Section I, Section II, Next Section
Chapter Twelve - Discovery! Posted on Thursday, 28 March 2002
Ambercombie Manor was a grand mansion, three levels high, excluding the basement, with seven hallways, fourteen staircases, and numerous rooms. The day after Jonathan's arrival, Mr. Miller took him on a perfunctory tour of the whole house and its grounds, informing him that most of the servants quarters were on the basement and that the family's bedrooms were on the second level, all of them opening into the third hallway. As much as Jonathan wanted a more detailed inspection of the house, he was prevented from it by the duties that lay before him as the new master of Ambercombie. He had spent the first week of his stay getting acquainted with the staff and learning about the affairs of the estate. In between, he had entertained neighbors who called on him to welcome him to the community.
Thus, it was only during the second week of his stay that he was able to begin his quest to unearth whatever secrets the manor held. He decided to search every room of the big house, to open each closet and every drawer on each desk, to find out if any of them held clues that will lead him to his past. He first inspected all the rooms in the first level, which included the drawing room, the dining room, the breakfast room, and the grand ballroom. But he was able to find nothing. He was indefatigable, however, and decided to continue his search to the second level, beginning with all the family's private bedrooms. But he searched in vain. And now, after three weeks, the hope he once held in his heart was gradually fading.
Of the ten bedrooms that opened into the third hallway, there was only one left that Jonathan had not explored. It was the very last bedroom at the end of the hallway, five rooms down from his own. It was before this room that Jonathan now stood, contemplating if it was even worth the effort to enter it. In the end, his determination won. He unlocked the door, entered quietly, and closed it behind him. Inside, a musty odor pervaded the room and a thin layer of dust covered the furniture. As with all the manor's other rooms, a big four-poster bed stood in the middle with a nightstand on each side. An ornate mahogany writing table, with a middle drawer and a cabinet on either side that opened up to three more drawers each, graced one of the corners near the window. A matching mahogany chair with stop-fluted legs stood in front of it.
He quickly surveyed the room. There was no indication whatsoever of who its former occupant was. The walls were bare, save for a small painting of Ambercombie Manor hanging above the desk. He strode over to the table to get a better look at the painting. It was done in brilliant hues, capturing the beauty of the manor during an early spring dawn. It had none of the melancholy and gloom that now swept the whole estate, giving evidence that Ambercombie was once full of life and joy.
Jonathan pulled out the mahogany chair, brushed the dust off it, sat down, and gazed at the picture. As an amateur painter himself, he recognized that a fellow dilettante, but one with great promise, did it. "Tell me your secrets," he whispered, as he scrutinized its every detail. Then suddenly, his eye fell upon the lower right hand corner of the painting. And there, written almost imperceptibly, were the initials A. D. The realization hit him. Of course! he thought, excitedly. His heart fluttered at the idea. Surely it has to be! His hands nervously trembled as he pulled open the middle drawer of the table. It was empty. Not easily disappointed, he threw open the cabinet on the left side, hastily tugging each drawer. They were all empty. His pulse quickened as the flung open the cabinet on the right. He opened the first drawer. Empty. The second. Empty. Small beads of sweat collected on his forehead as he approached the third and last drawer. With great apprehension, he slowly opened it, afraid that it might also be-empty. It was empty. Disappointment washed through his body. It was all for naught.
Feeling his strength leave him, he leaned back on his chair in frustration. His soul cried for comfort, but it received none. Then, out of nowhere, an inspiration came to him. A most improbable thought, but nonetheless possible. He got up from his chair, pushing it backwards, and slowly knelt on the floor. He pulled the last drawer on the right all the way out, until it would go no more. He felt the bottom of the drawer carefully, just as he had learned to do in boarding school, and found a barely discernible spring. He pushed it, revealing a false bottom. Underneath, a bundle of letters lay. His heart thudded against his ribs as he gingerly picked up the precious bundle. Sitting on the floor, he untied the blue ribbon that held the letters together, and picked up the first one. It was addressed: Miss Angelica Devane. The heavy and expensive paper was yellowing along the edges, and the already broken seal looked vaguely familiar. He opened the letter that was written in a precise and careful hand. It was dated almost thirty-five years ago.
Cambridge, May 21, 18-.Dearest Angelica,
I read your letter again today, as I have done everyday for the past two weeks. It makes you seem less distant and more real. Whenever I fear that you are merely a beautiful dream that vanishes as soon as I wake up, I hold your letter in my hand to remind myself that you truly exist and that you will never leave me.
I long for the summer, for the summer means you, but it seems to me that it will never come. Our professors seem intent on making our lives miserable until the last day of classes. Our subjects have become more challenging, but I enjoy the challenge. There is nothing more glorious than obtaining knowledge, except being with you. George has taken to sneaking out every evening. Where he goes, I would rather not know for I would like to honestly claim ignorance as to his whereabouts if asked by our superiors. Edward, Richard, and I will compete against Oxford in fencing next week, and we continue to practice everyday. I am extremely nervous about it, though I try not to show it. As usual, my cousins feign composure by laughing it off, but I sense their anxiety nonetheless. To be sure, it is a great honor to represent Cambridge, but with it also comes pressure from great expectations. I only hope that we will prove to be worthy competitors.
I miss you considerably. I find it harder and harder to be apart from you everyday. I could only wish that time would fly fast enough so that we could one day be together for the rest of our lives. I love you, Angelica. That is the truth. And I will strive to be worthy of your love.
It gives me pain to end this letter, but I must. Please write soon, for your last letter has become frayed from constant perusal. Extend my regards to Lady Witherspoon, and please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.
Yours with love and affection,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Darcy! The name leapt from the page. It cannot be! thought Jonathan. He rubbed his eyes and read the name again. And sure enough, it did say Darcy. A million questions entered his mind, but they had become so jumbled in his head that he could not think straight. One by one, he sorted through the letters-all of them addressed to his mother, all of them written by Darcy.
A new hope rose within him. At last! At long last! He had found something that could lead him to his past. He started to read every letter, devouring every word, relishing every sentence. They were all full of passion and love and happiness. He was so excited. And yet-and yet his new knowledge troubled him. It seemed that the more he found out, the more questions he had. The letters gave no indication of trouble, but something must have happened or Angelica would have been Mrs. Darcy. And he, Jonathan St. Vincent, would have been a Darcy. But what? Why? The thought disconcerted him. For a very short moment, he wished he had been a Darcy, but he brushed the notion aside. He was a St. Vincent. There was no changing that.
His thoughts turned to his father. James St. Vincent. Who was he? What role did he play? Somehow he felt that he was close to the answer. And what of Elizabeth Darcy? Where did she come from? A new resolve formed in his heart. He would find out. Everything. Suddenly, he wished Mr. Miller, who was not due to come back for three more days, were home. He would ask him. He must know something.
Jonathan gathered his treasured letters and tied them with the blue ribbon once more. He got up and left the room. After making sure he had locked the door, he went into his own bedroom. He placed the bundle inside his writing table, and went near the window. Outside, the sun had hidden behind some clouds. A cool wind was blowing the cherry blossoms off the branches.
What should he do? For sure, Mr. Miller would know many things, but certainly not everything. His instincts told him that. But he was not interested merely in knowing many things. He wanted everything. Then something outside caught his eye. Out there, on top of her hill, sat Abigail, sitting on her log with a cream-colored bonnet in her hand. Her curls were in disarray, but she did not seem to mind. In fact she was reveling in the wind. It took a moment for Jonathan to realize, but there was his answer. He needed to get closer to the Darcys, he needed to get some information, and Abigail would provide the way. Yes, a young, naïve girl in love with love, seeking the man of her dreams. Surely he can charm his way into her heart. It would not be easy, for she had a mind of her own, but nonetheless, she was still innocent. How difficult could that be? In any other circumstances, taking advantage of a girl like Abigail Darcy was despicable, but he was desperate. His cause was noble; surely he can be forgiven.
With that resolve in mind, he set forth to achieve his goal.
Chapter Thirteen - An Invitation Posted on Thursday, 28 March 2002
Although it took a great deal of willpower, Jonathan refrained from questioning Mr. Miller about Darcy and Angelica on the first day of his return from Bath. Instead, he allowed his steward to rest for he believed that a man is more inclined to be open and forthright if he is well rested. Thus, while the old man slept peacefully, the young master spent the night tossing and turning, waiting fretfully for daylight to come. The morning did arrive, however, and Jonathan sent for his steward immediately after breakfast.
Mr. Miller entered Jonathan's study, and a vague sense of foreboding fell over him. He had not known the master long enough to read his countenance accurately, but he detected a sense of urgency, a controlled excitement from the young man.
"Ah, Mr. Miller," greeted Jonathan from behind a massive desk. "How are you this morning?"
"Fine, sir. And you?"
"I am quite well, thank you. Please sit down."
Mr. Miller took a seat on the other side of the desk and waited patiently for his master to begin.
"There is something very important that I need to discuss with you," said Jonathan, "but it is not a matter of business. It is of a personal nature, and one that I am sure you will be of great help."
The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and replied, "I will do my best to be of assistance to you, sir."
"Excellent." Jonathan leaned forward in his chair and looked intently at him. "Mr. Miller, what I am about to discuss with you is highly confidential, and you will by no means divulge any information about it to anyone without my express consent."
"Yes, sir."
"I understand," began Jonathan, "that aside from being steward of Ambercombie for more than thirty years, you have also lived here all your life."
"That is correct, sir."
"Then you knew my mother."
"Of course, sir. I knew her quite well."
"And my father?"
"No, I have never made his acquaintance."
"You have never met him in all your life?"
"No, sir."
Jonathan paused and regarded his steward seriously, as if to ascertain his honesty. "My mother has not visited Ambercombie for at least thirty years. Why is that?"
"I beg your pardon sir?"
Jonathan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Mr. Miller, I have been kept in the dark far too long. I want to know what happened," he pleaded. "I want to know what happened between my mother and Mr. Darcy."
Mr. Miller looked uneasily at the young man, for he knew what Jonathan was referring to. He knew all about Angelica and Darcy and Wickham, but he also knew that he would never be able to tell him about them. His mind flew back to the incident thirty years ago. He distinctly remembered Angelica's anguish, Lady Witherspoon's wrath, Wickham's sorrow, and Darcy's devastation. It happened during his first year as steward of Ambercombie, the year his father retired from the position and passed it on to him. On the day of Angelica's departure, Lady Witherspoon made him promise that under no circumstance was he to divulge anything regarding the whole affair. For thirty years he had kept his promise, and he intended to keep it until the day he died.
The old man looked sympathetically at his new master. His heart went out to him, and yet he could not help him. Mr. Miller was an honest and honorable man who prided himself in his honesty and respectability. He cleared his throat, and said, "I am truly sorry, sir, but I cannot help you."
Jonathan looked a little surprised. "Why not?" he demanded.
Mr. Miller shook his head. "I cannot say anything more, sir, except that I regret not being of assistance to you."
Jonathan got up from his chair and paced the room agitatedly. "It cannot be because you do not know anything about it. I am not that weak-minded. I know you know more than you profess. Why can you not tell me?"
"I am not liberty to divulge, sir," replied the steward, calmly.
"Not at liberty to divulge!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Why ever not? Did it not occur to you that I am the new master of this estate and that you are accountable to me? You cannot keep secrets from me." The last sentence was spat out threateningly.
Mr. Miller remained unperturbed by Jonathan's outburst. He had lived with Lady Witherspoon's ill temper long enough not to be disconcerted with any display of anger from anyone. "It is true, sir, that I am accountable to you at present. But at the time you refer to, I was accountable to Lady Witherspoon. I would not be trustworthy enough if I disclosed information that she had shared with me in the strictest of confidence. You would not wish me to disclose your secrets to whoever the next master might be, would you, sir?"
Jonathan glowered at him, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. His face was taut with anger and his lips were compressed in a thin line. For a moment, Mr. Miller thought that he would be dismissed as steward of Ambercombie, and sent off packing. Instead, Jonathan heaved a sigh of defeat and ran his fingers through his hair once more. "Very well. If you will not help me, I will find a way myself." He walked to the window, his back turned to Mr. Miller. A tense silence filled the room for several minutes.
When Mr. Miller thought that his presence was forgotten, Jonathan spoke. "Please inform the staff that we are going to host a small dinner party tomorrow. No, make it three days from today. I want everything to be perfect. Send invitations to the Darcys and the Stewarts. Make sure everything is at its best." He returned to his chair and started scribbling furiously.
Mr. Miller remained seated, waiting for further instructions, but none were forthcoming. After a while, Jonathan, without looking up, said, "You may go now. Thank you, nonetheless."
The old man left and shut the door behind him, his heart aching for the young man.
Darcy was in the library with Elizabeth when he received the invitation from Ambercombie on that same day. He frowned when he read it. Trouble was brewing, he was sure of it.
"Fitzwilliam, what is it?" asked Elizabeth, seeing her husband's perturbation. She had already memorized every expression on his face, and she knew from looking at him that he had not received good news.
"We have an invitation to dine at Ambercombie on the 6th of May," explained Darcy.
Elizabeth was delighted yet puzzled. "That is wonderful! But why are you scowling so? For a while there, I thought there was some terrible news."
"I do not think we should accept, Elizabeth."
"Why ever not? It is impolite not to and I am against making lame excuses. Jonathan St. Vincent is our neighbor and he might be our neighbor for a long time. I think it would be wise for us to foster good relations with him."
"I do not like him," stated Darcy. "There is something about him, I cannot explain. I do not trust him at all."
Elizabeth touched her husband's arm. "Nobody is asking you to trust him, dearest," she said, gently, "only to have dinner with him. There certainly can be no harm in that."
Darcy was unmoved. "If we dine with him, it is a gesture of friendship, and I do not think I want to be friends with him. I do not think I want him near my family."
"We cannot avoid him forever. We are always going to be thrown into his company whether we want it or not."
"We should avoid being in his company whenever we can."
Elizabeth sighed. She loved her husband dearly, but at times he can be rather exasperating. "I do not want to argue about a simple thing such as having dinner with a neighbor, Fitzwilliam."
"Neither do I, Elizabeth." Darcy looked at his wife and saw the frustration in her face. He drew her to him and kissed her tenderly. "I am sorry."
"Do not be," murmured Elizabeth as she kissed him back.
In the end, Elizabeth won, and Darcy sent a reply to Ambercombie accepting Jonathan's invitation. He still had his misgivings, but decided that the more information he knew about his new neighbor, the better he will be able to protect his family from him if need be.
Chapter Fourteen - A Dinner Party Posted on Sunday, 31 March 2002
The invitation to Ambercombie had sparked a wide range of reactions from all those invited. Darcy received it with trepidation for he felt uneasy dining with the master of Ambercombie. Elizabeth, Gregory, and Georgiana welcomed it with anticipation for they were eager to get to know their new neighbor. Anthony accepted it with caution for he was yet unsure of Jonathan's interest in Bernadette. And Abigail, Victoria, Daniel, and Anna greeted it with excitement for the prospect of finally stepping foot inside the mysterious mansion was the fulfillment of their childhood dreams.
"It is unfortunate," said Abigail to Victoria, the day before the dinner party, "that Bernadette was not invited. After all she was the one who always came up with ideas on how to invade Ambercombie. It is but proper that she should see it with us."
Victoria laughed. "She would be so envious, to be sure. Although, it still eludes me why I ever consented to those schemes of hers. She always got us into so much trouble."
Both girls giggled at the recollection of their childhood exploits, but felt sorry for Bernadette, and decided that they would give her a detailed account of their evening at the manor.
The 6th of May came soon enough, and both families went on a short ride to Ambercombie in their carriages. Jonathan received them graciously at the door, while Mr. Edwards, who stood solemnly behind his master, ushered them into the grand entrance hall and led all of them into the drawing room. After they were all comfortably seated, he immediately served them tea, and with a bow made his departure.
The manor's interior exceeded everyone's expectations. Jonathan had taken great pains to impress his visitors, and he accomplished just that. Satin drapes covered the windows, and a dazzling chandelier lit up the room, dispelling the gloom that once shrouded it. In the center sat a rare rosewood table with a marble top, lined with ormolu beading and decorated with stylized gadroons on the edges, resting on four cabriole legs carved with acanthus and ending in scrolled feet. On one of the walls hung a mirror with a shining gilded frame also carved with acanthus leaves. Everything conveyed an impression of elegance, style and good taste.
Sensing Jonathan's need for approval, Elizabeth remarked, "You have a beautiful place, Mr. St. Vincent. It looks very different from the last time I saw it, but of course that was nearly twenty years ago."
"Thank you, Mrs. Darcy. I did make a few changes, and I am glad you approve," said Jonathan, pleased with the compliment.
"Yes, they are excellent changes," said Darcy, pointedly. "It is a pity you allowed many years to pass before taking up residence in Derbyshire."
"I felt that I had to complete my studies and then tour the continent for a couple of years before I could settle down," replied Jonathan, meeting Darcy's eyes calmly.
"You are an Oxford man, I heard," said Anthony.
"Yes. It is a great school. In fact I would say the best if I were not in the presence of Cambridge men." Everyone smiled at this, and Jonathan continued, "Of course, I must concede that Cambridge has produced some of the best competitors in the area of fencing. Is that not right, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy was prevented from responding by Mr. Edwards, who re-entered the room and announced that dinner was ready. Jonathan stood up and immediately offered his arm to Abigail, who was surprised but took it nonetheless. Both of them led the group while all the others followed in pairs-Darcy and Elizabeth, Gregory and Georgiana, Daniel and Anna, Anthony and Victoria.
The dining room was as elegant as the drawing room. Expensive china and polished sterling silverware were laid out perfectly on the long dining table. Two silver candlesticks with six branches each stood in the middle of the table parted by a large bowl of fruit in between them.
When all the guests had taken their appointed places, dinner was promptly served, and everyone began to partake of the delicious repast before them. While dinner progressed, the subject of music was broached, and a lively discussion soon followed it.
"I believe that nothing soothes the heart and warms the soul as much as music," said Gregory, looking at Georgiana, who blushed accordingly. "It is certainly one of life's pleasures that I could never do without."
"And I agree with you," said Jonathan. "I must, therefore, entreat the ladies to provide for us the music that we so long to hear. I am sure they shall all willingly oblige us after dinner."
Here commenced a discussion of who should play and who should sing, and after numerous recommendations, it was soon agreed upon that all the ladies should play or sing, or do both.
"And you, Mr. St. Vincent," said Abigail, after everything was settled satisfactorily, "do you play at all?"
"No, I am afraid I do not. The pianoforte in the music room is old and has been played but rarely, though I made certain that it is fit enough to handle any number of performances tonight."
"Who owns the pianoforte, then, sir?" ventured Anna, who had inherited her mother's love of music.
"Lady Witherspoon, I imagine, though I cannot say for certain if she knew how to play."
"And your mother, does she not play?" asked Abigail.
Jonathan hesitated before saying, "I have never had the occasion to hear her, but perhaps Mr. Darcy can tell us for he knows her quite well, do you not, sir?"
Darcy colored slightly when everyone turned to him, waiting for an answer. He noticed Jonathan looking at him more intently than the rest and answered simply, "I believe she does."
Jonathan, however, wanting to gauge his reaction more fully, goaded him into saying more. "Have you had any occasion to hear her? If so, you are luckier than I."
Darcy glared at him and answered, "A few times, but it was so long ago, I hardly remember it."
Elizabeth saw Darcy's reaction and rescued the situation immediately. "Well, Mr. St. Vincent, now that you have toured the continent, perhaps you can tell us all about it."
The conversation was diverted successfully, and dinner continued smoothly after that. When everybody was satisfied, and the soup, partridge, and wine were duly complimented, the whole party proceeded to the music room. Elizabeth and Abigail played the first duet, and though both protested that they played very ill, the audience was most generous in their applause. During the performance, Darcy gazed proudly upon his wife and his daughter, until he observed that Jonathan was doing the same, particularly at Abigail. He then resolved to keep a closer eye on him, for by now he was sure that he disliked the young man. Next played Georgiana and Anna while Victoria sang, and they too were applauded vigorously. After a solo performance by Victoria, and then by Anna, Jonathan requested one from Abigail. She blushed a little, but acquiesced, warning her audience that her performance will be to their detriment.
When his guests had had their fill of music for the evening, Jonathan decided that it was time for him to take them on a tour of the house, an activity that delighted his guests exceedingly. After taking them around the first level, he led them up a sweeping staircase with carved satinwood balusters that led to the gallery on the second level. He pointed out the portraits of some of the famous personages, just as Mr. Edwards had taught him to do.
When they came upon Lady Witherspoon's portrait, Daniel asked, "And who might she be? She looks quite severely upon us."
"That is Lady Whitherspoon, my mother's aunt," replied Jonathan, "and though she is a relation of mine, I do not think I bear a resemblance to her." Everyone assured him that he did not.
Abigail, who was ahead of the group, came upon Angelica's portrait first. She gazed curiously at the beautiful woman whose eyes reminded her of someone, though she could not say for certain who. "I wonder who she is?" she said, voicing her thoughts out loud.
"She is the former Miss Angelica Devane," replied Jonathan from behind her, "my mother."
"How is she, Mr. St. Vincent?" inquired Georgiana softly, hoping her brother would not hear. Ever since Angelica left, she had wondered what became of her, but never dared to ask Darcy.
"I believe she is in good health," said Jonathan quietly, and turned to observe Darcy, who was staring pensively at the picture. He saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes and renewed his vow to find out what had transpired between him and his mother.
"Oh! She is quite beautiful, is she not, Papa?" Abigail turned to Darcy and was surprised to find her father oblivious to her question.
Elizabeth, who had heard Abigail's question, joined them and said, "Yes, she is very pretty."
"Have you ever met her, Mrs. Darcy?" asked Jonathan.
"Only twice."
"Did you meet her here in Derbyshire?"
"No, in London. I am not from here, originally. I grew up in Hertfordshire."
"Hertfordshire!" exclaimed Jonathan, enthusiastically. "Do you know of a place called Netherfield then?"
"Why, yes, of course. I lived but three miles from the estate."
This revelation made Jonathan tremble with excitement, and he was about to ask Elizabeth another question, when Darcy interrupted them by thanking him for showing them the gallery. There arose no more opportunities for Jonathan to inquire after Netherfield, and he was extremely disappointed. The tour ended half an hour later, and the guests took their leave after thanking their host for his hospitality.
Chapter Fifteen - Impressions Posted on Sunday, 31 March 2002
All the guests had left, and Ambercombie Manor was just as it was before-silent and empty, as if the party had never been. The candles were still brightly lit, and yet a melancholy dreariness had settled upon the house.
"Well, Mr. Edwards, what do you think?" said Jonathan, sitting down on one of the settees as he surveyed the scene. "Hard to believe there were nine other people here only moments ago."
"I think dinner was a success, sir," said the butler.
"You think so? Yes, perhaps it was," conceded Jonathan. "You did a wonderful job, Mr. Edwards. Thank you very much."
"It was a pleasure, sir," he replied. "Is there anything else you need tonight, sir?"
"No, nothing more. I shall go to my room now; I need to be with my thoughts. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sir." The butler bowed gravely.
Jonathan trudged up the stairs, his feet thudding heavily on the steps. He headed towards the dressing room, where he hastily donned on his nightclothes, and after doing so, went to his bedroom and locked the door behind him. Fatigue overtook him, and he went directly to bed. But as soon as he had tucked himself in, he found that he could not sleep. The events of the evening would not leave him, and he reflected upon them, going over every scene, every piece of conversation, every reaction and facial expression.
He first thought of Darcy, that respectable master of Pemberley, that model of dignity and decorum. Did he have anything to hide? Jonathan decided that he did. Darcy disliked him, that much he felt, and the only reason he could think of was that he was closing in on the truth. Yes, he was close, but perhaps not close enough. Jonathan was a patient man, however, and patience always pays.
Next he thought of Elizabeth, that spirited mistress of Pemberley, that model of life and energy. Did she have anything to hide? Nothing was for certain with her. But then from her he felt compassion, and he had a strong inclination to like her. She was in every way kind and gracious to him. But why? Perhaps she knew his father; she came from Hertfordshire after all. Yes, it was very much a possibility. He would definitely find out. Elizabeth was the key; there was no mistake about it.
Then out of nowhere, came Abigail, and it surprised Jonathan greatly that he first thought of her, not as an instrument to his past, but as a...as a lady. He remembered how she blushed, and smiled, and laughed, and spoke. How her fingers moved smoothly over the pianoforte, how she sang with feeling, and how she looked at him with... Jonathan brushed those thoughts aside. It would not do to think of her so. She was nothing to him but a means to achieve his goal. She was nothing, nothing at all...
At Pemberley, Abigail sat in the parlor with Anthony, her thoughts very much on the evening that had just passed.
"Anthony," said she, "what do you think of Mr. St. Vincent? I cannot make him out."
"I like him, I suppose," said Anthony, who had decided that Jonathan was not interested in Bernadette, after all. "I have always thought him quite amiable."
"Except when he was dancing with Bernadette," Abigail retorted.
Anthony answered nonchalantly, "I wonder why you say that. I thought he looked at you a good deal."
"I cannot say I noticed. He looks at everyone intently, particularly Papa."
"Nonetheless, you should be careful, for we know not a great deal about him," said Anthony, his eyes growing serious. Although he teased his sister frequently, he loved her very much and could never bear to see her hurt.
"I do not think you should worry, Anthony, for I am not even sure I like him." Abigail paused for a moment. "Did you see how Papa looked at Mrs. St. Vincent's portrait? He had this strange look on his face; I cannot quite describe it. He knows her, that much we know, but how much?"
"Hush, Abigail," whispered her brother. "What are you saying? Are you implying that there was more to him and her? How can you think such a thing! You know Mama was the only woman he loved in his life."
Abigail looked at him shamefacedly. "I do not know what I was thinking. Of course, he loves Mama; I cannot accept otherwise. It is all so strange."
"You read too much into nothing," said Anthony, sighing deeply.
"You are right," said Abigail humbly. "I was mistaken."
"What did you think of the manor?" asked Anthony, changing the topic.
"Oh! I liked it very much, indeed! But I like Pemberley better, and I say this objectively.
Anthony chuckled. "How can you ever be objective about Pemberley? You live here! Of course, I could never think of anything more happily situated than our estate."
"Happy, yes, that is exactly what I mean. Ambercombie is so sad and lonely, not like Pemberley. Can you imagine? To live in that great big house all on your own? To be sure, he has his staff with him, but he has no family with him, not a single one. It must feel so terribly-empty." Abigail shivered at the thought.
"I pity him, in a way," said Anthony. "I do not think he even has friends. Perhaps that is why he invited us over." In truth, Anthony was a compassionate man, and he carried many a burden in his heart, but his easy manners concealed them. No one knew he felt as deeply as he did.
"Perhaps," said Abigail, though she did not agree.
In the library, Darcy was in a foul mood, and Elizabeth could bear it no longer.
"Dearest, why must you think ill of him?" asked Elizabeth, frustration edged her voice.
"Why? Because..." Darcy stopped. How can he explain to his wife that Jonathan made him feel threatened? How can he explain his vulnerability? He can never allow Elizabeth to think that he cannot protect his family, that he was not strong enough. He loved her too much to allow her to lose respect in him.
"Because he is an Oxford man, because he is Angelica's son, or perhaps because he is the spitting image of James?" finished Elizabeth. "Tell me, is it any one of those reasons or every one of them?"
"You saw how he kept bringing up Angelica to my face. You saw the way he looked at Abigail. Something is going on! Perhaps Angelica put him up to this. How are we supposed to know? All I know is that he cannot have good intentions for our family." He stood up and walked to the window. Nothing was visible outside, for darkness had already settled.
"I cannot believe this!" she said. "Why are you afraid of her son? I cannot think of any reason why you should be."
Darcy turned and faced Elizabeth. "You are determined to like him. Perhaps you can elaborate why. He certainly reminds you of James, that much I know."
Elizabeth looked at her husband helplessly. She loved Darcy deeply, but how can she explain to him the compassion she felt for Jonathan without hurting him? James was her best friend, the man she had once loved so dearly, and now he was dead. Here was Jonathan, the representation of his father in so many ways. How could she turn her back on him? She owed it to James to love the son he never knew, the son who never knew him. But Darcy would never understand.
"Yes, he does," said Elizabeth quietly, "but the difference is Jonathan has a life to live, and I cannot bear to see it end the way his father's did. Can you understand me? I cannot let another life go to waste! He is all alone out there. He needs us."
"He has Angelica," said Darcy, firmly.
"Does he? I do not think so."
"He is Angelica's son. She should worry about him, not us. Besides, he is a grown man. Who knows what he is capable of?"
"I do not think it is Jonathan you fear, Fitzwilliam. I think it is Angelica. After twenty-five years you still fear that your feelings for her will get the better of you." Pain was evident in Elizabeth's face.
"And you? After twenty-five years, you are still pining for a dead man!" Darcy accused, angrily. He saw Elizabeth's shocked expression. Oh, no, what have I done?
Elizabeth got up from her chair and quietly left the library, closing the door behind her. Darcy sat on a chair and sighed. He harbored no more feelings for Angelica. All the love he had for her was gone, but sometimes he wished he knew what had become of her. Many times he would pray that she was all right, and that she was happy. That was the truth. Oh, he wanted to forget her, but could not. And now, Jonathan was a constant reminder of Angelica, a living memory of the woman he once fell in love with, but failed to protect.
After much thought, a resolution came to Darcy. He got up from his chair and followed Elizabeth to their bedroom. When he entered, he found her seated on the bed, her back supported by a pillow, meditatively staring at the fire in the fireplace.
"Elizabeth," he said, softly, sitting beside her. "I did not mean what I said."
"Nor I," said she. "I did not mean to hurt you, Fitzwilliam, you know that."
"I know." He kissed her on the forehead. "I love you."
She leaned against his shoulder, looked at him and whispered, "I love you, too."
They stayed that way for a few moments. Then Darcy drew back and said, "I have been thinking, perhaps we should go to London earlier than planned. After all the Season has already started."
Elizabeth looked surprised. "But I thought we were going with Georgiana and Gregory in three days. How much earlier are you proposing?"
"I would like to go tomorrow. Gregory is fully capable of bringing his family to London."
"Tomorrow!" Elizabeth thought this decision had something to do with Jonathan, but she had no desire to fight with Darcy now that they had made up. "All right, then," she said wearily. "We go tomorrow."
The next day, the Darcys left for London, to Abigail's delight and Anthony's consternation. Abigail was eager to see her friends in town, but her brother was unhappy to leave Bernadette behind. When Jonathan heard of his neighbors' departure, he almost followed them to London, but business at Ambercombie Manor prevented him. Thus, he had to content himself with the knowledge that the family will return in the fall.
Chapter Sixteen - The Visits Posted on Wednesday, 3 April 2002
In the middle of August, when summer was beginning to fade away and all of England's fashionable families had deserted London, the Darcys returned to Derbyshire. Their return was welcome news to Jonathan, who had spent the interminable summer in hopeful anticipation of their arrival, and he immediately paid them a visit the day after they had arrived.
As planned, he called on Abigail, under the guise of a prospective suitor, but his real purpose was to see Elizabeth and extract from her more information about Netherfield. But, alas, when he arrived, the mistress of Pemberley had gone to see the Stewarts, who had arrived that day, and he had to content himself with Abigail's company, under the watchful eyes of her father.
Jonathan sat across Abigail, who observed him with mild amusement, while Darcy sat in a far corner, deceptively involved in his book, though Jonathan was undeceived by this seeming inattention.
"I am sorry to see you think me such poor company, Mr. St. Vincent," said Abigail, who noticed Jonathan's disappointment. "I am afraid that London has made me quite dull."
"No, indeed, you mistake me, Miss Darcy," said Jonathan, trying very hard to appear cheerful, "for I could never think that of you."
"You are too kind. It is a pity we never saw you in town for the Season."
"I had some business to attend to here in Derbyshire," he explained.
"I find that men always use business as an excuse when they wish to avoid something or someone. I do not blame you, however, for London can be exhausting and trying upon one's nerves."
"You did not like London then?"
"On the contrary, I liked it very much, indeed, for it is the only place I can visit friends whom I have not seen during the year. But I do miss Pemberley exceedingly. It is still my favorite place of all."
"You have great affection for your home, I see."
"And you do not?" asked Abigail, a little surprised.
"I have been staying at Ambercombie but a few months. Hardly enough time to develop an affection for it," said Jonathan uncomfortably.
"That is true," she replied thoughtfully, "but surely there must be one place you call home. After all, you have been all over the continent. Is there no place at all that you hold special, a place with many fond memories of your youth?"
Jonathan shook her head sadly. "No, I do not."
A wave of sympathy washed over Abigail, but since she sensed the young gentleman's reluctance to speak on the subject, she said lightly, "Well, then, perhaps you have no one special place, for you hold all of them equally dear."
He marveled at Abigail's tact. For one who spoke her mind courageously, she seemed to possess an unusual sensitivity to other people's feelings. He smiled at her gratefully, "Yes, perhaps that is the reason."
He did not stay long after that, and though disappointed at the lack of information he had gleaned, he found that he enjoyed Abigail's company after all and decided that his visit was not completely worthless.
Jonathan came again the next week, and again the week after. Both times, Elizabeth was there to receive him, but Darcy was always present, and he determined wisely that it would be better not to inquire after Netherfield when the master of Pemberley was around. Darcy was as impassive as ever, but Elizabeth was very hospitable and kind. And Abigail grew more interesting with every visit.
On one occasion, Jonathan rode to Pemberley on Lightning, and on the way, met Anthony, who was also riding his horse.
"That is a fine horse you have there," said Anthony, observing Lightning's fine stature. "Does he have a name?"
"Lightning," replied Jonathan. "And your horse?"
"Black Knight," said Anthony, fondly patting the black stallion. "He is a mighty runner, but I take it so is yours. What do you say to a race?"
Jonathan, who could not resist the challenge, agreed. And both gentlemen shot off toward the hills, eagerly spurring their horses on. It was hard to predict who the winner would be; both competitors rode side by side for the greater part of the distance. In the end, however, Anthony won.
"You are both very good," said Jonathan afterwards, complimenting both horse and master. "Lightning and I am very much impressed. But surely you and Black Knight would not object to another one?"
Anthony, like most men, accepted. Thus, off they went again, this time from the hills toward Pemberley house. Anthony led once more, but Jonathan soon gained on him and eventually finished off the race.
"Not bad at all," said Anthony sincerely. "I must say you have earned my respect."
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you."
Both men appraised the other thoughtfully for a few moments, and after a while, decided that they were inclined to like each other. And strangely enough, an unlikely friendship was born between the two gentlemen.
With Anthony as his friend, and Elizabeth as his ally, Jonathan seemed in a fair way to fulfilling his objective. All he needed was some time alone with Elizabeth, but such an opportunity did not come. One day in early October, however, Jonathan chanced upon her while she was taking her daily walk. Alone.
"Good morning, Mrs. Darcy!" cried Jonathan brightly. "I was just on my way to visit Pemberley. How are you?"
"Very well, I thank you. And you?"
"Excellent!" he replied, for really felt so. "May I join you on your walk? That is, of course, if you do not mind."
"Not at all. I welcome it." Elizabeth smiled fondly at him for he was very much like James in every way.
"I remember your saying, Mrs. Darcy," said Jonathan when they had taken a few steps together, "that you lived in Hertfordshire in your youth.
"Yes, I did. In Longbourn, which is but a short walk from Meryton."
"And Netherfield," he added. "Did you not say that it was but three miles from where you lived?"
Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. "Yes, I believe I did. Walked there a few times, too, and found myself six inches deep in mud."
Jonathan's hopes rose with her every statement. Excitement welled within him, and it took him a few minutes to find his voice. "Then you knew the St. Vincents-my father and his family," he managed to say as casually as he could.
Elizabeth looked into his expectant blue eyes, and hesitated. Should she tell him about James? Surely Angelica must have told him the whole story by now. But something in his eyes told her that he did not know of her previous involvement with his father. She wondered how much she should tell him. "Well," she began, breathing deeply, "I-"
"Elizabeth!" a deep voice called, interrupting her. It was Darcy, approaching them with quick, long strides. "I have been looking for you all over. Mr. St. Vincent," acknowledged Darcy, giving Jonathan a short nod.
"What is the matter?" asked Elizabeth, a little concerned.
"Nothing," said Darcy, sheepishly. "Nothing is the matter. I have just received a letter for you from Mrs. Bingley. I thought you might like to read it right away."
"A letter from Jane!" she exclaimed. She gave her husband a sweet smile, thinking of how thoughtful it was for him to deliver the letter directly to her. "Both of you will excuse me, will you not, if I open it and read it?" she said, already tearing open the seal.
"Of course," said Jonathan politely, though it was very hard for him to say so since he was on the verge of another discovery.
Elizabeth read the short message quickly. "Oh!" she said, when she had finished.
Darcy looked at her worriedly. "Not bad news, I hope."
"Well," she looked at him, tentatively. "Not really. She says that all of them are in good health, and that Henry Wickham, Lydia's eldest, has come to stay with them until the end of the winter."
Darcy's face darkened considerably when he heard this, but said nothing.
"Lydia is my sister," Elizabeth explained to Jonathan. She folded the letter and said, "Shall we not go back to the house? I am sure we are all in need of some refreshments."
Jonathan, seeing that accepting the invitation would not lead to anything profitable, excused himself courteously, and walked back disappointedly to Ambercombie. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Darcy strolled back to the great house.
When they had reached the library, Darcy said, "I do not know why Bingley and Jane keep on allowing Henry to impose upon them. It is insupportable."
"He only visits, Fitzwilliam, and the Bingleys seem to like his company."
Darcy looked at her as if she had lost her mind. "The Bingleys enjoy everyone's company! That does not mean that Henry is not imposing upon their kindness. I have yet to see a Wickham that was honorable."
"I am afraid, dearest, that I must contradict you. I have often heard you say that George Wickham's father was honorable," replied Elizabeth, somewhat amused at Darcy's outburst.
"Well, that is true, I suppose. Henry has not shown any of the evil propensities his parents have," conceded Darcy, "so far."
"He has been thrown in the constant company of the Bingleys since he was very little. I would imagine they would have a good influence over him. I daresay it was very kind of Bingley and Jane to take care of him occasionally, for Wickham and Lydia are quite irresponsible..." Elizabeth grimaced at the thought of the reckless couple. "It was very generous of you, however, to help the young man out financially, Fitzwilliam." She kissed him on the cheek.
Darcy was affected by his wife's display of emotion and only managed to say gruffly, "It is not his fault his parents are such libertines. But I hope Bingley will keep his promise, and not breathe a word of my involvement to anyone."
"I am sure he will be true to his word. I really hope Henry will turn out well for Wickham and Lydia are beyond redemption, I am sad to say."
Darcy nodded, thinking that if ever Henry sets foot at Pemberley, he would still keep him under strict observation.
Chapter Seventeen - The Accident Posted on Wednesday, 3 April 2002
By the time Jonathan had reached the main entrance to Ambercombie Manor, he had worked himself into a foul mood. He was so very close to learning about his father, when Darcy stepped in once again.
"Why does he always have to come at the most inopportune moment?" Jonathan muttered irately.
Once again, Darcy had managed to sabotage his plans just when he was only a few moments away from the truth. It was unbelievable. No, it was insupportable! His past was his right, and no one, not even the master of Pemberley, can prevent him from claiming it.
He stopped in front of the manor's big oak door, and contemplated his next move. He had a strong urge to march back to Pemberley and demand information from Elizabeth, whether or not Darcy was present. After a split second of indecision, he gathered his courage and strengthened his resolve to do just that. But instead of walking all the way back, he decided to saddle up his horse and ride to Pemberley.
He mounted Lightning hurriedly, and carelessly spurred him to a mad gallop toward the great house. He was furious, and cared not how he rode. For a while it seemed that reason had deserted him, and as he approached the tall hedge that separated Ambercombie from Pemberley, he charged towards the obstacle without hesitation for he intended on clearing it with a daring jump. But he did not realize that his anger had made his spirited horse nervous and confused, and in that crucial moment of take-off, a miscommunication occurred between horse and master. Lightning leapt before Jonathan was ready, and the young man catapulted into the air, landed on the ground with a dull thud, and was knocked unconscious.
At about the same time, Abigail was taking a leisurely stroll toward Pembercombie Hill, enjoying the beauty of the autumn scene that lay before her. The leaves had already turned color, showing off a brilliant collage of reds, oranges, yellows, and browns, and she reveled in the richness of their hues. As she gazed about around her, she witnessed Jonathan charging towards the hedge, and was horrified to see that he had no intention of stopping. She stifled a scream as she saw him fly into the air and crash into the ground, a few yards away from her. Gathering up her skirts, she raced to cross the distance between them, taking note that Jonathan had not moved at all. When she reached his still form, she worriedly dropped to her knees and attempted to revive him.
"Mr. St. Vincent!" she called frantically, bending over to see if he was still breathing. She felt his warm, but shallow breath on her face, and was slightly relieved. "Mr. St. Vincent, please wake up!" She searched around her to see if there was anybody nearby who could help her, but, alas, there was none. She pulled her wits together and desperately tried to think of a solution. But before she could decide on what to do, Jonathan stirred.
"Mmmmm," he groaned. His eyes fluttered open, and it took him a while to focus on the blurred figure before him. "What happened?"
Abigail heaved a sigh of relief. "You fell off the horse, sir. Are you all right? Do you hurt at all?"
"I do not know," said Jonathan, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "I think I am fine. Will you please help me up?"
Abigail stood up and offered her hand to him. As he tried to get up, however, a sharp pain shot through his leg. He yelled in pain and released his grip on her hand, falling back to the ground once more.
"My right leg," he gasped, "I think it is broken. I cannot get up."
"Let me check it," she said bravely, though she felt less courageous than she sounded. She carefully tugged at his riding boot, making sure she did not disturb the injured leg unnecessarily. After a long struggle, she was able to pull it off, but not before numerous groans escaped Jonathan's lips. She gently lifted the leg of his trousers and pulled down the sock underneath it. His leg was swollen and discolored, but fortunately, it was not bleeding. Abigail wanted to faint, but she fought against the urge valiantly. She covered the leg once more.
"I do not think you will be able to walk on your leg," she declared. "I will have to get some help. But first, let me make you comfortable." She searched the area for two pieces of flat wood, and positioned them parallel to Jonathan's leg, one on each side. She tied them together with her handkerchief, making a splint. Then, she took off her coat and covered him with it. When she was done, she stood up and made her way toward Lightning, who was standing a few feet away.
"Where are you going?" asked Jonathan.
"To get some help. You cannot walk, and I definitely cannot lift you. I will not be long, do not worry," replied Abigail, preparing to saddle the horse.
"Stop!" cried Jonathan. "Do not get on that horse. He does not take to strangers, and I would hate for you to meet the same fate I did."
"But there is no other way! We are quite far from both houses, and I cannot leave you out here for very long. I must ride your horse. Do not fear, I do know how to ride one," she said, stubbornly.
"Please, I am in no way insulting your ability to ride, but he is a spirited horse. What will become of both of us, if you fell and broke your leg, too?" he argued, angrily.
Abigail looked at him and knew that he was right, but she would have to risk it. To walk back either to Ambercombie or Pemberley would take too much time, and she felt that he needed attention as soon as possible. "Forgive me, but there is no other way."
Jonathan sighed and watched helplessly as she whispered softly to Lightning, stroking his mane and patting him fondly. After a few minutes, to Jonathan's surprise, she mounted the horse and managed to remain on the saddle. She headed towards Ambercombie on a brisk canter, with the young man staring after her in disbelief.
Mr. Edwards looked shocked when, in answer to a series of furious raps on the knocker, he opened to the door and found Abigail standing before him in a disheveled state with Lightning behind her.
"Please, sir, I need your help. You must call the doctor immediately for Mr. St. Vincent is hurt," said Abigail, rapidly.
"What is the matter? Where is Master Jonathan?" the apprehensive butler inquired.
"Out on the border," answered Abigail. "He broke his leg and is in extreme pain. Hurry, Mr. Edwards! Is Mr. Miller in? I think it might be a good idea for both of you to come with me in a carriage. Mr. St. Vincent-he cannot walk."
The butler immediately sent a servant to call the doctor, and another one to bring Lightning to the stables and prepare the carriage. After doing so, he found Mr. Miller and apprised him of the situation. Soon, the carriage containing Abigail and the two gentlemen was speeding through the estate towards the border, where they found Jonathan only semi-conscious. The two men loaded him carefully into the carriage, while Abigail tried to position him safely inside, making sure his leg was safely ensconced in cushions. As there was not much room to maneuver, she ended up having to support Jonathan's head on her lap, while Mr. Miller and Mr. Edwards sat opposite her. In any other case, it would have been inappropriate for Abigail to even sit beside the young man, but since it was an emergency, and there was no convenient way for the passengers to rearrange themselves inside, the impropriety was forgiven, and they remained seated that way until they reached the manor.
The doctor arrived as soon as Jonathan was safely deposited in his bed. By now, the patient was fully conscious once again, and was pitifully trying to keep himself from moaning while Dr. Roberts removed Abigail's crude splint.
"Well," said the doctor, after examining the leg, "it is fractured, but at least the bone has not broken through the skin. There is no danger of infection. I have to realign the bones through traction, however. I am afraid it will be quite painful."
Jonathan nodded his assent, and Dr. Roberts instructed Mr. Edwards to give the patient a piece of cloth to bite. This would prevent Jonathan from biting off his tongue or yelling out loud in pain while his bones were being repositioned. The good butler stuffed a handkerchief into his master's mouth and stepped back to stand between Abigail and Mr. Miller. Every one of them watched anxiously as Dr. Roberts firmly gripped his patient's right leg and quickly wrenched it back into place. Jonathan shut his eyes, bit hard into the cloth and clutched the sides of his bed as an unbearable pain ripped through his body. All three spectators winced. It was over in a minute, however, and when Jonathan opened his eyes, the doctor was already constructing a more professional splint to hold his broken bones in place.
"By the way," said Dr. Roberts as he was tying the splint into place, "who tied up his leg?"
A terrible thought came to Abigail. What if tying up his leg the way she did made it worse? "I did," she confessed in a small, fearful voice.
Dr. Roberts smiled at her. "Well done, Miss Darcy," said the doctor, who was also the Darcys' physician. Turning to Jonathan, he added, "Well, son, looks like you owe the young lady a huge debt of gratitude."
"Looks like I do," said Jonathan, softly, gazing straight into Abigail's eyes. She blushed and looked away.
When Dr. Roberts was done, he gave his final instructions. "Mr. St. Vincent, you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to use that leg of yours for a full two months. I will send my assistant tomorrow to bring crutches for you, but until then, you are to remain in bed as much as possible." He turned to Mr. Miller and Mr. Edwards. "Make sure he does what I say." He put his hat on, tipped it, and went on his way.
Mr. Miller, Mr. Edwards, and Abigail filed slowly outside. But before Abigail had gone out the door, however, Jonathan called out to her.
"Miss Darcy," he said, "I thank you for everything. I do not know what I would have done without you."
Abigail replied, "You are most welcome, Mr. St. Vincent. We are neighbors after all, and that is what neighbors do."
Jonathan watched her leave the room, and felt sorry to see her go. A strange feeling overcame him, and at that moment, he wished he believed in love.
Chapter Eighteen - Jonathan's Predicament Posted on Wednesday, 3 April 2002
Upon learning of Jonathan's accident from Abigail, Elizabeth wanted the whole family to visit him the next day. Darcy disagreed, however, saying that it would tax the young man greatly to receive too many visitors immediately after his accident. She found her husband's argument reasonable, and instead, opted to send a large basket of fruit, which Anthony volunteered to take to Ambercombie that very afternoon.
Jonathan was lying in his bed, pale and weary, when his visitor entered his room. He looked up and gave Anthony a wan smile. "I see you have heard," he said, adjusting his foot to a more comfortable position.
"Abigail informed us," said Anthony, sitting down on one of the armchairs in the room. "How are you feeling?"
"As good as I can possibly be, but not as good as I want to be," he replied. "I would have been worse, however, if not for your sister."
"You were fortunate she saw you, or you would still be out there waiting for someone to come. Whatever possessed you to attempt that jump? You should know better than that."
"Poor judgment, I suppose," said Jonathan.
Anthony chuckled. "My mother would call it impudence, but my father and I would call it courage."
"And your sister? What would she call it?"
"I do not know. Insanity? She was very worried about you," he answered. "We all were."
A warm feeling spread over Jonathan. They cared! Abigail cared! He smiled at this thought. To him this was a new experience, and it felt unfathomably wonderful.
Anthony saw the strange expression on his face. "I see you delight in vexing my family.
"No, of course not." He laughed. "Indeed, I would have found less painful means of troubling all of you."
"But you would never intentionally trouble us, would you?" joked Anthony.
Jonathan's laughter faded away, for though his friend said this in jest, it made him stop and think. Would he do anything and everything to unearth his past? The answer made him guilty. Yes, he would. And that included jeopardizing his relationship with the Darcys. "No, never," he lied.
Anthony smiled at him. "I knew you would not." He rose, wished Jonathan well, and made his way out, leaving Jonathan feeling worse than he originally did.
A fortnight passed forlornly for Jonathan. The flowers and baskets of fruit his neighbors sent him did nothing to cheer him up. He felt helpless and hated being dependent on anyone for assistance. For a man who was used to doing things himself, he found his condition unbearable. Anthony broke his despondency once with another visit, but when he left, his depression returned. And after reading most of the books in the library, Jonathan was in desperate need of other forms of amusement. When he could endure his boredom no longer, he turned to painting, a hobby that he had long given up when he discovered that inspiration had deserted him, and he could no longer produce any work that he deemed worthy to be called art. But alas! As he sat in his room, with a brush in his hand and an easel before him, his canvas remained blank.
On the second week after the accident, the Darcys paid Jonathan a visit. Since he was already able to hobble around in his crutches, he received them in the drawing room. Pleasantries were exchanged and inquiries were made after his health. When every question had been answered satisfactorily, tea was served, and Jonathan bravely broached the topic of Netherfield once more.
"Mrs. Darcy," he ventured, furtively glancing at Darcy, "have you visited Hertfordshire this past year?"
"Yes, but it has been several months ago now. My sisters Mary and Kitty still live there with their own families," replied Elizabeth.
"Did you have any occasion to visit Netherfield, then?"
Darcy looked at Elizabeth, but she avoided his eyes and answered, "I am afraid not. I am not very well acquainted with the family that now lives there."
"But," said Jonathan, excitedly, "you were well acquainted with my father and his family, were you not?" He watched Darcy's reaction, but found that his attention was on his wife.
Elizabeth looked wistful. "Yes, I did," she said quietly, almost sadly. "I knew them quite well."
Darcy excused himself and walked to a nearby window, his back towards them. Abigail and Anthony watched their mother with surprised curiosity, for it was the first time they had heard of her acquaintance with the St. Vincents. But Jonathan gazed at Elizabeth ecstatically, hanging on to her every word.
"What was he like back then? What did he look like? Do you still keep in touch with any of his family?" asked Jonathan, shooting off his questions in rapid succession.
Elizabeth's nostalgia turned to amusement. "You sure ask a lot of questions. Let me see if I can answer them all. Your father was a kind and honorable man. He was intelligent, fun-loving, and humble..."
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth when she mentioned the last word, and breathed in deeply, but the rest of the group was far too absorbed to notice.
"...and he looked exactly like you," said Elizabeth, "except his eyes were brown. But I am sure your mother has already told you that. Unfortunately, I have not kept in touch with any of his family, but I am sure you have. Perhaps you can tell me how your Aunt Rebecca and Aunt Ruth are. I would dearly love to know how they are faring."
Jonathan flushed with embarrassment. "I, ah, I have not written them recently, but last I heard from them, they were doing quite well," he replied, hoping that Elizabeth would not ask any more questions that he did not know the answers to.
"I am glad to hear it. Did both of them marry?"
"Yes, they did."
"Oh! What names do they carry now?"
Jonathan was horrified and frustrated. What was he going to say? This was not how he planned it at all! He should be the one asking the questions, not her. Now he was in a tricky situation, with no apparent solution. Then an idea came to him, and though he felt it was not the best of ideas, it was the only one he could think of.
"Well," he began, "my Aunt Rebecca is married to-" Then all of a sudden, he grimaced in pain and touched his broken leg cautiously.
"Are you all right?" asked Abigail, worriedly "Does your leg still hurt?"
Elizabeth and Anthony stood up to assist him, while Darcy turned around to see what created all the fuss.
"No, I am fine, I assure you," said Jonathan. "A mere twinge. It happens every now and then, but passes away quickly."
Darcy walked to where Elizabeth was and said, " Are you certain? Anthony and I will help you up the stairs if you would like to rest."
"No, really, there is no need for that. Please have a seat. I am well," assured Jonathan, and his visitors were persuaded. He achieved his objective, however, for Rebecca and Ruth were forgotten. More benign topics were pursued for a few more minutes, and then the whole family took their leave.
After his disastrous conversation with Elizabeth, the next few weeks that followed seemed like eternity for Jonathan. It bothered him that he could not live the active life that he was so used to. Depression and frustration were taking a toll on him, and he oscillated between anger and melancholy. Anthony visited him weekly, and a few of his neighbors, including the Stewarts, the Raineses, and Mr. and Mrs. Gable, called on him occasionally. But the rest of the time he was alone. He spent most of his hours in his bedroom, looking out the window-dreaming, thinking, planning, and worrying.
On many occasions, while staring out the window, he would observe Abigail, sitting on her log on top of Pembercombie Hill. And thoughts of her would fill him. She fascinated him more than he cared to admit. She was intelligent yet innocent, brave yet vulnerable, strong yet compassionate. He admired her independent spirit; he envied her carefree ways.
On one particular windy day, he saw Abigail sitting on top of her hill once again. She was wearing a cream-colored coat over a blue dress, with a matching blue bonnet in her hand. She was leaning slightly backwards, with both her arms supporting her. Her head was tilted upward to meet the wind that tousled her dark curls into disarray. What possessed him, Jonathan knew not. But he quickly picked up his paintbrush and began painting-timidly at first, but growing bolder with each passing minute. Soon he found himself painting Abigail, almost impatiently, with sure, deft strokes. How long he painted her, he knew not, but he painted her long after she was gone, for by then her memory was etched in his mind.
Chapter Nineteen - Traditions Posted on Sunday, 7 April 2002
The first day of December brought snow to Derbyshire, reminding everyone that winter had arrived and Christmas was coming. At Pemberley, the whole household was up early, for according to tradition, the first day of the month was always devoted to decorating the great house. Every year, the staff performed the daunting task of transforming Pemberley into an edifice of yuletide splendor, bedecking every room in the great house with Christmas ornaments-that is, every room except for one. The drawing room was the Darcys' domain. For twenty-five years, the family had personally taken care of decorating the room for the holidays, and this year was no exception.
"Abigail," said Elizabeth, who was making a wreath, "will you please hand me three more branches of holly?"
Abigail gave her only one branch. "That is the last one, I am afraid, Mama. Let me go out and get some more."
"Perhaps you should ask Anthony or your father to help you," suggested Elizabeth.
Abigail looked in the direction of Darcy and Anthony. The two men were busy hanging up ropes of ivy and tinsel intertwined together, with sprigs of mistletoe woven in between. The serious expression on both their faces showed that the task was proving more difficult than they had anticipated.
She laughed. "It looks like they need more help than I do, Mama. I am sure I can do it alone," she said.
Elizabeth glanced toward the men in her family and smiled with amusement. "I suppose you will have to do it by yourself, for it seems that you might fare better without any assistance."
Abigail kissed her mother, donned on her hooded, rose-colored cloak, and walked out into the cold with a pair of clippers in her hand. The sun was already up and shining against an opalescent sky, and the freshly fallen snow glittered like diamonds on the ground. A thin layer of ice coated the lake, while around it, leafless trees stood with tiny icicles hanging on their bare branches. In contrast, the hills behind Pemberley were covered with evergreen trees-tall, thick, and with branches heavily laden with snow.
Abigail made her way toward one of those hills, where shrubs of holly covered its base. When she saw the red dots of holly berries standing out brightly against the dark green leaves, she broke into a run, leaving a trail of footprints as her feet sank into the soft, white ground. She picked out the smallest shrubs she could find and started clipping off from them the branches she could reach, carefully choosing those with many berries attached to it. When she had collected a small pile, she gathered the branches together, carried them on both arms, and began her journey back to Pemberley house.
"Good morning!"
Abigail heard a voice from behind her, and in her surprise, dropped all her holly branches on the snow. She turned around, the hood falling off her head, and saw Jonathan, bundled up against the cold, walking toward her without crutches. He still limped slightly on his right foot, but made his progress rapidly.
"Mr. St. Vincent! You startled me," she said reproachfully.
"Please forgive me. I did not mean to," he apologized, bending down to pick up the branches strewn all over Abigail's feet.
"You do not have to do that," said Abigail, joining Jonathan, "it is not good for your leg."
"My leg is fine, just a little stiff from the cold. That is why I decided to take a walk-to warm it up a bit."
Abigail straightened up after collecting a few branches and looked at him suspiciously. "You have only been on that leg for a week, are you certain you are allowed to walk on it?"
"Yes, of course," said Jonathan, when he finished gathering the rest of the branches. "Dr. Roberts said so himself." He grinned at her.
Abigail thought he looked more handsome when he smiled, and wondered why she had not noticed it before. She held out her arms to receive the rest of her precious burden. "Thank you for helping me."
"It was my fault you dropped it," said Jonathan, still holding on to the holly. "Let me carry it for you to make up for startling you."
"Oh, you do not have to do that, sir," Abigail said hastily, dropping her arms. "I would not wish to inconvenience you."
"It is a pleasure, believe me, Miss Darcy," replied Jonathan sincerely.
Abigail blushed deeply, though her change in color was imperceptible for the cold air had already reddened her cheeks. "I-I thank you," she stammered.
As they trampled through the snow, Jonathan asked Abigail, "What are you going to use these for?" He nodded toward the holly branches.
"Christmas wreaths," she replied. "Mama and I are making one each. We are decorating the house today-for the season."
"I see," said Jonathan. "Perhaps you can show me your wreath when it is done. I would like to see how it turns out."
"I will." Abigail felt a nervous flutter in her heart, and immediately directed the conversation elsewhere. "I can hardly wait for Christmas! All our relatives will be here. It will be so much fun to see my other cousins at last."
"All your relatives?" asked Jonathan curiously.
"All of them," repeated Abigail. "It is a family tradition. The whole clan comes together for the holidays."
"Even the ones from Hertfordshire?"
"Well, of course! They have already missed the spring ball. They definitely will not miss Christmas," said Abigail confidently. "Why do you ask?"
"I was merely curious, is all," answered Jonathan nonchalantly. "It sounds like you have a lot of relatives. How do you manage?"
Abigail smiled. "We do not manage, we survive. Honestly, it is quite fun. We have plenty of food, exciting games, and great company. Surely nothing can be better than that." She looked at Jonathan apologetically. "Oh, I am so sorry. Here I am prattling about our family traditions when I have not even asked you about yours. When are you to begin preparing for the holidays?"
Jonathan's face grew serious. "I do not know," he said, trying to look indifferent, though the question clearly disturbed him. "Ambercombie might not observe Christmas for I have given most of the staff off for the holidays."
"What?" Abigail stopped walking and stared at him, aghast. "Not observe Christmas! It is unthinkable! Come now, you must have some sort of celebration."
Jonathan shook his head. "There are not many reasons for me to celebrate," he said, without stopping.
Abigail watched him walk away, surprised. "B-but what of your relatives?" she called after him.
"I have none," replied Jonathan as he continued to walk on.
Abigail walked briskly to catch up with him, and when she did, she saw the perturbed look in his face. She was astonished by his reaction, to say the least, and wondered what she had said to upset him. It was amazing to her that he would spend Christmas alone, and that he had not a single relative to celebrate it with him.
They reached the entrance to Pemberley in silence, and when they were at the door, Jonathan held out the holly branches to Abigail. She ignored the gesture, however, for her conscience would not allow him to walk back to Ambercombie in the snow without inviting him in.
"Will you not come in and have some tea?" she asked. "You look very cold and your leg could use some rest."
Jonathan looked at her and hesitated, but in the end he agreed, and both of them stepped into the warmth of the great house. Abigail led the way to the drawing room, where all the members of her family were surprised to see her with Jonathan. They recovered quickly, however, and greeted their visitor, some more warmly than others.
"I am quite delighted to see you," said Anthony jovially. "We can certainly use your help." He looked exasperatedly at the piles of ivy, tinsel, mistletoe, and evergreen branches still waiting to be hung.
"Anthony," reproved Elizabeth, "He has not even recovered from his injury..."
"I am most willing to help, Mrs. Darcy. I am sure it will not harm my leg," said Jonathan. "In any case, how difficult can it be?"
Anthony laughed out loud, for he found the question exceedingly amusing. "My friend, you shall soon find out. Be assured, we will try not to overwork you for you have been injured." He grinned and patted Jonathan's shoulder. Abigail chuckled, and even Darcy could not suppress a smile.
Elizabeth's eyes twinkled. "You may very well regret your decision," she said, as Anthony immediately handed Jonathan one end of a long rope of ivy and tinsel and gave him instructions on what to do with it.
"So," said Anthony, while helping Jonathan hang the streamer in scallops, "When are you to decorate the manor? You only need to send word, and I will be at your service. After this favor from you, I am perfectly willing to share in your agony."
"You are fortunate," replied Jonathan, "for your services are not required at the manor. There will be no Christmas at Ambercombie."
The three other members of the family stared at him in the same way that Abigail did. Even Darcy was surprised to hear this declaration.
"Why ever not?" asked Elizabeth, quite concerned.
"I will be alone during the season," said Jonathan, trying his best to sound matter-of-fact. "There will be only a handful of servants left during the holidays."
"That is nonsense!" said Anthony, slapping him on the shoulder. "Of course, you will celebrate it with us. Did you think we would let you spend the holidays alone? What a ridiculous notion!"
"Consider this an official invitation," said Elizabeth, eagerly. "Indeed, we would be most pleased if you spent Christmas with us."
"I beg your pardon, but I cannot. My staff-"
"Your staff is invited as well," said Darcy with an air of finality.
Jonathan finally accepted, and Abigail felt vastly relieved. She could not stand the thought of him spending Christmas alone. She felt sorry for him, and wished there was more she could do. There were many things about him that intrigued her, even bothered her, but to her mind, nobody deserved to be alone.
After an hour of hard work, Jonathan and the Darcys stopped for tea, grateful for the respite. The room was slowly being transformed into a yuletide paradise, and they could not help but admire their work. The conversation naturally revolved around Christmas, and the various activities that came with it.
"Jonathan, it may be difficult to fathom at this time, but believe me, all this hard work will be duly compensated on Christmas day," said Anthony, waving his hand as if to show off the room. "You will have the time of your life, I assure you. You do skate, do you not?"
"Ah, yes, I do," replied Jonathan, with a bewildered expression on his face.
"Excellent!" said Anthony. "Then you can join the annual skatefest. It is my particular favorite."
"That is because he wins all the time," remarked Abigail. "There are many other activities, too. We have the sledding spree, the snowman-making contest, the snowball fight, caroling, story-telling, and gift-giving."
"And, if everything else fails, there is always Cook's sumptuous feast," added Elizabeth, and everyone nodded approvingly.
An idea suddenly came to Abigail, and she wondered why she had never thought of it before. "Mr. St. Vincent," she said slowly, "Will your mother not come for the holidays?"
Darcy stiffened and exchanged looks with Elizabeth.
"It is highly unlikely," Jonathan said gravely.
"Oh." Abigail's face fell, but brightened up once more. "Perhaps if you extend our invitation to her, too, she might come to Derbyshire for Christmas."
Jonathan appeared to consider the question carefully. "Perhaps. Perhaps I might just do that."