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In the ensuing weeks, Mr. Dunbarton became Michael, and Mrs. Thurgood was affectionately called Mrs. T. Laughter often rang out among the quiet halls, and the staff at Fairhaven manor rarely let a day go by when they did not bless the day that Michael Dunbarton met Mrs. Keane.

Michael was content beyond his expectations in his new situation. He quickly came to care a great deal for Mrs. T. and there was nothing he would not do for her, often thinking up things on his own to please and amuse her. She was equally delighted in the youth, and was often caught staring intensely at him, something he at first was disconcerted by, but later came to accept it as an odd habit of hers. Together over the summer months, they became very close. His attentiveness brought a calming effect to the staff, who never worried over their mistress anymore, as she was in the very best hands.

The effect of spending so much time in anyone’s presence allowed each person to understand the other to a degree not found with other acquaintances, for Mrs. Thurgood noticed an underlying melancholia to her youthful companion. She sensed a sadness that he kept well hidden, but would surface, just barely perceptible, when they spent long hours of peaceful idleness together. She often watched his face, studying the array of emotions playing across it, and tried to decipher him. She knew he had a past history that he found impossible to share with her. She wanted very much to help him, but without his disclosure, she was at a loss as to how. There was also a nagging thought in the back of her mind about him which she could not place. Somehow, she thought she might have seen Michael before. A part of her mind knew he belonged somewhere… different. She realised that until she could remember where or when she might have seen him, the nagging idea would not go away.

For Michael, the time he spent with Mrs. T. allowed him to intimately understand her routines, her moods and her personal habits. It was no surprise then, after several weeks in her company, he began to detect Mrs. Thurgood was hiding something from him and the staff. As he began to catalogue the anomalies to her routine, he sadly realised she was, in fact, hiding an illness. He decided for now to let her keep her secret. She was having no troubles in her day-to-day existence, the summer weather was perfectly suited to all their endeavours, and until an episode of obvious need or distress presented itself, he thought it better to keep his suspicions to himself.

It was therefore a surprise when, less than a week after his decision not to ask his mistress about her suspected condition, it presented itself in a most alarming way. They had been out walking in the gardens, heading for one of their favourite stops, a bench under an enormous elm tree, when suddenly Mrs. T. was stricken in the side with a debilitating pain. Michael instantly helped her to the bench, alarmed at her face, which was contorted in terrible agony.

“Mrs. T., allow me to call the doctor, you are not well!” he cried. But she stayed him with her hand.

“No, Michael. I am well.” Her breathing started to slow down as her pain was obviously easing.

“You are not! Please do not ignore such a pain, it might portend to something very serious.”

“Michael, you will obey me in this. No doctor will be sent for.” He studied her face. Her colour was returning, and her breathing was almost normal again. She seemed to have little concern for what she had just experienced. They sat quietly for several minutes.

“You have not been well for some time,” he finally replied, now understanding. “Am I right to think the doctor has already seen you, then?” She gave a slight nod, turning away, embarrassed. He took up her hand gently. “What has he advised you to do?”

She seemed to be studying the leaves of the elm above her head. He waited.

“There is nothing to be done, Michael. There is nothing that will stop the inevitable. I take solace only in knowing I will soon be with my dearest Harry. And I am thankful for the happiness I currently have spending my days with you.” Michael could not help the choke and tears that followed her heartbreaking confession. She drew his head onto her shoulder, as he cried for the thought of losing this woman who had become so dear to him.

Soon she straightened his head up and looked him straight in the eyes. His spectacles had fallen into his lap, and she realised she had never had the chance to see him thus as she spoke, “Now, we’ll have none of that, dear Boy. My happiness stems from you sharing your youthful exuberance, your laughter and your wit. If you do not provide me with it in abundance, I will turn you into the first gentleman scullery maid!” He laughed lightly, but his face still betrayed his sorrow.

They eventually made their way slowly back to the house. She promised to let him help her whenever the pain came back, and he promised to keep her secret until she was unable to hide her condition. As she entered her chambers, thinking back to their conversation under the great elm tree, she felt suddenly struck with a realisation, as if she had seen a blast of light that revealed the truth.

“Oh, good heavens!” she exclaimed as she sunk to the edge of her bed.

Chapter Twenty

Georgiana Darcy had lived through many difficult times in her young life. The general populace considered her to be a lady of uncommon good fortune, in terms of dowry, as well as situation and connections. However, if asked today, the lady would not agree. What were lovely gowns and carriages, grand homes and fine horses, without the happiness of sharing them with loved ones? After suffering the loss of both her parents, and the foolishness of a failed elopement with a man to whom she had briefly given her heart, Miss Darcy’s only source of constant love and devotion came in the form of her most beloved brother. Now that all-important source was being threatened, and Georgiana was at a loss as to how to preserve it.

He had arrived at Pemberley in a mood unlike any she had ever witnessed in him before. Though never open and easy with each other, for the first time in her life, Fitzwilliam had completely shut her out. It had been over three months since he had returned home, and she hardly had the chance to speak with him, save the barest of conversations. Her meals had been taken alone in the dining room, her afternoons spent at her pianoforte without his ever looking in on her. At night, she could hear his outbursts and pacing in his library or in his room, but she was simply too intimidated at the prospect of seeking out the man whom she looked upon almost as a father, and demanding he explain himself.

Mrs. Reynolds was well aware of the amount of fine wines, brandy and port that had been brought up from the cellars over the past months, but could hardly confer with a mistress of just seventeen years as to what to do.

Darcy’s steward, Mr. Grant, was also not pleased at his master’s complete disinterest in the estate’s business, and complained bitterly to the housekeeper the master needed to control himself and stop his drinking. He had not looked at his correspondence since arriving. He had simply told his steward to make the decisions to the best of his abilities and he refused to even hear of the concerns of his estate.

Mrs. Reynolds finally decided a suggestion to the young Miss to seek out her cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and ask him to attend her would be a wise move. One week later he arrived.

Georgiana had been softly playing her instrument in the music room, when the doors opened and her cousin greeted her warmly.

“Richard! Thank goodness you have come!” she cried, as she flew into his arms.

“My goodness, Georgie! Whatever has come over you?” he replied, as she sobbed into his coat.

“Richard, you cannot know how worried I have been. He refuses to see anyone. He never comes to his meals, and I know he has had far too many bottles from the cellar brought to him. I am scared of what he is doing to himself, and why he will not let anyone near him. Please, Richard, will you try to discover what ails him? He will listen to you, you are older than him, and I know he looks up to you.”

He assured her he would go directly to Darcy after changing. This gave her some relief and he was able to leave her in much calmer state. He suggested she retire for the evening and have her dinner sent up to her, as he did not know how long he would be with his cousin and, more importantly, he did not want the possibility of Georgiana hearing things that would only upset her, should Darcy wish to put up a fight. She started, surprised for a moment.

“Be well, Georgiana. I only meant we may have to resort to raised voices. It has been ages since I have tried to put my younger cousin across my knee, and success can no longer be assured, considering your brother’s great size.”

Before entering the dreaded room, Richard had frank discussions with the housekeeper, butler, valet and the steward, reassuring them as best he could he would try to restore their master to his former self. Armed with little useful information, but genuine concern, he finally entered the library.

Darcy sat in a deep chair facing the fire. Though it was still full light outside, the curtains were drawn, and the room smelled of having been closed up for several days at least. The colonel was all too familiar with what he was looking upon. He had seen plenty of men over the years on a binge. No doubt a woman was behind it all. They usually were. Darcy sat in his shirt, waistcoat and breeches. His face was not dirty, but was badly in need of a shave. The glass was half-full in his tottering hand.

“Good afternoon, Cousin. Are you not happy to see me?” he cheerfully greeted him as he slammed the library door.

Darcy turned slowly, scowling upon seeing him, and uttered a simple, “No.”

“Good! That means you have something to hide, and I mean to ferret it out, Darcy. You have spent enough time wallowing in self-pity. “

“Go away, Richard. You are wasting your time.”

“Sorry, Fitzwilliam. I shall not leave until things are set to right here.” He made himself comfortable on the large leather sofa, directed a footman to bring him his tea, and settled himself in for the evening.

Later, he instructed the butler, Ferguson, to bring dinner to them in the library and insisted Darcy eat. He also removed the offending bottles which were placed about the room, ignoring Darcy’s rantings and threats.

“You ARE going to get sober cousin. I have had plenty of experience with men in your position, and I warn you now; you will do as I command and stop this cowardly escape. You have duties to attend, Master of Pemberley.” Darcy sneered at him; the colonel ignored him. “You have had almost an entire year to clear your head and your heart in Europe. And now, you are hardly back on English soil, when you fall headlong into a binge. Your sister is worrying herself into illness, and your staff are at a loss what to do. It is time for you to return to the living, Cousin.”

Darcy continued his scowl unabated.

“That look never did work on me, so you can cease your attempts at intimidation, young man.”

The rest of the evening continued in much the same vein. Richard attempted to get Darcy to sober; Darcy barked or scowled at Richard. They both ended the night sleeping in the library, which suited the colonel perfectly as it gave him the chance to keep a close eye on his cousin.

In the morning he met with Darcy’s valet, and advised him to clear the bedroom of all spirits. He further notified the shocked man that he would be attending his cousin night and day for the next week at least, to help insure the master’s sober state, and to ease the pain the staff would no doubt be suffering through. He checked on his cousin’s snoring repose and, satisfied the man was yet unconscious, he left to find Georgiana at breakfast.

She had retired to her rooms like a dutiful young ward, but she had not stayed the entire night. Several times she had felt compelled to stand outside the library door, needing the reassurance that both men were still inside, and that her cousin was trying to work upon her brother. She had peeked in very early this morning, pleased to see the two men sleeping, and silently thanked Richard for being both brave enough and willing to make the effort.

As he walked into the breakfast room, she rose from her chair, and went to him. Instead of throwing herself into his arms like the child she was yesterday, today she calmly reached out and cupped his cheek tenderly, then grasped his large hand in both of hers and squeezed while softly telling him, “Thank you, Richard. Thank you for all you are doing. You are the very best of men, and the dearest relative I have next to him.” He swallowed hard, amazed at the change in her.

As if she could read her mind she answered, “I am sorry for my outburst yesterday. I fear I was no longer in control of my emotions and acted quite like a child. Perhaps if I did not love him so much I would have been more reserved, but you know what he means to me, and I was simply at my wit’s end to help him.”

Richard nodded, patting her hands with his, and they then sat at the table. “The road ahead is long, my dear, but we have made a start. He will have to stay clear of any spirits, even with his meals. I am afraid he will suffer for a long while, as the poison takes many weeks to leave his body. I suspect right now, he is made more of wine than flesh. If we can get him to take up his role of master and encourage him to be active, he should have the chance to fully recover.”

“You speak as if he has an illness, Cousin.”

“Indeed! That is precisely how one should approach this. His body is suffering from the abuse he has given it. As far as his head…” He raised his brows and shoulders, indicating the lack of any answer.

“Then you still do not know what has caused him to do this to himself?”

“I do not, but I can conjecture, Georgiana. Most men who have been in similar positions are usually crossed in love.”

Her mouth fell open. “A woman? But we have been together nearly everyday for over a year! The only women in our constant presence were Charles Bingley’s sisters and, while he would never say it, I feel I can guarantee he has never had the least interest in either. Good heavens, one is married! No, it cannot be them; we even made plans to separate from them while on the continent, neither of us like them. Oh! That was rude of me. I….”

By this time Colonel Fitzwilliam was laughing openly at her, and she joined him in the moment.

“You need not apologize, Georgie dear. I have met the ladies myself and understand you perfectly. Be patient, and we will find out what ails him, then we can help him heal.” She agreed.

When Darcy woke that morning, nothing could make him feel better; not even the cheery countenance of his cousin’s face directly in front of him. Richard warned him before he could even open his mouth that more strong drink was not part of the menu offered at Pemberley anymore, and that he, Darcy, would have to buck up, and suffer through the pain that was going to be his companion for many days.

“Have some little mercy, Richard, and at least close the window coverings,” he pleaded.

Thus the pattern of the following weeks was established. The colonel concentrated on the task of ridding his favourite cousin of the poisons that flowed in his veins, all the while looking for a chance to get Darcy to open up his heart to him, and reveal what had started this irresponsible behaviour.

At the beginning, Darcy had been annoyed with his cousin’s constant presence, primarily because it interfered with his ability to procure alcohol. But as the days went on, and he was sober longer, he found the man’s close proximity a comfort to him, as though with Richard near him, he need not fear being lured back to a bottle to make him forget his pains. Finally, after several weeks, he once again began to be annoyed with Richard’s constant insistence he tell him the reasons for his desire to drink, as well as perturbed that he was still not working on his estate business. He felt he was ready to take on his responsibilities once again, and that the Colonel and his steward should acquiesce to his desires.

“You wish to resume your former duties?” the colonel inquired one day, when Darcy had finally come to the end of his tether.

“Yes, Richard!” he said, exasperated.

“You feel you no longer might be tempted to return to your former ways?”

“No! And I find your lack of faith in me discouraging as well.”

“Fine, Darcy. Prove to me that you are worthy.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You shall wait here until I return,” Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesties Army commanded. Will sat dumbfounded, but obediently remained.

He returned with a tray, two glasses and a bottle of the finest brandy Pemberley had. He sat down upon his now favourite leather sofa, and motioned for Darcy to sit across from him. He then poured out two large glasses of the fragrant amber liquid, picked one up, swirled it slowly, sniffed it carefully and, sipping it, said, “Kindly tell me what this is all about, or pick up that brandy and descend again into your self-made hell.”

They sat in silence for nearly an hour. Finally, Darcy sighed. He knew this side of his cousin. The man was like a bull terrier; if he got his bite around your neck you were doomed, as he would never let go. He thought on how to get rid of Fitzwilliam, without revealing his dreaded recent past, and finally concluded to answer simply, “Wickham.”

The colonel’s face dropped and then a grave foreboding crossed it. “Wickham is causing you problems?” he questioned, disbelieving.

“Yes, Richard!”

“Then I believe I can solve your problem, Darcy.”

“I do not appreciate humour at this moment!”

“No humour, Cousin, only the truth; Wickham is dead.” Darcy guffawed at the statement. His look was one of such astonishment as to make his cousin worry on another point. “Darcy, surely you did not have anything to do with his death?”

“What do you mean Richard? How could I have anything…? Good God! You mean he was murdered?”

“Yes, he was beaten to death. The details have been scarce at best, but from what we have been able to find out, he was attacked by a rather large number of people, who have been amazingly silent upon witnessing or participating in the event.” Darcy was dumbstruck.

The colonel continued, “Did you know he had deserted from the army the summer before last?” His cousin shook his head. “No, I would think not, it happened just before you headed over the channel as I recall. The army had been looking for him, though not too hard. Last June we began to hear small rumours of his possible death. You can imagine how thrilled the powers that be would have been to announce one of their own had been brutally murdered after deserting. They knew he had several enemies. He had left enough debts within the ranks of the officers alone to warrant many a duel. Once they were able to confirm that he was truly dead, the nasty business was entirely hushed up.”

Will could barely think straight, but part of him was beginning to make some startling realisations and he managed to ask, “When did this happen?”

“We believe early May.”

“And where?”

“Where else? The black holes of London, naturally. Where else could this kind of activity be hidden so well, and people bribed to ignore it? Darcy, do you know anything about it? Were you involved?”

“No Richard, I was not involved in any way, I assure you. This is the first I have ever heard about it.” The colonel was satisfied his cousin was telling the truth. God only knows what he would have done if he had to cover up involvement in a brutal murder.

“I believe you. Though I would wish such a demise upon no man, I am glad to be rid of the scoundrel. I cannot imagine his debtors are glad to see him gone, nor his wife, but you can at least be assured he will no longer bother us.”

“Wife? He was married?” Darcy was beginning to feel truly ill.

“Yes, last summer, when he deserted, he took some young woman with him and married her on a ship bound for America.”

“America? Where the devil would he get the funds to go to America?”

“No idea, just that he went, and left his wife there.”

The inside of Will’s head was beginning to complain. “Richard, do you remember what his wife’s name was? Can you recall her first name?” He was dreading hearing his cousin’s next words.

“Heavens, Darcy, I can try to think, I saw the report. No one knows where she is in America, it will be unlikely that word of his passing will reach her anytime soon, if at all. Was it Laura? No, I think Lydia.”

And there it was. The pieces to the puzzle suddenly fell into place; Lydia Bennet had run away the previous summer with George Wickham.

“Did the army know he had married?”

“No, we knew he had run off with some girl, but only discovered where they had gone, and that they had married, around the time we learned of his death. Her family had found out through the captain of the ship, as I recall, else we would never have known it.”

Will’s head was suddenly pounding. His fingertips flew to his temples as an almost instantaneous headache came over him, and he groaned.

“Darcy, are you well?” his cousin asked, concerned.

“There is nothing the matter with me, Richard.”

“You obviously have something to do with this whole Wickham business. I demand to know what it is. If you are in trouble, I am sure I can be of assistance.”

“I appreciate your concern, I truly do. I am telling the truth when I say I had nothing to do with George Wickham’s death. Nor did I have anything to do with his marriage or the trip to America. I am only distressed upon learning the news.” He continued rubbing his temples attempting to dissuade the fierce pounding that was not listening to his fingers’ silent plea. “Richard, I cannot help but feel that had I made more of my personal history with Wickham known, much of what you have told me has happened might have been avoided. No guilt falls directly onto my shoulders for what has occurred, but allow me to examine myself and see that my inactions may have started the course of events which have led to such an unhappy conclusion.”

“If you insist cousin, but I think you take too much upon yourself.” They sat for several more minutes. Darcy was in no hurry to reveal any more details about his obvious distress.

The colonel finally lost his patience. “Are you telling me I should now believe that you have been drinking yourself into a daily stupor these past months because of something a man, who has been dead all this time, did to you?”

“Indirectly, but yes.” He spoke no further.

The colonel let him stew for a few more minutes, but would not relent. “You are not going to tell me about her.” A furious glare and growling clearing of the throat was his answer.

“Just promise me it was not Wickham’s wife,” the colonel pleaded.

Darcy almost choked. “Good God, No!” They sat in silence; each in his own protected bubble of unshared intimacies.

“Fair enough, then. I will have to be satisfied, though I think you will regret not unburdening yourself. However, my concern right now is more important: Georgiana. I know she is still young, but she is no longer a child. You cannot continue treating her like one. She is nearly of age, and soon will have to make her way in the world on her own merits and skills. How is having a brother who barely acknowledges her existence helping her to grow and mature into the woman we both hope she will become? You have done her a great disservice these past months. Surely the two of you grew closer on your Grand Tour? I believe she would benefit more from a brother, instead of a father, do you not?”

Darcy was taken aback. “Your words are wise beyond what I would have expected, Richard. I confess I had not given Georgiana much thought these last months, and your admonishments are well deserved. I love her very much, and must think to put her first. I owe it to her. I owe it to my family. I am sorry for the way I have been treating her. I swear I will not let her, or you, down again.”

“Good! Now, if you think you can manage to find your bed, may I suggest in the morning you and I start through the pile of letters you have allowed to stack up? Then you can reacquaint yourself with the running of your estate. Afterwards, we can devote ourselves in the afternoon to teaching you how to beg Georgie‘s forgiveness.”

“Yes, Richard. I want no more spirits. Thank you, for all your help. I know I am not as easy and open as I could be, but you must know how deeply your care of me these past weeks moves me.”

Both men coughed nervously and fidgeted, until Darcy managed to see the humour in the evening. “However I must say it was very inconsiderate of you to drink my best brandy in front of me.”

The colonel grinned. “Perhaps. However, if you plan to re-enter society, you will have to endure the nightly ritual of cigars and brandies after every dinner, Will. No time like the present to learn to deal with it,” he said, as he placed his now empty glass upon the tray and picked up the second full glass in one hand, and the bottle in the other. Then, grinning harder, he added, “Good night, Cousin. And congratulations; you did very well.”

“Thank you, Richard. You are quite correct. However, if I am to suffer through gentlemanly traditions in future, I think I shall have to teach myself how to appreciate a good cigar.”

Darcy stayed awake, thinking on all he had learned that night.

Elizabeth must have left Derbyshire because her younger sister had eloped. It had been well over eight months between that fateful day at Pemberley and when the news of the Wickham’s marriage had most likely been made public. If the Bennet’s had not known Lydia and Wickham were married all that time, they must have been shunned from Society and their reputations would have been in ruin. Elizabeth would have suffered horribly, and all because he had allowed his pride and feelings to be hurt! He had run away to nurse his wounds. How she had suffered because of him! His bitter tears ran unheeded down his face.

He thought back to what she had told him when she was still disguised as Chantal Moreau. She had said that Caldhart had provided her revenge. He heard her words again in his mind; her hatred so sharp as she spit the words out against her enemy. Now he knew that enemy was Wickham. She had become a man’s mistress and the price was revenge against Wickham.

But why? If he and Lydia were married, then her family was restored. Was she so spiteful she merely wanted him to suffer for her family’s distress over the past months? Unless… he groaned to think of it.

Wickham had not married Lydia. It made perfect sense. She had no money, nothing to tempt him. He had used her for his pleasure and then who knows what. Elizabeth did not fall merely because of the desire for revenge. Richard said they found out about the marriage just before his death.

Elizabeth’s price had been the restoration of her family’s reputation by Caldhart arranging her sister’s marriage, then revenge against the man who had, in truth, first ruined her sister and, subsequently, her entire family.

He had been furious at her when she had told him Caldhart had found her with Wickham. But now he doubted the truth of her declaration. Suspecting all that he did now, he reasoned she was grasping for anything to say that would make him give her up. With a heavy heart, he sadly agreed she was right to have done so.

He could never take her as his wife after all her family had been through. The circumstances of her youngest sister’s elopement would open his family to censure and ridicule. He could never subject Georgiana to the humiliation of having George Wickham as his brother-in- law, albeit dead. Who knows if Lydia had any child by him? To have to acknowledge a niece or nephew of Wickham’s would be too cruel to do to her.

He also realised he could not have her as his mistress, either. Elizabeth had chosen to go with Robert Caldhart with good reason as she had many secrets to hide. She was bound to him, she told Darcy so. Caldhart had every possible advantage in keeping her for himself. He shuddered to think that Elizabeth might have been involved in the murder of another man. If Will tried to take her away, there was more than honour at stake; the woman he loved could be sent to prison if she had been an accomplice in Wickham’s death.

And Caldhart could ruin her family again so easily by revealing Elizabeth as his mistress. Now he understood why she called herself Chantal Moreau; she had to hide her situation from her family and society.

Darcy cried more tears as he realised the hopelessness of his situation. He loved her. She loved him. Those words he had so desperately hoped to hear from her lips, she had said them, and now he did not doubt she had meant it. She had nothing to gain. She wanted nothing from him but his love. She had given herself to him, and been willing to suffer the consequences of what Lord Caldhart might do, should he find out. He shuddered once again to think of his Lordship’s reaction upon finding her sullied. He was fairly sure he had left marks upon her delicate skin. The thought of that man touching her turned his stomach until he could not breathe.

He had failed her in every way possible. She had suffered, and all the while he could have prevented it. He could have saved her. He could have been the one. And she could be his.

And then, the bitterest truth stood before him. She might not be his, but he was hers. There would never be anyone else. His future no longer included a wife or children, for he was now bound to a woman he would never share a life with.

He walked to his study and examined the legacy he had left these last months; letters piled high in the corner of his study, unread newspapers folded neatly into varied stacks on the floor around his desk. He was disgusted by his own inattentiveness.

He needed to come to a decision. He had to allow himself to decide, though most of the matter was completely out of his hands. He could not have her, but he also could not bear the thought of possibly seeing her in London, or hearing of Caldhart and his latest mistress’ escapades. It was too much to ask of any man. He thought long and hard, examining the deepest parts of his heart, and then scrutinizing the practical aspects of any plan he tried to make.

Several hours later, he looked out at the sky, now turning a lovely shade of pink, trimmed with blue; the colours for new babes. Satisfied with the writings on the sheets of paper in front of him, he rang the bell. The yawning footman startled at the sight of the master half-dressed but fully awake and energetic.

“Barnes, I want you to take all those newspapers out and have them burned, then find my steward and arrange for him to meet with me at nine o’clock this morning. Also have my cousin informed of the meeting, as he will wish to attend.

“Very good, Sir. Is there anything else?”

“No, nothing more, thank you.” The footman turned to leave when Darcy called to him once more. “Oh, Barnes! Is there any news these last months? Is England at war with anyone I should know about?”

Barnes looked startled, unsure if his master was serious. “No, Sir. But I would be happy to leave the newspapers if you would care to get caught up on the current events.”

“No, no. That will not be necessary. If there was anything of import, I am sure I would have heard of it.”

Posted on Tuesday, 13 December 2005

Chapter Twenty-One

Michael stood at the window silently staring at the woods beyond the house. The trees had lost most of their leaves, and the few left were straining to hold on in the stiff, cold wind that blew. The thick blanket of clouds high in the sky gave the earth an ugly monochromatic pallor, which suited his mood perfectly.

“I wish for no colour today. Colour means life to me, and I feel lifeless,” he thought. The occasional sniffles of a passing servant could be heard out in the hallway, adding to the sad demeanour the entire house had taken on. Today Fairhaven Manor had buried its beloved mistress, Cecily Thurgood.

Many hours later the staff would gather in the great hall, where Mrs. Thurgood’s attorneys had called them, and slowly, item by item, they read her last will. Every member of the staff was bequeathed an amount by her; Mrs. Keane and Mrs. Edwards in particular were provided with an income that would serve the two of them until their deaths, should they wish to retire. Many more sobs could be heard as the list continued, demonstrating Mrs. Thurgood’s boundless generosity.

The Manor house would fall to a great-niece of Mr. Thurgood‘s, of whom none of the staff had ever heard. The attorneys comforted them, saying that Fairhaven’s staff would stay intact for anyone who wished to stay on. After the exhausting reading, the group was dismissed and each headed for their private mourning. As Michael headed toward the drawing room, the attorneys approached him and asked for a private conference.

“Mr. Dunbarton, the will we just read to the staff was incomplete.” Michael looked surprised. The attorney continued, “In order to fulfil all of Mrs. Thurgood’s last wishes we need to ask you something. Please do not take offence but, would you be so kind as to tell us your name?”

“My name is Michael Andrew Dunbarton,” he answered, frowning. “Can you tell me what this concerns gentlemen?” The two looked at one another and then nodding to the leather case, one of them opened it up and withdrew a thick letter, addressed to Michael.

“Sir, if you would be so kind, Mrs. Thurgood asked specifically for us to withhold this letter from you, until we had asked you your name. If you had answered as you just did, we were to give you this.” He handed Michael the fat missive. They indicated for him to read it, while they discreetly backed into an unobtrusive corner, quietly conferring.

Michael sat himself down at the pair of chairs that he and Mrs. T. had often used to enjoy the sights of the woods outside the windows. He carefully opened the letter, at first surprised when a thin gold band fell out of its centre and into his lap. As he began the first line, the first of many gasps spewed from his mouth as he read these three words,

“My Dearest Elizabeth,”

Five months earlier; London, May 15, 1813

The maid helped her out of her dressing gown and into her simple morning dress. The doctor had dismissed her quickly upon arriving into his Lordship’s bedroom, and she gratefully accepted the opportunity to defer to his authority. She sat and waited while he attended his patient. Gemma paced nervously in the dressing room, and she could hear the mutterings of various servants outside her rooms. Finally a knock was heard from the door to the connecting room, which she quickly answered.

“Miss Moreau,” the grave doctor said, as he bid her enter. “I am sorry, my dear, but there was nothing to be done. His age and his heart were simply not strong enough.”

There lay Lord Robert Caldhart in his bed. He was still dressed in his fine blue silk dressing gown and his hands already placed over his chest in the traditional pose of the dead. Elizabeth felt light headed. She slowly walked to him, unable to answer yet.

“Miss Moreau, I know some of the circumstances surrounding his Lordship’s end. There were many witnesses to the argument you had. There were also many witnesses to the fact that his Lordship had raised a whip to your person, leaving you little choice but to flee him, lest you be my patient now, instead.” She turned back to him, surprised.

“It was Lord Robert’s choice to chase you. An argument alone would not have done this; it was his hunger for violence that was his undoing. Every creature on God’s earth has the right to defend itself.” She looked at him, uncertain of his judgement. He took his hand gently in hers and patted it reassuringly.

“You were not responsible for his death. It is that simple.” She finally let go her breath.

“Thank you doctor. I… I was afraid it was my doing.”

“Nonsense, Madam. He knew he had a bad heart and I had warned him for many years about trying to act like some young bull. But he would have none of it. He ignored what he did not like to hear, and it proved his folly in the end. Now, I suggest you get some rest, before his sons descend upon the house. It will not be long, I assure you. I will inform the housekeeper and the staff of the cause of his death, as well as the new Lord Caldhart in the morning.”

The housekeeper came to her, and asked if she could be of assistance. Elizabeth inquired if any note had been sent to his Lordship’s sons, to which she replied it had not yet. They conferred and decided a messenger would be sent at first light. As his Lordship’s condition could not be changed, there was no need to awaken the family in the middle of the night. Elizabeth gave the housekeeper the jewels she had worn that night, and asked her to place them in safety until the new Lord Caldhart arrived in the morning and could be given them. She firmly told the shocked servant she had no intentions of keeping them for herself. When she had finally left, Elizabeth sat back down on the little divan in front of her fire. She had held up remarkably well considering the past three-day’s events. But rather than looking forward to a restful nights sleep, she had her entire future to contemplate.

Her first instinct was to run. Her situation was so very different this morning from the one she had previously awoken to, that her every fibre was telling her she should leave Caldhart’s home and leave London. She feared repercussions from Lord Caldhart’s death. What if his sons were not convinced of her innocence in their father’s death? They was no money to be gained from her, but the circumstances of his death would no doubt stain the family name for a time, and she already knew the Caldhart family was capable of revenge. Would they try to have her incarcerated or publicly humiliated? Her real name would undoubtedly come up. If she disappeared, they would not be able to get to her and, hopefully, her family.

She also feared for her freedom and safety because of Wickham’s death. Lord Robert might be dead, but what if anyone connected her with his involvement? Higgins had promised to keep her secrets, but now he might be without employment. Would his pledge hold if he were faced with his own lack of means to support himself?

There was also the problem of his Lordship’s will. He had just recently changed it to accommodate a settlement upon her, in the event of his demise. The attorneys would no doubt come looking for her. If she stayed in London, and worked as Mrs. Johnson, she would be taking too many risks for her peace of mind. She felt leaving was the safest course of action.

Now that she had made the decision, she was forced to consider how she could make her escape successfully. Without the protection of his Lordship’s secluded Surrey estate, Elizabeth would have a hard time finding a place to hide. Her family would look for her, and it was even possible Darcy might try to find her. She sat for a long while, thinking about how she could facilitate her wishes. She rose from her sitting area and walked into her dressing room, to stare at her things, looking for inspirations. She could not leave as Mrs. Johnson. Her Uncle was too smart, and would be sure to ask if anyone had spotted a lady, or an old lady, anywhere they searched, she was sure.

Suddenly, she spied something unusual in the back of the closet. There were the clothes she had worn the night that in the Tavern. The breeches, which had luckily been dark, and the shirt had both been freshly laundered and though still no more than working clothes, they looked acceptable. She fingered the material while her mind quickly assessed the possibility of this disguise. She held up the shirt under her chin, satisfied until she turned her head and spotted the large form of her abundant twist on the back of her head. She remembered the struggle she had experienced trying to hide her telltale female locks up under her boy’s cap.

Her heart beat wildly as she contemplated. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she quickly rifled through her table drawers and pulled out a pair of long shears. Unpinning her twist and taking the heavy length of it in her one hand, she placed her lifetime of growth in between the blades, shut her eyes, and closed the scissors sharply down. The tail sprung free and her hand flew out from the force. She gasped to feel the heavy length in her outstretched hand, while her head felt strangely light. She looked over the beautiful tresses, amazed at seeing them in front of her. Before she could allow herself to be swept up into the emotions of her actions, she quickly crossed into her sitting room and, wrapping the mass up into a coil, placed it in the centre of the flames.

She returned to change into the clothing, ignoring the odd feeling of air upon her neck. She found her old wrappings to bind her chest, and padded her mid section to even out her appearance. This time, her hair fell easily around the cap, luckily hiding more of her face, though she decided to don her spectacles for good measure. She wished she had a second change of clothing to take with her, but reasoned she could always purchase some if need be.

She looked around her bedroom. There on the floor was the money she had thrown in his Lordship’s face; her repayment to extract her from her contract with him. She considered the possibility of her surviving without means to shelter and feed herself. She also considered her financial obligations to a man now deceased. Her survival won.

As she was packing the few personal articles she thought she could not do without, she espied her letters from her family. She knew she could not leave them behind, and there were too many to take with her, not to mention they might prove to reveal her true identity to someone who read them. She considered carefully, and drew out the last note she had received from Jane. It was light-hearted, and only talked of everyday, ordinary things. There was no direction, and it was simply addressed ‘Dearest Lizzy’. She knew she would treasure this personal item for years to come.

She sadly threw the rest of the letters along with personal papers, her contract with Lord Caldhart among them, onto the fire and watched the flames erase the evidence of her being there. She then check her dressing room for any other personal affects and burned them along with small amount of clothing she had brought with her. She had just determined to try to stealthily make her way out of the house, when a quiet knock at her dressing room door caught her attention. She made her way quietly over to it, and asked who was there; she was not prepared for the answer.

“It’s Higgins, Miss.”

She opened the door cautiously and stepped back to let him in. He turned back as she closed the door and gasped slightly at her appearance.

He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion before he inquired of her, “May I speak frankly to you, Miss Moreau?” he pleaded. She nodded.

“I think you are right to leave, Ma’am. There can be no good from your being here when the sons show up. And even less if you stay in town.”

“I agree, though I know not where I will go.”

“Miss Moreau, I made you a promise once, not too long ago I know, but I will hold to it. Your secrets are safe with me.”

“News of his Lordship’s death will make the rounds at the gentleman’s clubs I fear, and your reputation as a dangerous woman is going to go along with it. The family is going to be very angry, even if you did not cause him to die. They will most likely try to make you suffer for it, though. And pardon the idea Miss, but no one else is going to come along to, well, to try to rescue you, if you get my meaning.” Elizabeth blushed.

“I understand Mr. Higgins. I can assure you, I have no interest in finding another… situation similar to the one his Lordship and I entered into. I have my money I earned from my cigar shop, and I think it will tide me over until I can find some other kind of employ.”

“Don’t forget your jewels, Ma’am, and I am sure his Lordship will have taken care of you in his will; he was always a generous man, if a little lost in his ways.”

“No, Higgins. I want nothing to do with any of his money. We both know I never, I mean, I do not believe I deserve any of it, and it would be wrong of me to take it. You can tell the family that later if you like. They will never hear from me again, I assure you.”

“Yes, Ma’am. May I ask what you intend to do?”

“I shall take the post coach out, and get as far away as I can.”

“As a lad?” She nodded. He thought it over for a moment. “I think there are some things you best know, then.”

For the next hour he filled Elizabeth in with the details of living in the world as a man. She had been embarrassed by some, grateful for almost all, and not a bit doubtful that most would come in very handy to her. He had also left for a short while and returned with another set of clothing and undergarments. She had insisted on leaving some money for whoever had involuntarily donated his clothes to her, and Higgins agreed and informed her of a fair price. He then continued her lessons on the practical world.

“Just remember the two places where a bloke is most tender. If you hit either you will give yourself a fair chance at running away from any bad situation, and that is always the best thing to do when you’re not a fighter.”

He also gave her a suggestion for a town where she might go. He had grown up in Oak Hill and told her it was a fine enough village. The people were good, hardworking, honest folk, and she had as good a chance there as any to find work. She would have to walk at least eight miles from the nearest posting coach stop, but she assured him the walk was nothing, and he new it to be true. The distance from the coach stop made it more inviting, since no one would look for her in a town without a post stop. His last act of kindness to her was seeing her out of the back of the house safely and walking her down to the posting station. As they came up to the ticket agent, he told the man to sell him one passage for his son, to Derbyshire, Lambton stop. Elizabeth almost backed out of the entire scheme.

“Are you sure that is the nearest stop?” she asked, panicked. He led her away from the few people waiting for the dawn to break.

“Afraid so. The other stop is nearly thirteen miles, much too long to walk without staying some place, and it would just be Lambton you would have to stay at anyway.” She could barely think clearly, due to her distress.

“But Oak Hill is eight miles away? And to the west you say, correct? Please! Tell me it is to the west.”

“Yes!” he answered, attempting to calm her while keeping his voice lowered. “Please! You must not get upset. It is due west of Lambton, you heard me say so. You have to walk the western trail to get there, just past the smithy. You’ll have no trouble, I am sure.”

“Thirteen miles! Only Thirteen miles from Pemberley! Lord, how am I ever going to do this?” she thought. They waited nearly an hour while the sun finally rose, and the horses were brought out and hitched. He walked her to the coach and, purposefully speaking much louder, bid her adieu.

“Now you be a good lad, and mind yer manners at yer cousins. I want to hear good reports of you being a hard worker, mind ya.” She nodded obediently, aware of his intent to lay claim upon her, and chase away anyone who thought she was without a friend or relation. Suddenly she found herself enveloped in a fierce embrace, while he whispered faintly to her.

“God speed and good luck to you, child.” The next thing she saw was his back as he quickly strode away. She entered the carriage still staring after him.

“Your first time away from your Da? Asked a kindly looking lady across from her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she answered in nearly a whisper.

“And where are you headed, Lad?” She drew a great breath.

“Derbyshire.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The morning meeting with his steward and the Colonel had gone well, despite there being much to be done after five months of absence. They first concentrated on the larger issues of the estate that needed to be addressed, with a plan to go over all the decisions Mr. Grant had made on behalf of his master during his incapacitation. Schedules were drawn up, and Mr. Grant’s son was suggested to help for the next weeks until Mr. Darcy and the running of the estate would once again be performing at their usual efficiency. The master looked determined, interested and bright-eyed. The Colonel and Mr. Grant were greatly relieved.

Both men felt Darcy was well on his way to his previous attentive work habits and would once again take up his role as Master of his estate admirably. Richard had intended to stay on another week complete, and then return to his duties to King and country. He conferred with his cousin and, though unhappy at their imminent parting, both knew the time had come to cut Darcy from his cousin’s apron strings.

“I would not be at my present state of recovery, if not for you Richard,” he said. “I will never forget your rescue, nor your hard taught lessons of what happens to a man who loses sight of his responsibilities as well as his sensibilities. I will make this up to Georgiana, and the family. My promise of last night I will not take lightly; I intend to never again risk our good name or bring shame upon them with my actions.

“What nonsense, Darcy! We are proud of you! You only lost your way for a short while, but I have no doubt you are your old self again.”

Darcy shook his head. “No, that is not true, I will never be what I once was.” he said resignedly. “However, I will be a better man; on that I am determined. I think we should now find my dear sister, for I have much to impart.”

Georgiana was in the drawing room, quietly reading. She had missed her brother at breakfast and had gone out riding when she learned he would be sequestered with his steward most of the morning. A tiny sense of hope had blossomed in her when she heard he was meeting with Mr. Grant again; perhaps her brother might be healed after all. She prayed it would be so. The book held little interest to her and she found herself, more often than not, looking out the window, and breathing a large sigh, not knowing her loved ones had just entered and were observing her from the doorway.

Darcy saw the sighs, and suddenly understood the situation his beloved sister had been forced to endure these past months.

“How many days might she have passed alone in a room, with no comfort or even companionship? My selfish behaviour has been atrocious!” he admonished himself. With a determined air, he walked in, startling his sister, who rose instantly to her feet. As he came to stand in front of her, he gently touched her shoulders, directing her back down upon the sofa, and then to her and Richard’s amazement, he dropped to his knees, took her hands in his, and kissing each softly said, “Georgiana, I have been the greatest of fools in so many ways, but the worst is in what I have done to those I love. Please, I beg you to forgive your brother’s behaviour these past months and let me prove myself worthy to you.”

It was simple, and perhaps incomplete, for Darcy could never tell her everything he had done, but it was completely from his heart, and neither of the two listening doubted his sincerity for a moment. Georgiana removed her hands and taking her brother’s face in them, kissed his forehead tenderly, giving him the absolution he so wanted.

“Always, dearest Fitzwilliam,” she whispered as she cradled his head to her shoulder.

Richard could hardly swallow, after witnessing such an affecting scene and finding his throat strangely constricted. He quickly schooled his thoughts to his upcoming arrival back to camp and looked out the window to distract the unwelcome warmth he was feeling; a soldier did not lose his check on his emotions.

Soon the Darcys had settled next to one another on the sofa with her brother’s comforting arm around Georgiana’s shoulder while he whispered his thanks and endearments of love to her. They all were enjoying the peace and contentment of the moment when finally Darcy spoke up again.

“Thank you for your forgiveness Georgie, though I suspect Richard is disappointed you did not let me suffer long or at least atone for my transgressions. Perhaps I should not speak of it or he might be tempted to re-acquaint you with the tale of the Twelve Labours of Hercules, and fill your head with ideas for my penance.” He chuckled, while Richard smirked and Georgiana looked quite surprised, which her brother did not fail to notice.

“Yes, Sister, I do have a sense of humour, though in my folly I have been censoring it around you. Such practices, however, will no longer be employed.” He straightened himself up, and sat very still. Then, somehow not satisfied, he stood, wrenching his cravat once or twice and began pacing in front of the two, who waited patiently for his obviously forthcoming words of import.

During the months of his depression he had dwelled upon the thoughts of disreputable people trying to take advantage of those he loved. Now, when he had finally recovered, a sense of duty and retribution had set into his mind. Elizabeth’s fall into shame, and Georgiana’s past with Wickham had shown him how any woman, even the best of women, could become a victim in this world. Last night, when he learned of George Wickham’s fate, he had come to a decision that would change both siblings’ lives forever. Elizabeth might be lost to him, but if he could, he would teach Georgiana to be a woman no person could ever hurt again. Now he struggled to explain to her and her guardian, what he wished to accomplish.

“After our talk last night, Richard, I did not retire. Instead, I reflected on many things, not the least of which was you, Georgiana. I realised our elder cousin was right; I have failed you in many ways. I have spent most of my life following the excellent morals and values our parents taught us, but in conceit, vanity and pride. I allowed you to see my poor example and did nothing to correct it. I hid behind a mask of shyness and indifference and I fear oftentimes I did it without consideration to the feelings of others.

“I had always thought I abhorred disguise of every sort, yet in some ways, I employed that very thing to wilfully avoid social situations I was uncomfortable in, or society I considered beneath me. It was wrong, Georgie, and I learned the truth of it in a very painful way. I hope I can teach you not to make the same mistakes and suffer as I did.

“I also came to realize one can never tell what you may find in society, be it in town or a small country village. There are hidden treasures to be discovered wherever you might go, and keeping yourself open to the joys of such a possibility will make your life much richer, Dearest. I promise to help you with this and I will practice the same. Our wealth might allow us to travel in higher social circles, but it does not make us less responsible to treat everyone with kindness and respect."

Richard interjected, “What do you propose, Darcy? Georgiana has finished her studies with her governess, and we shall soon be arranging her presentation at court.”

“I think Georgiana’s coming out should be postponed.”

His sister gave an audible sigh; confirming her agreement with him.

“She will be eighteen this winter, more than old enough to be out.”

“True, Richard, but young ladies are presented up until they are twenty-one, and are not considered too old to come into society.”

“Fitzwilliam, what is it you wish us to do?” his sister asked.

He took a deep breath and proceeded. “Georgie, you are a very accomplished young lady. You are charming, although a bit shy, lovely to behold, and your singing and performance at the pianoforte are rarely rivalled. Combined with your fortune, you are a woman who will be well sought out when you enter society. If you were to remain exactly as you are, no doubt you might find a man who could someday make you happy, or at the very least content in marriage.

“But I am hoping you will admit this is not enough for you, that you might wish more from your life. I am hoping if you had the chance to improve yourself in ways much greater than most young ladies are ever offered, you would be intrigued, and then happy to accept the inducement put before you.”

“What improvements do you mean, Darcy? What accomplishments are left for a lady to learn that Georgiana does not already know, if not master? Who would teach her? You certainly do not know how. And I think it only fair to mention her needlework is beautiful, and her French is very good as well.”

“Merci,” said Georgiana.

“You are welcome,” replied the Colonel.

“I am not speaking of ladies’ accomplishments, Cousin! I mean to guide Georgiana into adulthood, not make her a worthy prize to be married off.” Here he hesitated again, knowing the radical idea he was about to propose would most likely alarm his sister and cousin.

“I speak of knowledge of the world, knowledge normally only open to a man. The knowledge I have after living in the world for so many years, opening up my mind and history and sharing it, no teaching it to her. We would study Latin, Greek, philosophy, history, science, higher mathematics, literature, politics and geography. All that I learned at Cambridge, I would be eager to impart to her.”

Their countenance betrayed that neither could believe what they were hearing.

“You would turn her into a bluestocking!” exclaimed his cousin.

“No, Richard, I would give her the education to let her decide what she wanted to be; bluestocking, or blueblood’s wife, it does not signify. She would have the basis in her life’s experiences and knowledge to make any decision about herself, wisely.”

“A Cambridge education for a woman! She will be far more clever than most men of the ton; they will not take to that lightly.”

Georgiana giggled.

“She is already brighter than half; we would simply work on the other half.” Now Georgiana laughed outright. “I also mean to teach her to shoot, to ride better, and to fence, if she will let me.”

“Fencing!” Georgiana cried, while Richard sat, shocked.

“Yes, fencing,” Darcy replied calmly. “The impact on the body and crispness fencing adds to the mind is well worth the effort. And I know several young ladies have taken it up in London; I have seen them myself at my fencing club.” Now it was Richard and Georgie’s turn to be at a loss for words as he continued pleading his cause,

“Allow yourself to reap the benefits of my own experiences in society and the world, Sister. The rules we live by are rigid and controlled, and those rules force most women to few choices. I believe a woman of superior education, accomplishments and understanding would have the most or at least the finest choices in her life, including who her husband would be or the role she would take up in her marriage. Only a foolish man would wish for a silly, stupid wife, I think only a man of the highest excellence would want a gem of a woman; the woman you might become.”

Georgiana did not look pleased though she barely uttered, “It sounds as if you do wish to make me the worthiest prize of all for the marriage market, Fitzwilliam.”

“No, my Dear, quite the opposite. In fact, considering your fortune, and my willingness to aid you in any way, I can tell you sincerely, should you choose to never marry, you will have no cause to repine because of anything I might say or do.

“However, should you someday choose to marry, by the time we are finished you will be quite a formidable woman and only the very best and worthiest of men would dare ask for your hand.”

He then proceeded to show Richard and Georgiana the papers he had written up the night before showing the curriculum he was considering for their studies, and the ways he thought they would employ their time.

“I have been so much older than you for so long, almost like a father, but now you are growing into a capable young woman and we are becoming more equal. I think it is time for us to be brother and sister. I know I wish for, no, I need a sister in my life to love and support me, as I will her.” At last he summed up all he thought with a single quiet plea.

“I think your life could be extraordinary, Georgiana, if you only choose for it to be.”

Georgiana could do little but sit. At first she hardly could believe such extreme views were coming from her conservative brother. She was convinced he was surely jesting. However, as Darcy began to outline his timeline and goals for her, the expression on her face turned from mirth to true astonishment. He was serious! The thought of spending several more years in what amounted to more schooling did not, at first, appeal to her in the slightest, until he began to speak about all the things he wished to share with her. She was speechless as he laid before her his offering of opening up his mind and giving her any of the knowledge he possessed; the offering of entering what was typically only a man’s world.

Richard voiced some concerns over turning his sweet, innocent, dutiful Georgiana into a force to be reckoned with. Soon enough though, he admitted her character was well established and the essentials could no longer be changed, but her sense and education could certainly be improved upon. In the end, he told her she must make the decision which would affect her life so greatly.

Both men now looked expectantly at the astounded young woman. She almost laughed when realising they thought she could make a decision of such magnitude instantly. Instead, she drew on the careful tutoring she had already received as a properly bred young lady and addressed the two calmly.

“Fitzwilliam, I thank you for your offer. Richard, I appreciate your words of wisdom regarding this endeavour. Bearing in mind the enormity of what you propose, I know you will both understand it is not an undertaking I should enter into lightly. Therefore, I should like to ask for time to consider all you both have said.”

Darcy went to her smiling and drew her up and into his arms, embracing her tightly.

“Already quite wise, I dare say,” he stated quietly.

She spent the night with little sleep, in deep thought over the challenge now sitting enticingly before her. It was overwhelming, it was exciting, and quite easily, it was the single hardest thing she had ever tried to resist. Late that night, she laughingly admitted to herself that her brother was correct; she did wish something more from her life, though she did not know exactly what. However, her instincts told her that Fitzwilliam’s tutoring would certainly be the means to discovering it.

Though not completely confident their endeavour would meet with success, or moreover, in her abilities, the next morning she entered the breakfast room, extended her hand to her brother, and accepted his offer.

When the day came for Colonel Fitzwilliam to leave, he and Darcy had one last conversation, out amongst the last of the falling leaves of the trees that sheltered the pond in front of Pemberley. It was a crisp day, the wind blowing steadily, stripping the last of the foliage from the great old oaks, while the sky was blanketed with a high thick cover of grey. Richard turned back, gazing upon the impressive façade.

“She will make a fine Mistress of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam.”

Darcy’s heart skipped a beat as he stared, incredulous at his cousin.

“Did you think you were the only man who has given up?” the Colonel asked.

“Given up?”

Richard gave Darcy his best look of disapprobation. “No games, little cousin. Did it not occur to you that one who had already suffered would not recognise it in someone else? When one does not have an estate to pass along, or a fortune to inherit, people pay less attention. If that same said person had lost his one true love, and decided never to pursue the matrimonial state again, few would notice it. You did not.” Darcy was touched by his admission, and instantly bonded with his cousin’s suffering.

“I am sorry for your loss, Richard.”

“As I am yours Darcy. Is there truly no hope?”

“She refused me.”

“Perhaps…

“Twice, Richard,” he quickly interjected.

“Ah, I see. Yes, well, we have even more in common then.” A flock of birds flew overhead, their dark bodies contrasting against the gloomy sky. At last Richard spoke again.

“So to satisfy your obligations to family you seek to make Georgiana heir to Pemberley, after first recasting her into your own image?”

“No, I do not seek to make another Fitzwilliam Darcy. I only hope to help her become a woman who can manage the role of running the estate successfully, safeguard herself financially and have enough insight to keep her heart from being hurt should she choose to love again.”

“You cannot teach sagacity, Darcy, nor can you protect her forever.”

“Perhaps, but still I mean to do everything in my power to give her all the wisdom, however wanting, I possess. You need not worry, I mean for her to make her own way when we are done and I promise to someday let her go.”

“And it gives you something to do with your life for now.”

“Georgie and Pemberley, Richard. I always have Pemberley. I mean to be the very best of masters.”

“I do not doubt you will succeed. You always seem to, when you set your mind to it.”

“Not always,” he whispered.

“No, quite.”

“I have one last piece of advice to give, Fitzwilliam. I ask you do not dismiss it too hastily, for I have given it a tremendously large amount of thought. I believe you should tell Georgie of your heartache. You need not impart the details, but I think she has a right to know what set you off last spring; especially as she was in no way to blame. More importantly, you seem to have forgotten she shares the experience.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If Wickham had truly loved her, he would have fought for her; done anything possible to be with her. In essence, his leaving her was no different than a refusal. Young though she was, her heart was still wounded and you both now share this. I think you need to be honest with her, if she is to blossom the way we both hope, and if you are truly sincere about wanting to change the way you interact. Brothers and sisters console one another, you know.”

Another flock headed across the great expanse of lawn near the northern edge of the house and they watched for a long while.

“Does the army have any idea what they have in you, Richard?”

“I sincerely hope not, Cousin. I might have to work!” He clasped his larger cousin heartily upon the shoulder and together they headed towards the Colonel’s awaiting mount.

Just before he was to depart, he stopped suddenly and snorted, “I just realised your admission will give Georgiana great relief.” He laughed.

“How so?”

“She worried you might be pining after Caroline Bingley which cannot possibly be the case since you were refused.”

Posted on Monday, 19 December 2005

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana began a series of studies few ladies had ever likely attempted. Darcy knew his sister had a quick mind, but until he became her mentor, he had no idea how astute she truly was.

They began with basic knowledge of the running of Pemberley. She was already serving as hostess of his house and mistress to his needy tenants, but Darcy was determined she understand every aspect as he knew it. Though he would not confess it to her, Richard had been correct; he intended to make Georgiana, or her child, heir to Pemberley. He knew his own future no longer included a wife or children, and he would do everything to help his sister be successful.

Darcy committed himself to his work with an enthusiasm not previously seen. His estate prospered more than he would have thought possible, and all his staff and tenants reaped the benefits of his efforts. Daily meetings consisting of Darcy, Georgiana and their steward became routine.

Afterwards, he gave one of two lessons; riding or fencing. He trained her both on side saddle, like any proper lady, as well as astride. At her first lesson, Georgie came to the stable wearing the soft leather breeches beneath her very proper riding dress as he had requested. When she saw what he had in mind, she was taken aback but, only meekly questioned him.

“Astride?”

“Yes, astride,” he answered, in a way she knew meant not to oppose him. However, her temper was quickly flaring; an occurrence she rarely allowed herself to indulge.

“What possible reason could a woman have for sitting upon a horse in such a way?”

Darcy’s eyebrow raised slightly, as he cautiously regarded her. This was a crucial moment for brother and sister, and an important lesson for her to learn. He needed her to dismiss some of the notions of the proper deportment of a lady in order to embrace what he wished to teach her.

“Georgiana, surely you can not have failed to notice the diversity, if not the departure from more… genteel practices we have already endeavoured upon? I do not mean for you to stop being a lady, but some of the physical aspects of our studies will demand you put aside some of your modesty and trust me as to what is best learnt and how.”

Now it was Georgie’s turn to raise her brow. “You evade the question, Brother.”

“Protection, speed and balance,” he answered quickly.

Her head cocked slightly to one side as a reply.

“Sitting astride allows for better balance, especially should you be drawing a pistol or shooting. Astride also allows for much faster riding should you ever need to outrun another horse, or an animal. Lastly it affords you better protection in any instance, for you would have more options as to where to put your body…” here he blushed, “ …in a defensive situation.”

The horse stomped his approval, and then waited patiently many moments for the lady to mount.

Georgiana was not pleased. His mentioning shooting a pistol (again) had not escaped her notice, nor quelled her anxiety. Some of the stable hands were beginning to lose interest in their tasks, and gathering within easy hearing range of the much more fascinating event going on in the yard where the master stood speaking with his sister. She knew she had little choice, at least for today.

“Will I qualify for an army commission when I have learnt all, Fitzwilliam? I think I should like to ride next to Richard into battle,” she teased.

“Move to the mounting block, impertinent girl,” he growled. The lesson continued throughout the afternoon.

Not long after Richard had departed, Darcy found the courage to speak to his sister of his heartache. It was late one evening, after the two had spent a satisfying hour reading and discussing Donne’s works. Darcy picked up the page and read the last stanza of A Feaver aloud,

Yet t’was of my minde, seising thee

Though it in thee cannot persever

For I had rather owner bee

Of thee on houre, than all else ever.

“It is a beautiful sentiment; to feel one would rather have loved one hour and lost, then never to have loved at all,” Georgiana reflected quietly.

“Do you agree, then?” her brother asked tentatively.

“I, I am not sure of what you mean.”

He took her hand gently in his. “Despite the outcome, would you have rather not cared for Wickham; never had your heart touched?” He felt her flinch at the mention of the name, but she remained calm.

“I sometimes wonder if I ever truly loved him.”

“I would not discount the possibility, Georgiana. Nor would I chastise myself for having feelings that were natural at the time.” She nodded, then turned her head to study the fire.

“I think if I had truly been attached I would not have recovered so easily,” she spoke softly.

“You believe had your feelings been stronger you would have behaved differently?”

“Yes.”

“More wretched or perhaps irresponsible?”

“Perhaps.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and with a grimly set mouth contemptuously replied, “You might have locked yourself away from the world in your room or the library and indulged your heartache for months with the help of strong spirits?”

Georgiana’s hand flew to her mouth as a look of horror spread across her face. Her tears filled her eyes, as she whispered to him, “Oh, Fitzwilliam?”

Darcy nodded.

Georgiana quickly moved to sit closer and soothe him in her arms. “Richard once told me brothers and sisters console one another.”

He spoke at last against her hair. “I wish I had learnt this lesson earlier; I could have benefited greatly from the comfort you give me.”

“You have always comforted me, Brother. It is high time I reciprocate, and happily so.”

“He also reminded me we now share broken hearts, and could help one another heal in our camaraderie.”

She looked up at him with a tremulous smile. “And so we shall.”

They sat for long contented moments in one another’s arms, until Georgie finally pulled away and turned to face him directly on the sofa. “I will never ask you about her, or your pain, again if you desire, and no word of it will ever be spoken to anyone else on earth. However, tonight, I think we should both open our hearts, and perhaps by sharing our misfortunes, our anguish can be lessened.”

“We will swear never to tell another? Not even Richard, or if you marry, your husband?”

She took his large hands in hers. “Not another living soul, Fitzwilliam. I swear it on my life.”

“I swear it also, then,” replied her brother.

Georgiana took a deep breath and started first. “I did love George Wickham, with all that I could feel at the time. I know I gave him my heart entirely, and even to this day, it is bitter and wonderful.” Darcy nodded.

Now that it was his turn, he suddenly felt vulnerable, as if when he spoke of his beloved something would change, or he might lose something. However, he shook off the feeling and proceeded slowly.

“Her name I cannot tell you, but I love her with my heart and my soul, and if I should live to see a hundred, I know I will never know the like again.”

Georgiana nodded, a sour pain stuck in the back of her throat but still she managed, “Tell me about her.”

Several hours later, brother and sister walked serenely up to their chambers. The physical exhaustion of having spent such an emotional evening was making its presence known with each step. Darcy bid his sister a good night and sweet dreams, which she knew would be a command easily fulfilled.

He walked into his dimly lit bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. He had spoken as frankly as he could tonight, but had left out the sordid details of his liaison with Elizabeth, and her family‘s situation. He was glad his sister now knew of his lady, but also wished for her to like Elizabeth, even if she would never know her.

He knew it would be a long while before Georgiana truly believed he had been as rude, insulting and unfeeling a person as he told her he was the day he first proposed. Yet someday she would no doubt agree her brother probably had indeed acted as abominably as he professed.

He had been careful as to what he told his sister for fear Elizabeth’s identity might somehow surface. He told her he had to leave out places, dates and names of acquaintances to protect his love, and she did not question him. Part of him worried that someday she might figure out the mystery, but for now, especially with their mutual promise of absolute discretion, he felt secure.

He then realised what the fear he had felt before he began speaking to Georgie about Elizabeth had been; a fear of losing his pain. He no longer had the charge of grieving by himself. He no longer had to suffer in silence and alone over his broken heart. He could begin to be free of the shackles of anguish he had wallowed in these past months because he had finally shared it with his sister.

Richard was possibly the wisest man in the world.

Georgiana understood her brother wished for her to know his distress had not been caused by her in anyway. He promised he would not let his disappointment hurt him anymore and that indeed, he was grateful to the lady for she had taught him to understand himself in a way he never had before, and he had determined to see to her reproofs.

For the first time, she felt her brother valued her as an adult; not a ward, or child. The simple, yet powerful exchange between the siblings the night they opened their hearts to one another, boosted her confidence and self-esteem greatly and she threw herself into her studies with unabashed energy and enthusiasm.

Darcy found he thrived teaching his sister. He spent his nights reviewing his Cambridge classes, deciding what could be of use to her. He would collect his books from his student years and plan his lessons for her accordingly.

His dry wit, he never held back, but he did encourage her to develop her own opinions on any situation, speak her own mind and, was more than willing to debate the merits of either opinions. He often cautioned her to realize that while he was pleased to share his mind with her, she still had to rely on her own head in future and, to learn to exercise as much of it as possible.

Her intellect was excellent; she had the ability to absorb all he presented to her with ease and they truly enjoyed their hours spent in learning. She especially excelled in mathematics and language; not surprising considering her mastery of music. Eventually, Darcy and his steward came to use Georgiana for her accounting abilities and translating skills.

The first time they truly had a difference of opinion on a subject and debated it enthusiastically was another milestone for Georgiana. Darcy wisely recognized the situation for what it was and refused to either back down or let Georgie give in without a fight. She stumbled, she tried to compromise, but in the end, she fought bravely and won her point.

He stood abruptly, causing her a brief moment of alarm; thinking he was angered. Then he bowed deeply. "Madame," he said seriously, "you are perfectly correct, I concede the point. And may I add how very proud I am of you?"

"For having stood up to you?" she asked, shocked.

"No, my Dear, for having stood up for yourself!" The exhilaration and triumphant smile upon her face was a memory Darcy held fondly for the rest of his life.

While his sister was willing and happy to use her intellect in the classroom, the physical aspects of her other lessons were harder to accept. If music was her first love, fencing was her first abhorrence. Darcy explained that lack of skill with a sword did not keep one from being injured or killed by it.

She learned the threat of harm was what disabled most persons. The ability to defend oneself in a variety of ways helped one’s confidence, as well as serving to protect one’s self in the instance of an actual attack. Her brother was careful to explain he did not expect her to ever be in such a situation, however the importance of what such skill did for the entire body as well as the mind, could not be overrated. If Georgiana was going to improve as an individual, this part of her education could not be ignored.

“Besides,” he jested, “what sister would not like the opportunity to repay an elder brother for all the teasing he did when she was little?”

Reluctant at first, Darcy’s logic wore down her natural timidity. This, combined with the absolute trust she felt in him, and the appeal of retribution for all the various deceased creatures of multi-legged species she found placed in her toy chest when she was a child, allowed her to finally agree.

Her natural grace made the lessons easier than she expected, but her sweetness and shyness, restricted her ability to be aggressive in her routines. Eventually as her confidence in all things improved, so did her fencing and the day (admittedly several years later) she pinned her brother against the wall in the grand ballroom at Pemberley was a day Georgiana remembered fondly all the rest of her life.

Under Darcy’s tutelage, she became a superior horsewoman in addition to her considerable fencing skills, and her brother also eventually convinced her to learn to shoot. She knew how to handle a shotgun, and duelling pistols, but only felt comfortable with the small pearl handled pistol Darcy presented to her one day as a celebration of her successful target practice.

She no longer felt any hesitation in taking on any activity her brother challenged her to undertake. Darcy gained the added benefit of having a companion for all his favourite activities and they grew even closer as a result.

Each day they would study the newspaper. Georgie learned of world politics, as well as the social aspects of the ton. Darcy told her everything he knew about anyone who was mentioned.

One of their episodes of reading the social column, however, brought news of a more serious nature for Fitzwilliam. Georgiana was reading out loud when she began an article about Lord Caldhart’s son who, having recently graduated from Oxford and returned from his Grand Tour, was anticipated to be the catch of the coming Season, for he stood to someday inherit his father’s vast fortune and title.

“That cannot be correct,” Darcy interjected. “His lordship’s son is well older than I am.”

“It says the young man is but three and twenty, brother, I can hardly see the paper mistaking his age by more than ten years!”

“Lord Robert’s son was born ages before me, Georgiana, I have met the man. They must be speaking of his grandson. The paper will surely rue this stupid mistake.”

“Not Lord Robert, the current Lord Caldhart; Lord Henry Caldhart, and his son Frederick.”

Her brother’s face fell.

“Lord Robert is no longer living?” he whispered, disbelieving.

“Good Heavens, Fitzwilliam! How can you not know? His death was the scandal of the spring of last year. It was in the papers for weeks!” Darcy cringed.

“What did they say?” he asked. Georgiana was surprised, as gossip was not typically to her brother’s liking.

“The usual innuendo of Miss This and Lord That of course, but the gist of the tale was he had an argument with a mysterious lady. They insinuated it was a closer relationship than mere friendship, of course, but it resulted in his having had a heart attack and dying. She was instantly dubbed an infamous woman, however no trace of her ever surfaced again. The mystery of her, and her disappearance was of great interest; hardly a day went by without it being mentioned in the papers.” Suddenly recollecting how her brother had spent the spring, summer, and greater part of autumn that year, she made to apologise, but Darcy was quicker.

“No, do not say it! You need not apologise for my lack of knowing the goings on in the world during that time.” Both siblings were silent, briefly remembering that unhappy period. Darcy was determined not to wallow in the past, and returned to the subject at hand, almost cheerfully. “Was there any resolution to the gossip?”

“She was never found, if that is what you ask. Eventually, with the lack of any new information, the interest and the articles died out. I must say you surprise me brother, usually such sordid gossip is not to your liking.”

Darcy collected himself. “Indeed you are right, my Dear. However, lack of such simple knowledge has already had a ramification: I did not know who the present Lord Caldhart was! I can not forgive myself for committing such a serious faux pas!” Georgiana giggled, and Darcy was satisfied he had circumvented more inquiry into that which gave his heart great pain.

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