Alone with Mr. Darcy: A Pride & Prejudice Variation (12 page)

Yours, &c.,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

She ran her fingertip over his signature.
He wrote in a fine, close hand, showing the same attention to detail in his
penmanship as he had paid to the fire. For some reason it made her want to cry.

Should she write back? It was not as if
she had anything of importance to report, and surely she could not say how she
missed him. But he had taken the trouble to make arrangements to allow her to
respond, so would it not be rude to say nothing? Perhaps she could write about
Snowball’s voracious appetite and what Cook had told her about the proper way
to make onion soup.

Her lips curved up. Yes, she would write
to him, if only for the pleasure of thinking about him.

Georgiana’s fingers were moving ever so
slightly as if she were playing an invisible pianoforte on her lap. It was a
certain sign she was nervous. Darcy ran through the last day in his mind,
looking for anything that might have caused her anxiety, but nothing out of the
ordinary had happened. 

He signaled the footman with his eyes to
leave the room. Sometimes Georgiana could even be timid about servants. As the
footman closed the double doors behind him, Darcy said, “Is anything troubling
you?”

She froze. “No, not at all.” Her fingers
began moving. “Well, perhaps. May I ask you a question?” Her voice was
trembling ever so slightly.

“Of course, at any time.” He tried to
sound warm and encouraging, the way Elizabeth did.

“I…” She swallowed hard.  “Someone
said my mother is not dead.”

Damnation! He had hoped to postpone this
discussion until just before she came out, when he could no longer hide the
truth from her, and to have Richard by his side when he did it. “Who told you
that?” he said, hoping to gain a little time.

Georgiana looked down in her lap. After a
moment, she said in a voice just under a whisper, “Mr. Wickham.”

Darcy sat bolt upright. “You have seen
him?” he demanded.

He could have kicked himself when he saw
how she cringed. “No. He told me last summer, in Ramsgate.”

And she was only now asking him about it?
Had she been so frightened of his anger at Wickham that she hid a question of
this magnitude for months? Apparently so. Damn Wickham!

He pressed his palms together and tapped
his chin. What should he say? Would this forever ruin any trust she had in him?
His mouth dry, he said, “It was our father’s wish that you be told she was
dead, and I have tried to honor that.” Tap, tap, tap. “But it is true; she is
still alive.”

Tears sprang to Georgiana’s eyes. “Why was
I not told?”

“He did not wish you to see her because he
feared her influence over you, and it seemed simpler if you believed she was
dead. So he sent her away, and then, after a decent interval, told everyone at
Pemberley she had died in a riding accident. Only a very few of us knew the
truth.”

“But you did know.”

“Yes.”

“I wish
I
had known. It might have
been easier than being…motherless.” She burst into tears.

He moved beside her and put his arm around
her shoulders. “I am sorry this is so painful.”

After a few gasping sobs, she asked, “But
why
was she sent away?”

The question had been bound to come. “It
was a complicated situation. She…Perhaps it would be best if Richard told you
this part. I am… not unbiased.” His tongue had tied itself into a knot, just as
it always did when he attempted to speak of his stepmother – except to
Elizabeth Bennet. For some reason it had felt comforting to talk to her about
it.

Georgiana gulped back another sob. “Can
you tell me about her?”

It was tempting to refuse, but she needed
comfort, not dismissal. “She was very young when she married our father, little
older than you are now, and about to enter her first Season. She was sorry to
miss the excitement of it, but her father was glad to be spared the expense of
it.” She had been angry to be exiled, as she saw it, to Pemberley while her new
husband, nearly old enough to be her father, remained in London. It was strange
to think of her as Georgiana’s age; she had seemed like an adult to him when he
was a boy, but in truth she had been just a girl.

“Where is she now?”

“She married a country squire in Devon as
soon as our father died, and I know nothing of her life since then. She does
not move in the same circles we do.” For which he thanked God daily.

“Could I meet her?”

“I think that would be a poor idea, and I
doubt Richard would agree to it.”

“I see,” she whispered, then fled the
room.

***

Lady Matlock delicately set down her
teacup. “You may, perchance, be wondering about why I am here.”

Darcy had sat through nearly half an hour
of small talk wondering that very thing. “You are not in the habit of paying
calls on me, but I assume you have your reasons.”

His aunt folded her hands in her lap. “I
need to know what is troubling Richard.”

“Richard? He seemed out of spirits after
his return from Portugal, but I attributed it to his wound. He sounded happier
when I saw him a few days ago, telling me he was going to Tattersalls to look
at horses.”

Her fine brows drew together. “That was
his father’s idea. He hoped a new horse would cheer him, so he offered to take
Richard and buy him a new mount. Apparently everything was going well, and
Richard had shown interest in several horses, when suddenly he announced he was
leaving. He refused to return to Matlock House with his father, and instead
disappeared for two days. I assumed he was most likely with you, and was about
to send for you when he appeared on the doorstep, disheveled and stinking of
gin. Since then, he has left each day soon after rising and not returned until
near dawn, always in the same condition.”

Three days, and she was only now telling
him? “Where does he go?”

“He does not tell me.”

His aunt always was perfectly aware of
every detail that occurred involving any of her family. When he was a boy, it
had looked suspiciously like witchcraft. “I did not ask if he had told you
where he went,” he said carefully.

Her perfectly composed features suddenly
seemed to droop with weariness. “Gaming hells, and once a prizefight.”

Gaming hells?
Richard
? “He has
always avoided those places in the past.”

“So I had believed.”

“Has he said anything of note?”

“As little as possible, and his only
explanation for leaving Tattersalls was that he was displeased by the horses.
His man will say nothing, even under threat of dismissal.”

It must be something serious. “I will see
what I can do.”

***

Darcy finally caught up with his cousin in
one of the less savory gaming hells of St. James, full of stale air and the
smell of too much liquor. Through the haze of smoke, he made out Richard’s
figure sitting bent over at one of the card tables and fought his way to his
side. When Richard failed to look up, Darcy put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

Richard looked up at him blearily. “Darcy,
what are you doing here? Sit down, sit down. We will be starting a new game
shortly. I am about to win a pile of blunt.”

“I am here to see you, not to play. Will
you come with me?”

His cousin’s eyes darted around the room.
“Why not talk here? Plenty to drink and good company.”

“Not the sort of company I am looking for,
and I prefer some privacy.”

Richard looked down at his cards and
licked his lips. “I will call on you tomorrow, then.” He threw back a glass of
what appeared to be port.

This was not like Richard at all. It was
time to play his trump card. “Richard, I need your help.”

Richard dropped his cards on the table.
“Good God, what is the matter?”

Darcy glanced uncomfortably at the crowd
around the table, several of whom were now staring at him. “Not here. Come back
to Darcy House with me, and I will tell you there.”

His cousin pushed himself out of his
chair, which seemed to take more effort than the action should require. Just
how foxed was he? He kept an eye on Richard as he wove his way to the door
through the crush of gentlemen.

Finally they reached the street. Richard
came to a halt as Darcy tossed a coin to a ragged boy holding a torch.

“Where to, sir?” the boy asked in a thick
Cockney accent.

Darcy placed his hand on Richard’s arm,
urging him along. “Upper Brook Street. Darcy House.”

Richard blinked at him in the torchlight.
“No carriage?”

“It is not far to walk, and will help you
sober up.” There was no one else in the world Darcy would be so direct with,
but this was Richard, who knew him better than anyone else. He could say
anything to Richard.

“Am not foxed,” muttered Richard, but he
shuffled along without complaint.

Darcy shortened his stride as they turned
up Albemarle Street. “I thought you despised the gaming hells.”

“I do. But they are…” Richard waved his
hand about vaguely. “Distracting.”

“There are many other distracting things.”

“I have not seen
you
at any of
them. Why have you been avoiding me? Is it because of what I have done?”

This was worrisome. “I have no idea what
you have done, and I have not been avoiding you.”

“I come back from Portugal, you spend one
evening with me, then disappear. I call that avoiding me.” Richard staggered as
he hit an uneven bit of cobblestones.

Darcy counted backwards in his head.
Richard was right. “Very well. I
have
been avoiding you, but only
because I have been avoiding
everyone
. I have been preoccupied and
uninterested in company.” Preoccupied with Elizabeth Bennet and wanting no
company but hers.

“Why?”

Apparently there were some things he could
not say to Richard after all. “No good reason.” That much was true, anyway.
“Thinking about last summer and Ramsgate.”

“Ah, when will you accept you cannot
control everything? You did your best, and all’s well that ends well. Except,
of course, for a certain blackguard remaining alive. Had I not been in
Portugal…” He stopped short, then shook his head violently and increased his
pace, his shoulders hunched.

He had never seen Richard behave like
this. Had something happened to him in Portugal? If only the cold air could
chase all the drink out of him!

“Do not dawdle. It is not safe.” Richard
glanced over his shoulder, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Not safe? What do you mean?”

Richard nodded sagely. “Footpads. In the
trees.”

“Richard, this is Berkeley Square. We are
in no danger here.”

“You never know. Did they tell you what I
did?”

“Your mother told me you were going to
gaming hells, yes.”

“Not that! My horse. Ramses.”

Darcy decided to keep Richard far from the
brandy bottle when they reached Darcy House. “What about Ramses?”

“I killed him. Shot him dead.”

Despite himself, Darcy was shocked.
Richard had raised Ramses from a colt, and loved him. “Was he injured?”

Richard nodded heavily. “The damned Frogs.
Dug holes to trip up the cavalry and covered them up. Broke his leg. I had to
do it. I had to, I really did.”

“Of course you did,” Darcy said
soothingly. “If his leg was broken, there was nothing else you could do.”

“He trusted me. He looked at me while I shot
him.” Richard halted and doubled over, retching.

Drunken gentlemen casting up their
accounts were hardly an unusual site late at night in fashionable parts of
London, but Darcy would never have expected to see Richard be one of them. Lady
Matlock had, as always, been correct. Something was very wrong. He waited until
his cousin straightened and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Come, we
are practically there,” he said gently.

“I still see him, every time I close my
eyes.” Richard’s voice was dull.

“Hence the need for distraction?”

“I did not tell you the worst of it. Men
lay all around me, dead and dying, screaming with pain, and all I cared about
was my horse. How can I call myself an honorable man after that?”

“You could not stop being honorable if you
tried, Richard, or you would not be so distressed by it. You should never have
been on a battlefield in the first place.” Why, oh, why had Lord Matlock
refused to listen all those times Darcy had told him Richard was ill-suited for
the army? This was bound to happen, sooner or later. Richard had never been
able to bear watching anyone be hurt.

His cousin straightened his shoulders. “It
was my duty. It
is
my duty.”

And there was the crux of it. Richard
would always be miserable in the army, but he would never leave it, not while
his father told him his duty lay there.

Richard rubbed his hand over his eyes. “I
should not be saying any of these things.”

“It goes no further. Remember
–together against all enemies, against all odds?” It had been a solemn boyhood
oath, though they had made a joke of it in recent years, but it still held
true. It was why he could count on Richard, no matter how foxed he might be, to
drop everything when he said he needed help – and why he knew nothing
would give Richard more purpose.

“Against all enemies.” Richard essayed a
wan smile.

“Against all odds.” Darcy clapped him on
the shoulder.