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Chapter Thirty-Three
"Michael, whatever is the matter?" Georgiana asked, having only just returned from placing a sleeping Melanie in her bassinet, and noticing his change of mood.
Being deep in thought, he at first did not appear to have heard her; then, he only shook his head absent-mindedly, replying, "Never mind, my love."
Taken aback by the unexpected reversal of his, usually, open nature, she fell silent. Her puzzled musings were interrupted by Mrs. Paquin's gentle voice requesting her to play for them.
Although the piano-forte remained in its place in the music room, the conservatory housed a small, yet stately, gold and white harpsichord receiving little use except in the spring, when the room was not apt to be overly warm. It had been a gift for her mother from her father; nevertheless, Fitzwilliam had told Georgiana that even he had rarely heard it played. Still, it was kept tuned and polished for anyone who might be thus inspired; so that occasionally, Georgiana would attempt the task; enjoying the delicate sounds produced by its strings.
Having not employed it for some time, she moved toward the instrument gingerly, not wishing to embarrass herself. Once she was seated, however, the feeling of strangeness withdrew, and she began to play. Very soon thereafter she became aware of someone standing beside her.
Glancing up, she met Michael's eyes as he inquired in a low voice, "Do you mind if I assist in turning the pages of your music?"
"No, not at all," she answered, sliding over so that the bench might accommodate them both. In truth, she did not require his help, but as he had offered, she thought it a convenient time to pursue the reason behind his sudden quietude.
He, apparently, anticipated her concern, for he initiated the conversation, still in the same low voice.
"I am sorry. I hope I did not distress you by my tone a moment ago."
Not really...Although I must admit you caused me to wonder what mischance might have occurred in the few moments that I was gone."
"Again, I apologise. You did not hear Mrs. Bennet's news, then?"
"Mrs. Bennet? Good heavens, I am almost afraid to ask."
He smiled wryly, having already gathered in the short time of their acquaintance that Mrs. Bennet was nothing like her second (nor even her eldest) daughter. Turning a page of Georgiana's score as she nodded slightly for him to do so, he continued, "She announced that Miss Mary Bennet is to wed Mr. Chase, the vicar of Longbourne."
The interruption of the musical notes was so slight, that no one else in the room appeared to have noticed, yet Georgiana said nothing for a moment lest they be overheard.
At length, she asked, "He is that awful man who kept you imprisoned, is he not?"
"Yes."
"You cannot allow her to marry him...No one should marry him. I am certain she has no idea of how loathsome he truly is."
"I do not know her well enough to offer my advice. Would it be presumptuous of me to approach her father, do you think?"
"Mr. Bennet? What is his opinion of Mr. Chase now?"
"Judging by the way he spoke of him when we met at Longbourne, I received the impression of little affection shared between the two."
"Then in that case, he should have little trouble in giving credence to you, should he?"
"I am somewhat reluctant to relate the whole story to him." He cleared his throat uncomfortably at this admission.
"Why ever not? You did nothing wrong. Let Mr. Chase defend himself!"
"Georgiana," he sounded amused, "To think, I used to believe you timid."
"I was," she confessed, "I still am, but I abhor the idea of anyone treating you so ill."
"Still," he considered, returning to the subject at hand, "I am not convinced that he is necessarily evil,...only desperate."
"Yet, who is to say that he would not behave in such an outrageous fashion again? What if he were to be driven to the same desperation by a wife? What atrocities might he render against her?"
"So you think him irredeemable? He is a clergyman, after all."
She sniffed, "A clergyman in name only. How could a man of the church act in such a way? It is unconscionable."
"You are sounding more like Mrs. Darcy every day. All right, Georgiana, I shall confess all to Mr. Bennet, and he can do with the information what he will."
Meanwhile, Elizabeth, on her way to the nursery to check upon her two sons and Bernadette, happened upon Mary, who was standing before a hallway window; staring unblinkingly out at the flawless spring afternoon.
"Mary?" She asked hesitantly, "Will you be rejoining us downstairs?"
"Yes, I suppose I must," she replied, emitting a deep sigh; then, "Lizzy, Mama just does not understand. I believe no one does."
Her voice sounded so desolate that Elizabeth had not the heart to abandon her, so reluctantly, she remained. "Understand what, Mary?"
"I am not marrying Mr. Chase because I love him. I do respect his work and his ambitions, but I am not...Do you know that he desires to go to India to minister to the heathens?"
"He does?" Other than seeing him when he officiated at Kitty's wedding, Elizabeth had little opinion of the man. His conversation had not held her attention, but this was no cause to condemn him; she might have said the same of her younger sisters.
"He is so learned,...so conscientious in his calling. I am not certain that I am worthy of him, but I feel...I truly feel that I may be of service. Perhaps, I might be as Clare was to Francis. Is that not an honourable dream, Lizzy?"
"Clare and Francis did not marry, you know," Elizabeth reminded her gently. "And, they practiced lives of poverty and chastity."
"Not exactly like them, of course, but our intentions might be as pure. I believe that to marry without base carnality...I mean, keeping a marriage on a more moderate, restrained level, is truly a goal to which one ought to aspire, if possible."
"Well, I suppose," conceded Elizabeth warily, "If this is what you both desire."
"We have not discussed it, of course. At least, not in reference to ourselves, yet, I know that we are in perfect agreement on the matter." Mary's voice had taken on a tone of certain self-satisfaction.
"And, you shall be happy thus?"
"As happy as anyone, I daresay. We shall, while accomplishing our daily tasks, be deriving true contentment; a far greater prize than even simple happiness, I believe. Our work...our endeavour to bring the dear souls of the heathens to ultimate salvation shall undoubtedly sustain us."
"Yes...well," Elizabeth said, feeling rather awkward, "I must see to the children. If you'll excuse me?" She moved to leave, wishing only to be away from this sister with whom she seemed to share the least similarities.
Before she had done so, however, Mary spoke again, albeit very softly, "At least, I must hope so."
After stopping in the nursery, Elizabeth returned to their guests, to find the mysterious absences of, not only Mr. Berrick and her father, but her husband, as well. Her mother was chattering away to Mrs. Paquin, who listened politely, yet spoke little. Mary had taken charge of the harpsichord, and with Georgiana's ever-patient tutoring was giving an adequate, if not perfected, performance of Mozart.
Bishop Piedmont was resting comfortably, a glass of wine in his hand, his eyes half-closed, the lids only ascending when Mary happened upon a wrong note.
Seating herself opposite of the Bishop, while fully aware that he would be unlikely to necessitate conversation, she pondered Mary's confidences in silence.
To be wed without love...The idea seemed unimaginable. Yet, it was done, and done quite often. People apparently thought nothing of it; frequently entering into alliances of pure convenience on a regular basis. In Mary's case, she would affiliate herself, not so much with the man, as to his convictions. Could this, possibly, be sufficient to guarantee a successful union, or serve instead, as an assurance of misery for both parties?
Reflecting upon Mary's character, Elizabeth wondered if her sister had ever been actually, truly happy. She had always remained contrary to the rest of them. Serious, bookish, literal in her thinking; so that humour was a weakness to be shunned since her childhood, and any occupation which might be considered frivolous, or without specific purpose, rigidly disregarded. Even her musical exhibitions lacked evidence of any inner fulfilment. Well, apparently, marriage too, had to serve some purpose; to save the poor "souls of the heathens", as she had stated.
"I hope this is enough," Elizabeth thought grimly. "Lord knows it would not be for me." Recalling her own circumstances, when, at the tender age of fifteen, she had vowed that she would marry for love only; that a marriage of convenience would never do for herself, she had to smile. She had hardly known, then, what love was. Really, she had no clue as to what was entailed in the marriage bed, nor in the intricacies of everyday living.
What if she had not fallen in love with Mr. Darcy? Would another, eventually, have come along to claim her regard? Or, would she have settled for something far less?
Imagining a life made less satisfactory by his absence, however, promised nothing good on such a lovely spring day, and did not bear even the briefest contemplation. Sternly, she replaced this disquieting impression with those promising to be more agreeable...The countless instances of his passionate nature, displayed only to her, his devotion to his children, his loyalty to Georgiana; husband, father, brother, landlord, employer,...so much to so many. No, she decided contentedly, she could not visualise anyone else in his stead. In fact, the more she pondered his attributes, the more she longed for his company.
The Bishop, suddenly rousing himself, interrupted her musings when he announced, "I fear I must be going, as I shall be required soon for evensong, but I wish to thank you for a most enjoyable afternoon, Mrs. Darcy."
Rising to shake his hand, she smiled, "We are grateful you could share this happy occasion with us, sir. I know my husband will be desirous to thank you, as well."
"There is no need...," he had begun to protest, when at that very moment, as though by design, Fitzwilliam appeared in the doorway.
"I apologise," he spoke penitently as he entered, "I had not intended on being so long absent."
"Indeed," replied his wife, amusement in her voice, "I anticipated giving you up for lost."
"I was just thanking Mrs. Darcy for a pleasant day, but, as I said, it is time I am off," the Bishop put in, apparently believing an argument to be imminent and wishing to preclude it.
They both walked him out to his carriage. The setting sun lengthening the shadows around them and cooling the air considerably; a circumstance which caused her to shiver just a little.
"Are you cold, Elizabeth?" Fitzwilliam inquired, once the Bishop's coach had disappeared from view, and as they turned back to the house.
"Not very," she answered. However, she did not distance herself when, despite her denial, his arm slid firmly around her waist. Silent for a moment as she slowed her stride to match his own, she spoke at last, "Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes."
"Where did you go?"
"As I felt the need for some fresh air, I walked for a while."
"And," she admonished lightly, "Did not concern yourself with the plight of your guests?"
"They appeared to be adequately entertained. As I said, I did not intend to be away for so long." He hesitated before he asked, "My love, is something distressing you?"
Ruefully, for it never failed to impress her when he discerned her ill humour, she admitted, "I spoke to Mary of her engagement."
"Oh?"
"Mr. Chase, it seems, is preparing himself to be a missionary in India."
Considering her announcement without being too surprised, he questioned, "Is such a prospect agreeable to her, as well?"
"Apparently. She has always held very high and noble ideals...an attribute which I seem to be sadly lacking."
"Indeed? You do not appear to be so disreputable to me."
"Thank you."
"What has caused such doubt in the ever-confident Mrs. Darcy?" However playful the words might have sounded, his tone was nothing if not sympathetic.
Stopping, she turned to face him, her voice troubled, "She does not love him, Fitzwilliam. I suppose it should not concern me, yet it does. How can one enter into marriage without it? How can a marriage survive without such a foundation?"
His answer, when he spoke, was cautious, "It is not so unusual. Many people do so. In fact, the idea of marrying for love is relatively modern."
"I know that," she replied, "I do know that, yet somehow, I thought...I had presumed..."
"Not everyone feels as you...as we do, my dear Elizabeth," he reminded her gently, placing his hands upon either side of her face, so that she was compelled to meet his gaze. Slowly, he bent to kiss her, his lips a brief caress upon her own.
"You would not have considered such a union, would you?" She persisted, watching for some specific assurance in his expression .
"I? Obviously not," he looked more amused than surprised by her question.
"And, why not? It is not unusual for the wealthy to marry for...other reasons besides affection."
"Not only the wealthy, Elizabeth. In my case, however, I was not forced into such a union."
"True," she agreed, relaxing at last, "You had no need for a specific alliance. Your fortune was...is your own. You are not nobility, nor did you require the immediacy of an heir-apparent."
Despite the fact that they were well within sight of the house, he drew her into his arms. "You are in the right of it. None of those things were of concern to me," he verified, all the while observing the charming effects of the late afternoon sunlight as it played upon her features.
"Even though your cousin and yourself were, supposedly, promised, you did not let that discourage your own interests."
"I don't believe the dissolution of such a betrothal broke either heart overmuch."
"So, why did you?" Her voice had, unwittingly, become rather breathless, although whether it was from the strength of his arms around her, or the subject of the conversation, remained unclear.
"Why did I what?"
"Why did you choose to marry for love?"
"My lovely and inquisitive Mrs. Darcy," he answered, bending to kiss her more deeply, "In the end there was very little choice involved."
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Confined and bound, you say?" He inquired, obviously repressing the urge to laugh aloud.
"Well, yes," Berrick declared, feeling more foolish by the moment. Why had he ever let Georgiana convince him to expose himself in such a humiliating manner?
"Forgive me," Mr Bennet continued, coughing into his handkerchief, "My diversion is not the result of your own discomfort, Mr. Berrick, but, that this is the first instance I have received of Mr. Chase possessing some backbone. Good God, I had almost given up on the man!"
"You are not concerned with having such a...gentleman as a son-in-law?"
"I do not see what that has to do with anything, as I doubt that he'd try such a prank on Mary. She would only pray for his soul that much louder, I do believe, and bring him little peace in the bargain. Still, if you are worried for her well-being, I shall caution her to be on her guard."
"I would appreciate it, sir, if you might omit my name entirely," Berrick mumbled, hoping that such an embarrassing story would go no further than this room.
"Not that she would probably believe me anyway, but you have my word. I shall divulge your secret to no one, unless I feel that person may need some guidance in dealing with the vile vicar."
"Even then, sir, I must beg to retain my anonymity."
"Very well," he agreed, wiping his eyes cheerfully, "If, or when, I must surrender knowledge of the astonishing Mr. Chase, I shall do so without mentioning you directly...There, will that do?"
"I suppose so," Berrick conceded ruefully. Somehow Mr. Bennet had not appeared to be as deeply affected as both he and Georgiana had expected. Well, he had completed his duty, if that gentleman chose to ignore his warning, than there was little he could do about it.
Later, when he informed Georgiana of the manner in which his revelation was received, she did not seem so surprised. "I feared as much," she responded soberly.
"You did? Why, then, did you allow, no, encourage, me to make a fool of myself?" He found himself, at that moment, torn between outrage and bafflement.
"Michael, my love," she spoke, her voice soothing, "I am very proud of you for speaking so courageously. What I meant was, I fear that Mr. Bennet will do nothing to stop Miss Bennet from becoming Mr. Chase's wife."
"Possibly not," he agreed, now somewhat mollified, as she had followed this with several well-placed kisses.
"I shall have to speak with her, myself," she said then, her countenance lit with new determination.
"Is that wise, my darling," he cautioned, "Will she believe you, do you think?" The notion that Georgiana would certainly go to any lengths to convince Miss Bennet to reconsider, including his part in the whole sorry tale, was not a welcome one.
"If she does not, at the very least she will have been forewarned," Georgiana declared, nodding her head resolutely.
Even Georgiana, as it happened, could not seem to impede Mary's deeply embedded respect for Mr. Chase. Miss Bennet listened calmly while Miss Darcy described that gentleman's character as she understood it, but as her narrative drew to a close, Mary arose from her place.
"You say that Mr. Chase held Mr. Berrick hostage for some twenty hours?" Was her cool inquiry.
"At least that," replied Georgiana, "This must, surely, be proof that Mr. Chase is not a man to be trusted."
"On the contrary," Mary disputed, "I find it only shows him to be truly and deeply dedicated to his vocation."
"You cannot be serious!" Georgiana's mouth dropped open in astonishment by this unforeseen response, "You are exonerating him?"
"He believed Mr. Berrick's object was to interfere with his very livelihood...No, I find it quite understandable for a man to go to incredible lengths in order to protect that, upon which he must depend."
"You are still intending to marry him? In spite of his reprehensible conduct?"
"Miss Darcy, I do appreciate your concern, but, I have heard nothing this afternoon which would dissuade me from my former resolve...Is this, then, all you wished to tell me?"
Feeling defeated and helpless, Georgiana conceded, "Yes, this is all...Miss Bennet, are you certain that you are making the wisest choice?"
"There are some matters which are not for us to comprehend. I feel I have been offered a particular path to follow; a path that Mr. Chase and I must embark on together, despite the many pitfalls we shall, undoubtedly, encounter. Its consequence shall be of far greater import than any minor obstacle at this time, and I could no longer refuse; even if it were in my power to do so."
And so, Georgiana, frustrated by her lack of success, went away wondering if, someday, Mr. Chase might not commit some act immoderate enough to cause his wife a belated regret on the path chosen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Monday, Dr. Brecht returned; in better spirits than when he had departed, and happy to be informed of his sister's current marital status. With their friendship now restored, Mr. Berrick insisted he remain for the wedding, an invitation which was accepted with alacrity. Mr. Bennet, meanwhile, found in the doctor a ready conversationalist on nearly any topic, and whose sensible opinions often concurred with his own.
Thus, the week proceeded quietly enough. The preparations for the wedding day were in place; or if not, very soon would be. Georgiana's dress, following countless refittings, now suited her perfectly; its form and fashion showing off her figure to its best advantage. Each hour, however, the flutterings in her stomach grew more troublesome, until at last, she approached Elizabeth in desperation.
"Please," she begged, before her sister-in-law had even time to set her book aside, "Please tell me what to expect. It is the not knowing which torments me...Please, Elizabeth."
"Well, of course," answered she, surprised by the vehemence of her plea, "What would you like to know?"
At the realisation that she would actually have to voice her questions aloud, Georgiana turned a deep shade of crimson, but, bravely, she continued, "The wedding night...is it very uncomfortable?"
Elizabeth, striving mightily to keep her own complexion serene, inquired, "Do you mean, in a physical sense, or, in the anticipation beforehand?"
"Both, I suppose...You must understand. I know absolutely nothing. None of the books in our library were of any use at all..." Upon acknowledging that she had studied each volume minutely, she coloured yet again, her handkerchief twisted into knots upon her lap.
"Georgiana," Elizabeth spoke softly, her eyes filled with sympathy, "You do love Mr. Berrick, do you not?"
"Yes, of course. I could not imagine my life without him."
"Than you have already overcome the first obstacle. The whole experience would be vastly less pleasant if you lacked a deep affection for one another. As it is, it is really quite simple."
"It is?" Georgiana, although willing to trust Elizabeth's counsel, appeared doubtful.
"Follow his lead, and allow yourself to enjoy it."
"Enjoy...it?"
"Georgiana," she tried again, "You do take delight in his kisses?"
"Elizabeth!" Georgiana protested; then, as she recollected those instances, admitted, "Oh,...yes."
"Think of how you feel when he is kissing you. It is merely more of that very same sensation...only stronger, deeper...until it reaches down into your very being...Goodness," she exclaimed suddenly, rising to pace quickly about the room, "Is it becoming warm in here?"
"But," Georgiana persisted anxiously, paying little heed to Elizabeth's actions, "How shall I respond? What do I do?"
"Return the favour, of course. You are not simply a bystander. Good heavens, Georgiana, you shall know when the time comes, I promise you." Picking up a discarded list which lay upon a side-table, Elizabeth began to fan herself vigorously.
"I shall? You mean that it is...instinctive? Somehow, I am doubting whether I truly possess that particular instinct."
"You do," she was reassured, "You are a Darcy, after all. I mean, obviously, there is some discomfort the first time, but it is fleeting and compares little to everything else you are experiencing at the moment."
"You are referring to the actual...act?" Unable to speak the word aloud, she ducked her head in mortification. "Elizabeth, I don't believe I can..."
"Nonsense." Elizabeth stopped her pacing long enough to note her listener's distress. "Georgiana, how do you think the human race has continued? The point is, you can choose to make it either, pleasurable, or something to be endured. Personally, even after three years, I find it just as breathtaking as was the first. There is, quite simply, nothing like it; the abandon of all good sense, the intimacy, the tenderness which follows...I cannot begin to describe it adequately."
Repressing images she would rather not envision in regards her brother and sister-in-law, Georgiana swallowed, "Then, you are saying I should not worry?"
"No, Georgiana, you should not." Seating herself on a low stool before her, Elizabeth took the younger girl's hands into her own. "Mr. Berrick loves you...I have witnessed it myself. He treats you with solicitude and warmth. These considerations shall not be altered. Despite what we are told as young ladies, gentlemen do not suddenly become insatiable, depraved beasts in the bedroom...Unless, of course, that is what you desire." Giving Georgiana such a look of sauciness that she was compelled to laugh aloud, albeit nervously, Elizabeth arose, adding, "It is, in the end, up to you. Realise he shall, with all likelihood, be just as uneasy as yourself, and will require you to be understanding, as well."
"You think he will?"
"When you reflect upon the subject, it is easy to recognise that men have a far more demanding task than have we. They must reassure us, while at the same time, excite. When they wish to release their own emotions, they must (or feel they must) consider ours. Because we expect them to be knowledgeable of the whole business, they conceal their own insecurities. And, in the end, they are left hoping that we are satisfied enough to be desirous of repeating the process all over again. You cannot help but sympathise with the poor creatures."
"I suppose I had not thought of that," Georgiana remarked, chewing her lip pensively.
"And, does the prospect seem less troubling if you do so?"
"Perhaps...At the very least, I might concentrate upon Mr. Berrick's feelings, rather than on my own."
"Good." Elizabeth turned to leave, but before she did so, she inquired, while keeping her voice carefully nonchalant, "I do not suppose you have happened to see your brother of late?"
Chapter Thirty-Five
"Georgiana, you are breathtaking," Elizabeth smiled warmly at her sister-in-law. "A true vision."
Dressed in her wedding gown, a simple wreath of tiny pink rosettes adorning her hair, Georgiana stood perfectly still for the inspection of all the ladies present.
Lady Caroline Fitzwilliam spoke next, her tone condescending, "Yes, my dear, you are impeccable. Lady Catherine shall, I have no doubt, be quite pleased."
"Now, Georgiana," Kitty instructed, busily arranging her train, "Be very careful when you are seated in your coach, or your dress shall wrinkle."
"My dear," Mrs. Covington said fondly, taking Georgiana's hands into her own, "If only your mother could see you."
Mrs. Bennet, for once, was speechless; the sheer richness of the gowns lace and handiwork overwhelming her sensibilities.
At that moment, a servant knocked on the door, opened it uncertainly, and after glancing around, announced, "Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy said that they are nearly ready to depart for the church."
"Georgiana," Anne de Bourgh moved to her hurriedly, "Take this, so that you shall have something old and blue." She pressed a small silver ring, a light blue stone set within its centre, into her hand. "It has been mine since I was ten. My father gave it to me, and now I should like you to have it."
"Thank you, Anne. It is beautiful." She slid it onto her smallest finger as it would not fit onto any other. The cousins embraced; then Georgiana blew out her breath in an effort to gather her courage. "I believe I am ready," she announced after a pause.
As they descended the staircase, Fitzwilliam met them, his eyes offering her reassurance.
"Georgiana," he told her, his voice low, "You are lovely."
"Thank you," she breathed, sliding her arm through his, "If I survive this day, Brother, the rest of my life ought to be quite simple."
Only Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were riding with her to the church, and so the other ladies, in a procession of grand or not-so-grand conveyances, preceded them. The gentlemen, meanwhile, as well as the multitude of guests, would be awaiting their arrival there.
Among them, would be Michael. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of him there. What was he feeling? Was he as nervous as she? Was he regretting his choice?
The countryside, of which she knew every hill and tree, seemed, today, strangely foreign. In fact, nothing felt the same as it always had. She, herself, was experiencing the sensation of being a spectator; not as a bride, but as a stranger. "Is this truly happening to me?" she wondered. "Am I not Georgiana Darcy, still?" Very soon she would adapt another name, yet even that prospect brought little comfort. The butterflies within her were no longer fluttering; they had rolled themselves up into tight little balls, and were seriously hindering her breathing.
"Oh," she brooded miserably, "Why can I not disregard the next few hours altogether? Why could we not have simply eloped?"
Elizabeth, sensing her discomfort, leaned forward from her seat opposite, and whispered, "You shall be fine, Georgiana. Keep in mind your deep affection."
"Yes," she swallowed, forcing herself to smile.
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Fitzwilliam, who, after a slight hesitation, moved to the seat beside his sister. Taking her hand between his, he spoke, his voice low, "Gina, believe it or not, such painful anxieties have been suffered by many others prior to yourself."
His use of the long-forgotten pet name, followed by the unexpected admission was too much. Forgetting, for the moment, her own tortured thoughts, she met his eyes questioningly, "Not you, Fitzwilliam?" His smile, fleeting though it was, was enough to convince her. "Whatever did you do?"
"Do? There was nothing to be done. On the dawn of my wedding, I was certain I had dreamt the whole thing. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not truly going to become my wife, and I was mad to have imagined it. By the time I arrived at the church, I had worked myself into quite a state."
During this, Elizabeth said nothing, but only smiled out of the window as though determined to keep her counsel.
"I recollect your demeanour to have been completely unaffected," Georgiana argued, her brow furrowed as she did so.
"You did not see me until after Elizabeth's arrival," he asserted calmly, "When I beheld her at last, everything fell into place."
"Oh...So, you are saying this will pass?"
"As everything must."
"As everything shall," added his wife, her eyes softening as they met his. "So you see, Georgiana, such apprehension is but a temporary condition. When you are reunited with Mr. Berrick, your happiness shall return a hundredfold, I promise."
For answer, she could only sigh, but thereafter studying her brother and sister-in-law, she had little doubt as to the truth of their words.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..." Bishop Piedmont's voice faded as Georgiana ceased paying him any attention. Her thoughts were centred upon the man standing beside her; his feelings, impressions, and expectations.
When she had entered the church, his smile had greeted her as a lamp suddenly illuminated, causing her heart to leap in her breast. At that moment, it truly seemed as though there was no one else present, and, as she had been previously assured, her anxiety swiftly left her. His eyes were for her alone; their warmth a gratifying reception as she took her place at his side.
The ceremony was surprisingly short, or perhaps, her lack of concentration only made it appear so. Either way, it seemed that only moments had passed before the Bishop pronounced them husband and wife, whereafter Michael caught up her hand; lifting it to his lips to press a meaningful kiss on her palm.
As he released her, he smiled once more, his mouth forming the words "I adore you, Mrs. Berrick."
Yes, the new Georgiana Berrick might have supposed herself to be in heaven, but for the unforeseen and somewhat startling reminder of cold reality sometime later.
For, upon their return to Pemberleys halls, where they would partake of the wedding supper and then travel to London the following day, there in the foyer awaited a young woman whom she did not recognise; yet who, apparently, was not a stranger to her husband.
As they entered, he stopped short, his expression one of astonishment and, she imagined, no little regret.
"Helena!" he exclaimed, while the woman rose from her chair to meet them.
"Hello, Michael," she returned, her countenance giving evidence of a long and wearing journey.
Behind them, Georgiana became aware of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth's presence, and of Elizabeth's pronounced, "Baroness!"
"Mrs. Darcy," replied the lady in question, holding her hand hesitantly out in greeting, "It is so very good to see you again."
It was Fitzwilliam who finally recovered his manners. "Baroness Von Wold," he proposed while indicating a thoroughly confused Georgiana; "May I introduce my sister, Miss...Mrs. Berrick?"
For the first time, the Baroness looked directly at Georgiana, her expression unreadable. "So, you are the one I have heard so much of," she affirmed sombrely, "Please accept my sincerest congratulations, as well as my apologies for arriving uninvited on such an occasion."
"Thank you," murmured Georgiana, feeling somehow betrayed. Why had this woman appeared out of nowhere on this, their wedding day? Whatever did she want? Inexplicably, her knees seemed no longer able to support her, and she found herself clutching the back of a chair for support.
"Are you all right, my darling?" It was Michael, his hand beneath her elbow protectively, his low voice very near her ear.
"I...I fear I should sit down," she managed weakly, "I did not sleep well..."
"Georgiana!" Elizabeth cried, followed by nothing at all, as the bride felt herself slipping into blackness.
It was Michael who bore her into the drawing room, laying her gently upon the settee and refusing to leave her side, even to allow her brother's attentions.
The wedding guests, meanwhile, were arriving steadily by then, to be immediately directed to the ball room where the repast was to served. As a result, they remained largely ignorant of the small drama transpiring so near them.
After a time, Elizabeth encouraged her husband to play the host so as to allay any suspicions that something might, indeed, be amiss. He was not long absent, however, before he returned; his countenance etched with concern for the still unconscious Georgiana.
When Dr. Brecht arrived, he was led into the drawing room to both, aid in restoring Mrs. Berrick to consciousness, and, to be made aware of his sister's unexpected appearance. His reaction to the latter was complete and candid surprise. "Helena!" He cried, "Whatever are you doing in Britain? Why did you not let me know you intended on coming here?"
"Franz," she answered, her voice pleading, "It, truly, was not my own intent, yet more than this I cannot say at present."
Registering confusion and concern in the same instant, he turned his attention to the yet unmoving Georgiana. After listening to her breathing and peering intently into her face, he ordered, "Bring some cool water and a cloth. She shall be fine once she is revived. I believe the day's activities have proven to be a bit much for her."
"Well, obviously," retorted her brother as the requested items were fetched. He had stood by silently for as long as he could. "It is far too much to expect from even one with twice her stamina." His voice, as he spoke, was cold with suppressed fury. This rage appeared to be directed solely at his newly acquired brother-in-law who stood to face him defensively.
"How can you censure me?" Mr. Berrick demanded, his colour high, "I have done my best to right my own past rashness, yet it is not enough for you. I can see now that you shall place every future misfortune upon my head!"
"Gentlemen, please!" It was Elizabeth, her eyes flashing at both of them as she glanced up from ministering to her sister-in-law; "If you must behave as ill-mannered schoolboys, please do so outside of our hearing!"
The sharpness of her tone succeeded in immediately restoring Mr. Berrick's concern to his wife, while prompting Mr. Darcy to bow, murmur a hurried "excuse me", and rapidly quit the room.
"This is my fault," the Baroness interjected, biting her trembling lip, "I should not have come here. Pray, forgive my effrontery!" With this, she turned and fled, Dr. Brecht's eyes following her exit anxiously. Such was the moment Georgiana finally regained consciousness, and the doctor, after one last, swift perusal of her person, left as well; nearly running after his sister.
"Georgiana!" Upon seeing her eyelashes fluttering, Mr. Berrick bent near to her face; "My love, please, say that you are all right."
As the colour returned to her cheeks, she smiled with embarrassment. "I am fine," was her quiet assurance, "Other than feeling very foolish...I am so sorry, Michael."
"It is I who must beg your pardon," he contradicted her, his voice tender, "I should have, somehow, shielded you from such a scene."
"But, how could you?" By now she had drawn herself into a sitting position; a task made somewhat awkward, as her hands were being held firmly within his own. "You could not have foreseen any of this."
"Perhaps not," he conceded with a wry smile. "...Are you certain you are well?"
No reply was made to this, as both parties seemed content to gaze into one another's eyes blissfully. Their brief period of mutual solace was interrupted by Mrs. Darcy, who spoke gently, "Excuse me,...if you are feeling well enough, Georgiana, I might remind you of certain unavoidable obligations you...both of you, should deal with as soon as you are able."
"Yes, of course," Georgiana replied, wearing an expression of guilty self-reproach. "The guests...How could I be so selfish?"
"We shall not cast blame where there is none to be had," Elizabeth corrected her with a fond smile, "Especially as there is no good to come of it. And, at the moment, our responsibility lies elsewhere."
Chapter Thirty-Six
Food and drink was bounteously displayed upon long tables festooned with beribboned bouquets of roses and Queen Anne's Lace. One set above the rest was laid out for the wedding party, and toward this, Georgiana and Michael slowly moved; their progress impeded by the vehement well-wishes of all whom they passed. When they, at last, succeeded in reaching their object, they stood for a moment uncertainly.
Seeking Elizabeth's eyes, Georgiana raised her eyebrows in question. Comprehending immediately the unspoken query, Mrs. Darcy shook her head with a puzzled frown. At that moment she spotted Colonel Fitzwilliam conversing with a group of local landowners near to where she was.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she requested breathlessly as she neared him, "Pray, would you do the honours? I fear my husband has been called away for the moment."
"Yes, of course," he agreed, glancing around in surprise, "It shall be a privilege." Without hesitation he made his way to the table where Mr. and Mrs. Berrick waited, smiling assuredly at them both.
As a goblet of wine was thrust into his hand, he began to speak above the din of the company. "My friends, I must be allowed to propose the first toast to the newlyweds." Lifting his glass high enough so that all would follow suit, he continued, "To their union...May it produce much happiness, few tears, healthy children and ample good fortune. I give you Mr. and Mrs. Michael Berrick!"
"Hear, hear!" was the resounding cry as countless glasses were raised in response. This appeared to be the cue for the guests to seat themselves at the overflowing tables, and promptly beset the multitude of well-laden trays.
"Pray, Mrs. Darcy," it was Lady Caroline's unmistakable purr beside her, "Wherever is Mr. Darcy? Should he not be present to introduce his sister and her new husband?"
Turning to meet that lady's condescending expression, Elizabeth deliberately suppressed her first impulse. "He must be excused," she answered coolly; "A business matter of some urgency has arisen to claim his attention. I am certain he shall attend to his family duties as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, the Colonel has graciously agreed to act in his stead."
"Oh, I see," was the reply, clearly attesting that she did not believe a word of it.
Without waiting for further inquiry, Elizabeth murmured "excuse me" under her breath, and fled Lady Caroline's all-too-knowing gaze. Where could he have gone? Her concern was clouded with anger, self-pity, and disgust, and if, in her own mind, she rehearsed words of calm reason which, likely, she would not utilise, she felt it to be perfectly understandable.
At the door of his study, she paused, taking several deep breaths to bring her vexation under control. Opening the door, she stepped in, expecting to find him alone. Her amazement was therefore complete when she beheld not only himself, but Dr. Brecht and Baroness Von Wold as well.
Added to this was the disconcerting prospect of the Baroness hastily pulling her gloves up over her arms while a deep flush spread across her countenance. Aware that she had interrupted some private consultation, Elizabeth halted abruptly; her own cheeks growing warm as three sets of eyes studied her. "Pardon me," she began, feeling unaccountably flustered, "I...did not..."
"Mrs. Darcy," the Baroness spoke at last, "Do not be angry. Your husband has kindly listened to my tale of woe, and has offered his aid. However, I will not hold him to it. I do realise how a gentleman might condole with a friend; yet bear little intention of following through on promises spoken in the moment of her obvious distress."
"Baroness," Fitzwilliam protested, his voice quietly irrefutable, "You underestimate me, I assure you. I fully intend to deal with the situation personally...You need not live in fear any longer."
"I am afraid that I do not understand," stammered a thoroughly confused Elizabeth.
"The Baroness shall, from now on, enjoy the privilege and protection of Pemberleys walls," Fitzwilliam announced for the distinct benefit of his wife. "She is to be regarded as one of the family until..."
"Until her brother is able to fulfil this duty, himself," finished Dr. Brecht grimly. "You see, Mrs. Darcy, I must, eventually, return to my practice in Frankfurt, yet my sister," as he spoke his eyes met the Baroness's painfully, "cannot go back to Germany at present. Your husband has graciously stepped in where I am, unfortunately, quite helpless."
Unable to think of a thing to say, Elizabeth stood dumbly. Overwhelmed for a moment with the desire to beg her husband's pardon for having so rashly misjudged him, she then began to wonder what horrendous deed the Baron must have committed in order to enlist such an unreserved pledge of support from the Master of Pemberley.
After what seemed an interminable lull in the conversation, she finally recalled why she had sought him; and, as the current subject left her feeling rather inadequate, she mentioned this instead.
Even when she spoke, however, she managed only a feeble, "Mr. Darcy,...you have been missed."
"Oh, yes, of course," he answered calmly, his eyes revealing nothing as they met her own.
Bowing to the Baroness, he invited her to join the celebration, but, "No," she demurred with a slight smile, "I do not think your sister would welcome my attendance, and, as well, I am feeling the effects of my travels beginning to wear upon me."
"Then, I shall have Mrs. Reynolds show you to your room. If you should find it wanting, it can be substituted after tomorrow day." His offer was not superficial; as most, if not all, of the wedding guests were expected to have departed by the following forenoon.
"I am certain it shall be more than satisfactory, and I thank you," was her grateful reply.
As she, leaning heavily upon her brother's arm, followed Mrs. Reynolds from the room, Elizabeth turned to her husband, her eyebrows raised, "Fitzwilliam, what in heavens name...?"
"Later, Elizabeth," was his sombre response, "I would not upset you today of all days...I shall tell you all tonight, I promise."
"And, what of you?" she asked, for the first time noticing the tightness around his mouth. "Has it not already upset you...whatever the problem may be?"
His smile was brief and did not reach his eyes; "If I might concentrate only on Georgiana's happiness, than the day shall not be a total loss." Appearing to suddenly recall in what condition he had left her, he added, "She is better, I trust."
"Much better," she studied him as he moved toward the doorway; "Fitzwilliam..."
"Yes?" He turned toward her, his face already assuming the character of gracious host.
Reaching out to smooth his lapel, she smiled tenderly, "You have been missed."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Pray, nephew, who is that gentleman speaking with Anne? The presumption! Have they been properly introduced, do you know?" Lady Catherine was peering down her nose at her daughter seated near a table on the far side of the room.
"It is Dr. Franz Brecht, Lady Catherine. Mrs. Darcy and myself met him while in Germany last year." Mentioning the subject of that fateful journey while in her presence was, of course, hazardous; but after several glasses of claret, he was well past caring.
"A doctor, you say! Doctor of what, I might wonder. Has he connections? Who are his people?"
"You would have to ask him that yourself, madam. He is also well acquainted with Mr. Berrick, if you must know."
This reference apparently reminded her of something else. Instantly her head turned to appraise her niece's husband, her lips pursed as she studied him. "He is a barrister, I understand," she sniffed, "Shall he be able to support Georgiana in the manner of which she is accustomed? I have heard he is merely an apprentice...not even a partner! It shall not do, nephew, you know it shall not. Do the proper thing and set Mr. Berrick up in his own office. This notion of working for another is insupportable. Your father would..."
"My father would have no objection, Aunt. After all, someone in the family must have been gainfully employed at some time." It costs a great deal of effort to conceal his impatience in response to Lady Catherine's imperious manner.
"Then you shall do nothing? I cannot believe how low you have fallen." She grimaced in distaste as she eyed the company surrounding her. "It is not enough that Pemberley should be absolutely overrun with Bennets, but now your own sister is united with a man no better than a tradesman."
"Yes, we are all going to the devil, are we not?" The irony in his voice was lost on her, for she looked as shocked as he had ever seen her.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy! Such language! Such insolence! Do you care nothing for your heritage...your lineage?"
"Lady Catherine," he interrupted mildly, "I beg you, do not upset yourself. I promise you Mr. Berrick shall be a most proper husband for Georgiana, despite his unfortunate employment; while the Bennets are now a very crucial part of my own children's lineage...Quite frankly, my dear Aunt, I would have it no other way." He left her then, sputtering into her handkerchief, her face as pink as the rosettes which adorned the walls and tables.
"Darcy."
He turned to see Mr. Berrick approaching, his expression one of caution.
"Berrick," he acknowledged him; then, "I fear I have been remiss in conveying my best wishes for your future."
"Thank you. Please, Darcy, I am most desirous to clear the air between us." He stopped before him and spoke earnestly, "The words we exchanged while Georgiana was...I hope you know that they were not intended..."
"We were both worried and upset," Fitzwilliam finished for him, "It is already forgotten."
"Again, thank you," Berrick answered, noticeably relieved. He had no wish to have an enemy in his new brother-in-law, for the sake of Georgiana, and, his own future connections.
Glancing over Berrick's head, Fitzwilliam could see his sister accepting congratulations from a group of several elderly ladies, their voices trilling happily with all sorts of advice heard above the general din. Although he could not discern the words, the expression on her face gave evidence to her growing discomfort.
"Perhaps, you had best rescue your wife," he suggested to Berrick, indicating the sight before him.
"Yes," he agreed with a sigh, "God knows what they are telling her."
Watching him make his way back to her, Fitzwilliam attempted to ignore the tiny pang of doubt which now stirred uneasily within his chest. When a servant passed him bearing a tray of wine, he helped himself to a glass (his fifth...sixth?); draining it far more expeditiously than was his usual habit.
"My love," Elizabeth's quiet voice near his shoulder proved a welcome distraction from his gloomy thoughts. "Are you unwell?"
"No," he answered unconvincingly while gazing into the bottom of his glass.
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes...no...I don't recall actually."
His confusion appeared to amuse her, for she laughed softly and slid her arm through his. "We must remedy this situation at once," she stated, steering him to the head table, "It will not do for the host to merely drink his supper."
No sooner had he been seated, than a plate of meat and fruit was placed before him. Yet his appetite, affected by the days events and the amount of wine consumed, found little to favour.
"You must eat something, my love." It was Elizabeth beside him, sounding determined, and not to be gainsaid.
Without waiting for his answer, she chose a cluster of grapes and began, one by one, to feed them to him. He allowed her this liberty for two reasons: one, that no other in the room was paying them the least attention, and two, that she looked so charming as she teased him into partaking of the meal at last.
"Mrs. Darcy," he said, his words sounding strangely disjointed even to his own ears, "Have I told you recently that you are an amazing woman."
"Yes, my love," she replied patiently, concentrating on cutting a pear into small pieces before her.
"I have?" He was surprised by her answer. "Well,...have I complimented you on your extraordinary beauty of late?"
"Fitzwilliam." She was laughing again, "You have had quite enough wine I believe. By morning you shall have forgotten this conversation utterly."
"Never."
"All right." Carefully, she lay the knife and pear down and turned to face him, her expression suddenly serious, "If you can understand me now, Fitzwilliam Darcy, then I do have something to say to you."
"Yes?" Despite his ready acquiescence, he seemed unable to truly appreciate her words. Instead, he found himself admiring the loveliness of her dark eyes; as well as being totally captivated by the movement of her lips as she continued to speak.
But, what on earth was she saying? Despite his best efforts, the sounds remained nothing but gibberish to him, yet she looked to be so very much in earnest. At some point, she drew his hand within her own and began to stroke it tenderly. Between her nearness, the caress of her fingers, and the soothing effect of her voice, he soon found himself feeling quite overwhelmed.
Without warning to either party, he reached over, drew her face to his, and placed a deep and lingering kiss upon her lips.
If she were shocked, it was no more than he. He could not believe he had effected such a private act in so public a place; but, he had to admit, the sensations remaining afterward, were, indeed, most pleasurable.
He recollected little after that. She did not appear to be vexed by his unprecedented impetuosity; perhaps resigned was a better word. The laughter and noise grew and faded around him, until such a strong desire to sleep arose that everything else became secondary. He did not think he actually went so far as to lay his head upon the table, but neither did he recall at what point he closed his eyes.
Much later (he thought) the strains of lively music being played pervaded his state of semi-consciousness. "Dancing,...they are dancing," he decided, but even that did not rouse him. In his dream he was dancing with Elizabeth; her eyes bright with laughter, her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The room was very warm and loud with the thumping of feet and swaying of bodies.
Eventually though, even that image vanished, and he found himself being helped to their bedchamber; supported with no little awkwardness between Preston and Elizabeth.
"Just take his coat and boots off, Preston," he heard her say as he lay back upon the bed, "See? He is asleep already."
But he was not asleep; at least not entirely. He listened to the rustling of her skirts as she moved around the room, her perfume filling his nostrils all the while.
When she, at length, blew out the candles, he spoke. "Elizabeth,...you are not leaving?"
"I was going to sleep in the other room. I thought it best."
"Do not, please. Stay with me."
"If you insist."
He felt the bed shift as she lay beside him, then, almost instinctively, he reached over to draw her to him.
"You smell of wine," she remarked as she curled up within his arms.
"And you, of heaven," he rejoined, smiling drowsily in the darkness.
"Such foolishness," she scoffed, but kissed his cheek anyway; "You promised to tell me of the Baroness tonight..."
Her prompting, however, was met with only a gentle snore as his hand slid from her back limply, and he truly relaxed for the first time that day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-Seven
When he awoke, the room was in semi-darkness, for dawn was just beginning to peek through the opened window. He felt his throat to be as dry as any desert, and so, carefully he arose to fetch a glass of water from the carafe beside the bed.
Realising that he was still dressed, he found his memory of the evening before, to be patchy and unreliable. The beginnings of a slight headache was just making itself known near his temples; yet, other than this, no ill effects were in evidence.
Glancing toward the bed, he saw Elizabeth's figure sprawled beneath the coverlet, her hair a dark shadow spread over the pillows. Quietly he moved to the window, gazing out at the dimly-lit countryside, his thoughts on the events of the day before.
Georgiana was now a married woman, and it appeared that the Baroness would be staying with them until...well, who could say? As both occurrences had happened one on top of the other, he had not taken the time to consider how, exactly, they should affect the household.
His sister would be missed greatly. Of that he had little doubt. Not only by himself and Elizabeth, but also by their children and servants. Although unassuming, her nature and manner had become an incontestable part of their daily lives. As for the Baroness...He was unaware of his sighing aloud until Elizabeth spoke from the bed.
"Fitzwilliam, you are ill?"
"No," he answered without turning around.
"Then,...what are you?"
"I am meditating."
"Ah. And, you cannot do this while in bed?"
Despite the grimness of his thoughts, he smiled. "I have discovered that there are other distractions while in bed; thus, it is not productive."
"If you return, I shall not distract you."
"That is an empty promise, Madam. It seems you cannot help it."
"Then, we are at an impasse; for you cannot think while near me, and I cannot when you are away."
"I would not see you suffer," he conceded, at last turning to walk back to her.
"Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes," he paused in midstep expectantly.
"Perhaps you might discard your clothing...the air is quite warm."
It did not take him long to comply.
Once more beneath the coverlet with her in his arms, he felt the need to ask. "Pray Mrs. Darcy, do you think everyone enjoyed themselves this past evening?"
"I would suppose so. What was your own impression?"
Since he recollected few details beyond his conversation with Berrick, he replied cautiously, "There was enough to eat and drink...We did not run low?"
"No. All were well fed, and feeling quite spirited, I daresay."
"So much so," he ventured, "That when you desired to confide in me, I found that I could not hear you above the din."
Although she did not laugh aloud, he imagined that she was very near to it, for she made a little choking sound before she replied. "Yes, the noise was very bad, indeed. So...you heard nothing of what I said?"
"Not a word. I am truly sorry."
"Well, before I repeat myself," and here she shifted until she was lying atop his chest, her face very near his. "I would like you to keep your own promise."
"What is that?"
"You said that you would tell me of the Baroness's situation, and how came she to be at Pemberley."
"So I did...All right, my love, but I warn you, it is a tale of gruesome aspect and most unpleasant details."
"Now that you have cautioned me, I am well prepared for the worst."
He adjusted her position just a bit so that she could lay her cheek easily upon his chest before he said, "I believe it started when Dr. Brecht wrote a letter to his sister describing Mr. Berrick's dilemma."
"So, it was actually begun with Mr. Berrick," she contradicted.
"I suppose it was. In any case, the letter was posted to Frankfurt. Unfortunately, it appears that the Baroness was not the first to read it."
"Her husband intercepted it?"
"Needless to say, he was not pleased with its contents. The idea that his bride may have been yet espoused to another, was not welcome news. Especially as his own marriage left something to be desired."
"I can well imagine."
"Apparently, he became rather violent toward the Baroness..." Pausing in his narrative, he sighed again.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she breathed sympathetically. "He would not be reasonable?"
"Reason is not a trait common to that side of the family, as you recall."
"So, she left him?"
"Yes, she fled. She is fearful that he will come in search of her and take her back forcibly. It is, after all, his right."
This time it was her turn to sigh; "Despite cruelty of every sort, it is still his right."
"She is his wife by law," he reminded her gravely.
"Does he know this now for certain? Did Mr. Berrick notify them when he discovered the status of the first marriage? The Baroness did not mention it."
"I must assume that he did. Even if he did not, however, it does not signify; as any German court would most certainly rule in the Baron's favour. He is quite powerful in his own district."
"So you have offered her sanctuary? What will you do if he does come for her?"
"I hardly know. No matter what, I promised her protection, and she shall have it."
"So declares the Master of Pemberley." Despite the impertinence of her tone, there was pride in it as well. After a moment, she added "As I have long suspected, you are truly a good man, Mr. Darcy."
"...We shall see."
She fell silent, the rhythm of his beating heart prevalent against her ear. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, "Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes, my love."
"Did the Baron...was she showing you evidence of his mistreatment when I interrupted you?"
He did not answer, which was affirmation enough.
"That brute!" she exclaimed, suddenly angry, "The wretch! How could he?"
"Elizabeth," he spoke soothingly, "It is over. She is safely away from him."
"But, how could a man behave so? He is no better than the wild beasts that slay their mates. At least they have the excuse of acting out of instinct. He cannot make such a claim himself...An educated, supposedly civilised gentleman? It is beyond comprehension!"
"As it should be."
"As it very well is!" A period of sombre introspection followed, whereafter she lifted her head to meet his eyes; "Fitzwilliam, I feel I do owe you an apology."
"Whatever for?" He honestly could not remember what circumstance would compel her to admit such a thing.
"For snapping at you while Georgiana was ill. You did not deserve such a reprimand."
"Then, I must be allowed to return the favour. My behaviour was far from blameless at the time."
"You were concerned for your sister...It is perfectly understandable."
"And you, as well. Although I fear Berrick probably suffered the worst of it."
"Oh, yes. Has he forgiven you yet, do you suppose?"
"I believe so. He approached me later, anxious to make amends."
"I am very glad to hear it...Now, my darling husband," she stated warmly, "I shall tell you again what I said last evening; when you could not...hear me."
"Yes?"
"You do recollect that yesterday was your sister's wedding day?"
"Ah,...this was the cause for the general upheaval in the household, was it?"
"If you tease, I shall not tell you."
"Then, yes, I do seem to recall a wedding."
"Well, I thought, perhaps, her absence might be rather upsetting to certain persons, and so I had a desire to ease the pain of separation as much as possible."
"And, how would you go about doing that?"
"By reminding this person that he is very much appreciated by his wife and family, and that his sister shall undoubtedly miss him as much as he shall, her...That his conscientious and benevolent manner while seeing to her upbringing has not passed unnoticed. And, that he is truly the finest of brothers and of husbands."
"You would tell this person all of that?"
"And, mean every word of it."
"He is a most fortunate individual."
"I believe he is. Yet, it is not more than he deserves."
"But you are, sweet Elizabeth." His voice during this exchange had become lower, and his expression more tender until he simply had to kiss her. Needless to say, she did not struggle, and in fact prolonged the embrace until both were quite breathless.
Following the separation of their lips, she smiled mischievously, "That was nearly as engaging as the one you bestowed upon me last evening...Do you remember?"
"Was it?" he replied vaguely; then, "I suppose you are referring to after we retired?"
"Oh no," she declared airily, "No...It was quite in full view of all of our relations and friends. Do not tell me you cannot recall it!"
"In full view...Elizabeth, you are exaggerating."
"You do not!" Her exclamation carried a definite tone of glee. "I suspected you were inebriated; else, how could you not have overheard my flattery and compliments. You might as well admit it, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Beneath that aloof exterior beats a heart of pure sentimentality. It takes only an over-indulgence of spirits to reveal it!"
"I thought that I had dreamt it," he confessed sheepishly. "I did not actually dance in such a condition, did I?"
"Only once. You disremember that as well? This must, truly, be an attestment to your skill, if you could dance so easily while intoxicated. Although, now that I reconsider it, you did not move about overmuch. Do you recall nothing?"
"I recall you and Preston assisting me upstairs...What time was that?"
"Long past midnight...nearly one, I think." Smoothing his hair from his forehead lovingly, she smiled, "You have, no doubt, earned such a respite. Yesterday could not have been easy for you."
"You are far too understanding, Mrs. Darcy. Most wives would be thoroughly put out by such a display. You should be scolding me into promising never to behave in so shocking a manner again."
"Most wives...Well, perhaps I am not most wives, as you are not most husbands. And, for this, I am truly thankful."
In a sudden and unexpected move, he rolled her over onto her back so that he was looking down upon her, and to where she was pinned neatly beneath him. With an expression intended to instigate, he then inquired, "And, how will you convey your gratitude, Madame?"
Once she had recovered her breath, she answered thoughtfully, "I could, I suppose, kiss you several times as you apparently would wish me to...or, I could simply not remind you any further of your disgraceful and highly inappropriate manner last evening. Which would you prefer, Sir?"
His response, being of a physical nature and not a verbal one, left little question of which he preferred; and did not, even in its very fervour, surprise her.
Chapter Thirty-five
Although the morning of Miss Darcy's alliance with Mr. Berrick dawned bright and clear; Pemberley, inundated with guests from every county, appeared prepared to weather the storms which inevitably affected the rapture of such occasions. Inside of its walls, anticipation might meet with despair, benevolence with self-regard, energy with indolence; yet, the bride, groom, and all those who should consider themselves their friends, would recollect the day as very nearly flawless.
"Georgiana, you are breathtaking," Elizabeth smiled warmly at her sister-in-law. "A true vision."
Dressed in her wedding gown, a simple wreath of tiny pink rosettes adorning her hair, Georgiana stood perfectly still for the inspection of all the ladies present.
Lady Caroline Fitzwilliam spoke next, her tone condescending, "Yes, my dear, you are impeccable. Lady Catherine shall, I have no doubt, be quite pleased."
"Now, Georgiana," Kitty instructed, busily arranging her train, "Be very careful when you are seated in your coach, or your dress shall wrinkle."
"My dear," Mrs. Covington said fondly, taking Georgiana's hands into her own, "If only your mother could see you."
Mrs. Bennet, for once, was speechless; the sheer richness of the gowns lace and handiwork overwhelming her sensibilities.
At that moment, a servant knocked on the door, opened it uncertainly, and after glancing around, announced, "Miss Darcy, Mr. Darcy said that they are nearly ready to depart for the church."
"Georgiana," Anne de Bourgh moved to her hurriedly, "Take this, so that you shall have something old and blue." She pressed a small silver ring, a light blue stone set within its centre, into her hand. "It has been mine since I was ten. My father gave it to me, and now I should like you to have it."
"Thank you, Anne. It is beautiful." She slid it onto her smallest finger as it would not fit onto any other. The cousins embraced; then Georgiana blew out her breath in an effort to gather her courage. "I believe I am ready," she announced after a pause.
As they descended the staircase, Fitzwilliam met them, his eyes offering her reassurance.
"Georgiana," he told her, his voice low, "You are lovely."
"Thank you," she breathed, sliding her arm through his, "If I survive this day, Brother, the rest of my life ought to be quite simple."
Only Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were riding with her to the church, and so the other ladies, in a procession of grand or not-so-grand conveyances, preceded them. The gentlemen, meanwhile, as well as the multitude of guests, would be awaiting their arrival there.
Among them, would be Michael. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought of him there. What was he feeling? Was he as nervous as she? Was he regretting his choice?
The countryside, of which she knew every hill and tree, seemed, today, strangely foreign. In fact, nothing felt the same as it always had. She, herself, was experiencing the sensation of being a spectator; not as a bride, but as a stranger. "Is this truly happening to me?" she wondered. "Am I not Georgiana Darcy, still?" Very soon she would adapt another name, yet even that prospect brought little comfort. The butterflies within her were no longer fluttering; they had rolled themselves up into tight little balls, and were seriously hindering her breathing.
"Oh," she brooded miserably, "Why can I not disregard the next few hours altogether? Why could we not have simply eloped?"
Elizabeth, sensing her discomfort, leaned forward from her seat opposite, and whispered, "You shall be fine, Georgiana. Keep in mind your deep affection."
"Yes," she swallowed, forcing herself to smile.
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Fitzwilliam, who, after a slight hesitation, moved to the seat beside his sister. Taking her hand between his, he spoke, his voice low, "Gina, believe it or not, such painful anxieties have been suffered by many others prior to yourself."
His use of the long-forgotten pet name, followed by the unexpected admission was too much. Forgetting, for the moment, her own tortured thoughts, she met his eyes questioningly, "Not you, Fitzwilliam?" His smile, fleeting though it was, was enough to convince her. "Whatever did you do?"
"Do? There was nothing to be done. On the dawn of my wedding, I was certain I had dreamt the whole thing. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not truly going to become my wife, and I was mad to have imagined it. By the time I arrived at the church, I had worked myself into quite a state."
During this, Elizabeth said nothing, but only smiled out of the window as though determined to keep her counsel.
"I recollect your demeanour to have been completely unaffected," Georgiana argued, her brow furrowed as she did so.
"You did not see me until after Elizabeth's arrival," he asserted calmly, "When I beheld her at last, everything fell into place."
"Oh...So, you are saying this will pass?"
"As everything must."
"As everything shall," added his wife, her eyes softening as they met his. "So you see, Georgiana, such apprehension is but a temporary condition. When you are reunited with Mr. Berrick, your happiness shall return a hundredfold, I promise."
For answer, she could only sigh, but thereafter studying her brother and sister-in-law, she had little doubt as to the truth of their words.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..." Bishop Piedmont's voice faded as Georgiana ceased paying him any attention. Her thoughts were centred upon the man standing beside her; his feelings, impressions, and expectations.
When she had entered the church, his smile had greeted her as a lamp suddenly illuminated, causing her heart to leap in her breast. At that moment, it truly seemed as though there was no one else present, and, as she had been previously assured, her anxiety swiftly left her. His eyes were for her alone; their warmth a gratifying reception as she took her place at his side.
The ceremony was surprisingly short, or perhaps, her lack of concentration only made it appear so. Either way, it seemed that only moments had passed before the Bishop pronounced them husband and wife, whereafter Michael caught up her hand; lifting it to his lips to press a meaningful kiss on her palm.
As he released her, he smiled once more, his mouth forming the words "I adore you, Mrs. Berrick."
Yes, the new Georgiana Berrick might have supposed herself to be in heaven, but for the unforeseen and somewhat startling reminder of cold reality sometime later.
For, upon their return to Pemberleys halls, where they would partake of the wedding supper and then travel to London the following day, there in the foyer awaited a young woman whom she did not recognise; yet who, apparently, was not a stranger to her husband.
As they entered, he stopped short, his expression one of astonishment and, she imagined, no little regret.
"Helena!" he exclaimed, while the woman rose from her chair to meet them.
"Hello, Michael," she returned, her countenance giving evidence of a long and wearing journey.
Behind them, Georgiana became aware of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth's presence, and of Elizabeth's pronounced, "Baroness!"
"Mrs. Darcy," replied the lady in question, holding her hand hesitantly out in greeting, "It is so very good to see you again."
It was Fitzwilliam who finally recovered his manners. "Baroness Von Wold," he proposed while indicating a thoroughly confused Georgiana; "May I introduce my sister, Miss...Mrs. Berrick?"
For the first time, the Baroness looked directly at Georgiana, her expression unreadable. "So, you are the one I have heard so much of," she affirmed sombrely, "Please accept my sincerest congratulations, as well as my apologies for arriving uninvited on such an occasion."
"Thank you," murmured Georgiana, feeling somehow betrayed. Why had this woman appeared out of nowhere on this, their wedding day? Whatever did she want? Inexplicably, her knees seemed no longer able to support her, and she found herself clutching the back of a chair for support.
"Are you all right, my darling?" It was Michael, his hand beneath her elbow protectively, his low voice very near her ear.
"I...I fear I should sit down," she managed weakly, "I did not sleep well..."
"Georgiana!" Elizabeth cried, followed by nothing at all, as the bride felt herself slipping into blackness.
It was Michael who bore her into the drawing room, laying her gently upon the settee and refusing to leave her side, even to allow her brother's attentions.
The wedding guests, meanwhile, were arriving steadily by then, to be immediately directed to the ball room where the repast was to served. As a result, they remained largely ignorant of the small drama transpiring so near them.
After a time, Elizabeth encouraged her husband to play the host so as to allay any suspicions that something might, indeed, be amiss. He was not long absent, however, before he returned; his countenance etched with concern for the still unconscious Georgiana.
When Dr. Brecht arrived, he was led into the drawing room to both, aid in restoring Mrs. Berrick to consciousness, and, to be made aware of his sister's unexpected appearance. His reaction to the latter was complete and candid surprise. "Helena!" He cried, "Whatever are you doing in Britain? Why did you not let me know you intended on coming here?"
"Franz," she answered, her voice pleading, "It, truly, was not my own intent, yet more than this I cannot say at present."
Registering confusion and concern in the same instant, he turned his attention to the yet unmoving Georgiana. After listening to her breathing and peering intently into her face, he ordered, "Bring some cool water and a cloth. She shall be fine once she is revived. I believe the day's activities have proven to be a bit much for her."
"Well, obviously," retorted her brother as the requested items were fetched. He had stood by silently for as long as he could. "It is far too much to expect from even one with twice her stamina." His voice, as he spoke, was cold with suppressed fury. This rage appeared to be directed solely at his newly acquired brother-in-law who stood to face him defensively.
"How can you censure me?" Mr. Berrick demanded, his colour high, "I have done my best to right my own past rashness, yet it is not enough for you. I can see now that you shall place every future misfortune upon my head!"
"Gentlemen, please!" It was Elizabeth, her eyes flashing at both of them as she glanced up from ministering to her sister-in-law; "If you must behave as ill-mannered schoolboys, please do so outside of our hearing!"
The sharpness of her tone succeeded in immediately restoring Mr. Berrick's concern to his wife, while prompting Mr. Darcy to bow, murmur a hurried "excuse me", and rapidly quit the room.
"This is my fault," the Baroness interjected, biting her trembling lip, "I should not have come here. Pray, forgive my effrontery!" With this, she turned and fled, Dr. Brecht's eyes following her exit anxiously. Such was the moment Georgiana finally regained consciousness, and the doctor, after one last, swift perusal of her person, left as well; nearly running after his sister.
"Georgiana!" Upon seeing her eyelashes fluttering, Mr. Berrick bent near to her face; "My love, please, say that you are all right."
As the colour returned to her cheeks, she smiled with embarrassment. "I am fine," was her quiet assurance, "Other than feeling very foolish...I am so sorry, Michael."
"It is I who must beg your pardon," he contradicted her, his voice tender, "I should have, somehow, shielded you from such a scene."
"But, how could you?" By now she had drawn herself into a sitting position; a task made somewhat awkward, as her hands were being held firmly within his own. "You could not have foreseen any of this."
"Perhaps not," he conceded with a wry smile. "...Are you certain you are well?"
No reply was made to this, as both parties seemed content to gaze into one another's eyes blissfully. Their brief period of mutual solace was interrupted by Mrs. Darcy, who spoke gently, "Excuse me,...if you are feeling well enough, Georgiana, I might remind you of certain unavoidable obligations you...both of you, should deal with as soon as you are able."
"Yes, of course," Georgiana replied, wearing an expression of guilty self-reproach. "The guests...How could I be so selfish?"
"We shall not cast blame where there is none to be had," Elizabeth corrected her with a fond smile, "Especially as there is no good to come of it. And, at the moment, our responsibility lies elsewhere."
Chapter Thirty-six
Food and drink was bounteously displayed upon long tables festooned with beribboned bouquets of roses and Queen Anne's Lace. One set above the rest was laid out for the wedding party, and toward this, Georgiana and Michael slowly moved; their progress impeded by the vehement well-wishes of all whom they passed. When they, at last, succeeded in reaching their object, they stood for a moment uncertainly.
Seeking Elizabeth's eyes, Georgiana raised her eyebrows in question. Comprehending immediately the unspoken query, Mrs. Darcy shook her head with a puzzled frown. At that moment she spotted Colonel Fitzwilliam conversing with a group of local landowners near to where she was.
"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she requested breathlessly as she neared him, "Pray, would you do the honours? I fear my husband has been called away for the moment."
"Yes, of course," he agreed, glancing around in surprise, "It shall be a privilege." Without hesitation he made his way to the table where Mr. and Mrs. Berrick waited, smiling assuredly at them both.
As a goblet of wine was thrust into his hand, he began to speak above the din of the company. "My friends, I must be allowed to propose the first toast to the newlyweds." Lifting his glass high enough so that all would follow suit, he continued, "To their union...May it produce much happiness, few tears, healthy children and ample good fortune. I give you Mr. and Mrs. Michael Berrick!"
"Hear, hear!" was the resounding cry as countless glasses were raised in response. This appeared to be the cue for the guests to seat themselves at the overflowing tables, and promptly beset the multitude of well-laden trays.
"Pray, Mrs. Darcy," it was Lady Caroline's unmistakable purr beside her, "Wherever is Mr. Darcy? Should he not be present to introduce his sister and her new husband?"
Turning to meet that lady's condescending expression, Elizabeth deliberately suppressed her first impulse. "He must be excused," she answered coolly; "A business matter of some urgency has arisen to claim his attention. I am certain he shall attend to his family duties as soon as possible. In the meanwhile, the Colonel has graciously agreed to act in his stead."
"Oh, I see," was the reply, clearly attesting that she did not believe a word of it.
Without waiting for further inquiry, Elizabeth murmured "excuse me" under her breath, and fled Lady Caroline's all-too-knowing gaze. Where could he have gone? Her concern was clouded with anger, self-pity, and disgust, and if, in her own mind, she rehearsed words of calm reason which, likely, she would not utilise, she felt it to be perfectly understandable.
At the door of his study, she paused, taking several deep breaths to bring her vexation under control. Opening the door, she stepped in, expecting to find him alone. Her amazement was therefore complete when she beheld not only himself, but Dr. Brecht and Baroness Von Wold as well.
Added to this was the disconcerting prospect of the Baroness hastily pulling her gloves up over her arms while a deep flush spread across her countenance. Aware that she had interrupted some private consultation, Elizabeth halted abruptly; her own cheeks growing warm as three sets of eyes studied her. "Pardon me," she began, feeling unaccountably flustered, "I...did not..."
"Mrs. Darcy," the Baroness spoke at last, "Do not be angry. Your husband has kindly listened to my tale of woe, and has offered his aid. However, I will not hold him to it. I do realise how a gentleman might condole with a friend; yet bear little intention of following through on promises spoken in the moment of her obvious distress."
"Baroness," Fitzwilliam protested, his voice quietly irrefutable, "You underestimate me, I assure you. I fully intend to deal with the situation personally...You need not live in fear any longer."
"I am afraid that I do not understand," stammered a thoroughly confused Elizabeth.
"The Baroness shall, from now on, enjoy the privilege and protection of Pemberleys walls," Fitzwilliam announced for the distinct benefit of his wife. "She is to be regarded as one of the family until..."
"Until her brother is able to fulfil this duty, himself," finished Dr. Brecht grimly. "You see, Mrs. Darcy, I must, eventually, return to my practice in Frankfurt, yet my sister," as he spoke his eyes met the Baroness's painfully, "cannot go back to Germany at present. Your husband has graciously stepped in where I am, unfortunately, quite helpless."
Unable to think of a thing to say, Elizabeth stood dumbly. Overwhelmed for a moment with the desire to beg her husband's pardon for having so rashly misjudged him, she then began to wonder what horrendous deed the Baron must have committed in order to enlist such an unreserved pledge of support from the Master of Pemberley.
After what seemed an interminable lull in the conversation, she finally recalled why she had sought him; and, as the current subject left her feeling rather inadequate, she mentioned this instead.
Even when she spoke, however, she managed only a feeble, "Mr. Darcy,...you have been missed."
"Oh, yes, of course," he answered calmly, his eyes revealing nothing as they met her own.
Bowing to the Baroness, he invited her to join the celebration, but, "No," she demurred with a slight smile, "I do not think your sister would welcome my attendance, and, as well, I am feeling the effects of my travels beginning to wear upon me."
"Then, I shall have Mrs. Reynolds show you to your room. If you should find it wanting, it can be substituted after tomorrow day." His offer was not superficial; as most, if not all, of the wedding guests were expected to have departed by the following forenoon.
"I am certain it shall be more than satisfactory, and I thank you," was her grateful reply.
As she, leaning heavily upon her brother's arm, followed Mrs. Reynolds from the room, Elizabeth turned to her husband, her eyebrows raised, "Fitzwilliam, what in heavens name...?"
"Later, Elizabeth," was his sombre response, "I would not upset you today of all days...I shall tell you all tonight, I promise."
"And, what of you?" she asked, for the first time noticing the tightness around his mouth. "Has it not already upset you...whatever the problem may be?"
His smile was brief and did not reach his eyes; "If I might concentrate only on Georgiana's happiness, than the day shall not be a total loss." Appearing to suddenly recall in what condition he had left her, he added, "She is better, I trust."
"Much better," she studied him as he moved toward the doorway; "Fitzwilliam..."
"Yes?" He turned toward her, his face already assuming the character of gracious host.
Reaching out to smooth his lapel, she smiled tenderly, "You have been missed."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Pray, nephew, who is that gentleman speaking with Anne? The presumption! Have they been properly introduced, do you know?" Lady Catherine was peering down her nose at her daughter seated near a table on the far side of the room.
"It is Dr. Franz Brecht, Lady Catherine. Mrs. Darcy and myself met him while in Germany last year." Mentioning the subject of that fateful journey while in her presence was, of course, hazardous; but after several glasses of claret, he was well past caring.
"A doctor, you say! Doctor of what, I might wonder. Has he connections? Who are his people?"
"You would have to ask him that yourself, madam. He is also well acquainted with Mr. Berrick, if you must know."
This reference apparently reminded her of something else. Instantly her head turned to appraise her niece's husband, her lips pursed as she studied him. "He is a barrister, I understand," she sniffed, "Shall he be able to support Georgiana in the manner of which she is accustomed? I have heard he is merely an apprentice...not even a partner! It shall not do, nephew, you know it shall not. Do the proper thing and set Mr. Berrick up in his own office. This notion of working for another is insupportable. Your father would..."
"My father would have no objection, Aunt. After all, someone in the family must have been gainfully employed at some time." It costs a great deal of effort to conceal his impatience in response to Lady Catherine's imperious manner.
"Then you shall do nothing? I cannot believe how low you have fallen." She grimaced in distaste as she eyed the company surrounding her. "It is not enough that Pemberley should be absolutely overrun with Bennets, but now your own sister is united with a man no better than a tradesman."
"Yes, we are all going to the devil, are we not?" The irony in his voice was lost on her, for she looked as shocked as he had ever seen her.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy! Such language! Such insolence! Do you care nothing for your heritage...your lineage?"
"Lady Catherine," he interrupted mildly, "I beg you, do not upset yourself. I promise you Mr. Berrick shall be a most proper husband for Georgiana, despite his unfortunate employment; while the Bennets are now a very crucial part of my own children's lineage...Quite frankly, my dear Aunt, I would have it no other way." He left her then, sputtering into her handkerchief, her face as pink as the rosettes which adorned the walls and tables.
"Darcy."
He turned to see Mr. Berrick approaching, his expression one of caution.
"Berrick," he acknowledged him; then, "I fear I have been remiss in conveying my best wishes for your future."
"Thank you. Please, Darcy, I am most desirous to clear the air between us." He stopped before him and spoke earnestly, "The words we exchanged while Georgiana was...I hope you know that they were not intended..."
"We were both worried and upset," Fitzwilliam finished for him, "It is already forgotten."
"Again, thank you," Berrick answered, noticeably relieved. He had no wish to have an enemy in his new brother-in-law, for the sake of Georgiana, and, his own future connections.
Glancing over Berrick's head, Fitzwilliam could see his sister accepting congratulations from a group of several elderly ladies, their voices trilling happily with all sorts of advice heard above the general din. Although he could not discern the words, the expression on her face gave evidence to her growing discomfort.
"Perhaps, you had best rescue your wife," he suggested to Berrick, indicating the sight before him.
"Yes," he agreed with a sigh, "God knows what they are telling her."
Watching him make his way back to her, Fitzwilliam attempted to ignore the tiny pang of doubt which now stirred uneasily within his chest. When a servant passed him bearing a tray of wine, he helped himself to a glass (his fifth...sixth?); draining it far more expeditiously than was his usual habit.
"My love," Elizabeth's quiet voice near his shoulder proved a welcome distraction from his gloomy thoughts. "Are you unwell?"
"No," he answered unconvincingly while gazing into the bottom of his glass.
"Have you eaten?"
"Yes...no...I don't recall actually."
His confusion appeared to amuse her, for she laughed softly and slid her arm through his. "We must remedy this situation at once," she stated, steering him to the head table, "It will not do for the host to merely drink his supper."
No sooner had he been seated, than a plate of meat and fruit was placed before him. Yet his appetite, affected by the days events and the amount of wine consumed, found little to favour.
"You must eat something, my love." It was Elizabeth beside him, sounding determined, and not to be gainsaid.
Without waiting for his answer, she chose a cluster of grapes and began, one by one, to feed them to him. He allowed her this liberty for two reasons: one, that no other in the room was paying them the least attention, and two, that she looked so charming as she teased him into partaking of the meal at last.
"Mrs. Darcy," he said, his words sounding strangely disjointed even to his own ears, "Have I told you recently that you are an amazing woman."
"Yes, my love," she replied patiently, concentrating on cutting a pear into small pieces before her.
"I have?" He was surprised by her answer. "Well,...have I complimented you on your extraordinary beauty of late?"
"Fitzwilliam." She was laughing again, "You have had quite enough wine I believe. By morning you shall have forgotten this conversation utterly."
"Never."
"All right." Carefully, she lay the knife and pear down and turned to face him, her expression suddenly serious, "If you can understand me now, Fitzwilliam Darcy, then I do have something to say to you."
"Yes?" Despite his ready acquiescence, he seemed unable to truly appreciate her words. Instead, he found himself admiring the loveliness of her dark eyes; as well as being totally captivated by the movement of her lips as she continued to speak.
But, what on earth was she saying? Despite his best efforts, the sounds remained nothing but gibberish to him, yet she looked to be so very much in earnest. At some point, she drew his hand within her own and began to stroke it tenderly. Between her nearness, the caress of her fingers, and the soothing effect of her voice, he soon found himself feeling quite overwhelmed.
Without warning to either party, he reached over, drew her face to his, and placed a deep and lingering kiss upon her lips.
If she were shocked, it was no more than he. He could not believe he had effected such a private act in so public a place; but, he had to admit, the sensations remaining afterward, were, indeed, most pleasurable.
He recollected little after that. She did not appear to be vexed by his unprecedented impetuosity; perhaps resigned was a better word. The laughter and noise grew and faded around him, until such a strong desire to sleep arose that everything else became secondary. He did not think he actually went so far as to lay his head upon the table, but neither did he recall at what point he closed his eyes.
Much later (he thought) the strains of lively music being played pervaded his state of semi-consciousness. "Dancing,...they are dancing," he decided, but even that did not rouse him. In his dream he was dancing with Elizabeth; her eyes bright with laughter, her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The room was very warm and loud with the thumping of feet and swaying of bodies.
Eventually though, even that image vanished, and he found himself being helped to their bedchamber; supported with no little awkwardness between Preston and Elizabeth.
"Just take his coat and boots off, Preston," he heard her say as he lay back upon the bed, "See? He is asleep already."
But he was not asleep; at least not entirely. He listened to the rustling of her skirts as she moved around the room, her perfume filling his nostrils all the while.
When she, at length, blew out the candles, he spoke. "Elizabeth,...you are not leaving?"
"I was going to sleep in the other room. I thought it best."
"Do not, please. Stay with me."
"If you insist."
He felt the bed shift as she lay beside him, then, almost instinctively, he reached over to draw her to him.
"You smell of wine," she remarked as she curled up within his arms.
"And you, of heaven," he rejoined, smiling drowsily in the darkness.
"Such foolishness," she scoffed, but kissed his cheek anyway; "You promised to tell me of the Baroness tonight..."
Her prompting, however, was met with only a gentle snore as his hand slid from her back limply, and he truly relaxed for the first time that day.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Realising that he was still dressed, he found his memory of the evening before, to be patchy and unreliable. The beginnings of a slight headache was just making itself known near his temples; yet, other than this, no ill effects were in evidence.
Glancing toward the bed, he saw Elizabeth's figure sprawled beneath the coverlet, her hair a dark shadow spread over the pillows. Quietly he moved to the window, gazing out at the dimly-lit countryside, his thoughts on the events of the day before.
Georgiana was now a married woman, and it appeared that the Baroness would be staying with them until...well, who could say? As both occurrences had happened one on top of the other, he had not taken the time to consider how, exactly, they should affect the household.
His sister would be missed greatly. Of that he had little doubt. Not only by himself and Elizabeth, but also by their children and servants. Although unassuming, her nature and manner had become an incontestable part of their daily lives. As for the Baroness...He was unaware of his sighing aloud until Elizabeth spoke from the bed.
"Fitzwilliam, you are ill?"
"No," he answered without turning around.
"Then,...what are you?"
"I am meditating."
"Ah. And, you cannot do this while in bed?"
Despite the grimness of his thoughts, he smiled. "I have discovered that there are other distractions while in bed; thus, it is not productive."
"If you return, I shall not distract you."
"That is an empty promise, Madam. It seems you cannot help it."
"Then, we are at an impasse; for you cannot think while near me, and I cannot when you are away."
"I would not see you suffer," he conceded, at last turning to walk back to her.
"Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes," he paused in midstep expectantly.
"Perhaps you might discard your clothing...the air is quite warm."
It did not take him long to comply.
Once more beneath the coverlet with her in his arms, he felt the need to ask. "Pray Mrs. Darcy, do you think everyone enjoyed themselves this past evening?"
"I would suppose so. What was your own impression?"
Since he recollected few details beyond his conversation with Berrick, he replied cautiously, "There was enough to eat and drink...We did not run low?"
"No. All were well fed, and feeling quite spirited, I daresay."
"So much so," he ventured, "That when you desired to confide in me, I found that I could not hear you above the din."
Although she did not laugh aloud, he imagined that she was very near to it, for she made a little choking sound before she replied. "Yes, the noise was very bad, indeed. So...you heard nothing of what I said?"
"Not a word. I am truly sorry."
"Well, before I repeat myself," and here she shifted until she was lying atop his chest, her face very near his. "I would like you to keep your own promise."
"What is that?"
"You said that you would tell me of the Baroness's situation, and how came she to be at Pemberley."
"So I did...All right, my love, but I warn you, it is a tale of gruesome aspect and most unpleasant details."
"Now that you have cautioned me, I am well prepared for the worst."
He adjusted her position just a bit so that she could lay her cheek easily upon his chest before he said, "I believe it started when Dr. Brecht wrote a letter to his sister describing Mr. Berrick's dilemma."
"So, it was actually begun with Mr. Berrick," she contradicted.
"I suppose it was. In any case, the letter was posted to Frankfurt. Unfortunately, it appears that the Baroness was not the first to read it."
"Her husband intercepted it?"
"Needless to say, he was not pleased with its contents. The idea that his bride may have been yet espoused to another, was not welcome news. Especially as his own marriage left something to be desired."
"I can well imagine."
"Apparently, he became rather violent toward the Baroness..." Pausing in his narrative, he sighed again.
"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she breathed sympathetically. "He would not be reasonable?"
"Reason is not a trait common to that side of the family, as you recall."
"So, she left him?"
"Yes, she fled. She is fearful that he will come in search of her and take her back forcibly. It is, after all, his right."
This time it was her turn to sigh; "Despite cruelty of every sort, it is still his right."
"She is his wife by law," he reminded her gravely.
"Does he know this now for certain? Did Mr. Berrick notify them when he discovered the status of the first marriage? The Baroness did not mention it."
"I must assume that he did. Even if he did not, however, it does not signify; as any German court would most certainly rule in the Baron's favour. He is quite powerful in his own district."
"So you have offered her sanctuary? What will you do if he does come for her?"
"I hardly know. No matter what, I promised her protection, and she shall have it."
"So declares the Master of Pemberley." Despite the impertinence of her tone, there was pride in it as well. After a moment, she added "As I have long suspected, you are truly a good man, Mr. Darcy."
"...We shall see."
She fell silent, the rhythm of his beating heart prevalent against her ear. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, "Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes, my love."
"Did the Baron...was she showing you evidence of his mistreatment when I interrupted you?"
He did not answer, which was affirmation enough.
"That brute!" she exclaimed, suddenly angry, "The wretch! How could he?"
"Elizabeth," he spoke soothingly, "It is over. She is safely away from him."
"But, how could a man behave so? He is no better than the wild beasts that slay their mates. At least they have the excuse of acting out of instinct. He cannot make such a claim himself...An educated, supposedly civilised gentleman? It is beyond comprehension!"
"As it should be."
"As it very well is!" A period of sombre introspection followed, whereafter she lifted her head to meet his eyes; "Fitzwilliam, I feel I do owe you an apology."
"Whatever for?" He honestly could not remember what circumstance would compel her to admit such a thing.
"For snapping at you while Georgiana was ill. You did not deserve such a reprimand."
"Then, I must be allowed to return the favour. My behaviour was far from blameless at the time."
"You were concerned for your sister...It is perfectly understandable."
"And you, as well. Although I fear Berrick probably suffered the worst of it."
"Oh, yes. Has he forgiven you yet, do you suppose?"
"I believe so. He approached me later, anxious to make amends."
"I am very glad to hear it...Now, my darling husband," she stated warmly, "I shall tell you again what I said last evening; when you could not...hear me."
"Yes?"
"You do recollect that yesterday was your sister's wedding day?"
"Ah,...this was the cause for the general upheaval in the household, was it?"
"If you tease, I shall not tell you."
"Then, yes, I do seem to recall a wedding."
"Well, I thought, perhaps, her absence might be rather upsetting to certain persons, and so I had a desire to ease the pain of separation as much as possible."
"And, how would you go about doing that?"
"By reminding this person that he is very much appreciated by his wife and family, and that his sister shall undoubtedly miss him as much as he shall, her...That his conscientious and benevolent manner while seeing to her upbringing has not passed unnoticed. And, that he is truly the finest of brothers and of husbands."
"You would tell this person all of that?"
"And, mean every word of it."
"He is a most fortunate individual."
"I believe he is. Yet, it is not more than he deserves."
"But you are, sweet Elizabeth." His voice during this exchange had become lower, and his expression more tender until he simply had to kiss her. Needless to say, she did not struggle, and in fact prolonged the embrace until both were quite breathless.
Following the separation of their lips, she smiled mischievously, "That was nearly as engaging as the one you bestowed upon me last evening...Do you remember?"
"Was it?" he replied vaguely; then, "I suppose you are referring to after we retired?"
"Oh no," she declared airily, "No...It was quite in full view of all of our relations and friends. Do not tell me you cannot recall it!"
"In full view...Elizabeth, you are exaggerating."
"You do not!" Her exclamation carried a definite tone of glee. "I suspected you were inebriated; else, how could you not have overheard my flattery and compliments. You might as well admit it, Fitzwilliam Darcy; Beneath that aloof exterior beats a heart of pure sentimentality. It takes only an over-indulgence of spirits to reveal it!"
"I thought that I had dreamt it," he confessed sheepishly. "I did not actually dance in such a condition, did I?"
"Only once. You disremember that as well? This must, truly, be an attestment to your skill, if you could dance so easily while intoxicated. Although, now that I reconsider it, you did not move about overmuch. Do you recall nothing?"
"I recall you and Preston assisting me upstairs...What time was that?"
"Long past midnight...nearly one, I think." Smoothing his hair from his forehead lovingly, she smiled, "You have, no doubt, earned such a respite. Yesterday could not have been easy for you."
"You are far too understanding, Mrs. Darcy. Most wives would be thoroughly put out by such a display. You should be scolding me into promising never to behave in so shocking a manner again."
"Most wives...Well, perhaps I am not most wives, as you are not most husbands. And, for this, I am truly thankful."
In a sudden and unexpected move, he rolled her over onto her back so that he was looking down upon her, and to where she was pinned neatly beneath him. With an expression intended to instigate, he then inquired, "And, how will you convey your gratitude, Madame?"
Once she had recovered her breath, she answered thoughtfully, "I could, I suppose, kiss you several times as you apparently would wish me to...or, I could simply not remind you any further of your disgraceful and highly inappropriate manner last evening. Which would you prefer, Sir?"
His response, being of a physical nature and not a verbal one, left little question of which he preferred; and did not, even in its very fervour, surprise her.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Mr. and Mrs. Berrick, in a carriage set to immediately follow the one bearing Mrs. Paquin, Bernadette and Miss Mott, left for London that forenoon. Nearly the entire household, including the majority of the staff, went out to see them off.
"It is one thing," Mrs. Reynolds mourned later to the head cook, Mrs. Willoughby, "To watch Miss Georgiana leave Pemberley for a season in London or Ramsgate, but to be saying goodbye to her as a married woman is quite another. I feel as though I am losing a daughter."
"Aye," agreed Mrs. Willoughby grimly, "Things will naught be the same ever again."
Mrs. Darcy, aware of the significance of this event upon her husband, kept her own farewell with Georgiana brief, promising that they would come to see the Berrick's in London just as soon as they were invited.
For her part, the bride smiled tearfully, embraced everyone twice from Mrs. Reynolds down to the youngest stable-boy, and promised she would write often. When finally she turned to her brother, he took her hands within his, and studied her face solemnly. Neither spoke, yet some silent exchange certainly passed between them, for at length he released her; stepping forward to kiss her cheek while appearing to be satisfied.
He then shook hands with Mr. Berrick, their uneasiness of the night before apparently dissipated with the new day. However, once the carriage had disappeared from view, and the others returned indoors, he remained standing in his place; a slight frown creasing his forehead.
Most of the guests had quit the place by midmorning; until the only ones remaining were Dr. Brecht, the Bennets, and unexpectedly, Lady Catherine and Anne de Bourgh. As some mechanical problem had beset their coach, they were forced to wait until its repair could be executed. In the meantime, that lady ensconced herself firmly in the drawing room to set about interrogating Dr. Brecht on his life and work.
The Bennets, intending to stop by Brindlewood where they would remain until after the birth of Jane's child, finally departed themselves, well before luncheon.
The Baroness did not make an appearance at all. Whether she was feeling reticent or simply travel-worn, they did not know; but, tactfully, they left her to herself for the time being.
"And so, Doctor, what, exactly, is your area of expertise?" Lady Catherine inquired after barely paying heed to his just finished discourse on that very subject.
"Specifically, care of the nerves and organs," he answered patiently; then before she could repeat the same line of questioning, he turned to Anne, "Miss de Bourgh, did you find my advice of last evening to be helpful?"
"Yes, I..." began Anne, her eyes brightening as he spoke directly to her.
"Advice?" her mother interrupted in alarm, "What advice, pray? Who are you to be giving my daughter advice of any sort?"
"Mama," Anne protested feebly, but Lady Catherine was not to be deterred.
"Her own physicians attend to her most ably, as they have done since she was a child. I will not have them undermined!"
"Lady Catherine," Dr. Brecht attempted to explain, "I merely recommended to Miss de Bourgh that frequent and regular exercise would do her a world of good."
This bold statement did not have the effect he had hoped for, however.
"Dr. Brecht, as you know nothing of my daughter's constitution, I should recommend you keep your advice to yourself! If something so simple as exercise would improve her, do you not suppose I should have recommended it, myself?"
"Madam," he persisted, refusing to be intimidated, "How often does she go out?"
"Often enough. Truly, young man, it is not your business! I have never heard such audacity!"
"Once, perhaps, twice in the week," supplied Anne timidly.
"You might increase the measure to daily. Preferably in the morning before you partake of breakfast," he smiled at her as he spoke, but Lady Catherine would not be ignored.
"Mind your ways, sir," she barked, "I shall not have Anne traipsing about the countryside at all hours!"
"Perhaps, ma'am, you might accompany her," he suggested mildly.
"Me? out amid the dirt and wind? Preposterous! Why, she has a companion for such things!"
This pronouncement deterred him not at all; "It is settled, then. Miss de Bourgh shall walk each day, along with her companion, Miss..."
"Mrs. Milhouse," provided the aforementioned Miss de Bourgh, watching in awe over the astonishing influence this gentleman was having upon her mother; who seemed to be, albeit reluctantly, conceding to his counsel.
"It shall not be far," that lady intoned, but her voice was losing some of its ferocity.
"No," he agreed, "Only what is comfortable. I promise you, Lady Catherine, the more she walks, the further she shall desire to go."
It was at this moment that the Rosings carriage was pronounced to the company as being again in order, whereafter Lady Catherine arose to make her farewells.
"Very well, Dr. Brecht. I cannot say that I agree wholeheartedly with your suggestion, yet, if it does not cause her undue distress, I shall not forbid it."
"Thank you, milady," he replied, bowing low, but winking at Anne as he again straightened. "I am positive Miss de Bourgh should be much improved when next I see her."
"We shall see," Lady de Bourgh replied dryly as she still studied him. Then with some sudden inspiration, she proclaimed, "Mr. Darcy" while turning to her nephew who had been seated far enough from their group to be outside the range of its conversation, but not of earshot; "When next you visit Kent, I should encourage you to bring Dr. Brecht with you. He cannot truly appreciate the restorative value provided by nature until he visits Rosings, himself. The park is without fault, would you not agree?"
"Yes, madam," Mr. Darcy assented, his eyes meeting his amused wife's but briefly; "Rosings has much to recommend it, I believe."
"I have no doubt of it," Dr. Brecht allowed, "Yet, I am afraid I must postpone the pleasure until after my return from Germany."
"Oh? You are leaving Britain already? But, I understand that you have been here barely a month." Lady Catherine stared at him as though he had announced that he intended to stand on his head and sing.
"I do have a practice to maintain, and patients who rely on me," he explained patiently. "However, I hope to return by August, if at all possible."
"August? A dreadful month to travel. Although, if you are in the country, then you must come to Bath. Anne and I go there every summer and stay the whole of the season."
"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, bowing once more, "I shall do my best."
The eventual departure of the Rosings carriage left only the immediate family, Dr Brecht, and his sister yet in residence. Once she had been informed of this, the Baroness consented to join them for luncheon, but her demeanour had improved little since the evening before.
Sensing her unease, Elizabeth spent the majority of her time attempting to introduce subjects of a light-hearted nature; still, the conversation stopped and started with tiresome regularity. Even Fitzwilliam, setting aside his own reticence to speak overmuch in company, responded valiantly; his usual succinct answers expanded to entire sentences for the occasion.
Afterward, when the others had separated to follow various pursuits, the Baroness sought her hostess's audience alone.
"Mrs. Darcy, pray excuse my intrusion," she ventured, as Elizabeth glanced up from where she was beginning a long-overdue letter to Charlotte Collins.
"Baroness," she returned, rising to meet her visitor graciously. "How may I be of service?"
"You are very kind...most kind." The Baroness hesitated, appearing to be ill-at-ease; then as she moved to the window to gaze out at the afternoon pensively, she continued, "Your husband, no doubt, has informed you of my infamous ruin. I wonder you would even wish to be seen in public with me."
"Yet, from my own point of view," Elizabeth argued, her voice reasonable; "I see no evil in your actions. If there should be recriminations, let them be toward the one who is truly to blame."
"My husband, you understand," replied the other, "does not judge the situation as you do. He believes himself to be the wronged party...After all, I did not confess to him of my shameful past. Certainly he is within his rights to behave as he has."
"However, you may dismiss your own foolishness as youthful impetuosity. He can boast of no such claim."
"No..." The Baroness, a trace of a smile on her lips, stared down at her clasped hands as she answered, "A man, especially one of influence and power, needs no such justification...I beg your pardon," she turned to face her listener, her countenance suddenly distressed, "I did not intend to burden you with any of this. If another refuge were opened to me, you must know that I would not have troubled you or your family in such a way."
"You have done nothing of the kind," interrupted Elizabeth firmly, "We are cousins, after all. You are family as surely as is Colonel Fitzwilliam or Miss de Bourgh. It is perfectly understandable that you would do so."
"Again I thank you," came the guarded reply. "But perhaps, Mrs. Darcy, you might, at some time, regret your generosity."
"Do you mean, if your husband should trace you here? I am not concerned, Baroness. Mr. Darcy, in his resolve, is not a force to be dealt with lightly. I believe the Baron would be likely to find little satisfaction if a confrontation were to arise." These words, although spoken with outward conviction, could not extinguish the tiny stab of doubt piercing the mind and heart of Mrs. Darcy. She could not forget how Baron Von Wold had proven himself as a man both unpredictable and dangerous; how his actions in Germany had nearly cost her husband his life; and, how ruthlessly he would see to the elimination of those who opposed him.
Yet, she displayed none of this anxiety to the Baroness. With a smile, she offered her hands, adding warmly, "You are most welcome to remain at Pemberley for as long as need be. And, I hope you might, eventually, consider this your home, as well."
"I shall, but only so long as you are not inconvenienced by my presence," was the reply. Still, the proffered hands were accepted gratefully, and very soon the two ladies were in deep discussion on the latest fashions; lowered waistlines and fuller skirts the most obvious alterations being in evidence.
In the days following the wedding, the routine of Pemberley slowly returned to its previous habits. Georgiana's absence, in the beginning, was most painfully evident; but as the first week ended and the family had become more accustomed to the idea, they passed less time brooding upon the subject.
The presence of the Baroness eased some of this loss, certainly. She was different enough in temperament from Mrs. Berrick to be seen, not as a replacement, but as a diverting addition. In the beginning, although understandably subdued, she displayed a sly humour towards the various aspects of her own life, as well as to other personalities within her acquaintance.
The evenings offered a variety of entertainments. While Dr. Brecht remained, they played four-handed cards, or "Acumen"; a guessing game at which the Baroness proved to be most adept. Sometimes Elizabeth and she would perform on the piano-forte, or Dr. Brecht might recite long verses by the masters: Shakespeare, Shelley or Byron.
Thus many hours were spent in tolerable contentment; any misgivings in regards future confrontations set aside for the time being.
Dr Brecht returned to Germany a fortnight after the wedding, with promises to his sister that he would secure arrangements for more permanent accommodations as soon as he was able. His gratitude to the Darcys, meanwhile, although genuine in manner and loquacity, did not suffer from over-embellishment; a fact for which they were both most appreciative.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Thirty-Nine
"Misses, if you please, ma'am!"
Realising that the persistent knocking had not ceased even after her eyes were opened, Elizabeth stirred with some reluctance. What time could it be? The bed chamber was very dark and she had to strain her eyes to even make out her husband's profile beside her. Sitting up awkwardly, she answered in a voice still ragged with sleep, "Yes, what is it? Pray, enter before you awaken the entire house."
The door opened to admit one of the downstairs maids dressed in her robe and nightcap. In one hand she held a candle, in the other a piece of folded paper. "Please, ma'am," she ventured, "This just come. The messenger said it was urgent."
In an instant Elizabeth was on her feet, accepting the paper as her heart stopped in her throat. The maid's candle, thankfully, threw enough light so that she might make out the words scrawled therein:
Mrs. Darcy,
As my wife begs your attendance in her hour of need, I pray you will respond and come to Brindlewood as soon as possible. We await your presence with all hope that your journey will be safe and expeditious.
Godspeed,
Charles Bingley
"Oh!" she cried aloud fearfully before remembering herself. Noticing the servant's startled expression, she ordered, "Fetch Clare please, and see to having a carriage brought around...at once!"
She dressed so quickly that she was forced to wait overlong (it seemed) for the conveyance to arrive. All the while, apprehension continued to mount without abatement. Jane needed her. The child to whom she had been counselled against giving life, was now ready to be born. Would this birth prove less fateful than predicted, or would Jane's goodness...her totally unselfish soul prevail; despite the physician's dire warnings?
Her pacing soon awakened her husband, who assessed by her current level of frustration and anxiety, the circumstances under which she chafed.
"Elizabeth," he queried, rising to sit upon the edge of the bed, "It is your sister?"
In the dim candlelight with his hair mussed and his eyes not entirely focused as yet, he looked to be rather young and quite endearing. But the notion was swept from her consciousness as swiftly as it had appeared. "Yes," she answered, "Great God, where is that carriage?" Then in a voice fraught with foreboding; "Fitzwilliam, I am dreading this even while I know that I must go to her."
"You will not wish to delay."
In spite of her agitation she felt herself touched by the offer behind his words. Taking a breath she managed a smile, "Thank you, my love. But I cannot wait. If you wish to...if you like, you might come along when you can."
"I would not detain you," he assured her gently; a tone which might have breached her self-control had he not moved to where she stood, to draw her into his arms.
Somehow, the strength of his embrace steadied her, availing her to set forth with her usual outward poise intact as she finally left the house.
At Brindlewood, the manor, itself appeared hushed and in a state of nervous expectation. Mr. Bingley answered her knock, the servants being nowhere in sight. His smile upon seeing her, although sincere, could not disguise his obvious distress.
"Mrs. Darcy," he greeted her, his voice unsteady, "Thank you for arriving so soon...Come, she is waiting..." Without another word between them, neither knowing exactly what to say; she followed him abovestairs.
The door to the bedchamber stood slightly ajar, yet no sound was heard from within. Hesitantly Elizabeth stepped in, her eyes drawn to the figure lying on the bed. Despite the night air remaining warm, a mound of blankets enshrouded the Mistress of Brindlewood, so that she appeared tiny beneath them.
"Jane?" Elizabeth ventured, "Are you awake?"
"Lizzy," Jane's voice, weary yet sufficient, answered. "I am so glad you have come."
"You knew that I would." In a moment, she was beside her sister, Jane's hand held tightly between her own, "How are you feeling, dearest?" Somewhere, behind her, Elizabeth was aware of the door closing. Other than this, the house might have been deserted; it seemed so very quiet.
"I am well," Jane promised, her pale complexion belying her words, "Only very tired...this baby is taking it's time, certainly."
"I am pleased you sent for me. I would not wish to miss anything," Elizabeth said with a tremulous smile, studying Jane's countenance worriedly. Despite her words, she did not look well. Sweat covered her brow, her breathing was shallow and quick, while her eyes appeared to be shadowed and sunken in their sockets.
"You arrived even before the doctor," was her reply. "I wonder what is keeping him...Although, if another poor soul is in need of his care, I shall not begrudge them his time."
For the first time, Elizabeth noticed the chambermaid seated against the far wall, apparently keeping her distance during the sisters' reunion. "You," she said, causing the girl to start and rise to her feet nervously, "Bring some cool water and cloths for Mrs. Bingley. I believe she requires her forehead bathed."
"Yes, ma'am," she answered; then, turning to leave, she glanced at her mistress with a mixture of pity and curiosity. It was obvious that the Bingleys had allowed the servants far more laxity than they should have. Yet, this was what Mr. Bennet had long ago predicted, and bless Jane, one could hardly fault her for being so kind-hearted as she had always been.
"Has it been very long since your last pain, Jane, dear?" Elizabeth asked, smoothing the damp hair from her sister's forehead.
"A while, I think...yet, I could not say for certain. I promised myself that I would not complain. After all, I have wanted this child for so long, it would not be right for me to expose my lack of strength at this point, would it?" She smiled weakly, "I have always envied your strength, Lizzy. I must seem very wicked to confess such a thing, but I want you to know that my admiration for you far exceeds anything less."
"Hush, Jane. You are not wicked, nor could you ever be," Elizabeth's eyes stung in her efforts to arrest her tears.
The maid returned by then, bearing the basin of water, several towels, and followed by the housekeeper; a woman named Mrs. Donahue. This lady clucked in a most irritating manner as though Elizabeth, as the wife of the eminent Mr. Darcy, should not be witness to such an ignoble scene. Yet, Mrs. Darcy stubbornly refused to leave the room; disregarding the not-so-subtle hints which were now being directed so boldly towards her.
Thus, the three women remained, forming a strange and almost hostile tableau. Occasionally, Elizabeth would glare at the clock as though accusing it of neglecting its job. Wherever was the doctor? Surely, she had been seated in her place beside Jane for several hours, yet when she checked, a mere forty-five minutes had passed. Only once did Jane stir, and other than a stifled moan, no outward sign of distress was allowed to escape.
Finally, unable to bear the interminable inactivity, Elizabeth arose and moved to the window. Outdoors, daylight was just appearing over the horizon. As she stood, she found herself praying silently, "Dear God, do not take Jane. Do not force her family to continue on without her. They...I shall not be able to endure it." The words repeated themselves in her head over and over, until they seemed to merge, and make little sense at all.
Her concentration was distracted by the welcome sight of a carriage pulling up the drive to the house. "Thank you," she breathed, for it surely must be the doctor, come at last.
At that moment, however, Jane emitted an abrupt gasp, cried out, then lay back as though that very breath had been her last.
"Jane!" The distance between the window and the bed was covered in an instant, but Elizabeth's rapidity was duly rewarded. For after a terrifying juncture, a slight lift of Jane's chest gave evidence that she lived still.
Mrs. Donahue, meanwhile, stood grimly at the foot of the bed, the bedclothes pushed aside as she eased from beneath them a tiny, motionless form. The cord efficiently severed in an instant, she hastened from the room with the infant wrapped tightly in her arms, no sound issuing from either. This in itself, proved to be an ominous forewarning.
When she returned in less than five minutes time, she was preceded by the doctor, whose brows were drawn with worry. He studied Jane's face, listened to her breathing, then, speaking in low tones to Elizabeth, said, "Mrs. Darcy, I am afraid the child is stillborn."
If she were not surprised, it was only because the entire ordeal had seemed so unusual...so silent, so unreal, somehow. She must have stared at the doctor idiotically for several moments, for he finally repeated himself, adding not unkindly, "Would you mind excusing us? I believe her husband is waiting."
As she went out, she came face-to-face with Charles Bingley, the pain already quite evident across his features. The thought occurred to her then, that this was the very first occasion over the past four years that she had not seen him in his usual easy humour.
Their eyes met briefly while she murmured, "I am so sorry."
"Thank you," he managed, just before his tormented gaze turned to the sight of his wife, who lay weeping quietly upon the bed.
She fled then; running until she no longer heard her sister's hopeless sobs, until the odour of death was left far behind. When she stopped at last, she found herself in a hallway completely alien to her. Its unfamiliarity was insignificant, however. All she wished for at that moment was to be alone.
Leaning against a wall, she finally let loose the tears which had threatened to overcome her throughout the long hours of the night. She wept with an abandon only the conviction of nondiscovery could release.
How long she remained, she did not know. Yet, even after the racking convulsions had wrested themselves from her body, she sat (for at some time, she must have slid down to the floor) in unmoving reflection, her face resting upon her upraised knees.
Jane's child had died, yet Jane, herself, was spared. Was the life of the one the only way to save the other? If so, then their sorrow should be somewhat alleviated. Perhaps it was heartless, selfish or cold. Perhaps she did not feel all that she ought, yet she could not help but be grateful for Jane's deliverance. The tragic loss of the infant would hinder the return of ultimate happiness; but with Jane still among them, surely it would be only an ephemeral anguish.
But not for Jane, of course. She sighed deeply as she acknowledged this indisputable fact. Jane would feel the loss keenly, and most probably, forevermore. Within a heart so generous, so sensitive, there could be no respite, little comfort. How would she bear it? What consolation might be offered from Fate in order to heal her wounded nature?
Elizabeth had heard stories of women who pined for their deceased children; mourned themselves into their own premature graves. Of married couples who grew apart when their sorrow could not be eased by their partner; or, when all affection had ceased between them, sought comfort in other arms, other beds.
These grim thoughts were not helpful, and succeeded only in returning her spirits to their former forlorn state. The complete silence of the hallway she occupied, which a half-hour earlier had been most welcomed, now seemed only oppressive. Rising, she began to move in the direction from whence she came, her thoughts still entangled with grief, helplessness, and even a certain amount of guilt-ridden relief.
She had just turned the corner to reenter the hall leading to the Bingleys' rooms, when she stopped short, hardly daring to breathe. Leaning against a wall, his profile lit from behind by a wall sconce, stood Fitzwilliam.
His head was back, his eyes closed; while his arms were crossed before him. He looked weary, yet more than that, an almost palpable sadness emanated from his being. She knew this not by any common signs of woe, for no tear stained his cheek; but by the set of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the lines around his mouth.
In that juncture, as she studied him, the realisation occurred to her that as much as she grieved, he must, as well. After three years of marriage, she had begun to take for granted his strength and steadfast regard. Somewhere along the way she had forgotten the very traits which had drawn her to him in the beginning; his sensibility, empathy, and generosity.
After all, he had been like a brother to Mr. Bingley for some years; he had approved of Jane's own character long before he did her family. Certainly, their anguish would affect him in ways she had not imagined.
"How very selfish I am," she thought scornfully; "I have considered only how this misfortune will interfere with my own interests, while disregarding entirely the others who must also suffer." With this self-reproach, she went to stand before him; watching his face, yet saying nothing.
Sensing her presence after a moment, he opened his eyes to meet hers. Neither spoke, but as he spread wide his arms, she entered them as though compelled by a force outside of herself.
Within his embrace she could feel her spirit becoming suddenly restful. The familiar scent of his coat, the stability of his chest against her cheek, the security of his arms around her, all assisted in restoring her sense of normalcy. This notion was immediately countered with, "what normalcy there may be for a time." For she knew the coming days and weeks would be anything but sanguine or natural.
"I shall not dwell upon my own melancholy," she decided then and there, "But consider those around me. This will be the best course, I believe."
"Elizabeth?"
His voice, coming from above, yet against her ear as well, sounded muffled and distant.
"Yes, my love?" she answered.
"How are you?"
"Fine...now." Her face still buried in his waistcoat, she was overcome by his consideration. How very dear he was to think of her feelings above his own. Then, recalling her vow; "And, you?"
"I have been better."
"Yes."
There seemed to be nothing else to say, and so they did not. But, there they remained in one another's arms until other sounds; that of the members of family and staff who were yet to apprehend the sad tidings, would intrude upon this temporary reprieve.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Forty
The next fortnight was, indeed, most trying.
Elizabeth remained for a week at Brindlewood. Not so much to comfort Jane as intended, but her mother, whose suffering seemed to be boundless. During the mornings, she would weep and moan, bewailing the Bingleys' loss while enjoying the attentions of countless servants. In the afternoons, she endured severe headaches or bouts of unsteady nerves. Nothing could appease her, and very soon Elizabeth gave up even attempting the task. Mr. Bennet's grief, on the other hand, was a private matter, and she knew that when he enclosed himself in the library, it was not necessarily to read.
For three days Mr. Bingley did not leave his wife's side except to attend the burial of the daughter he had not known. She was to be named Rachael Louise after his mother, and although Jane could not yet leave her room, they placed the little grave within sight of her bedroom window; so that she might watch the proceedings from there.
That infamous day dawned grey and cool with a mist heavy enough to dampen even the staunchest of hearts. Close to Mr. Bingley stood Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bennet, Mary, and nearly the whole of the household staff.
Elizabeth remained with Jane, who viewed the brief service from a thickly cushioned chair by the window. They did not speak; Elizabeth keeping her arm around her sister with tender concern.
Outdoors, the figures encircling the gravesite appeared vague and ethereal. A slight breeze blew their wraps about their legs with a sodden purpose, yet they, themselves, rarely stirred throughout the eulogy. Even the silhouettes of the many servants weeping into their handkerchiefs shifted but little, and from her vantage point, Elizabeth was impressed by the utter stillness of the scene before them.
When it was over, a burden seemed to have been lifted from Jane. Indeed, her manner revealed an unexpected serenity, and when tears stung Elizabeth's cheeks, Jane embraced her, saying, "Do not mourn, Lizzy, for I know that my darling little girl is happy now, and we shall see her again one day."
The following morning, Jane insisted on visiting the nursery. Thus, with her husband closely attending her, she spent the day in the company of their remaining children. It did little good to tell her that she needed to rest, for she paid no heed to such advice. In some way, Elizabeth understood. It was time to get on with the business of living. To dwell on death was neither beneficial nor favourable, and Jane, of all people, did not possess the self-indulgence required to do so.
Taking advantage of her sister's improved humour, Elizabeth thought she might step outside for a time. In direct contrast to the previous day, the weather proved to be irresistible; sunshine bathed the countryside, and never had the colours of nature appeared to be so vivid.
As she moved past her mother's doorway, however, she overheard an unmistakable moan. Reluctantly recalling her promise, she paused, took a breath and knocked upon the door; all the while hoping Mrs. Bennet would not be agreeable to company. Alas, luck seemed to have abandoned her, for from within was heard her mother's distinctly peevish, "Come!"
"Mama," she suggested brightly as she entered, "I am going out for a breath of fresh air. Perhaps you would wish to join me."
"Whatever for?" Mrs. Bennet snapped upon seeing her visitor. "It is far too dirty." Then, eyeing Elizabeth with some annoyance, "Why are you not tending to your sister?"
"Jane is with her family. I have no desire to intrude upon their privacy...Are you certain you will not come out, Mama? The exercise might lift your spirits."
"I shall never understand you, Lizzy," answered Mrs. Bennet dolefully. "How can you go off seeking your own pleasure when the rest of us suffer so?"
"What would you have me do?" she inquired, making a great effort to remain unaffected.
"Oh, never mind! You shall never understand the pain of losing a child! You have not had to agonise like my poor, dear Jane!"
The words, spoken without heed, caused Elizabeth to step back as though struck. Unable to reply, she turned on her heel and strode from the room. Purposefully keeping her mind blank until she was well away from the house, she, nonetheless, emitted several muttered words of profanity on her way out. Once attaining a sheltered copse, she paced to and fro in increasing fury.
"Not lost a child! How would she know? Foolish, foolish woman, I am ashamed to know you! No, I have not lost a child, but two! Now, what have you to say?...How can she speak so? What have I ever done to deserve such an attack?"
Continuing in this vein for some time, she did not notice the arrival of her husband, who stood watching her tirade in concerned silence. But, when she began to weep in frustration, he thought it time to make his presence known.
"Elizabeth, what is it?" he demanded as he stepped towards her.
She started at the sound of his voice, while the indignation which had only just consumed her, abruptly gave way to despair. Her words having deteriorated into helpless sobs, she accepted the invitation of his arms gratefully.
He did not try to check her bout of wretchedness, but waited gravely until she had quieted somewhat. "Now, my love," he murmured into her hair, "Can you not tell me what has upset you so?"
"How can a person go through life content to be so very ignorant?" she managed, speaking into his coat.
"You are referring to...?"
"My mother, of course! Who has no feelings beyond her own!"
Recognising that she was beginning to anger all over again, he attempted to determine the reason behind it; "What, exactly, did she say to you?"
"She accused me of...cruelty! Of being callous to Jane's situation! She said that I could not understand! How can she be so...so offensive...so misguided?"
"Elizabeth."
"I know that she is not aware...but that does not excuse her words, Fitzwilliam. To speak so hatefully when she cannot possibly know...!"
"Elizabeth..."
"She has no notion what we, you and I, have suffered! How can she? She does not care to know, and I, certainly, am not going to enlighten her!"
"Elizabeth, you are perfectly right."
"What?" Lifting her head, she met his eyes; momentarily distracted by the interruption.
"She does not know, and will not; unless you choose to tell her."
"Well, I...It is not her business, surely."
"No, it is not," he agreed reasonably, "But, if she is to remain uninformed, will you despise or pity her?"
She studied him for a long moment, her rage forgotten. Realising his tactic, her eyes narrowed, yet a dimple peeked from her cheek even while she reproached him; "I see what you are about, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I must admit to being astounded upon hearing your defence of my mother."
"It is not your mother who concerns me," he corrected her with a sly smile.
"How do I concern you then?" she asked airily, wishing suddenly that he had not come upon her in the midst of her hysteria, "Do you believe me to be insane at last?"
"Considering your mother, it is a wonder you were not declared so, long ago."
She had just begun to open her mouth to retort that, if she were so very difficult, why then did he tolerate her; when he, without warning, covered her lips quite resolutely with his own. Immediately, she softened. As she rose up on her toes in an effort to deepen the kiss, her arms, seemingly of their own accord, slid around his neck.
"Is it not enough," she sighed as their faces separated, "that you have captured my heart so completely? For, I fear now that you are able to comprehend what it contains, far better than I do, myself."
He shook his head slightly, "I hope I may apprehend what you are feeling, but so far as surmising your thoughts, I would not even attempt it. I confess you have confounded me in ways I would not have foreseen on...countless occasions."
"Oh?" Inspecting the knot of his cravat, she inquired, "Then, you are not wearied of me as yet?"
Pretending to be considering her question, he replied carefully, "Not as yet."
Aware that he was teasing her, she smiled as sweetly as possible and pushed away from him. "I see I shall have to mend my ways. I should not wish you discontented." With that she moved off, not stopping until she was some yards from where he stood. Flashing him a glance of pure provocation, she stooped to pick a handful of violets.
Whether it was the impudence of her countenance, or simply the tempting view as she bent over, he did not long remain where he was. Purposeful strides took him to her in an instant; then in another she found herself once more in his arms, his lips pressed demandingly against her own.
Without conscious thought, she was soon caught up in his growing passion. His hands began to roam freely over her body with a rising urgency, and she did not attempt to stay their fervid explorations. Despite being vaguely aware that they were not entirely hidden if someone should be so luckless as to stroll near them, the power to stop was already well beyond her capabilities.
Only once did she gasp, "Fitzwilliam, wait!" Then, as he gazed into her face without comprehension, she shifted her position away from some unyielding protuberance (for she had unwittingly become wedged between her husband and a very solid oak tree) which was pressing most uncomfortably into her back. The delay proved to be brief, however, and did not hinder either, his ultimate achievement, nor her enjoyment of it.
Afterward, when both had obtained such rapture that all which could be done was to cling to one another in sheer exhaustion, Elizabeth, unaccountably to even herself, began to weep.
Having restored the state of his breeches, Fitzwilliam collapsed onto the ground, taking her with him so that she lay in a heap upon his chest. This was the moment when her tears started their unexpected coursing down her cheeks.
"Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, at once concerned, "My love, have I brought you pain?" Immediately he sat up, his arms wrapped around her so that she was compelled to do the same, yet would still be held protectively against him. In a voice betraying his consternation, he asked, "Pray, tell me how I have hurt you."
"You have not," she managed between sobs, "I hardly understand it myself...It seems that all I have done of late is to cry."
His voice became gentle as awareness of what troubled her, dawned upon him. "It has been hard on you, has it not, my Elizabeth? You have remained strong for Jane and your parents,...and myself, as well. How you must have struggled."
His manner, so considerate and soothing, soon dried her tears while causing her to feel more tranquil than she had in some time. When she spoke again, it was on a subject he had not anticipated.
"Have you ever thought of them?"
"Of whom, my love?"
"The children we did not have?"
Finding himself, of a sudden, to be on uncertain ground, he hesitated; then cautiously; "Have you?"
"Sometimes...The recollections are not pleasant. Yet, if I do not on occasion, I find myself feeling somewhat guilty."
"You have nothing to be guilty of."
"Perhaps not. You did not answer my question." She straightened so that she could see into his face as she repeated her inquiry; "Have you never considered them?"
Fixing his sight on a blade of grass near her knee, he answered slowly, "I find much of my time to be filled with the children we do have, Elizabeth."
"In other words, I should not dwell upon the past. Is this your advice?"
Unable to tell if she were vexed, he defended himself, "It accomplishes nothing, and can only lead to frustration. How can such torment be constructive?"
"Sometimes, my love, past misfortune may act as a tutor, of sorts," she replied, rising and straightening her skirts pensively. "The lessons taught, however, do us little good if we refuse to reflect upon them from time to time."
Rising as well, he stood before her. "And, what lessons had you learned, Elizabeth?" he asked, watching her carefully. "That life can be difficult and oftentimes unfair?"
Meeting his eyes, she returned, "Well, at the very least, I might better sympathise with my sister. This in itself is invaluable, is it not?"
Acknowledging her point, he leaned forward to place a light kiss on her lips, "Once again, I must bow to your reasoning, Elizabeth. But, I must request a concession granted to me as well."
"What is that?" she asked, restraining a smile at the sight of his feigned humility.
"That if some recollection...some past misfortune causes you undue distress, it should be better to leave it be; if only for the sake of your poor husband, who loathes to see you in such pain."
"But I rely on my poor husband," she argued, her eyebrows raised in amusement, "To comfort me at those times. Will he refrain from such sweet condolence if I do not submit as I ought?"
"I believe," Mr. Darcy said, deliberately brushing a bit of grass from his wife's skirts, "You know him too well to suppose that."
Linking her arm through his as they turned to walk back to the house, Mrs. Darcy replied rather complacently, "I believe I do."
© 2002, 2003 Copyright held by the author.