Beginning, Previous Section, Section XI
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Chapter Fifty-Seven
However stalwart Elizabeth might have promised herself to be in the daytime hours, at night she wept inconsolably while within the refuge of her husband's arms.
Feeling helpless and frustrated himself, there was little he could do or say to ease her tears, but to hold her, kiss her intermittently and curse the day of their having ever met Miss Mary Benedict..
Mr. Radcliffe, eager to take on a case which promised to be such a challenge, did not waste time with the posts, but rode to the parsonage himself the following day, and immediately accepted Mr. Darcy's commission. However, no sooner had he arrived, then he was forthwith discharged on an assignment, bearing no delay.
Mr. Berrick also responded in the affirmative within the week, promising to arrive at Pemberley in ten days time, and was anxiously looking forward to seeing Mr. and Mrs. Darcy again very soon. To the gratification of both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he would be bringing his sister and neice, as his stay with them might take several weeks (although neither wished to consider the possibility of being without their children for so long), and he did not wish to leave Mrs. Paquin and Bernadette feeling utterly abandoned at Tellerone.
After much discussion, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam decided that they must return to Pemberley; The locale being more convenient for the task at hand, as well as their growing awareness of the Collins's being divided between two loyalties.
And so, reluctantly, they returned home, a humbled and chastened Georgiana awaiting them.
"I am so sorry," she told them both meekly, even before they had removed their coats, "I would never have suspected Miss Benedict of such duplicity. Can you ever forgive me?"
Elizabeth, who always seemed to be close to tears these days, could not answer, so her husband did so instead, "Miss Benedict has turned far more experienced heads then your own, Georgiana...there is nothing to forgive."
With that gentle pardon on her brother's part, they embraced warmly, Georgiana's allegiance now back firmly where it belonged.
No sooner had they gathered in the drawing room to discuss the chaotic events of the past weeks, when they were surprised, although not unpleasantly so, by the announcement of the Bingleys having arrived en masse.
Never had Elizabeth been so glad to see her sister, for, inasmuch as she loved her husband intensely, he could not understand the vast emptiness induced by this forced and prolonged separation from her children. Jane and Charles were aware only that Miss Benedict and Miss de Bourgh had taken the children to Rosings, but had yet heard nothing of Lady Catherine's nefarious scheme.
The next hour, then, was spent explaining the whole sorry situation, and gratefully accepting, in turn, the collective outrage and condolences of the Bingleys. Thankfully, Elizabeth was not adversely affected by the presence of Emily and the twins, Nathaniel and Nicholas. In fact, there was a certain comfort in cuddling a baby again (to say nothing of two), even if it could not be her own.
As if fate were ensuring them no want of company, on the following morning, who should arrive alone on horseback, but Mr. Bennet. He entered, apologizing profusely to Elizabeth for his dereliction in not traveling to Pemberley sooner during their absence.
"I am afraid Mrs. Bennet would not see me go before giving my consent for Kitty to marry Mr. Martin. Unfortunately, he appeared to be less eager to approach me, than your mother was to have him do so. I confess it was almost a relief when he finally did."
This interested Georgiana despite the household's current preoccupation with the plight of the Darcy children, but as her timidity forbade her inquiring further, she would only listen attentively as he described the latest Bennet caprice with dramatic relish.
It was a shock to him, then, when Jane finally disclosed Elizabeth's latest troubles, rendering him quite speechless for a time. Unable to think of even one witticism to lighten the mood, he asked at last, in a tone unusually solemn, "So, Lizzy, what must we do to reclaim my grandsons?"
She smiled at him a bit tenuously, "We are doing what we can for now, Papa. Merely having you here helps a great deal."
"And your husband, where is he?" He inquired, attempting to distract her. For it was apparent that Fitzwilliam was not among them, as he and Charles had gone out earlier, and had not yet returned.
"He has been very busy," she explained, knowing what her father was about, "It seems he cannot rest these days."
"No, I suppose not," he conceded, studying her face. Then, perceiving her careworn countenance, added in a tender voice, "I am, indeed, sincerely grieved, my child, but, knowing the two of you as I do, I suspect you shall triumph...in fact, I am certain of it."
"Are you, Father?" She had to ask. It was the first real words of confidence heard since their return from Germany., "I pray you are right."
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley surprised them when they appeared at lunchtime with the news that the Bingleys would be staying on at Pemberley until this "mess" was sorted out. Taking a carriage that morning, they had returned to Brindlewood to fetch the family's trunks, packed with sufficient clothing for a lengthened stay.
Once, Jane and Elizabeth had recovered from the seemingly impetuous aspect of the scheme, they could not help but see the practicality of it. For, after all, Jane would very likely wish to spend as much time as possible in her sister's company as confidante and advocate, and, undoubtedly, Elizabeth would not discourage such an opportunity.
The gentlemen, then, enjoyed the great pleasure of being genuinely appreciated by their wives, and thus, rewarded with extra attention from them throughout the afternoon.
Mr. Bennet, meanwhile, did not enclose himself in the library as was his wont, but made himself available to the company, even entertaining them with stories of all of the recent tribulations concerning Longbourne and its occupants.
"Now that Kitty is engaged, Mary is considering a life in the convent," he told them, amusement plain about his features.
"That would not surprise me," said Elizabeth, "Mary always preferred a solitary existence in contrast to a social one."
"But, Mrs. Bennet does not look upon the idea as open-mindedly as you, Lizzy. I believe she had her heart set on all of you being wed to worldly gentlemen of respectable repute."
"That would exclude one of her son-in-laws, certainly," Elizabeth spoke drily, thinking of Mr. Wickham, "But I suppose Mary has no interest in such a future, and wishes only to be left alone."
"We see her rarely these days," he affirmed, "She is either reading in her room or walking about the hermitage."
"Walking? Mary was not much for that exercise as I recall," Elizabeth commented, "Perhaps she meets a lover under your very noses."
This suggestion caused a variety of reactions to the listeners of this exchange; Mr. Bennet emitted a droll cough behind his hand, Jane looked appalled, Georgiana thoughtful, Charles cheerfully ignorant, and Fitzwilliam bent upon fixing his wife with a gaze of both humour and exasperation.
Not in the least ashamed, she smiled at him impudently, rising and saying, "Speaking of walks, would anyone care to join me outside? It is a lovely day."
April was on the wane, and May, approaching quickly with her enticement of warm breezes, as well as the intoxicating scent of spring blooms, Elizabeth found to be irresistible, even in this time of emotional upheaval.
Jane immediately volunteered to accompany her, then glanced sideways at Fitzwilliam as though unsure if the invitation had actually been intended for him. Her sister's pleased countenance, however, dispelled that notion immediately, and the two went out together, stopping only long enough to don coats and bonnets.
This appeared to be the cue for Mr. Bennet, who, clearing his throat, peered at Fitzwilliam from over his spectacles, inquiring, "Mr. Darcy, might I, perhaps, have a moment of your time?"
That gentleman, after a fleeting look of surprise, nodded acquiescence, led Mr. Bennet to his study, offered him a glass of sherry, which he accepted readily, and settled himself into one of the two chairs before the fire. Appreciating that Mr. Darcy did not sit, as he might have, behind his desk, thus putting his father-in-law at a subtle disadvantage, Mr. Bennet cordially occupied the other.
They sat in silence for some minutes, before Mr. Bennet at last spoke, "This matter with the children is a sorry business."
"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed unnecessarily, "It is."
"Lizzy is taking it hard, of course." It was not really a question, more of a confirmation.
"She is doing better than I would have expected," his son-in-law answered, "But I am sure it is due largely to yours and Mrs. Bingley's presence."
"Or, to yours?"
As the comment did not require a response, Fitzwilliam said nothing, and they were again silent until Mr. Bennet, leaning forward a bit, asked, "Pray, who exactly is this Miss Benedict?"
Fitzwilliam, considering the question, smiled wryly, "No one whom you would ever have cause to know...her parents were acquainted with mine, although I was only introduced to her last year under rather unsettling circumstances."
"Yes?"
"She was employed by Bingley, for a time, as nursemaid to their daughter. While there, she devised this scheme...or perhaps the scheme is what brought her to Derbyshire in the beginning...at any rate, she attempted to prove herself my sister." He took a drink of his sherry, met the bemused gaze of his listener and asked dubiously, "Do you really wish to hear this?"
"Oh, yes, very much," Mr. Bennet assured him, "Surely Lizzy has told you of my keen interest in the unfailing folly of the human species...I have found it to be the one constant in life."
"Well, this could definitely be called folly...all the way around, I suppose."
"How do you mean?"
"I should have dealt with her with more finality at the time...finished this nonsense once and for all. I did not suspect her of such ruthlessness. "
"So, you believe her to be motivated by revenge?"
"Well, of course. What else could it be? We obstructed her plan, and so she will not rest until she has destroyed my life, one way or another."
"But, she shall not succeed, after all," he was studying Fitzwilliam, expressionless, as he spoke.
"No, she shall not." he vowed, staring into his glass.
"Because she does not have that capability."
Fitzwilliam looking at him quizzically, found himself puzzled by the obscure manner of his speech. "Pardon me?"
"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet was still leaning forward, as if he were to disclose a great secret, "I have observed you over the past...what has it been, two, three years?"
"Nearly three," he supplied, now openly curious.
"Nearly three. You see, that is what I mean. Some men, you ask how long they have been wed, and they could not tell you, for it is of no importance to them. But you...you, Mr. Darcy, carry it about inside of you, so that you cannot forget. It is a gift, you see?"
"What is a gift?" he asked, becoming even more confused.
"You take all things to heart...that is your gift, and, no doubt, what attracted my daughter to you in the first place. She has always been a highly intelligent girl...I was relieved that at least one of them should turn out to be so."
This much Fitzwilliam could understand, and nodded agreement tentatively, although he was still uncertain as to the point of Mr. Bennet's words.
Not deterred by his reticence, the elder gentleman continued, "You love one another...an observable fact to any who know you. But, beyond that, you trust one another, and that, my friend, is worth all of the affection in the human heart...It is this trait which will see you through, and, as I have already assured Lizzy, will undoubtedly return your children to you, safe and sound."
Both fell silent then, since for Mr. Bennet to reveal his innermost thoughts in such a way, an unusual, somewhat disconcerting occurrence, would require some reflection.
Finally, Fitzwilliam, attempting to not appear uncomfortable, replied simply, "Thank you."
"You are most welcome."
Believing that he had successfully proven his case, Mr. Bennet settled back to enjoy the remainder of his sherry without further need of conversation.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
After all of this time, she mused, it has taken such a misfortune to bring them together at last. Truly, as much as I love them both, I do not understand them at all.
Seeing his daughter in the doorway, Mr. Bennet rose, "Ah, Lizzy, you are returned I see. Perhaps you will favour me now with a quick game of chess. It has, after all, been much too long since last I was allowed the pleasure."
"Father, playing the game with you was never quick, but, I shall accept your challenge just as soon as you have it set up in the drawing room."
"In that case, I shall see you there in five minutes," he promised, smiling affably and leaving them to stare after him.
Elizabeth turned to her husband curiously, "Pray, what were you talking of?"
"To own the truth, I am not sure," was his mystified reply, "But I believe he finally gave me his approval."
The arrival of Mr. Berrick and party was greatly anticipated by the household as a hope that, finally, something of significance should be accomplished. The waiting had been taking its toll increasingly upon all of them, but especially Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, whose moments of gloomy introspection were daily increasing.
These periods of misery were not only becoming more frequent but, where once they had relied upon one another for solace, they now seemed to have withdrawn from that consolation as well.
It happened to be the third day of this decidedly cheerless atmosphere, in which Mr. Berrick, at last, made his appearance. The hired carriage arrived just as they were sitting down to tea, and the company, consisting of Elizabeth, Jane, Georgiana, and Mr. Bennet, stood cordially when the newcomers were announced.
Mr. Berrick entered then, his sister holding demurely onto his arm, while Bernadette trailed behind, her large brown eyes taking in the magnitude of the house.
Elizabeth introduced everyone, her relief at their most recent friend's arrival alleviating some of the worry etched into her features of late. Mrs. Paquin curtseyed to all, complimenting them on the breathtaking English countryside and how happy she was to be finally meeting them. Bernadette, following this polite exchange, glanced around, puzzled, to blurt out impulsively, "But...where is Mr. Darcy?" An inquiry immediately causing her face to become a deep shade of rose, as all turned to look at her in barely concealed amusement.
"He is away, but should return soon," Elizabeth assured her. Then, tactfully changing the subject, suggested, "Perhaps this evening, you might favour us with your playing, Bernadette. As I recall, it entertained us well, when last we saw you."
"Thank you," she whispered, still mortified by her own outburst. Without another word, she spent the remainder of the hour attempting to conceal herself behind her mother's chair. Georgiana at length rose, and, taking pity on the child, offered in a kind voice, "Bernadette, would you like to see the piano-forte? Perhaps you might choose some music to play this evening."
Bernadette, agreeing, accepted Georgiana's hand in hers shyly as they quit the room together.
"I am afraid, Mrs. Darcy," Mrs. Paquin apologized, an affectionate smile on her lips as she watched her daughter's departure, "That your husband has made a deep and lasting impression upon her."
"He has that affect on some people," Elizabeth acknowledged, still amused at Bernadette's unabashed admiration, "Perhaps she will be able to offer him some pleasant diversion while you are here." She did not specify from what he should be diverted, but, as well, did not have to. The unspoken words, of their own accord, lingered heavily over the room for several minutes, much like a shroud.
The entrance, sometime later, of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley was a welcome sight to all; in particular to Mr. Berrick, who, although travel weary, wished to get down to the business at hand as soon as possible. No sooner had they greeted one another, as well as the necessary introductions concluded, then the three of them (Mr. Bingley was, of course, included, as Darcy's oldest and dearest friend), shut themselves into Fitzwilliam's study, and were not seen nor heard from again until dinner.
"So, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Berrick began as soon as the study door had closed behind them, "Tell me all that I do not know already." He stood beside the desk expectantly, while Darcy lifted a sheaf of papers from its top and offered them to him.
"You know most of it, unfortunately. We have heard nothing from either my aunt nor her attorney since I wrote you of it."
Perusing the legal papers rapidly, Berrick nodded as if it were no more than he had expected. "Well then," he said, "We shall start the process rolling ourselves. I shall serve your aunt a notice of countersuit."
"And, the charge?" Darcy questioned, his eyes meeting the barrister's.
"Kidnapping, plain and simple. A punishable offense, even for the aristocracy. That should force them to make their next move."
"Is this a game then?" Fitzwilliam asked moodily, "Check and checkmate? These are my children we are using as pawns, you know."
"Precisely why we cannot wait any longer. If your aunt believes us to be easily dissuaded, she shall have to reconsider her strategy. We are talking of power, Darcy. Power and money. Who shall be the victor and who the defeated?"
"I had hoped she might have backed down before it came to this," Fitzwilliam spoke, almost to himself.
"Tell me," Berrick demanded then, his voice becoming impatient, "Do you want your sons back with you?"
"Of course...there is no question of that."
"I am afraid that it has come down to a simple choice. Either you can retain the Darcy family pride and its absence of scandal, or, you can take these unprecedented, yet necessary, measures to have your children returned to you once and for all." Berrick stood facing him, waiting for some sign of Darcy's total commitment to the matter.
"Do what you must," was his resigned reply, "But, I pray we are not going about this the wrong way. My aunt has never responded well to pressure...if anything, it makes her even more obstinate."
"She has met her match then, hasn't she?" Berrick answered with a grin, "You are her nephew, after all."
Bingley, who had been listening from his chair near the window, rose, while suggesting cheerfully, "I must propose a toast then." Moving to a small table by the door bearing a silver tray and amber refreshment, he poured out three glasses of brandy and handed them around. "To success, an expeditious conclusion, and above all, to seeing James Fitzwilliam and Ethan Alexander Darcy returned to their parents, as well as to the warmth of Pemberley's halls...in the very near future," he announced, raising his glass and meeting Darcy's eyes reassuringly.
In acquainting Elizabeth with Mr. Berrick's plans that evening in their room, Fitzwilliam could not help the note of regret which crept into his voice. Because of this, she did not respond immediately, pondering instead the basis for her husband's obviously divided loyalties.
As she studied him, she reflected silently, he has surely suffered as much as I. For everything ever taught to him as a child, is reversing itself, and he is finding himself without that one security...of family. While I, who have always accepted the shortcomings of my own connections, am able to concentrate on the current fate of my children, he must also allow for the public downfall they shall all endure because of this.
And, she conceded, it may affect James and Ethan, as well. Twenty years from now, when they are young men, shall people still remember this contest of wills? Might they be ostracized, or made to feel conspicuous because of it? The image caused her to sigh involuntarily, distracting Fitzwilliam from his own dismal contemplation.
Reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek, he said, "Do not despair, my love. Now that Mr. Berrick has arrived, I am hopeful of this matter being resolved soon, and we can again return to a more temperate existence."
"Will we?" she asked, troubled, "I have this dreadful feeling that we never shall."
Impulsively he pulled her to him, holding her fast against his chest where she could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek.
"I would wish it to be so," he murmured, his face in her hair, "This is not what I had planned for us, Elizabeth."
"I do not suppose anyone could have foreseen such a turn of events," she replied, her voice gentle in an attempt to ease his own distress.
"I must admit," he said ruefully after some moments, "That there is a certain irony on the occasion of our disgrace, of it being brought about by my own relations...I cannot believe how arrogant I once was to have lain such an allegation at your feet."
"We are not the dishonoured party, Fitzwilliam," she corrected him, "We have done nothing."
"So it would seem," he conceded, "Yet, I cannot help but feel responsible to some point."
"Why should you be?" she argued, "Your aunt has brought this all upon herself. I cannot believe she would succumb so readily to Miss Benedict's wiles...it seems somewhat out of her character."
"Well, since the arrival of Miss Benedict we seem to all be behaving somewhat differently," was the resigned reply.
Chapter Fifty-nine
As the days turned into weeks, the Bingleys decided that they should return to Brindlewood for some time at least, but would rejoin the Darcys at Pemberley as soon as possible. Mr. Bennet, as well, left for Longbourne, promising Elizabeth that he would delay informing Mrs. Bennet of the situation until absolutely necessary, with the hope that a happy solution might be reached before it should become so.
"Pardon me, Mr. Berrick, I hope I am not disturbing you." Georgiana stood uncertainly in the doorway of the study, where that gentleman had established himself almost from the moment of his arrival.
He arose from his place behind the desk upon her entrance, bowing briefly as he assured her, "No, not at all."
She smiled, "I wondered if you would care for some refreshment...you have been working so diligently in here."
Glancing at the mantle clock, he appeared surprised at the time displayed there, saying, "Yes, I did not realize, but," he added as she turned to leave, "Do not trouble yourself, Miss Darcy. I shall ring for something to be brought in...if," and here, he hesitated, "If you will join me?"
"Of course," she agreed, seating herself in a chair facing the desk. Then, demurely folding her hands upon her lap, she inquired, "Is there something you wished me to tell you of Miss Benedict?"
Turning to pull the cord for tea, he paused for just a moment to study her, his eyes serious. Smiling, at last, although a bit ruefully, he replied, "Miss Darcy, every day for nearly three weeks, you have come to see to my needs, and although I appreciate your consideration, I would rather you tell me something of yourself, instead."
At this, she coloured, but answered readily enough, "What did you wish to know? I had assumed my brother had already apprised you of my disastrous involvement in all of this."
His smile broadened, "No, you misunderstand me. I want to know of you, yourself...apart from Lady Catherine, Miss Benedict, Miss de Bourgh, and, even your brother."
"Oh." She appeared to be so surprised by this request that she could think of nothing to say.
"How old are you, Miss Darcy?" The query might have been considered impertinent, except that it was spoken in such a gentle tone, she could not take offense.
"I shall be nineteen this June."
"Ah," he looked a bit rueful, "So young, yet."
Raising her chin in the manner of her sister-in-law, she inquired, "In what respect, Mr. Berrick? For these days, I am feeling quite old."
He studied her for a moment, before he asked, "And, what do you want from your life, Miss Darcy? What shall you do? Will you accomplish the expected...marriage, family? Or, something else, I wonder..."
"What else is there?"
"Have you thought of continuing with your music?"
"Continuing? Doing what, exactly? I am a woman, Mr. Berrick. I can hardly become a concert pianist." She was surprising herself now with the boldness of her replies, a fact which was adding much to her enjoyment of the conversation.
"Sometimes the accepted mores may be altered, you know...that is, if the desire to do so is strong enough."
"Ah, yes..." she sighed, "Well, you see, that is the problem. I mean, I do enjoy my music, but to play before an audience of strangers...there, my desire falters."
"So, you have considered it."
"As you have to return to London, I am sure." The words were out before she realized it, leaving her with a wish that she could take them back, for, upon Mr. Berrick's face was a mixture of both surprise and...something else.
After an excruciating moment, he asked curiously, "Who told you about London?"
"I am so sorry," Georgiana gasped, appalled at her own audacity, "I did not mean..."
"No, I am not affronted, Miss Darcy. However, since you have been informed of my less than auspicious past, I hope the report was complete. You see, even my sister does not know it all." He had risen from his chair to move over to the fire, where he stood staring into the flames.
"Please, forgive me," she stood as well, so mortified she could not look at him directly, focusing instead, on her own clasped hands. "I spoke without thinking...it was unforgivable of me, I know."
"Miss Darcy, pray, do not concern yourself." He had turned to face her, and when she dared lift her eyes, she saw that he did not appear angry nor even distressed. In fact his countenance was nothing if not calm. "It was, after all, a lifetime ago," he said then, "I am not nearly so heartbroken as my sister believes."
"Mr. Berrick," Georgiana protested, "You do not have to tell me anything...it is not my business."
"No..." he agreed, "It is not, but...somehow, I should like it to be."
Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, disconcerted by what she saw there.
At that moment the tea tray arrived, and was set upon the low table beside her chair, but as her thoughts were still pondering the meaning of his unexpected, and somewhat startling revelation, she did not move.
Then, his voice again gentle, he asked, "Might I impart the whole of it to you, Miss Darcy? I would not wish to impose, but I feel you are already a friend, and as such, that I can tell you these things in confidence, and know they shall be heard with a sympathetic ear."
Sinking back into the chair, she nodded, still too flustered to meet his gaze.
After a moment he began to speak from his place by the hearth. "I was twenty-one, my position on the bench only just acquired...I felt I could do anything. She was the sister of my closest friend, a schoolmate at Eton. Of course, we fell in love. It was inevitable. We, the three of us, did everything together, and so, by sheer lack of constraint, it was bound to happen. Still, it took me by surprise, I must admit."
Georgiana said nothing, her eyes wide and, indeed, sympathetic. Mr. Berrick, meanwhile, took a seat directly opposite of her own, continuing to speak easily, as though they were old and dear acquaintances.
"There was no emotional scene to finish us, despite what my sister believes. We just...became too familiar, if that is possible. She wanted the drama, passion, call it what you will, which had eventually waned between us, and, although we parted as friends, we lost contact long ago."
"But," Georgiana said, confused, "Why then, did you quit your practice, and move to Belgium?"
"It was not from pining for a lost love, I assure you," he replied, his voice amused, "Practical considerations, more than anything else, decided that. The estate was left to me, it made sense to go and take it, while at the same time, allowed me to offer my sister some security, as she had only just recently lost her husband."
"There was no sense of regret, of loss?"
"Oh, perhaps a little. The affair definitely left me wiser, but even then, I knew there was more to love than the flash-in-the-pan which we had experienced." With a sudden lightening of mood, he inquired, "And, you, Miss Darcy, have you not suffered the wages of a disastrous love affair?"
If the blush of her complexion had not given her away, the spontaneity of her verbal response succeeded in doing so. "How did you know?" She cried, astonished, "Did Fitzwilliam tell you?"
His smile became a little deeper at her reaction, "No," he assured her, "No one has told me anything, save you, just now."
"Oh..." her voice trailed away, as she realized how she had impulsively confessed that which she would rather forget altogether.
"Don't worry, Miss Darcy. Your secret is quite safe with me."
"It is no secret," she admitted then, "Only, a little embarrassing."
"Oh?"
"He...ended the engagement because of my brother."
"Your brother?" He was leaning forward now, his face alight with anticipation of her next words.
"Yes... he thought, and I really don't know where he got the impression, but he firmly believed...was convinced, that Fitzwilliam was mad." She finished lamely, wondering if she would ever be able to move past this nonsense, and at the same time, fearful of how prudent it was to confess all of this to Mr. Berrick.
Even now he must be laughing at all of us, she thought then, instantly regretting her candor, but when she glanced hesitantly at him, he was not laughing. Rather, on his face was an expression of bemusement.
When finally he spoke, she was relieved at the sensible tone of his voice.
"He was mistaken of course."
"Well, of course!"
"Your brother may be many things, but deranged is quite probably not one of them."
"No."
"Unless," and he rose, a smile of mischief on his face, "You consider his addled mind where his wife is concerned."
"Elizabeth?" Georgiana looked at him, nonplused, "I have never supposed that as madness."
"What else can you call it? Yes...I would certainly diagnose his symptoms as a sort of lunacy...however, one to be envied."
For the first time that afternoon, she smiled back at him openly, "I have thought the same thing...of their regard for one another being enviable, I mean."
"No flash-in-the-pan, that."
"No..." Again, her voice trailed off, as her eyes looked into his, for there was no mirth left there at all, and as he took her hand into his to draw her from the chair, their eyes remained locked. Slowly, as if in a dream, she stood and, as naturally as though she did so every day, moved into his arms until their lips met.
For a man possessing such obvious strength, his kiss was a mere flutter of wings against her mouth, and reluctantly she drew back a very little as she realized what she was doing.
"Georgiana," when he spoke her name, her heart gave a series of leaps within her. Is this love then, she wondered? I did not feel this with Mr. Eastman. Strange, I cannot even recall his first name. Aloud, she whispered, "Michael, I..."
"You do not usually allow men to take such liberties?"
"No..." she shook her head, feeling befuddled, and wondering if he could see it.
"Never fear, my...I shall not think any less of you," his fingers were under her chin so that she could not look away.
"My, what?" She asked, just before his lips covered hers once again.
"My love," was the reply when he next spoke, as his arms came around her to draw her firmly against him.
She lay her head upon his shoulder, her thoughts floating on little clouds of happiness. Without even being aware of it, her arms had traveled around his back, and there they remained. This feels so right, she mused. How can there be anything improper in such perfect bliss?
A knock upon the door caused them to part hastily, and as Mr. Berrick called "Come," his voice unsteady, Georgiana turned away in an attempt to recover her composure.
The door opened, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, of all people, peered around it, "Oh, pardon me, I was looking for Darcy..." His words ended abruptly as he recognized the rooms occupants. "Berrick? Georgiana?" Stepping in, the expression of astonishment still upon his face, he exclaimed, "Berrick, I did not expect to see you...when did you arrive? ...What the devil is going on around here? Everyone appears to be in mourning!"
"You do not know?" Georgiana, at last, had found her voice.
"Know what?" Obviously he did not.
Glancing quickly at Mr. Berrick, she said, "I believe Mr. Berrick might explain it better than myself...Won't you both please excuse me?"
With that, she turned and fled from the two pairs of eyes, one curious, the other, regretful.
Passing the nursery had become a form of torture which Elizabeth made a point of avoiding whenever she could.
Today, however, some dreadful force drew her in, so that she was soon standing beside Ethan's crib, staring helplessly at the little lace pillow and matching coverlet neatly placed there. Over the past weeks, she had endeavored to remain busy, to not think or brood, but in these few heedless moments, her carefully maintained resolve began to crumble, until inevitably, she wept.
Once begun, she could not seem to stop, and when her husband discovered her there sometime later, she was curled up in a corner of the room, the now soggy coverlet being used to catch the tears as they ran in endless rivulets down her face. Silently, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him, and remaining there in a position which was undoubtedly awkward, yet, from where he was loathe to remove himself.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she sighed, when her tears had abated, somewhat, "I am so lost...I feel I cannot bear another day of this."
"You must, my love...we all must."
"I shall never see them again, I know that now," she continued, after taking a ragged breath, "I have been a fool to even hold onto any hope."
"Elizabeth, don't..."
"But, what is the point of having children if I am to lose them all? I don't understand."
He could not answer, for his own throat had closed at her words, and he was rapidly running out of soothing adages.
They remained wrapped around each other for another half-hour, before she finally allowed him to untangle himself, and assist her in rising as well.
As they stood facing each other, she gave him a weary smile, her eyes, even while she assured him, portraying her despair, "Never mind, Fitzwilliam...I shall recover." With that she left the nursery, her entire manner one of resignation, a sight which hurt him far worse, even, than her tears.
He did not remain long there, himself.. For, in the moments following her exit, something inside of him seemed to snap, and he made for the steps as if shot from a cannon. Downstairs, he practically flew to his study, flinging the already-ajar door wide, and ordering , "Berrick, get your coat!" He stopped short at seeing his cousin there talking to that gentleman, but even that did not detain him for long. "Fitzwilliam," he greeted, not even hesitating, "Good, you may come along also, if you've a mind to."
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to study him, picked his hat up from where he had set it upon the desk, and replied calmly, "Certainly, Darcy...where are we going?"
"To retrieve my children," was the determined answer, as he turned and went out in as abrupt a fashion as he had entered.
Berrick and Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance of guarded understanding, then both followed him without speaking another word.
Outdoors, the horses were already being brought around, due, no doubt, to Darcy's increasingly impatient tone of voice.
"Wait, Darcy," Berrick warned, before he had mounted, "What is your plan? We cannot just storm the gates and take them by force."
"Why not? They are my children, are they not?" Darcy was looking down at him from his steed, his eyes challenging.
Berrick glanced at Colonel Fitzwilliam, shrugged his shoulders and mounted the third horse, venturing no further argument. It was apparent the gentleman was in no mood to listen to reason, and all that he could hope for, was that he might do so before they reached Rosings.
Chapter Sixty
The three of them rode hard and fast for the first ten miles, then, in consideration of the horses, Darcy slowed to a walk. His companions concurrently followed suit, each apparently wondering at his object.
"Fitzwilliam," he said, as soon as they were riding three abreast, "You are yet on easy terms with Anne?"
"Yes, of course," was the reply.
"You must speak to her alone, without Miss Benedict or my aunt in attendance."
Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared doubtful, "Miss Benedict, I can easily dismiss, but Lady Catherine...?"
"I might offer a diversion," suggested Berrick at that point, beginning to get into the spirit of this rather risky adventure.
"You might ask to speak to her privately of our countersuit." Darcy's face was brightening at the already increasing likelihood of success.
"What am I to be discussing with Anne?" Fitzwilliam asked then, eyeing his cousin dubiously.
"I do not believe she was a part of this, I think she was misled, and it shall be up to you to make her understand that," Darcy responded, his voice purposeful.
"How much time shall I have?"
"How much will you need?"
"How long will it take you to find and rescue your sons?"
"Not long, I assure you."
"Elizabeth?" Georgiana paused before joining her sister-in-law in the library where she was listlessly covering a screen.
Glancing up, she managed a wan smile, "Yes, dear, what is it?"
Struck suddenly by the drastic physical change in her, Georgiana swallowed before continuing, for she had, indeed, altered greatly. Her eyes no longer shone, her complexion appeared pale, she had lost weight, and, beside all of this, she seemed, of late, to be moving about in a constant fog.
"Elizabeth," she impulsively inquired, "Are you all right?"
"Do not ask me that now, Georgiana," she replied, her eyes fixed upon her work, "For I cannot speak of it."
"Do not give up hope, please, Elizabeth. I know everything shall work out in the end."
"Do you?" Her response was disbelieving.
"Yes...I am certain of it," moving quickly, she knelt before her, her expression earnest. "I am to blame for this,...yes, I am," she insisted, as Elizabeth began to argue, "So, I must hope for the best, or I shall not be able to live with myself. Do you not see?"
"Georgiana, that is foolish. You are not to blame...I could just as easily say that I am, for being away for so long, or that Fitzwilliam is, because he would not return when I wished to...no, the truth is, that Miss Benedict is the only person culpable for our grief. Yet, even saying it, gives me little comfort, for, I know now, that there is none to be had..." her voice trailed off, as the hopelessness returned to her countenance.
Sitting back on her heels, Georgiana studied her solemnly. At last, she whispered, "Then, there is nothing else to be done." With that, she rose and left Elizabeth alone once again.
Very soon after, a carriage departed from Pemberley containing two occupants, and heading southeast, in the direction of Rosings Park.
Luck was with them as the three gentlemen rode around to the rear of the manse, for, although dusk was beginning to settle, there, in the garden, could be seen Miss de Bourgh and Miss Benedict walking in easy company. Dismounting then, Darcy and Fitzwilliam steathily moved in that vicinity, while Berrick returned to the front to be announced to Lady Catherine in the usual manner.
As Darcy remained hidden, Fitzwilliam stepped out near to where the two ladies were visiting, bowed in his most courtly manner, and said, "Miss de Bourgh, might I request an audience alone? There is a matter of grave import with which I must speak to you."
Anne, after recovering from her astonishment at seeing him there, acquiesced, nodding to Miss Benedict as authorization for her to leave them.
That lady did not go willingly, but glanced back at the two of them mistrustfully as she returned to the house. In doing so, however, she was not aware of Darcy moving from the shadows to await her at the door.
Thus, it was understandable, and at the same time, somewhat diverting, when she visibly started at the sound of his voice.
"Miss Benedict," he said coolly.
As she regained her wits, she turned, with the obvious intention to flee, but he reached out to hold fast onto her arm. "We have some unfinished business, madam," he continued, indicating the door, "Shall we?"
"I shall scream," she threatened, her face flushed.
"No one who cares, will hear you," he replied, "For I doubt you have earned any loyalty among the servants."
As if by design the door was opened, prompting her to order imperiously, "Peters, fetch the footman, This gentleman is unwelcome."
The elderly doorman, however, having known Darcy since he was a child, and feeling, as predicted, no loyalty to Miss Benedict, spoke instead to him directly, inquiring, "Might I be of service, sir?"
"Yes, Peters, would you mind the door, please? Miss Benedict will be taking me to my children now." Darcy informed him, while at the same time steering the lady over the threshold, and toward the stairway.
"Yes, sir," was the response, a blind eye turned from anything which might possibly seem out of the ordinary.
Upon reaching the first landing, she wrested her arm from him. "Mr. Darcy," she snapped, "I do not know what you think you are doing, as Lady Catherine is unlikely to let you simply walk out with those children."
"Lady Catherine has little to do with my children, and nothing to do with the matter between us," he replied, a dangerous calm emanating from him.
"What do you mean, us?"
Taking her arm once again, and holding onto it firmly, he continued their ascent, she, struggling all the while, to break his hold.
"I am referring to your vendetta against me, and your continued intolerable torment of my family," he furnished as he nearly dragged her to the second floor.
"There is no vendetta, Mr. Darcy, do not flatter yourself!"
"Where are they?" He had stopped in the hallway, his eyes boring into hers as if by sheer will, he might coerce the information from her.
"I shall not tell you," she spit out, her face scarlet with her fury.
"You shall tell me, Miss Benedict, or, not only will I break your arm right here, but I shall also stop supporting your father in the manner to which he has, so readily, become accustomed over the past months."
"My father has nothing to do with this!"
"Neither did my children, yet you did not hesitate to use them as pawns in your perverse little game." His voice had become deathly quiet, as he stared her down.
Finally, she looked away. "My God," she choked, "Have you no compassion?"
"Do not," he warned, "Speak to me of compassion. What compassion did you demonstrate when you misappropriated my children from their mother and myself? Do you realize...do you have any idea of what we have been going through?"
"What do I care of their mother? I wanted you!"
Silence surrounded them as the significance of her words penetrated, seeming to reverberate against the very walls.
At length, he gave his head a quick shake, and asked incredulously, "This is how you seek my attention? By kidnapping, by coercion, and...lies?"
"I did not intend for it to be this way," she was pleading with him now, "I would have preferred earning your esteem in a more agreeable manner, but you would have none of that. In your letters you spoke of your devotion to her. Tell me, how has she won your heart so resolutely? I am just as pleasing, I can be charming and gracious...why do you love her, and not me?"
"Stop! What letters?" His expression had turned to confusion, until a particular recollection returned to him. "Do you mean the letters I sent to Brindlewood...intended for my wife? Before you even knew me, before you came to me pretending to be my sister...you took them?" The look of disbelief upon his face was quickly replaced by outrage, "You trespass upon something so private, yet cannot understand why I should despise you?" Taking her arm, he practically dragged her the length of the hall, wanting only to find his children, and leave this woman, as well as her disturbing admissions, far behind him.
"Mr. Darcy, Fitzwilliam," she gasped from the exertion of keeping up with his stride, "I truly thought I was your sister,...but, I was glad when Mr. Radcliff disproved it, for I already loved you, even then. I meant for none of this to happen...you must believe me. I only wanted you to see me...to think of me as more than a nursemaid, or a companion for Miss de Bourgh...Please, you must understand!"
"Madam, I understand all too much," he answered through clenched teeth, "And, unless you are willing to tell me where my sons are, do not say another word!"
"I cannot believe it," Anne de Bourgh stared at Colonel Fitzwilliam doubtfully. "Miss Benedict would not do those awful things of which you are accusing her...you must be mistaken."
"I am sorry to say that I am not. She has somehow convinced your mother, as well as yourself, of an innocence...a strength of character, which she simply does not possess, and in the process, has inflicted the most painful of retributions upon our own Darcy, and, of course, his wife. You must believe me, Anne. I have never deceived you before, why should I do so now?"
"But why would she do these things? What is her motive?"
"I do not understand it all, yet, myself. Once this business has been straightened out, however, I am certain we shall be enlightened. In the meantime, Anne, might we rely upon you?"
"For what? There is little I can do." She appeared to be at the outset of being convinced, her expression troubled, while she considered his words. "After all," she continued almost to herself, "There shall still be mother to contend with. You know how she is."
"Yes, I do know...If someone could only impress upon her this woman's true character." He studied her as he said this, and, though reluctant, she finally sighed, assenting, "Yes, I suppose it shall have to be me. It would be inordinately helpful if Darcy would only explain the reasons for her apparent malevolence, before I must do so."
"Well, he most likely will not, until they are safe back at Pemberley. You are certainly welcome to return with us, if you like. Perhaps you might avoid your mother's wrath in that way."
But, she shook her head, "No, I should only be postponing the inevitable. I may as well get it over with as soon as possible." She looked toward the house, her expression resigned, "I think it is time mother and I went to Bath. I am feeling a general malaise which only an extended holiday may remedy."
Darcy, after combing the entire second floor for James and Ethan, while nearly dragging Miss Benedict behind him (he would not yet release her, for fear that she might alert Lady Catherine before he should find them), was offered encouragement by way of hearing Ethan letting out a healthy squall somewhere above him.
Freeing her arm at last, he practically flew up to the third floor, being led by those gratifyingly revealing noises to a room tucked away from even the servants' wing.
As he entered, appearing quite wild he was sure, an elderly chambermaid seated in a rocking chair, stood in alarm. "Oh," she cried, "What is it? Has the house been set afire?"
Giving her only a cursory glance, his eyes lit upon his children.
Both were seated upon the rug, stacking wood blocks, or, rather, James was stacking, Ethan unstacking, which, of course, produced swift retribution. No doubt, the cause for the younger's crucial outcry earlier.
Stooping , he looked into James's face for the first time in almost three months, his emotions torn between savoring this reunion, and wasting no time in completing his objective as quickly as possible.
The child looked up then, his eyes meeting his father's, and with a happy little cry, he said clearly, "Papa," while reaching out and wrapping his little arms around his neck.
This alone might have caused Darcy to give pause, but there was no time to be spared. Taking his eldest into one arm, and the younger, the other, he stood (not so agile as before), and made for the door.
"Wait," Miss Benedict appealed from the doorway. She did not appear to be menacing, instead her countenance was a study of pain and regret. Without another word, she passed him, and from the small bed against one wall, took up a well-worn blanket, and placed it around Ethan in a gesture almost tender. Then, looking away, she said, "You had better go, before I forget myself again."
Amazed by her apparent transformation, yet not waiting long enough to analyze it, he did so.
The stairs, when maneuvered alone, were of course, not a problem, but, when carrying two healthy, wriggling children, the challenge was in navigating, without either tripping himself up, or dropping one, or both, of his precious cargo. Reaching the ground floor at last, he nodded at Peters, who obligingly opened the door while stepping aside, his expression impassive.
Outdoors, Fitzwilliam stood waiting impatiently, the horses tethered nearby. Upon seeing the group, he hurried toward them.
"Hurry, Darcy! Anne has gone in just now to talk to Lady Catherine. I expect she shall not receive the news in good humour." Then, stopping to study his cousin's situation, he inquired, "Have you thought of how we shall remove your children to Pemberley? They are too small to ride, yet too large to carry...we should have brought along saddlebags, I suppose."
"This is hardly a time to jest, Fitzwilliam. I shall give you James to ride before you, and I will take Ethan." Even as he said this, however, he appeared doubtful. Ethan was very small to be astride a horse, and the trick would be in keeping him upright.
Meanwhile, mounting with a baby under his arm proved to be an experience he would as soon not repeat, and by the time he had done so, Colonel Fitzwilliam was grinning openly.
"You are a sight, Darcy," he commented once the feat was, at last accomplished, "It is fortunate you are so capable, or I fear baby Ethan would be hanging onto your stirrup by now."
"Yes," agreed Darcy dryly, then turning his horse, "Well, shall we?"
"What about Berrick?"
"We shall ride around to the front, and, with luck, he'll meet us there."
In the process of doing so, however, they recognized Pemberley's carriage rolling up the drive toward the house at a great rate of speed.
"Who...?" Darcy wondered aloud, as both men reined back to watch its arrival. The occupants were hidden from view until Georgiana appeared at the window,
her own eyes wide with surprise. "Fitzwilliam! This is where you had disappeared to," she exclaimed. Then, seeing the children seated before them, she cried aloud with relief, "Oh, thank God, you have them!"
By now the coach had stopped, the footman was descending, but Georgiana did not wait. The door was barely flung open from within, before she was flying toward them, her arms opened to ecstatically receive her nephews.
Behind her emerged Florence Mills, her face wreathed in smiles, a handkerchief already on its way to her eyes. "Mr. Darcy," she declared, in an apparent effort to conceal her emotion, "You cannot carry those children like that...please allow Miss Georgiana and myself to take them."
Being grateful for their assistance in transporting his sons, he was therefore not in the least affronted by her boldness as he silently handed Ethan down to her.
Georgiana then accepted James from Colonel Fitzwilliam, hugging he and Ethan by turn, and peppering them both with kisses.
Their joyful reunion was abruptly interrupted by the emergence from the house of Lady Catherine, herself, followed by Mr. Berrick and Anne de Bourgh.
Stepping back against the coach, Georgiana held James closer to her, as though fearful that her aunt might snatch the child from her arms. For her part, Florence pulled the blanket over Ethan's face as a sort of shield, which brought an immediate, yet thankfully fleeting, cry of protest from beneath it.
As Darcy observed Lady Catherine's imposing figure moving toward them, he slid from his horse, walking to meet her coolly. Colonel Fitzwilliam dismounted as well, taking up Darcy's reins where they had fallen to the ground, then silently standing by to watch the tableau developing before him, his expression wary.
"So Mr. Darcy," remarked her Ladyship, as he drew near to her, "You have, at last, arrived."
He bowed briefly, replying, "At last."
"To take your children home?"
"Yes."
"As well you should."
Their eyes met then, for just a moment, and in that, a silent truce seemed to be exchanged, understood, and accepted between the two. In fact, during that time, there was no sound anywhere, for, even the birds had ceased their twittering. James was nodding against Georgiana's shoulder, and Ethan, when checked by Florence, had fallen sound asleep, still concealed by the blanket.
Mr. Berrick, stepping back from the proceedings, glanced at Georgiana, but she appeared to be mesmerized by the scene before her, her eyes wide and wondering. When, at length, Darcy bowed again, turned and remounted his horse, the whole company seemed to take a deep, collective breath.
This appeared to be the signal for all to go about their business.
Georgiana and Florence conveyed the slumbering children into the coach. Mr. Berrick mounted his own horse to wait while Darcy and Fitzwilliam bid their farewells, and from an open window, where she had witnessed the entire transpiration, Miss Benedict turned away to begin packing her baggage.
The last words from Lady Catherine, as they urged their horses away, were, "I shall have the remainder of their things packed and delivered on the morrow."
Chapter Sixty-one
Elizabeth glanced up from her book to see Mrs. Paquin standing in the doorway of the little sitting room. "No," she answered, hoping her eyes were not too red and swollen, "Have you looked in the study?"
"Yes," for a moment she appeared to be at a loss, then with a flash of rare humour she added, "I realize Pemberley is large, but not so much so that one might become lost." After a thoughtful moment, she observed, "Come to think of it, I have seen only my daughter and yourself over the past several hours."
Glancing at the clock for the first time that day, Elizabeth realized the truth in Mrs. Paquin's words. The sun had set long ago, but, as the servant had brought her a supper tray earlier (which she had barely touched), she had not been aware of the swift passing of the hours. Where had everyone disappeared to in that time? Even Fitzwilliam had made himself scarce since her breakdown so early this morning. She had assumed they were all being tactful in leaving her be, but the realization of the house being so completely silent for so long, suddenly struck her as rather odd.
Forcing a smile, Elizabeth invited, while recalling her duties as hostess, a task shamefully neglected of late, "Pray, won't you join me, Mrs. Paquin? I should not worry about Mr. Berrick, I am sure he shall be discovered eventually."
"Yes, thank you," was the ready reply, as she moved to a chair by the window opposite of Elizabeth's.
"It is unusual," Elizabeth noted aloud, "That no one is about...but, it is very late. Could they have retired without a word to either of us?"
"I have checked Michael's room, and there is no sign of him. I must suppose that he would have informed me if he were compelled to leave on some errand," Her voice held a trace of disapproval, " But, he has always been somewhat impulsive."
"I am surprised, as well, that Georgiana would go to bed without bidding me good-night. It is very unlike her." Elizabeth, in her present state of mind, felt only a mild curiosity for this uncharacteristic behaviour on her sister-in-law's part. She had to surmise that Georgiana, too, was feeling out-of-sorts, thus seeking some comfort in the solitude of her room.
The two ladies sat in silence for several moments, when Mrs. Paquin inquired, "Have you or your husband heard from Colonel Fitzwilliam recently?"
"No...which is odd. He normally keeps in touch quite faithfully. Perhaps he is off on a campaign somewhere."
"Yes, perhaps."
Almost against her will, Elizabeth yawned, for lately she had slept little, and the time was nearing midnight. Mrs. Paquin, immediately apologetic, said quickly, "I am so sorry, Mrs. Darcy, you are weary, and I am keeping you up."
"No, not at all," was the reply, "I would as soon not retire just yet. It does me little good."
"Mrs. Darcy," Mrs. Paquin appeared to be embarrassed, "I know that I am only a guest and so have no right to comment, but,...may I say something about this...awful situation?"
"You are more than just a guest," corrected Elizabeth, a slight smile evident in her expression, "You have been very kind and tactful over the past weeks, and I do appreciate it."
Mrs. Paquin returned her smile, then in a voice full of sympathy, she said, "I do know what you are going through. It is a dreadful thing this waiting, not knowing one way or the other. When, Leonard, my husband died, he suffered for weeks before. Sometimes, he would seem to be better, raising my hopes, convincing me that...but, of course, he would relapse, and now, in retrospect I must say that it was the uncertainty which was the most painful."
"He must have been very young."
"He was thirty at the time...I was but three and twenty. I was only seventeen when we were wed...it all seems so long ago now."
"You must miss him still." Elizabeth was finding it rather a relief to think of something besides her own troubles.
"Sometimes...of course, I have Bernadette. She is very like him."
"And, it is obvious that your brother cares for you greatly," Elizabeth added, hoping to cheer her, for she had lapsed into a melancholy silence.
"Yes, Michael is very good." This seemed to bring her back to the present, for she returned to their earlier subject, "I wonder where he could be?"
"Well, if it shall ease your concern, I would wager that he is with my husband, for I have seen nothing of him as well...perhaps, they are working in the library."
"I have searched the library, the study, the billiard room, the conservatory, and every other room in the house, save the servants' floors, and found not a trace. But, if, as you suggest, he is with Mr. Darcy, then I am certain he shall be fine," her exasperation gave way to a reluctant acceptance, causing Elizabeth to smile reassuringly.
"I have found, that where my husband is concerned, it is best not to ask too many questions."
"Oh?"
"His tendency is to concentrate on any one particular problem until he has it solved to his own satisfaction, no matter how long it might take him...he is, indeed, most patient."
"So he appears. You have known each other a long time, I take it."
"In many ways, I feel that I have known him all of my life, in others, that I know him but little." Admitting this aloud, caused her to miss him suddenly. Where was he? Despite her confidence before Mrs. Paquin, it was unlike him to leave the house without her knowledge. Was he upset with her for her weakness this morning? Had she driven him to go off and brood over his own helplessness? But, if that were the case, he would not have done so in the company of Mr. Berrick. Still, she could not display her doubts to her companion, else that lady might begin to worry for her brother all over again.
Interrupting her thoughts, Mrs. Paquin suddenly rose, declaring herself to be too sleepy to wait any longer., and that she would just have to see him in the morning.
Elizabeth stood as well, the idea of going to her bed alone, an unwelcome one, but no worse than remaining here.
Instead of changing her clothes, however, she moved to the window and stared out into the night, lit eerily by a glowing full moon. How long? How long must she bear this loneliness, this pain? It had seemed an eternity already, and there was not an end in sight. Sinking down upon the windowseat, she laid her cheek against the pane wearily. Someone had opened the sash a bit to let in the fresh spring breeze, its coolness lulling her into an exhausted sleep.
She awoke with a start. Dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon, turning the sky from deep purple to azure as she returned to consciousness. Her window, facing east, looked over the drive, where a curious assemblage met her gaze, causing her to wonder if she might be dreaming still.
For there, approached their own carriage being escorted by three horsemen, all riding at a pace easily set, in order to remain in step with the vehicle. A few moments passed before she could identify the gentlemen, for they were still at some distance, and, as well, her mind seemed to have been dulled by the abruptness of her awakening.
The one nearest was obviously Mr. Berrick as he was broader in shoulder than the other two. Behind Mr. Berrick proved to be Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose voice could now be heard faintly above the clatter of wheels on gravel.
From the direction of the stables there appeared two groomsmen, slipping on their coats even as they drew near the riders. Elizabeth, meanwhile, was staring hard at the third, who lingered directly beside the coach, all the while conversing with someone inside of it. Fitzwilliam, but...where were they returning from? And, who was in the carriage? Her curiosity getting the better of her, she quit the room hastily, almost running into Mrs. Paquin in the hallway.
"I believe your brother has been found," she announced, indicating the sight visible from her window.
"I heard the carriage," Mrs. Paquin replied, as she stared out at the arrivals below, "And, wondered who it might be..." Her voice trailed off as she identified them, much as Elizabeth had a few moments before. Then, inexplicably, she exclaimed, "Richard?"
If Elizabeth were not in such a hurry, she might have stayed to discover the reason for Mrs. Paquin's use of the familiar in referring to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but, by then, she wanted only to hear from her husband, his explanation of where they had been all night, and, why they were returning in such an unorthodox manner.
As she left the house, she heard Mrs. Paquin's step behind her, and the two ladies stood on the dew-laden lawn together, watching in wonder the strange procession moving toward them.
Seeing them waiting before the house, Berrick waved in greeting, Colonel Fitzwilliam light-heartedly following suit, although, not before Elizabeth distinguished a sound which made her heart catch in her throat.
It was a child's cry...and, not just any child, but...Ethan! She would have recognized it anywhere. Impulsively, she broke into a run, past Mr. Berrick, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and finally, her own husband. The carriage had barely halted, before she was beside it, tugging at the door impatiently.
Due to the early hour, the figures inside were yet only shadows, but Georgiana, unable to contain her elation, proclaimed ecstatically, "Elizabeth, we have brought home our babies!"
When she had begun to cry, she could not have said, yet as she accepted James and then Ethan into her arms, burying her face, by turn, into their collars, they came away quite damp from her joyful and unflagging embrace.
The scene following was such a combination of delight, commotion, and jubilation, that no one could later remember when the whole party at last retired into the house.
With Ethan safely back in her arms, and Fitzwilliam beside her holding James upon his lap, she heard the story of their recovery with some disbelief.
"You mean, that Lady Catherine did not detain you?" She asked, still attempting to picture the scene in her mind.
"No," replied Georgiana, as talkative as she had ever been. "In fact, she appeared to be glad of our coming...did you not receive that impression, Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes, it was rather...unexpected," her brother agreed. "Possibly the first time I have seen her concede willingly in anything." His eyes met Elizabeth's as he spoke, however, as her emotions were still on edge, she only smiled mistily and looked away.
"What did you say to her in there, Berrick?" Inquired Colonel Fitzwilliam curiously.
"Not much of consequence, I assure you," was his reply, appearing a bit bewildered himself. "Although I managed to extend a conversation which should have lasted ten minutes, well into thirty...believe me, it was not easy." Glancing at Georgiana, he added thoughtfully, "I am afraid I would not attribute her change of heart to myself, but to Miss de Bourgh."
"So," Colonel Fitzwilliam stated, sounding satisfied, "Anne was the reason for our easy success."
"I suppose she must have been...thinking back, however, I do not recall her actually saying very much at all...something about Bath, I think"
"Well, whatever it was, I thank you all," Elizabeth declared, gazing contentedly upon her children.
A silence followed, broken when Mrs. Paquin, diverting the subject tactfully, inquired, "When did you arrive, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"
"Just before Darcy was inspired to ride to Rosings, I believe. I had barely heard the whole story from Berrick before he burst in upon us and practically dragged us both along with him," that gentleman returned, amusement in his voice at the recollection.
"I don't recall dragging anyone," Fitzwilliam defended himself, but mildly.
"And I, for one, am glad that he did, even if he didn't. I would not have missed it for the world," Berrick put in, grinning. "The sight of Darcy madly racing across the countryside is one I shall treasure always."
Fitzwilliam eyed him. "Even if I looked the perfect fool, I would not hesitate to do it all again," he commented, his fingers entwined with those of the now-slumbering James.
"I am sure you would not." This from Georgiana, who had been observing the four of them reunited at last, her expression tender.
"And you, Georgiana," Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, "The last person I should have expected to see at Rosings...What would you have done once you had arrived there, I wonder?"
"I really do not know," she admitted, "I had not thought that far ahead I suppose. I only knew that my nephews must be brought home without further delay." Her eyes met Elizabeth's as she said this, the smile which accompanied it, gratefully returned.
"But, Darcy," continued Colonel Fitzwilliam, "What was the purpose of this whole ordeal? What motivation did this Miss Benedict give for her astonishing actions?"
Elizabeth, watching her husband, noticed his expression take on an air of something very much like embarrassment, but he answered only, "I believe she is... unbalanced."
"Well, obviously, that," agreed the Colonel, "But, she gave you no explanation, no other defense?"
"Not as such," was his rather curt reply.
Colonel Fitzwilliam did not appear to be willing to leave it at that, but the discussion was interrupted by the servant announcing breakfast, which was ample enticement for them to repair to the diningroom. All except Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, who, each bearing a sleeping child, proceeded above stairs to lay them down, happily, in their own beds.
As she straightened from bestowing a kiss on an oblivious James, and tucking Ethan's blanket snugly around him, Elizabeth spoke to her husband in a soft voice, "I must thank you as well, my love, but I cannot think of adequate words with which to express my feelings."
"Then," said he, slipping his arms around her waist, "Do not use words."
After the unusually timed meal, everyone retired for some much needed rest. As she moved through the foyer to go to her room, Georgiana was diverted by a glow emanating from Fitzwiliam's study. Peeking around the open door, she saw Mr. Berrick, seated and watching the dying flames on the hearth pensively. Upon hearing the floor creak, he turned his head, noticing her presence there.
He looked very tired. A trace of stubble was visible on his face, his hair was mussed, and his clothes dusty, but, to herself, he looked fine.
She smiled, saying softly, "You should get some sleep...it has been a long night."
He did not appear to have heard her, for he said nothing for a long moment, his eyes silently watching her own. Then, a trace of a rueful smile appeared around his mouth, "Georgiana...or should I say Miss Darcy?"
"Should you?" She asked, wondering at the distance of his manner.
"I believe," he said, rising from his chair, "I must owe you an apology."
"You...do?"
"I acted impulsively yesterday morning...was it only yesterday? Completely improperly, I realize, now." All the while he spoke, he avoided her gaze, his expression unreadable.
"You owe me nothing," she replied at last, her heart sinking at his words, for, obviously, the kiss which had lifted her so headily had affected him, not at all. How could she have been so naive? He did not care for her, and, now he was sorry only for having led her into thinking that he did. She swallowed, repeating, "You owe...me nothing," in a voice as steady as she could manage. Turning away in order to hide the tears which threatened to spill over, she hastened to leave.
"Miss Darcy...wait, please."
Something in the way he said it stopped her. His next words, then, took her somewhat by surprise, for he began to speak as though he were thinking aloud. "Do you know, I am considering returning to law? These past weeks have reawakened my interest in the profession. I wonder if London has changed too much for me. Perhaps, I would rather become a country attorney...more relaxed, less ruthless. What do you think?"
"I could not say," she answered, her back yet to him, determined to keep her distress hidden.
"Would a lady of gentle breeding prefer life in town or...something quieter?"
"That would depend upon the lady involved," she replied, concentrating on keeping her voice steady. Why was he tormenting her so cruelly?
"There is only one I am interested in."
Her heart froze within her. What did he mean...did he realize how his words could be misconstrued? After regaining her composure somewhat , she took a quiet breath. "I fear you are enjoying yourself at my expense, Mr. Berrick," she murmured painfully. She had not realized he had moved nearer until his voice, when he spoke again, was heard directly behind her .
"Georgiana," he said, not sounding as if he were enjoying himself at all. "I have only known you a short while, yet I feel as though we have been friends for far longer than that."
"Yes," she acceded unhappily. Friends? He wished to be her friend? She was now thoroughly bewildered. "Mr. Berrick," she stated bravely, turning, at last, to face him, "If you wish to be my friend,...that is all well and good, but, please explain to me that...kiss between us yesterday. For it stirred feelings in me which were not those of friendship." Marveling at her own courage in speaking thus, she nonetheless, kept her eyes cast downward as she waited for his explanation.
After taking her fingers into his, and studying them thoughtfully, he inquired "Do you not believe that a man and woman should be friends first...before they are wed? It seems to me to be a prerequisite...a necessity. If you do not agree, please enlighten me."
Peeking up at his face through her lashes, she recognized the humour now apparent in his expression. Very well, she decided. Aloud, she answered only, "Yes, I suppose they should. It would hardly be worth the time and effort involved, if they disagreed upon every issue."
His smile was becoming more evident. "And, do you not also agree that they must share between them a certain...trust?"
"Well, of course...I, for one, could not marry a man whom I did not trust implicitly."
"Do you trust me, Georgiana?"
Meeting his eyes directly, she replied, "Have you given me reason to do so, Michael?" Purposely using his Christian name in order to observe his reaction, she, at the same time, kept her own countenance solemn.
"Have I caused you to doubt me?" He returned, the smile spreading to his eyes.
"No...until now, that is."
He managed to look surprised. "How have I done so, now?"
"Because you are declining to come to your point," she chided him, her own lips beginning to curve in spite of her efforts.
He laughed aloud then, the sound of it filling her, until she was compelled to smile fully at last.
"Then I shall," he declared grandly. Taking her hands and placing a light kiss upon the top of each, he requested, "Miss Darcy, will you consent to be my wife?"
"Mr. Berrick," but she paused, unable to think of any more clever rejoinders, so instead, replied softly, "Yes, Michael, I shall."
After kissing her as thoroughly as she had ever dreamt of being kissed, he asked, "So, you should not mind being a barrister's wife?"
From the warmth of his arms, she replied, "You could be a gardener and I would not care."
"Well, as I am rather useless with foliage, you need not concern yourself with that possibility."
"What of your sister, Michael?"
"Good God," he declared, "I do so love to hear you speak my name!" Then, as though he had only just comprehended the question, he answered, "She might choose to stay at Tellerone, or, if not, I may sell the place and set her up in a townhouse...but, I shall leave that decision up to her."
"You are a very good brother," Georgiana complimented him fondly.
"I am less concerned with being a good brother than a good husband."
"A worthy ambition."
"Yes," he agreed, kissing her again. Suddenly remembering other obligations, his expression became rueful, "Now, however, comes the difficult part in all of this."
"What is that?"
"To ask Darcy for his approval."
Not appearing to be too concerned herself, she said lightly, "Oh, he shall not refuse."
"How do you know?"
Still smiling, she gazed into his eyes, while assuring him, "Because, he is a good brother, as well."
Lying in bed with her husband, Elizabeth, for the first time in many weeks, felt perfectly content. Into the semi-darkness, she whispered a quiet, "Thank you".
Not quiet enough, apparently, for he turned over to face her, asking in a low voice, "Elizabeth, you are yet awake?"
Smiling at him, she replied, "I fear that I am far too happy to sleep."
"Then, do not," he declared, drawing her into his arms, so that her head was lying comfortably against his chest. "Tell me what you are thinking."
"We have traveled a hazardous road, my dear Mr. Darcy," she mused, "But, having come through relatively unscathed, I am feeling quite...devoted to you just now."
"That is good to know," he replied, stroking her hair lightly as he spoke.
"I suppose we should take comfort from the fact that anything else of such a disastrous nature is unlikely to recur...for a while in any case."
"For a very long while, hopefully."
"And if, God forbid, it should, we would know that we shall survive the ordeal."
"This, too shall pass?"
"Yes, exactly...Fitzwilliam?"
"Elizabeth."
"What did Miss Benedict say to you at Rosings?"
"It is of little consequence."
"Is she...in love with you?"
He let out a long belaboured sigh, "She imagined herself to be so."
"I suspected as much."
"Oh, you did, did you?" His voice clearly reflecting his doubt.
"What else could make a woman behave so irrationally? And, after all, you can be quite... charming when you wish to be."
"Oh?"
"Oh, yes...Fitzwilliam?" Her tone had suddenly become thoughtful.
"Yes, Elizabeth."
"We have not been married three years, and already the dragons have been numerous."
"Dragons...yes, of course. They are well buried, are they not?"
"Very much so. I do not expect them to show their faces again."
They were both silent for some time, their minds occupied with the events having transpired thus far in their lives as husband and wife.
At length Elizabeth remarked, "You have kept your promise quite well, my love."
When he did not answer, she reminded him, "You promised to be the most attentive, affectionate, and liberal husband in England, and, after considering the circumstances, I believe you have succeeded admirably."
She heard the smile in his voice when he replied, "Thank you." After another moment, he inquired, "And you, Elizabeth...have you attained all that you had hoped?"
"Well, as I recall, I said that I would be servile and obedient...Obviously, I was not that. I should ask you then, have I been what you desired as your wife?"
"Elizabeth, my love," his voice caught, lowered, and then recovered, as he answered her, "You cannot know all that you have been to me."
Their conversation ended abruptly, although agreeably, as his lips covered hers in that manner proving to be both comfortably familiar, and yet, still quite extraordinary.
The remainder of that spring and summer were spent in happy preparations for the marriage of Georgiana to Mr. Berrick. An event intended for the following May, once he had reestablished his law practice.
Mrs. Paquin did not display a particular desire to remain alone with Bernadette in Belgium, and so was soon settled by her brother into her own townhouse in London, where she had a frequent, attentive visitor in Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Meanwhile, the wedding of Miss Bingley to Lord Fitzwilliam, the current Earl of Matlock was scheduled for October the eighth, 1718, however, just before they were to depart for London where the ceremony was to take place, Elizabeth was able to share with her husband a different sort of celebration.
As they stood together on the eve of their journey watching the sunset turn the sky into a blaze of pink and purple, she announced softly, "My love, I am with child."
His own initial happiness aside, he inquired in a serious voice, "And, are you pleased, Elizabeth?"
Smiling a bit ruefully, for she recalled well her last tragic pregnancy, she assured him, "I am very well pleased, Fitzwilliam...and, who knows, perhaps we shall finally have a daughter."
Bending down to kiss her, he smiled in return, saying only, "Perhaps we shall."
Finis