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Elizabeth stood in front of a mirror, allowing herself to be poked and prodded from every angle, albeit reluctantly. "Ouch!" she exclaimed loudly for the thousandth time that morning.
"So sorry, miss," the seamstress took the pins from her mouth and apologized with a grimace that matched Elizabeth's own. "I'll try not to poke you again."
Georgiana looked up from the mountain of fabrics in front of her. Surmising the problem in an instant, she glanced sternly at Elizabeth. "Stop fidgeting and stand still," she commanded. "It is no surprise that Mrs. Talbot keeps pricking you what with the way you keep twisting and turning about."
"I cannot help it," Elizabeth complained. "I like to see what is going on. Do not say I did not warn you. I never was one to stand idly by. I have always hated trips to the dressmaker. I grow bored and impatient very easily."
"I can see where your niece comes by her manners," Georgiana snorted. "You two are like peas in a pod."
"That is exactly what Jane says!" Elizabeth exclaimed, obviously pleased that someone out of the family should arrive at the same conclusion.
"Yes, well... Turn around and pay attention before you are pricked again!"
Elizabeth feigned a mock curtsey. "Yes, madam."
The seamstress sighed once more and waited for her patron to straighten. When Elizabeth did, the seamstress continued once more with her tucks and pinning, taking care that the tip of her pins did not touch the lady's skin.
"That really is a lovely color," Georgiana commented from behind.
"Do you think so?" Elizabeth asked uncertainly as she smoothed down the folds of the skirt. "You do not think it is too green, do you? I am still not convinced that it should not be of a paler shade."
"Oh no! It is perfect. It brings out the lovely golden flecks in your amber eyes," Georgiana reassured.
Elizabeth shrugged, "Whatever you say. I shall defer to your wisdom, of course." It had been too long since she had had the need or opportunity to buy new clothes.
It had become increasingly apparent during her week-long stay at Pemberley that her clothing was woefully inadequate. Everything she owned practically reeked of governess and was outdated. When Georgiana tactfully suggested that they visit the dressmaker this morning, Elizabeth had uncharacteristically leapt at the idea. She had a little bit of money saved and it would be a rare indulgence for her to have some new clothes. Elizabeth had to admit, she was enjoying herself.
Georgiana was too.
Once the seamstress finished altering the walking dress, Georgiana bade Elizabeth come to her side. "Now, what say you of this crimson-colored velvet? It is well-made, is it not?"
Elizabeth ran her hand up and down the bolt of cloth, caressing the soft fabric lightly. "It feels wonderful."
"And it will look wonderful on you too," Georgiana decided. "We must have it made up into a riding habit for you!"
"Oh no!" Elizabeth hurried to place a hand over Georgiana's, forestalling any movement. "No," she shook her head to emphasize her point.
Georgiana looked confused. "Why, don't be silly Elizabeth. You simply must have a riding habit. I noticed you did not have one packed with you. 'Twill be no bother to have one made up for you, especially when this velvet seems to have been made for you. It suits your complexion superbly."
"But I do not ride, Georgiana! It would be a waste of money to have a riding habit made up for me when I do not know how to ride a horse."
Georgiana looked incredulously at Elizabeth. "Truly? You do not know how to ride a horse?"
"Honestly," Elizabeth swore.
"It is not that you dislike riding, is it?"
Elizabeth shrugged carelessly, not understanding why this should be a big deal. "I never learned how to ride a horse," she admitted. "Jane did, and Kitty too. Mary was afraid of the horses, and Lydia was always afraid she would mess up her dresses. I, on the other hand... well I always preferred to walk. Besides, it never seemed to be a real necessity and anyhow, our stable was small and horses were difficult to spare. Walking was far more convenient to riding."
Georgiana patted Elizabeth's hand sympathetically. "That's all right dear. We shall have that riding habit made anyway. I do hate to see a good piece of cloth go to waste and this one clearly has your name written on it. Richard can teach you how to ride. Why, he and my brother taught me how to ride."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes for Georgiana was obviously a single-minded shopper. "We will pass on the riding habit," she insisted. "I will not be staying at Pemberley that long and when I return to the Moffet's, I shall have little reason to know how to ride a horse. The riding habit, though pretty it might be, will be a waste."
Georgiana narrowed her eyes in thought. She was sure her brother would say differently when he finally arrived, but of course Elizabeth had no knowledge of those plans. Well, she would let the matter rest for now, but she was determined that Elizabeth would have her riding habit when the time came.
"Well, all right then. If you insist," Georgiana answered complacently. "Have a look at these fashion plates, Elizabeth," she continued, her tone changing as though an altercation had never taken place.
Elizabeth took a quick peek, noting that looking was not quite the same thing as buying. "What lovely evening gowns!"
"Do you like them?"
"I do," Elizabeth answered enthusiastically, thinking that Georgiana was considering having one made up for herself.
"Which one is your favorite?" Georgiana asked.
Elizabeth thought for a moment before pointing to the last one on the left. Georgiana considered the choices one more time before agreeing with Elizabeth. "A fine choice. Fine! We will have that one made up for you."
Before Elizabeth could protest, Georgiana had waved the seamstress over. Ever efficient, Mrs. Talbot did not waste a moment before she took Elizabeth in hand and trundled her back onto the block to be measured one more time. Once there, however, Elizabeth made her objections known.
"You cannot be serious, Georgiana. It is too dear! I have no need for a ball gown."
Georgiana merely waved aside the protestations and had a side discussion with the seamstress to look over the fabrics they would use. Georgiana chose a cream colored silk, embroidered with fine golden filigree. Once made up, the dress would be stunning. Georgiana could not wait to see the finished product.
"Georgiana," Elizabeth stomped impatiently. "I do not need an evening gown," she insisted again. It was infuriating, knowing that Georgiana was not paying attention to anything she had to say.
Georgiana finished her meeting with the seamstress and as she helped Elizabeth dress back into her own clothes, sought to soothe her friend's temper. "Of course you do, Elizabeth."
"I most certainly do not! When, pray tell, will I be attending a ball?"
Georgiana looked incredulously at Elizabeth. "Why, next month, of course!"
"Next month?" It was Elizabeth's turn to look astonished.
"Yes, next month! For Richard's and my wedding anniversary. Surely you knew about it, Elizabeth."
"No, I did not," Elizabeth answered earnestly. "In truth, I had not expected to stay so long at Pemberley. Surely I will have overstayed my welcome by then."
"Nonsense! You cannot have been planning such a short visit, Elizabeth. You have only just arrived. Mary will be heartbroken if you leave so soon. You have no reason to go and every reason to stay. You, yourself, said that the Moffet's were not expected to return to England until the end of summer."
"That is true," Elizabeth answered slowly.
"Then it is settled," Georgiana smiled. "You will stay at least until next month, for the ball."
"For the ball..." Elizabeth repeated. "Oh, but the dress is so expensive and quite out of my means! I cannot afford the expense."
"Pish, posh. What utter nonsense you do spout, Elizabeth. One can always afford to have another evening gown."
"But, Georgiana, I do not need another evening gown. I know that what little you have seen of my wardrobe might suggest otherwise, but I really do already have a dress suitable for the occasion. The Moffet's always included me in their social engagements at home and I keep a dress in preparation."
"A lady can never have one too many dresses," Georgiana spouted as though it were a scripture. "Now turn around so Mrs. Talbot can measure you properly."
"Georgiana, you are not listening," Elizabeth complained.
"But of course I am! If you are to be so stubborn, let me present it to you as a gift," Georgiana entreated. "Indeed, it would make me so very happy if you would let me do this for you."
"I cannot accept such a gift," Elizabeth murmured. "It is much too dear and why, it could hardly be called proper."
"Of course you can, and you know it will be a pretty gown once it is done. How can you resist such temptation?"
Elizabeth bit her lower lip, fraught with indecision. Georgiana saw that Elizabeth was on the precipice of accepting and pressed it to her advantage. "Please? Elizabeth? If you dare to argue with me, I shall become most hurt and angry."
Georgiana pouted and batted her eyelashes prettily, and Elizabeth knew it was a lost cause. Her friend did it with such ease and lack of artifice that she knew Georgiana had much practice and was used to getting her way. "Oh, all right. If it will make you that happy, I will let you have your way. I will not have it said that I caused my hostess displeasure."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Georgiana cried out, hugging Elizabeth as though she were just a child. "You will not regret this. I promise you."
A walking dress, morning dress, afternoon dress, and an evening gown later, Elizabeth and Georgiana finally called for the carriage and headed towards home with some of their packages piled up beside them; the rest would be sent to Pemberley later. They were exhausted.
"Goodness gracious, when you suggested we go shopping I did not think that would take all morning long! I am bushed."
Georgiana chuckled. "Admit it. Tiresome though it may have been, you had fun."
"Fun? To be poked and prodded, clothed and unclothed, pricked and coerced? Surely you jest!"
The twinkle in her eyes, gave Elizabeth away. "You will not make me feel guilty for dragging you along," Georgiana laughed. "I know you enjoyed yourself and even if you will not admit it, I will still know it."
Elizabeth joined in the laughter. "You are right. I did have fun, but I could not help myself. No doubt, I will begin to think differently when the bill arrives though," Elizabeth grinned wryly. "But no matter, I will not dwell on such thought. It has been a long time since I have allowed myself the luxury of dressing well and I refuse to feel guilty for this morning's lapse."
"Good for you! Besides, I do not know why you don't pamper yourself more often," Georgiana wondered. "You are so attractive. I would think that you would want pretty things so as to draw attention to yourself."
"Draw attention to myself?" Elizabeth squawked. "Do you think me so vain, Georgiana?"
"Nay," Georgiana laughed. "You are the least vain person I know. Only, I cannot help but wonder. I have seen you with the children and I know how well you interact with them. I can only guess then that the Moffet girls adore you and by the way you talk about them, I can tell you adore them. With so much love that you obviously have for children, I wonder why you have never married and had your own."
This serious turn in the conversation came as an abrupt change and Elizabeth let the silence draw out before she answered in kind. "To be sure, I adore children. And I would be lying if I said I did not yearn for children of my own. But what woman does not want children?"
Georgiana could think of plenty of women amongst her acquaintances who were only too happy to hand their children off to their nannies and governesses, but did not say so. "So what has stopped you from achieving that dream?"
Elizabeth laughed nervously. "Georgiana, having had a son of your own, surely you must know how it works," she teased, trying to lighten the conversation. "I could not possibly have a child on my own."
Georgiana blushed. "That was not... er... exactly... ahem... what I was asking."
"I know," Elizabeth answered, taking pity on the young woman. "You are asking why I never married."
"I apologize if I am broaching a sensitive subject," Georgiana said tentatively. "I only wish to understand how it is a woman such as yourself could be unmarried. You are handsome, talented, intelligent, and have a very pleasing manner. What man could find fault in that?"
"A lack of dowry?" Elizabeth joked.
"With all your other charming qualities, someone must have been willing to overlook that little bit, no?"
Yes, Elizabeth thought, your brother... before I spurned his attentions and threw away my one chance at true happiness.
Elizabeth sighed. This was turning into a much more difficult conversation than expected. "I have had several offers," she admitted, "but none that ever induced me to accept them."
Knowing she was prying, Georgiana ploughed on. "And might I inquire as to why they were so undesirable?"
Elizabeth breathed in sharply, and Georgiana pretended not to hear it. "I did not love them," Elizabeth answered simply, finally. "I could not imagine spending the rest of my life with them."
Surely she cannot be speaking of Fitzwilliam, Georgiana pondered. She loves him still; I am sure of it.
Georgiana opened her mouth to speak again, but Elizabeth cut in swiftly. "Ah, would you look at those towering cliffs of rocks over there, Georgiana? What a sharp contrast they are to the verdant grass, don't you think?" she asked, effectively putting an end to any more questions Georgiana might have asked.
"Ah yes. The moors," Georgiana answered gloomily, disappointed that the conversation had to end just when it was getting good.
Somewhere in France...
Darcy stood beside the window, staring out into the darkened night. He brushed aside the scalloped edges of the curtain one more time and wondered how much longer he had to endure such tedious company. Not bothering to look heavenward, he turned to flick a glance towards his friend, Lord Kingston. Henry seemed preoccupied with the buxom brunette draped over his arms, and Darcy sighed. It seemed they would be here yet another while.
The lady of the establishment glided towards Darcy with flute of straw-colored liquid. Having been rebuffed twice, she was not afraid of being turned away thrice. Especially when his clothing and stature clearly marked him as a wealthy gentleman with much to offer. His two friends had not hesitated to launch themselves into amusement. Perhaps all that this one required was a little bit more persuasion. She was very good at persuading, she thought with a grin.
"Your friend seems to be enjoying himself very well this evening."
"Yes," he noted dryly, "he does."
"We can only hope that your friend above stairs is likewise enjoying himself this evening."
"We can only guess."
"They do not seem to be in a hurry to leave," the madam observed.
"No, I gather not."
The madam was not put off by the gentleman's terse answers. "Are you sure, my dear sir, that you will not let yourself indulge in the delightful refreshments I can offer you this evening?" she coyly asked in husky French.
"I thank you, madam, you are most kind and considerate but I believe I already passed... twice."
"Ah, but monsieur, you are still standing here, are you not?" When Darcy did not answer, she tipped him on the nose with the edge of her lacy fan and swirled away, taking care that the swish of her skirt brushed against the top of his boots.
"When you change your mind, monsieur, do let me know," she cooed. "I would be happy to take care of all your needs."
Darcy raised his eyebrows with no doubt that she would, and eagerly too. Left alone, he turned back to the window and to the street. He watched a black carriage drive past and wished he could be that horse, with not a care in the world but the burdened carriage he pulled. Anything was better than where he was now.
In truth, Darcy was not even sure why he was where he was at the moment. The night had started out like every other night in Paris. As in London, Darcy usually attended rout after rout until the last one ended and he went home, finally exhausted and mind numb from all the frivolous conversations he was forced to endure. Tonight, however, Darcy did not go straight home.
Earlier that evening, Darcy had attended a party thrown by the Duke of Belmore, who happened to be taking an extended vacation on the continent with his duchess. It was there that Darcy ran into his two good friends, Lord Kingston and the Honorable Mr. Witherspoon, who were fortunately also living in Paris at the moment.
Her Grace, the Duchess of Belmore, had tried to set them up with the young ladies. "Please, gentleman," she had asked them, "will you not take to the dance floor this evening? You three are all so handsome and dashing, I am sure you would have the pretty, young ladies blushing and stammering in a minute, if you would but glance their way."
The gentleman, however, much too experienced for the duchess's tactics and knew better than to fall into her trapping web of compliments.
"You mean to say, Your Grace, that they would not run us down like the mob?" Henry teased. "I am crushed!"
The Duchess of Belmore looked properly scandalized by the suggestion. "My lord! The young ladies are much too well-bred for such unseemly behavior," she sniffed with her superior air.
"And therein lies the problem," Marcus Witherspoon whispered to the earl.
Darcy, always the more formal, if not dutiful, member of the triumvirate - starchy, as Henry and Marcus liked to call it - sketched a low bow. "I thank you, Your Grace. You are kind to have paid us such consideration, but I fear my friends and I are not inclined to dance anymore this evening."
It was a polite reminder that they had each done their duty and taken a turn on the dance floor once, and was not about to succumb to society's pressure and put their aching feet on the line again.
"But my good sir, amongst the three of you, you have danced only four dances! Gentleman are scarce this evening, and more than one lady is in want of a partner," she reminded them.
The gentleman declined once more, politely of course. Having done all that she could, the duchess walked away, not a little bit put out.
"Demmed tedious, if you ask me," Henry averred. "Always being expected to dance at these balls. Why must we even have balls?" he finally threw out there. "I swear balls were invented by women who wanted to put men through hell."
"If I wanted to dance attendance on young chits, I would have stayed in London," Marcus declared. "Lord knows there are tons of them there without me having to come to Paris to search them out."
Darcy, as usual, merely answered in silence and scowled. Then again, he had a better excuse for skirting the marriage trap. He had already entered it once, thereby done his duty. His friends, on the other hand, had outwitted marriage time and time again, thereby increasing the ton's fervent desire to see them married.
"Now that we have already gone and blown off the duchess, why don't we hie ourselves over to Madame du Lac's?" Marcus had then suggested. "It's early yet and we'll surely find something to occupy ourselves for the rest of the night with all that Madame du Lac has to offer."
"A fine idea, Marcus" Henry agreed. "We have not been there since Darcy, here, blew into town and I dare say we've stood here long enough. What say you, Darce? You coming with us?"
Not exactly looking forward to a night of debauchery and revelries, Darcy was less inclined to cut the evening short when he knew that all he had to look forward to at home were his thoughts and imaginations. The last thing Darcy wanted to do was spend an evening with his own crazed mind, one that persisted in conjuring up images of his dead wife.
"Sure, sounds like a good plan to me. I'm game."
And so the three gentlemen had ended up at Madame du Lac's doorstep, where Marcus was promptly led upstairs by a curvaceous seductress named Gabriella and Henry had opted for the gaming tables, where Rosalie was keeping him company with a bottomless bottle of fine champagne until he was ready to accompany her above stairs.
Darcy, on the other hand, had rejected the company of both women and cards. All he really wanted was peace and quiet, and he was clearly not about to find that at Madame du Lac's. Darcy sighed again. He was better off going home. He was obviously not fit company for his friends tonight. Seeing that Henry had finished his game and was about to head upstairs, Darcy hurried to step forward so that he could waylay his friend for a moment.
Keeping one arm around Rosalie, or his "darling Rose," as he liked to call her, Henry smiled at his friend. "What is this, Darce? No ladybird for you this evening?" Darcy opened his mouth to say something, but before he could answer, Henry held up a hand. "No, no, do not say it. I know your answer too well. 'They are tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me.' Fess up, old man, you know that's what you always say."
Darcy supposed it was true, he said it often enough, but he was not about to be dragged into a dissertation on the matter. Nor did he suspect that his friend wanted to what with the way Henry was brushing Rosalie's backside in an intimate manner.
"I just wanted to let you and Marcus know that I am headed for home."
"Oh, but Darce! The night is young! If you will not accept feminine delights this evening, at least try a hand at the tables. You always have the most maddening touch of luck with cards."
Darcy shook his head. "Sorry, Henry. Not tonight. The hour grows late and I have an important meeting in the morning."
"Excuses, excuses," Henry ground out sadly. "Well, I won't keep you if you're sure you will not stay. Can't waste anymore time on you when I've got other matters to attend to," he waggled his eyebrows at Rosalie who put a hand to Henry's chest and leaned up to purr in his ear.
Henry laughed at the tickle and swept her up in his arms. As he climbed the stairs, he called back down, "Marcus and I will see you tomorrow night for another evening of fun!"
"I can't wait," Darcy muttered underneath his breath as he stepped outside and jammed his hat onto the top of his head.
The butler handed him his cane and Darcy swung it around for good measure as he began the long walk back to his apartment. It was a warm evening and the air was fresh. Darcy breathed in deeply, glad to be breathing something other than the musky perfume prevalent in Madame du Lac's garish parlor. It was a good night with fine weather. The walk back to his apartment was the perfect time to clear his head and all in all, Darcy was glad he had decided to forego a hackney.
Darcy had about three more blocks to go when he first caught sight of her. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, and he rubbed his eyes in weariness. He was probably more tired than he thought he was. But when he turned to look, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the white flounce of her hem. It wasn't his imagination! He promptly ran in its direction. The hem disappeared around the bend, and Darcy quickened his pace, obviously determined not to let it out of his sight.
At each turn of the corner, Darcy was treated to a sight of that elusive and tantalizing hem. It was always just out of his reach, and Darcy would hasten his steps even more. Round and around, Darcy was led through a maze of Paris streets. At one point, he even found himself staring into an alleyway, empty but for the rats scurrying from one end to the other. He thought he had lost his lead. But, when he turned around, there it was again. The white hem. And so, the search continued.
Darcy was led down one street and then another. When he turned the last corner and found no sight of the snow-colored hem, Darcy found that he was standing, of all places, at his own doorway. He had lost again! He put his hand up against the door, leaned over panting, and tried to catch his breath. Miserably, Darcy thought that perhaps it had been his imagination after all.
Darcy banged his angered fist, not once but twice, against the wooden door. He could have smashed it down. He could have ripped his hair out by the roots. He could have stomped his booted legs in ample frustration. Instead, he howled his agonies to the moon. Would this madness never cease?
A shuttered window opened up above. An angry Frenchman with balding hair leaned out and, in a stream of French invectives, demanded that Darcy cease his earsplitting behavior immediately. Darcy was too busy venting his frustration to notice. It took the Frenchman's wife, in her frilled nightcap, to shut Darcy up. She succeeded in doing so by pouring out a bowl of frigid water out the window and onto Darcy. Shaking off the water drops, Darcy gave thanks that she had not thought to empty the contents of their chamber pot.
Trembling in his cold and drenched clothes, Darcy trudged up to his apartment where he immediately peeled off layer upon layer of clothing until he sat covered in only a blanket in front of the hearth fire. Shivering, with his teeth chattering, Darcy lay down to warm his body and soul. Fatigued and drained, it was there that Darcy finally fell asleep and dreamt about Anne.
Anne and her white hem.
Summer came quickly to Derbyshire. The paper whites and daffodils of spring gave way to the white lupines, blue foxglove, and wild roses of summer. The children were there to see each and every change take place. For every day, without fail, they closeted themselves in the Secret Garden, egging it on with their labor and love.
The garden was not the only thing to undergo a grand transformation. The changes in Colin were equally astounding. The servants of Pemberley were continuously surprised by the alterations in his temper. It was as if they walked around fearing for the day that he would revert back to his foul humor, and were unwilling to believe their good fortune. If Colin ever suspected their lack of faith, he did not let it show. Having Mary and Dickon's faith was enough.
Every morning, Dickon pushed Colin's wheelchair to the garden while Mary ran alongside it. At first, Colin had spent all his time in his chair while he watched the others work the soil. Bored and his interest piqued, he requested that he be allowed to join in. Dickon good-naturedly offer to help lift him from his chair so that he could kneel on the ground and work alongside him and Mary. The offer was immediately accepted and ever since that day, Colin had worked on his share of the garden.
When spring came to Derbyshire, their hard work paid off and the children were justly rewarded. It was summer now and the children were still enjoying the fruits of their labor. Having succeeded in bringing the garden back to life, they had turned their attention elsewhere. Colin had expressed an interest in learning how to walk again and Dickon and Mary had jumped eagerly into the task.
It seemed as if just learning how to stand upright without anyone to lean on would be the hardest lesson until it came time for Colin to take his first step. When that was mastered, it seemed as if learning how to walk without any help would be the hardest lesson. Each step provided new challenges, each one harder than the last. It was easy to lapse into discouragement, but Mary was always there to cheer him on and Dickon was there to provide the strength. Together, Mary and Dickon would not let Colin sink back into his shadows. They egged him on until one day he could walk an entire length with only the help of some string, which Dickon had tied between two trees. It was a momentous occasion and was celebrated with stolen cakes and flasks of lemonade from the kitchen.
Having accomplished that, Colin was determined to walk by himself without the help of a rope. Months later, with the sweat of summer on his brow, he finally accomplished the task that had so many months before seemed impossible. It was hard to say who glowed with greater pride: Colin with his child-like face of amazement and disbelief, Mary with her barely contained rapture, or Dickon with pride that only an older cousin could feel.
As proud as they were of Colin's accomplishments, his newfound ability was guarded as tightly as the Secret Garden itself. It was Colin's deepest and fondest wish that his father be the first one to witness his grand transformation. Every night, before he went to bed, Colin prayed that his father would come home.
Three hours ago, Elizabeth had set out for her daily morning walk. Just as she had been passing the drawing room, Georgiana had accosted her.
"This will only take a moment," Georgiana had promised. "You have such a lovely taste for these sorts of things that I want to know what you think. I'm trying to decide what color to hang in the ballroom and I think I have narrowed it down to a few," she had explained. "Would you help me choose a color?"
Fully believing that she would only have to choose between a selection of two colors, Elizabeth had readily agreed. She was unprepared for what she would encounter once she actually stepped foot into the drawing room. Not a corner of the furniture had been left uncovered. Yards of material in every color of the rainbow and in between had been draped over the settee, end tables, footstools, writing table, and highboys.
"What do you think of this pale green? I think it becoming, but Sarah thinks not," Georgiana gestured towards the maid cowering in the corner. "Mrs. Reynolds suggested this russet color, but I wondered if that would be too stark a contrast with this lovely white which I also intend to use."
Gold, forest green, lavender, pale yellow, seafoam green, sapphire blue, silver, ruby, three hours later, Elizabeth's eyes were still a kaleidoscope of colors.
Grateful for the brief interruption when one of the servants had fetched Georgiana to consult her on some matter or another in the ballroom, Elizabeth had quickly fetched her bonnet and made her escape. Now, as she stood outside, breathing in deeply the fresh bouts of air, Elizabeth felt a small wonder of success. She was determined to get as far away as she could before Georgiana could find her to consult with her about the menu.
Elizabeth had just finished passing through the blooming rhododendron walk and was about to make it past the formal gardens when she turned a corner and came face to face with Mrs. Reynolds who was walking her away. Elizabeth quickly whipped herself back to where she had come from before Mrs. Reynolds could see her. Leaning against the tall hedgerow, she contemplated her options. With much chagrin, Elizabeth realized that she had nowhere to hide, unless she wanted to try and pass herself off as a stone sculpture and she didn't think that would work.
Elizabeth slunk her way back out onto the path, her head hung, half-resigned to having to return to the house with Mrs. Reynolds.
"Ah, Miss Bennet!" the housekeeper cheerfully called out. "I did not know you were out and about. Taking a walk, I see?"
Elizabeth nodded her head. "Well, I can't blame you," Mrs. Reynolds took Elizabeth's hand, patting it sympathetically. "When Miss Georgiana gets an idea into her head, it can be dangerous."
"I had no idea," Elizabeth exhaled loudly, feeling much more relieved as she realized that Mrs. Reynolds was there to commiserate and not to fetch her back into the house.
Mrs. Reynolds smiled indulgently, "She's just like her mother. Always the consummate hostess. This fete is especially important to Miss Georgiana. Why, there hasn't been an event quite like it at Pemberley since... goodness, I don't even remember when! Guests will be coming not just because it is another grand social event but to also satisfy their curiosities about a house that has not been open to the public for many years now."
"I had no idea this was such a grand occasion," it was not the first time that day that Elizabeth felt overwhelmed.
"You will have to take your breathers whenever you can find the time," Mrs. Reynolds encouraged. That said, she patted Elizabeth affectionately once more and sent her on her way.
"I shall try and distract Miss Georgiana. She will be so preoccupied with whatever she is doing right now that I am sure she will not even realize that you have left the house until it is too late to call you back."
Elizabeth expressed her gratitude before resuming her walk. Having cleared the formal gardens, she continued down a stone-lined path.
Elizabeth vaguely remembered another time when she had walked along the same path. She smiled now at the memory of her happier days. Her first walk at Pemberley had quickly turned into the first of many. If only things had continued as they had. If only... Elizabeth was growing weary of thinking such thoughts.
Without even thinking, she began to subconsciously walk in the direction of the rose garden she had so admired the last time she had been at Pemberley. For weeks she had been trying to visit it, but something had always prevented her from doing so. If it wasn't Georgiana insisting that Elizabeth join her in doing something or other, then it was the children who were demanding her attention. For the first time since she had come to Pemberley, Elizabeth had made her escape, and she was glad because visiting the rose garden was something she wanted to do alone.
As Elizabeth neared her destination, she heard children's voices. Though faint, they sounded familiar. There was a shout of hurrah, and Elizabeth could have sworn that was Dickon's voice. Giggling and a groan followed, and Elizabeth knew they belonged to Mary and Colin, respectively. She was wondering where they were hiding when she came up against a stone wall. Elizabeth stared at in confusion. She did not remember a wall being there before.
Sidestepping the erected barrier, Elizabeth found an open crack in it and poked her head inside the door. The first thing she saw was a yellow and purple-speckled butterfly flit past her nose. The second thing she saw was her haven of paradise and the children frolicking in its midst. Dickon was the first to take note of the visitor and it was difficult to say who was more confused - him or her.
"Miss Bennet," he managed to stammer.
Mary, who had been running behind him, ran into him. "Aunt Elizabeth," she expelled, as she tripped over Dickon.
Surprisingly, it was Colin who first managed to find his voice. "Please, Miss Bennet, please don't tell on us."
Her turn to look surprised, Elizabeth said, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand, children. Why is this garden all locked up, and what are you afraid I might tattle about?"
"Well," Mary dug her toes into the ground, "the thing is we're not really supposed to be in here. Actually, no one is. Mr. Darcy had the garden locked up and no one's been in it for years."
"Really?" Elizabeth asked in amazement. "You wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at it." Her eyes circled the garden. "It's so lovely in here."
"Well we've been working hard at it," Mary explained. "I found the key and I couldn't resist. I begged Dickon to help me and he didn't have much of a choice but to help," she said, trying to take the blame.
Dickon was having none of that, though. "I was happy to be a part of Mary's secret. I have always wondered about the garden and it was such a treat to finally be able to enter it."
"Yes, I'm sure it was," Elizabeth said slowly. She'd taken to walking along the perimeter of the garden. It was just as it had been all those years ago. It brought back so many memories, such sweet and aching memories. She lovingly caressed a tree trunk and looked up into its boughs. The birdhouse was long gone, blown away by the wind perhaps, but Elizabeth could still picture it there with all the birds flapping around it, trying to get to the birdseed.
"You won't tell anyone what we've done will you," Mary begged her aunt, coming up to stand beside her. "We really meant no harm and we haven't done anything bad to the garden. We just couldn't stand to see it go to so much waste."
"No," Elizabeth agreed in a trance-like voice. "It would be a shame."
If she closed her eyes, she could see them still. Running around and laughing shamelessly. Hiding behind tree trunks as they played a ruthless game of cat and mouse. Elizabeth had never seen him so uninhibited as he had been when it had been just the two of them ensconced in the garden. Standing in the garden, Elizabeth felt as though it could have been yesterday. Had it really been so long ago?
She opened her eyes and stared straight into his.
"Colin," she said softly.
Elizabeth would have walked over to him, but Colin waved her off. "Wait, Miss Bennet. Don't move. I want to come to you." Standing from his chair, he teetered a little from nervousness. Mary rushed to his side, but Colin kept her away too. Elizabeth stared in amazed silence as she watched Colin walk towards her. She caught him up in her arms when he stopped in front of her.
"You darling boy," she praised. "How did you ever manage such a thing? Why haven't you told anybody? This is such a wonderful thing. Your family will be so happy to see you walking again!"
Colin let himself be squashed against Elizabeth. It felt right, being there, in her arms. He hugged her back. "It was the garden," he explained. "Mary and Dickon would come back every day and tell me stories about the garden and the work they'd done on it. I wanted to see it too, so I persuaded them to take me outside. We started coming every day. At first, all I did was watch them work. But then, I wanted to get my hands dirty too."
"Of course you did," Elizabeth laughed. She did not know of a single boy who did not like to get himself all messed up.
"As I worked alongside Mary and Dickon, I realized that I wanted to do more than just sit there on the ground with them. I wanted to do everything they could do. I wanted to walk."
"It wasn't easy," Dickon said, coming up to stand beside his cousin and put a proud arm around Colin's shoulders. "But Colin never let up."
"Even when he fell flat on his face," Mary giggled.
Colin and Dickon shot her a sharp glare. "Pay no attention to her, boys," Elizabeth admonished. "I think this is wonderful. You must be very proud of your achievement, Colin."
Colin nodded his head shyly. "And the two of you," she said, turning to Dickon and Mary, "are to be commended on all your help."
"But why," she asked again, "have you not said anything to your aunt and uncle?"
"I want to keep it a secret," Colin told her. "I want my father to be the first to know. Can you imagine what he'll think when he sees me walking for the first time? He'll be so surprised and happy, I hope. I hope he'll never want to leave me again when he sees that I'm a normal boy again."
Elizabeth sighed. She had tried, just as she knew that Georgiana, the Colonel, and Mrs. Reynolds had tried to no avail, to explain to Colin that his illness was not the impetus for Darcy's frequent trips abroad. So all she said instead was, "I'm sure your father will be elated when he sees how well you are doing. It will be the perfect homecoming present and one I'm sure he'll never forget."
"So you'll keep our secret and you won't tell on us?" Mary tugged on her aunt's arm.
Elizabeth looked down into all three hopeful faces and sighed. "I know this is wrong, for you have admitted that you have broken a rule. And I confess, I don't really understand why this garden is locked or how you came about to breaking in. But you have done such lovely work in here and it would be a shame to see it otherwise. So... I guess I will keep your secret for you, especially given Colin's situation. I, too, think it would be a wonderful surprise for your father to be the first to see you walking again."
"Hurrah!" the children shouted as they jumped up and down with glee.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you so much," the chanted.
"And in return," Mary edged over and said ever so slyly, "you may come down any time you want and walk in our garden."
"Your garden?" Elizabeth flicked the end of her niece's nose playfully.
"The secret garden," Mary corrected.
"I thank you in advance for your invitation then," Elizabeth said, knowing full well that she would be back. Even if she had not wanted to return to the garden, she knew that she was unaccountably drawn to it and would always cave in to her sweet memories.
"Just take care that no one is following you and sees you slip inside," Colin warned.
"I will." Elizabeth looked up at the sun and guessed at the growing late hour. "We should probably return to the house before your aunt sets the footmen on a search for our bodies. I dare say she's probably wondering where we all are right now."
She was not far off from the truth.
The children scrambled to gather their things and ushered Elizabeth out first so that they could lock the door behind them and hide the key back in its hidey-hole. Then, rushing ahead, they headed back for the house with Elizabeth following more slowly behind.
Until the garden walls were out of their sight, Elizabeth kept turning around as if expecting them to disappear. It seemed strange, she thought, that they should be there. It had not always been like that. Yet, the children said that he had built the walls and then forbade anyone from entering it again. With a niggling feeling in the back of her head, Elizabeth wondered about what had happened inside the garden to provoke such a drastic reaction.
Just as Elizabeth had predicted, Georgiana was in the front foyer and had just emerged from her preparations for the ball, and was about to send for help when she realized that no one was in the house but her.
"Ah, there you all are. I was wondering where you had all gone off to."
"We were out," Dickon explained, giving their customary explanation for their daily disappearance.
"I went for a walk and ran into the children. They were showing me around the grounds and we lost track of time," Elizabeth said easily.
"Well, we might as well ring for refreshments. I'm famished! I hadn't realized that the morning had passed by so quickly. I'm sorry if I've been neglecting you lately, Elizabeth. These preparations are so consuming!"
"Not at all," Elizabeth rushed to reassure. "I'm sorry I haven't been of more help to you. I couldn't resist the allure of the outdoors though. Your family home has such lovely landscaping, and I've always admired it."
Georgiana smiled in answer while the children squirmed in their chairs. They would have preferred to discuss something other than the gardens. Georgiana noticed their fidgeting and dismissed them to the kitchen.
"No doubt our conversation bores you," she said to the children. "You might as well hie yourselves off to the kitchen and see if Cook doesn't have something sweeter to tempt your palette."
With such a tempting treat, the children scrambled off eagerly. The subject of the Pemberley grounds were dropped for the time being, only to be picked up again later that evening when the family had finished their dinner and removed to the sitting room.
The Colonel was reading his newspaper and Georgiana was sewing another one of her silk screens. The children were huddled over a chessboard. It was a battle between the males, with Mary jumping in every so often and being scolded at for her troubles. Elizabeth had retired to one of the window benches with a book she'd picked out earlier from the Pemberley library.
Georgiana lifted her head from her delicate task and rubbed her eyes. That's when she noticed that Elizabeth had let her book slip and was not concentrating on the darkness outside. Curiosity prompted her to ask, "What is it outside that has you so enraptured?"
"Hm?" Elizabeth turned her head around, surprised to be addressed. "Oh," she said absently, "I was just thinking about something that I came across today."
"Really? What about it?"
"It was a garden," she said. "It was all locked up. I don't remember it being like that before."
The Colonel peered over his newspaper and exchanged glances with his wife. There was some chair scraping from the children's corner. Still, Elizabeth forged on. "It just seemed a little curious to me. I wondered why it was like that. It used to be such a beautiful garden. It made me a little sad to see it closed to visitors. I ran across the children near there this afternoon."
Several chessmen went tumbling to the floor creating a crashing aberration in the background. "Mary," Dickon hissed.
"Sorry," she hissed back. "I lost my footing." The three children cast furtive glances towards Elizabeth.
The Colonel twisted around and called over his shoulder, "You children have been edgy all night long. Is everything all right?"
It was then that Elizabeth realized what she was doing and woke up from her dazed state. Not wanting to give away the children's secret, she hastened to say, "They caught me trying to find a way into the garden, but they reassured me that it is completely locked up and there is no way in. They said that Mr. Darcy had built the walls, locked the door, and forbidden anyone to enter it ever again."
"Yes," the Colonel corroborated the story. "That's pretty much what happened."
"But why?" Elizabeth asked. "It doesn't make sense. It was the most beautiful garden at Pemberley. Why ruin such a beautiful thing like that?"
Georgiana looked helplessly at her husband. What could they say to Elizabeth without scaring her off and ruining everything?
"You've been in the Secret Garden before?" It was Mary who asked the question. Both Dickon and Colin were sitting forward in their seats, eager to latch onto whatever the adults had to say.
"Mm-hm," Elizabeth nodded her head. "A long time ago when I visited Pemberley. The garden was not locked up back then."
"How exciting, Aunt Elizabeth!"
"Children," Georgiana swirled around in her seat. "It's getting late. Why don't you run out and see if Mrs. Reynolds can help put you to bed. The Colonel and I will be along shortly to say good-night."
"Aw, Mother, must we?" Dickon whined.
"Little boys need lots of sleep if they are to grow up to be big boys."
"Can we not stay up a little longer?" Colin pleaded.
"Not tonight. Now come on, no sense in dawdling."
"But we want..."
The Colonel cut off whatever it was Dickon was about to say. "Listen to your mother, son." His voice brooked no opposition.
"Yes, sir." Colin and Mary slunk out the door behind Dickon.
"Good-night," Elizabeth called out.
"Good-night," came three grumbling replies.
"Children," Georgiana chuckled. "They always hate bedtimes."
"It's not just children," Elizabeth laughed. "I have a hard time going to bed too. I do hate to see the day come to an end. Sometimes, you never know if you'll still have tomorrow what you had today," she sighed.
"The garden," Georgiana began as she tentatively made her way back around to the original point of discussion. She gave up and looked beseechingly at her husband.
"The wall was not always there," he said after a few helpless moments of silence, starting out with the obvious.
"It was built after your visit," Georgiana picked up.
"I gathered that much," Elizabeth could not resist saying dryly.
"Yes well," Georgiana said falteringly, "my brother had the wall built at a time when... he was hurt and frustrated."
Elizabeth sat up straight and with no small amount of confusion. "Isn't it rather extreme?"
"Not to Darcy," the Colonel defended. "The garden served as a painful reminder of happier times. He wasn't willing to raze it completely, so instead he had a garden wall built around it."
"I see," Elizabeth said. Though she was not sure to what the Colonel was referring, she surmised that it had something to do with his departed wife.
"Poor Mr. Darcy," she murmured. "That would have been difficult, indeed," she said, thinking of him overcome with a considerable amount of grief and acting our irrationally during his newly widowed state.
"Yes, well," Georgiana said as she licked her lips, unsure of what to say.
"I think I will retire for the evening if you will excuse me," Elizabeth rose suddenly. These new revelations were a lot to swallow and she wanted to be alone as she sorted through them.
"Of course, Elizabeth. I hope you have pleasant dreams. We will see you on the morrow."
"Good-night," the Colonel added. Together, he and his wife watched Elizabeth leave the room and climb the stairs.
"Richard," Georgiana turned to her husband. "Based on her reaction to our explanation, I think Elizabeth has a misguided notion about Fitzwilliam and the garden. Do you think we should have corrected her?"
The Colonel took his wife's hand into his own and patted it comfortingly. "I think so too. But, perhaps it's better this way. I don't know if Elizabeth could handle the truth."
"No, I don't either," Georgiana answered thoughtfully. "I was afraid the truth would overwhelm her."
"We shall take things slowly then," the Colonel decreed. "We shall answer any questions Elizabeth might ask, but refrain from giving her any more information than necessary. Does that sound amenable to you?"
"Everything you say sounds amenable to me," his wife answered saucily.
"I would have you remember that tomorrow when I am sure you will find something to disagree with me about," the Colonel avowed.
Georgiana chuckled. "Then you shall have to endeavor to not do anything disagreeable tomorrow!"
"You little imp," her husband scolded as he lunged towards her. Georgiana giggled as they went chasing after one another up the stairs.
Somewhere in France...
An inexplicable torrent of force led him through the formal gardens, past the ornamental shade trees, down the carefully manicured lawns, away from the house. Moisture clung to the air and dripped from the yew trees flanking the gravel path. Gossamer drifted gently through the morning air. His hand drew up to brush it absently aside. His shuffling steps left a trail through the cobwebbed grass, and tiny droplets of dew dripped onto his old felt hat as he brushed beneath a low hanging branch. Hypnotized, he walked on until he could go no farther, halting in front of a fortress. Reaching to pull the thick and heavy strands of ivy aside, he found the door already unlocked. Surprised, he pushed on it and found that the door opened effortlessly. He stepped purposefully through it, bending over in the process so as to fit himself through the low and narrow doorway.
He straightened his gait and abruptly stood transfixed. It had been so long since he had last stood in its midst. With stunning realization, he saw that the garden had never looked as lovely as it did today. Every bower was filled with perfect, petite rosebuds, every flowerbed was overflowing with a palette of colors, and every inch of the emerald lawn was carefully groomed, not a single blade out of place. The soft, sweet melody of the running water drew him over to the center fountain piece. Looking down into its crystal depths, his body rocked to its core as he stared into a face. Her face. Sparkling hazel eyes stared back at him. Shocked and horrified, he gasped. She was here! And then elation spread throughout his entire being. In his excitement, he put his hand to it and to his dismay, watched her sweet physiognomy ripple away beneath his touch. He frowned.
Thinking that perhaps he could find the actual person instead, he whirled around, eager to find the source of the image. He searched high and low. Disappointed, he found that he was alone. He was not alone, though. A robin called to him, its puffy red chest reverberating loudly with each warble of its song. Flying back and forth in front of his face, the robin had him mesmerized, entranced. He reached out to touch it, but the robin was faster and flew away to perch atop the fountain's head. He took one step closer and again, the robin flew away only to land elsewhere. Again and again, the game of cat and mouse continued. The game went on until the robin reached its final destination and then it flew away for good.
He felt as if the air had been punched out of him. Startled, he looked at her and then he looked to the departing robin, confusion and uncertainty etched the lines of his face. He had never seen her here before, but now she sat in front of him, dangling easily and naturally, as though she had always sat there, hanging from a low swing. Though visibly shaken and even a little angered, he had to admit that she formed a pretty picture in her loose, white, simple dress and her auburn hair hanging freely from its crown. Her tiny feet went barefoot and each time she made a small push back in her rose-adorned swing, he was treated to the sight of her delicate ankles.
He breathed in sharply. "What are you doing here, Anne?"
"What do you mean?" she asked in perfect innocence.
"You know you have never come in here before, Anne. You know it is not permitted. How did you get in here?" He inclined his head to one side, noticing for the first time a side of his wife he had never seen before. She seemed more aware, more daring... more sensual.
The swing came gliding down and Anne dragged her hand lightly across the ground as she flew down then went soaring back up again. "It is a lovely garden," she answered, not really answering his question at all. "Why do you not let anyone in it?"
He settled into a defensive position, crossing his arms across his chest. "What I do or what I do not do, it does not signify!" he replied in frustration.
Anne brought the swing to a grinding halt and stood up. She approached him slowly, like a lioness stalking its prey. "But that is where you are wrong, my love. Everything you do matters. Everything you do has always mattered." She placed a hand on his hard chest, and pressed in ever so slightly. He looked down just as she looked up and their eyes met, Anne's staring deep into his recesses.
He sucked in his breath. And then. "No!" Turning away so that he would not have to look at her and see her, he muttered to himself, "Nothing matters. Nothing matters to me. I care not a whit what happens to anyone or to anything."
She was not to be deterred. "You are wrong," she murmured softly. "You care deeply. You have always cared." For a moment, her voice faltered and then, when it seemed that she would say no more, she said it in the softest of soft voices, "And she cares too."
"What?" he whipped about and grabbed her by the shoulders, commanding her to look at him. "What did you say?"
When it appeared as though she would not answer, when she would not explain herself or even confirm that his thoughts had not betrayed his hearing, he shook her hard. "What did you say? Dash it all, Anne! Tell me! I must know! Do not do this to me, I beg of you!"
"It is not I who does this to you, my love. It is you who tortures yourself so needlessly."
"What do you know?" he asked bitterly.
Squaring her shoulders, she shook herself free from his hold. "Oh yes, I know a great deal more than you ever thought I did."
When he did not say anything, she turned away in disappointment. "You will not ask me what it is that I know?" Biting her lips, she waited impatiently for his answer. When it did not come, her shoulders flagged. "I will tell you anyways, then. I need to say it, and you need to hear it."
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. "I know what it is like to love someone who does not return the sentiment." She laughed thinly. "Is that not astounding? Like you, I know what it is like to love from afar. It is painful, is it not, loving someone whom you know will never be yours?"
A sear of something shot through Darcy's impenetrable core. He was at a loss for what to say. He had never known or dreamed, he had always assumed. Assumed that she felt as he did about their relationship. It had been a marriage of convenience, or so he thought. Never in a million years would he have ever guessed that his wife truly had been in love with him.
"Oh, Anne!" In less than a second, he had crossed over to her side and crushed her lithe body to his. Burrowing his face in his hair, he began his effusive apologies. "Forgive me, dear. I never knew. I swear I always thought... Oh, heavens! How you must hate me for the way I treated you."
Anne pulled back from his embrace and reached up to touch his anguished eyes. Gently caressing the tender skin beside it with the feathery touch of the back of her hand, she shook her head. "No. I could never hate you. Never. Besides, you never made any pretenses about how you felt about me. In fact, I considered myself lucky to at least have had your kindness."
"And my love," he insisted, gathering her back into his arms. He placed his chin atop her head and held her close. "I did love you, Anne. And you have no idea how much I have missed your company all these years."
She nodded into his chest and said soothingly, "I know."
He caught her chin in his hands. "I think I have always loved you, even when we were children. You would run after Richard and me, begging us to stop. When you tripped and fell, and scraped your knee..."
"It was you who always stopped and came back for me. Yes, I remember. You were always protective of me."
"But as we grew older, that love..." He did not know how to explain it so that she would understand. "I loved you, Anne. It is just that..." Unable to put his thoughts into words, he dropped his catch and raked his hand through his hair.
"Although you loved me, you were in love with her," she finished for him.
He looked at her in amazement. "Yes, precisely," he whispered. "But... but... but... how did you know?"
"Because," Anne's voice began to grow fainter and farther and he had to lean in close to catch the end, the essence, of her sentence, "twas she who brought me here, my love. Twas she who brought me to this garden and back by your side this one last time. She cares, my love. She still cares."
And to his horror, he watched his wife fade away right before his very eyes even as he reached out and tried to grasp her, to keep a hold of her, but the folds of her white dress merely slipped through his fingers, and then he was left with nothing.
Once more, left alone in the garden, he shivered imperceptibly. Now what was he supposed to do?
Laughter emanating from the far corner of the garden was the answer to his question. He turned his head to train his eyes on its source. What he saw made absolutely no sense. There, in the far corner of his garden, stood Elizabeth Bennet surrounded by, his nephew, Mary, and his son. His son. Colin was up and about, running with the children. It was a sight to behold and tears permanently lodged themselves in the corner of his eyes.
The children seemed oblivious to his attentions. They were playing a game of a catch and Elizabeth was clapping her hands and singing them a song. When the song ended, she crouched down to be at their level and then laughingly pointed at something. Her finger was directed towards his path, but her gaze went right past him. Denying the hurt that he felt, he wondered if she did not see him. The children saw whatever it was Elizabeth was pointing at and they all jumped up and down, clapping their hands with glee. He looked behind him, but saw nothing. What was it that was bringing them so much joy? Wanting to find out, he tried to walk over to them to ask, but he found himself unable to move. He was stuck. Opening his mouth to call out to them, he found himself voiceless. He was mute.
Frustration mounted with each step he tried to take and his agitation grew...
Darcy thrashed about in his chair. "Come on, move!" he mumbled incoherently in his sleep. His valet walked through the door at that moment, bearing a silver salver, and upon noticing his master's troubled sleep was instantaneously alarmed.
"Sir! Sir! Wake-up!" Simons took hold of his master's shoulders and shook his body hard, back and forth. "Wake-up, sir! You are having another nightmare!"
With a jolt of alarm, Darcy opened up his eyes and sat up in his chair. "What? Where am I? What is going on?"
"There now, sir. Everything is all right." Simons whipped out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbled at the perspiration on Darcy's forehead. Shamelessly, Darcy allowed his valet to pander to his services as if he were only a little boy still in his leading strings. But only for a moment.
"Enough, Simons. I am perfectly well. There's no need to coddle me like that." Straightening in his chair, Darcy once put himself in control. "What was it that you wanted to see me about?"
Remembering, his valet picked up the silver salver he had been carrying when he walked through the door. Replacing the letter on it, he held both out to his master. Darcy picked it up, glanced at the handwriting, frowned, and then waved his valet away.
The letter was from Georgiana. Darcy wondered what his sister had to say. She only wrote to him when she needed to tell him something of importance or there was an emergency. Had something happened at Pemberley? Ripping the letter open, he said a silent prayer.
My dearest brother,Be not alarmed on receiving this letter. We are all well. Indeed, we are more than well. We are wonderful. I am writing to you today to tell you about the surprising change that your son has undergone these past months. I think you would scarcely recognize him if you were to see him now. He is nothing like he once was. Having other children about the house has done wonders for him. But the real influence has been Mary Bingley. They have become fast friends and Colin thinks the world of Mary. He absolutely relies on her. It really is quite impressive.
Your son grows stronger and happier by the day. Mary and Dickon have been able to persuade him into going outside every day. Now that the weather has grown warmer, nary a day goes by without the three of them traipsing around outdoors with Colin in his wheelchair. It warms my heart to see my nephew out of bed and growing stronger daily. There is only one more thing that he lacks. He needs a father, Fitzwilliam. He needs you. You of all people should know what a childhood without a parent is like. Would you consign your son to a fate that is totally unnecessary?
Come home, brother. You are both wanted and needed here. And if your son is not enough incentive for you to come home, think of Richard and me. You promised that you would be here for our anniversary. Every day I plan our anniversary ball, but every day I must wonder whether you will be here to celebrate it with us. Having you here on our special day would mean so much to us; you know how important you are to both Richard and me.
Come home, Fitzwilliam. It is time for you to come home.
Yours, etc.
Georgiana Fitzwilliam
Darcy finished reading the letter and placed it on his lap. Deep in thought, he considered his available options. Sighing, he looked once more at his sister's letter. She had not left him with much choice. There was no way he would ever be able to ignore such a letter. Clearly, he was wanted at his estate. Darcy called for his valet and bid him to pack their things post haste. Not a moment was to be wasted; they were for Pemberley.
Darcy was finally going home.