respect. His reaction to her past was merely part of his mask, for any other would have drawn suspicion upon himself. He could have chosen to confide in her at any time. She had asked him repeatedly to do so.
Indeed, once he had already tried to. Another time, he had actually admitted to her that he had been concealing something from everyone. Lydia could remember every word he had used. Yes, there is something I have been concealing. Not just from you, but from everybody. Such concealment has been necessary. There is something here, a task that I have to do. This task has to be kept secret from everyone. What I can tell you though, is that it has nothing to do with you or your late husband. It is something different entirely. And it until it has been completed, I can tell nobody of it. Nothing. Not even the fears, or the doubts that I constantly have about it, myself and my ability to go through with it. And the harsh knowledge that once it has become clear, everyone here will look at me in a different light. And they will not see my real self, all they'll see is a monster. I do not deny them that right, I know it is to be expected. It is because of this that I hold myself back, hoping to somehow lesson the blow that I know I will receive, and the one that I will deliver to everyone. I have no desire to hurt anyone.
The morning he had said those words to her, he had been honest, Lydia reluctantly realised. She also remembered, rather guiltily now, what she had promised him in reply. You could never be a monster. I, more than anyone who lives here, knows what a monster is and that is something you could never be. Whatever your task, whatever your deceptions, I for one will not think that of you. These past few days since I have come to know you, convince me so. You are too kind, too thoughtful to be a monster. Once this is over, you will still have my friendship. This I promise you. How quickly had she broken that promise? He had every right to be angry with her because of that. Yet he had been anything but. Instead his anger had been directed at himself.
Oh, what had she done!?! She was a fine one to accuse him of being a false friend. By breaking her promise to him, she had done exactly the same. And he had understood why. He had been right. Confiding in her would have put her in a difficult position. She would have been torn between loyalty to him and loyalty to her family. How she would have coped with such a burden, Lydia did not care to think about. All that could occupy her mind at present, was the promise that she had broken to a friend.
A friend whom she now believed would never regard her as such again.
Jesmond did not immediately return to Longbourn. Instead he directed his horse to the fields of Oakham Mount, coming to a halt at the point where the village of Meryton and its surrounding country estates could be seen. There he dismounted and with a sigh collapsed upon the grass, not caring of the damage that the dew would do to his breeches. Indeed he had very little care for anything right now. Except this; he had hurt Lydia.
He remembered the last time they had come here. Well over a month ago it was now. The same day she had witnessed his anger directed at his sergeant for failing to regard his orders. How long had she agonised over that, before confiding in him? A month and two days. How long ago had she ceased to trust him?
Not that he had the right to such a privilege anyway. He had deceived her. He had played a part in front of her, and while he had spent time agonising over the grief that he was to cause her when the truth was finally revealed, not once had it prevented him from continuing to hide himself from her. He had no right to expect anything but the severest reproach from her in reply.
He remembered the time when he had all but confided the whole in her. And what she had promised in reply. That was particularly evil of him. He should not have told her what he had, forcing her to promise what she did. He should have told her the truth. He should have told it from the beginning, or perhaps from the moment he had realised that she was the one person he wanted to see again. No matter what his concerns were about the position he would place her in, she had had a right to know the truth from the start. She had confided herself in him, he should have honoured her with the same.
He had lied to her all along. Not just her, not just her family, but himself as well. It was stupid of him to deceive himself any longer. He could not, should not, hope for anything between them. He was evil in her eyes and she was right to regard him as such. There was nothing to salvage from this. There never had been in the first place. And in believing that there was, he had deceived himself as well.
From now on, Jesmond vowed, he was going to be honest with her. He was going to hope for nothing. He would lay himself open to her mercy, even if she had none to give him, and he would accept whatever punishment she wished to dealt upon him. And then, if he did become lucky enough to accomplish his dearest wishes, his long held dreams, then he would spend the rest of his life trying to make her not regret her trust for a moment.
The Days After: Part II:
Netherfield, 28th November 1820.
Jesmond Calverley, lately Lawrence Bennet, found himself outside the front entrance to Netherfield the very next morning with his vow from the day before firmly in tact. After a long talk with himself upon Oakham Mount, he had returned to Longbourn and met with Mr. Bennet. His original intention with that gentleman had been to announce his removal from said estate effective immediately. Mr. Bennet's reaction to this had taken Jesmond completely by surprise. For, instead of agreeing wholeheartedly with such a motion, Edmund Bennet had expressed the contrary, that Mr. Calverley was welcome to stay at his estate for as long as was necessary. Jesmond could not help but ask why, and Mr. Bennet's reply was something that he had been puzzling over ever since.
"I should have thought my reason was perfectly obvious."
"You perhaps mean, that as a friend to your son, I should be treated thus?"
Edmund Bennet took a long look at the young man before him. "Calverley, I have had a number of gentlemen around your age in my library for this very reason during recent years and, as yet, I have nothing with which to discourage you from your present course. I hope to offer my blessing soon enough."
It was not the unusualness of the phrase that had puzzled Jesmond, but how Mr. Bennet had acquired the knowledge in the first place. True, he had confided in the latter about his feelings regarding a certain someone, but he had expected Mr. Bennet to discount the matter from the moment his true identity became known. Instead his 'late father' seemed to be still encouraging him in the matter.
And, it was with this, as well as his previous vow in mind that Jesmond had brought himself back to Netherfield again. This time he made his entrance publicly, gave his card to the butler and politely declined the offer of a chair to wait upon while he inquired if the lady was willing to see Mr. Calverley.
Jesmond did not have to wait long. Barely had five minutes gone by when he received his reply. It was not however, delivered by the butler, but in the form of Georgiana Blakeney.
"Mr. Calverley," she greeted coldly, making no attempt to hide her anger at his actions. "Lydia thought she had made herself perfectly clear when she asked not to see you again yesterday."
"She had, Mrs. Blakeney," Jesmond replied respectively, "but I had not promised to not try and see her." He paused and let his concern creep into his voice. "How is she?"
"How do you think she is?" Georgiana was rarely angry, and when she was, few would dare cross swords with her. The Darcy temper was well known to their family. "You deceived her! You deceived all of us! I myself have no concern for the lies to you put to me, but to Lydia..... You knew how fragile she was, and still is. You knew better than any of us. Yet you chose to treat her no differently from the rest of us. And now you presume to think that you will be allowed to see her?"
"Mrs. Blakeney, you have every right to be angry with me. Indeed I am angry at myself for every one of my actions regarding Miss Bennet. Were it not for my feelings, I would happily obey her request and stay away. I cannot bare to leave here with her being angry at me. Please, Mrs. Blakeney, let me see her."
Georgiana looked at Jesmond in silence for a long time. When she had first found Lydia, only minutes after the gentleman before had departed from the house, she had been very angry with him. She was still angry with him. Yet Lydia was no longer. She was angry at herself for, as she had told Georgie, not giving him the judgment she had promised him one morning when he had all but confided the whole in her. "Lydia told me of her promise to you regarding your eventual confession. Personally, I think you had no right to force her into making such a promise, but it is done and cannot be undone."
"I entirely agree with you, Mrs. Blakeney," Jesmond replied, much to her surprise. "I had no right at all to say what I said to Miss Bennet and thus force her into a promise that she would inevitably have to break. I came today to say such words to her and more."
"More?" Georgiana could not help asking.
"That from this day forth, if she is will to overlook my grievous faults, I will do everything within my power to restore her faith in me." Jesmond took a step closer. "Almost from the moment I met her, Mrs. Blakeney, I have come to feel for Miss Lydia Bennet a regard that goes beyond that of friendship. Despite all of my intentions to guard her from the hurt that I knew I would inevitably cause her, this regard of mine was so powerful as to overcome my every ability and desire for avoidance. If she does not feel the same, be assured I will never bother her again. I love her and I wish to be allowed to spend the rest of my life by her side."
Georgiana could not help gasping after such a speech. Indeed, who could not? It had never occurred to her for a moment that Calverley had such feelings for Lydia. She blushed as she recalled dismissing only last night the same suspicions from her sister in law Jane Bingley. Yet did Mr. Calverley deserve to see Lydia because of this? Georgiana knew not. Reflecting on her husband's account of her brother's reaction to his same request regarding herself, she asked Jesmond gently, "you are sincere in such intentions?"
"Very much so."
"And you have enough to provide her and her children with a tolerable sense of comfort in life and after, should something unforeseen occur?"
"I am the only child, with an estate amounting to seven thousand pounds per annum." Jesmond paused to gaze at Mrs. Blakeney earnestly. "I would happily look upon all of Miss Bennet's children as my own, if she deemed me worthy enough of such an honour."
Georgiana allowed herself a smile. "You do realise you are making it very hard for me to refuse you?"
"That was my intention." Jesmond smiled as well. "Have I your consent to try, Mrs. Blakeney?"
"We can all but try, Mr. Calverley." Georgiana opened the door to the drawing room and gestured him inside.
Lydia had heard none of Jesmond's passionate declaration. When the butler had presented Mr. Calverley's card to her, she had lost any previous strength that she had possessed for composure. Wordlessly had she passed the tray to Georgiana, who had gone to deal with him instantly, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
She still blamed herself. She had broken her promise to him. She had vowed not to regard him as a monster no matter what. He had ever right to be angry with her. She was angry with herself. For laying herself open to deception once again. Eight years ago she had promised herself to never trust any gentleman with any part of her again. How many months had it been since his death? Nearly four. A fine example she had made to her children.
At this moment the door opened and Jesmond walked in, Georgiana shutting the door behind him. "How did you manage to convince Georgie to let you in?" Lydia asked instantly.
Jesmond did not flinch at her cold tone. Instead he stared solemnly into her eyes. "I made a promise to Mrs. Blakeney that I wanted to deliver to you. From this moment on, I will be completely honest with you. I wish nothing more than your happiness. If that is accomplished by my never seeing you again, then I willing submit to such an end. But I hope that is not the case. Whatever you chose to believe, I never intended to hurt you and I vow from this day forward to repair the damage that I have caused. I had no right to force you to make a promise never to regard me as a monster. I should have told you the truth from the beginning. Will you, Miss Lydia Bennet, grant me the honour of your friendship?"
Lydia took a deep breath and considered. By rights she should refuse him. Yet something, she knew not what, was compelling her to commit to the opposite. "I do, for as long as you have need of it. And for as long as you keep to your promise."
"Thank you." Jesmond bowed, then held out his hand. "May I have the honour of knowing your name?"
Lydia shakily put her hand in his and shook it. "Miss Lydia Bennet."
"Jesmond Calverley at your service, Miss Bennet."