Imperative: Volume 1, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (73 page)

“I thought you were going out with Mr. Barnes to look at the estate.”  His arm slipped around her waist and she laughed when he shook his head.  “Where are we going?”

He smiled at his sister, “Georgiana, our little talk put an idea in my head, and as soon as I finished with Mr. Barnes, I decided to put it into motion.”

“What is that, Brother?” 

“I think that you might agree with me that Elizabeth and I are in desperate need of a honeymoon.”  His eyes twinkled as he looked down at her.

“What are you about, Mr. Darcy?  We are not going to begin travel with guests due upon our doorstep in days and with snow in the air.  Where would we go?” 

He chuckled.  “No love, we have not come here only to run away again.  I want to show you our home.”

“You showed me a great deal last night, and I have not yet recovered from the sight of it.”  Her eyes sparkled and his pale cheeks reddened. 

Clearing his throat, he looked purposefully around the music room and nodded, “Oh the interior, well, we have barely begun in here, but we have all winter for that.  I want to show you our home.”  Letting go, he took her hands and smiled.  “Get your coat, love.  We are going to see Pemberley.”

“Really?”  She turned to the window.  “Oh Will!  I have been looking at the prospect while waiting for you, and from every room it is a new discovery.  How lovely it is!”

His chin lifted proudly and his gaze travelled to the window then back to her.  “Yes, it is, now would it not be better to observe it out of doors?” 

“Oh yes!” 

She hugged him and holding her tightly, he smiled over her head at Georgiana.  “I hope that you do not mind me stealing your sister away from you?  Aunt Susan said that she wanted to go look over the dower house to prepare for Samuel’s return.  She would probably like your company.”

Speaking to her hands, she spoke softly, “Yes, I will go to her.  I hope that you have a nice time.”

Darcy let Elizabeth go and gave Georgiana’s cheek a kiss.  “We will.”  He took Elizabeth by the hand and they walked to the door.  “Now, shall we ride?”

“Ride?   Oh, Will, I . . . I am not that terribly . . . I will embarrass myself and you, and likely every groom and . . . probably the herds of deer who might witness me, and the horse will complain to all of his companions in the stable . . .”

“Enough, enough!”  Darcy laughed and held up his hands in protest.  “I know you cannot ride.  I meant ride in a carriage or walk?”

“Oh.”  Elizabeth blushed.

“But you
will
learn to ride.  It is what the ladies of great houses do.”  Lifting her hand to his lips, he bestowed a kiss, smiling at her resigned sigh, and they walked out to the foyer where she was surprised to find servants were waiting with their coats.  “So, walk or ride?” 

“Well, you do seem to like the effect that exercise has upon my appearance.”  Elizabeth watched him shrugging into his coat while she buttoned hers up. 

Darcy took a scarf from a maid, and placed it around Elizabeth’s neck, tying a perfect knot and adjusting it carefully.  “Oh . . . I can think of other exercises that might brighten your eyes.”  Their eyes met and his mouth twitched. 

“Then we should ride, dear.”  Elizabeth wrapped her arm around his, and they walked down the hallway towards the door.  “I do not want to be overtired.”

A footman hurried and opened the door for them.  Stepping out into the courtyard, Elizabeth spotted a curricle waiting and quickly looked up to find Darcy’s smile lighting up his face.  “I have always admired how sensible you are, Mrs. Darcy.”  

“YOU TRUSTED MY JUDGEMENT.”  Judge Darcy murmured, looking out the window of his bedchamber.  Just clearing the rooftops he could spy the chimneys of Darcy House.  “I wish to God I had trusted yours.”  He went over the argument about Ramsgate again in his mind and could feel the anger welling up as if it had all happened just that morning.  “Stop!”  He commanded and threw the newspaper with the advertisement for seaside cottages into the fire.  “Stop it, I say!”

“Sir?”  Carson came into the room with his freshly pressed shirt and laying it on the bed, stood behind him with his hands poised over his master’s shoulders.  “Are you well, sir?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, the judge rubbed at the burgeoning headache, and the frightening feeling faded.  “It is nothing.  Carry on.”   

His valet helped him to remove his robe, careful not to touch the wound on his arm.  Lifting the cloth, he examined the scar left from Wickham’s dagger.  “It looks nearly healed, sir.  I think you can dispense with the bandage now.” 

Judge Darcy stared at it as more memories flooded in. 
Wickham . . .

“Sir?”

“Yes . . . I think you are correct, but it still hurts like the devil.”  He nodded and the bandage was put aside, and his shirt slipped on. 

“With you on the bench those wielding knives against gentlemen will be hanging by their necks as they deserve.”  The judge started as the valet moved around him and buttoned the shirt, and began tying his neck cloth.  “Are you sure that you want to venture out, sir?  The fog is thick this morning, and you are only beginning to feel yourself again.”

Judge Darcy’s eyes flicked up but did not meet his valet’s, instead looking to the window and out at the greenish-brown fog that swirled around in the light of the street lamp.  The chimneys of Darcy House were gone.  “I have court.” 

“No sir, court is suspended until the New Year, do you remember?”    Carson looked at him worriedly, “We spoke of it last night?  You were going to purchase something for Mrs. Darcy this morning.”

“Oh.”  Rubbing his face, Judge Darcy nodded, “I suppose that my head is still not clear from my cold . . .”

“Yes, sir.” 

“I fear that I am better with memories of months ago . . .” Trying to grasp onto something that happened recently, he searched his mind.  “My son visited last week?”

“He was here daily, but has departed for Pemberley.  He stopped and said his farewells; you embraced him and wished him a safe journey.”  Carson added quietly, “You were quite ill; your medication was very powerful.”

“I see.”  Fear from his absence of mind welled in his breast and turning abruptly, he nodded at the black coat his valet held and put it on.  “Were there any messages?”

“A letter from Mrs. Darcy came while you were bathing, sir.”  He quickly found the message and handed it to him.  Judge Darcy held it tightly.  “It is a shame you could not go home for Christmas.”

“Yes.”  He started from his jumbled thoughts.  “Well, perhaps another time.” 

“Of course.”  His man murmured and brushed off his coat.  “Is there anything else, sir?” 

“No.  You may go.”  He heard the door close and shakily ran his hand through his hair.  “How long have I been gone this time?”   Looking to his letter; he broke it open.  “Dearest Susan.  How I miss you.” 

18 December 1811

Pemberley

Derbyshire

My dear Harding,

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth have arrived home safely; and the joy our nephew feels for his new bride is so delightful to witness.  He can barely restrain his happiness with her, and Elizabeth, oh my, to see her look at him with the love he always deserved makes my heart nearly burst!  Such a quiet boy; so restrained a man, so very proud of his home; and here amidst all of this trouble he has managed to find exactly the woman he needed.  I am so proud of his choice.  No mother could be happier.

Georgiana, naturally I suppose, looks upon Elizabeth with suspicion and wariness.  Nobody will ever be good enough for Fitzwilliam in her eyes, but Elizabeth is patient and kind, with a good measure of no-nonsense about her that I only wish I could achieve.  I was present when Georgiana learned the truth of her marriage, and learned the disappointment of her brother, and Harding, it was terrible to witness.  Fitzwilliam worked hard to contain the worst of his fury, but his pain was clear in every word.  I am so grateful to Elizabeth for supporting him.  Our little girl was so confused and hurt already, but now to learn that she did not even have the questionable status of being married and abandoned, it has fully enlightened her as to how deeply she has hurt herself and her family.  I suppose that her defensiveness is only natural, even if it does hurt Fitzwilliam to hear it.  I do not know if she has truly absorbed the plans that he explained to her about the baby.  In truth, she barely acknowledges that she is with child.  Perhaps that is just as well.  If we are to keep the news from the Matlocks, then her denial will be genuine.  I only pray that Lady Matlock’s sharp eye does not see what I do.  And I pray that Mr. Wickham remains missing, this family needs nothing more of him.

I miss you my love.  You must grow tired of hearing it, but I cannot hide what I feel.   Living in Pemberley House is wonderful, and being a mother for our dear Georgiana has been fulfilling in so many ways, but at the end of the day, I am still alone.  I hope that this letter arrives in London and you are not there to receive it.  I hope that Sunday afternoon when a carriage arrives with our dear son, you too will step out and take me in your arms and back to our home.  Nowhere is home if you are not with me.  If you do not come, then please allow me to come to you.  Your letters are increasingly sad, and with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth home, our dear girl does not need me.  Please let me come and take care of you now. 

I love you and need you, dear Harding.

Yours always,

Susan

“Susan.”  He said softly and touched her signature.  “I need you as well, my dear love.  I have needed you for so long.  Nearly seven months . . .”  He suddenly realized.  “Good Lord . . .”  Folding the letter he wiped the blur from his eye, wincing again as the pain from the stab ached, and his thoughts turned to the man he had imprisoned in the basement of the tired rooming house. “The family needs nothing more of Wickham.”   His brow creased as he read over her letter and knew that she was only telling him the smallest amount of Darcy and Georgiana’s pain.  “This is not what I had planned, not at all.” 

Rubbing his forehead, he tried to ease the pounding of the headache that seemed to come more frequently all the time.  “Why can I not remember!  Something happened . . .  Something important has happened!”   He stared at Susan’s letter and knew she would be no help.  Samuel had left for Pemberley so he must not know what it was.  Darcy . . . no Darcy was ignorant of everything.  “Darcy . . .”  His head throbbed.  “I have not been so foggy in years.  Wake up, damn it!  Wake up!”  The anxiety sent a numbing sensation down his arm and his chest hurt as his heart pounded.  Breathing unsteadily, his hand moved to his head.  The pain radiated from his temple and through his body, and suddenly the memory of the last time he was so ill popped into his mind.

June 1806

“To Pemberley’s future!”  George Darcy smiled, and picked up his pen to nullify the entailment.

“To the women of our family.”  Newly of-age Fitzwilliam Darcy smiled softly, and looked up at the portraits of his mother and sister hanging in the study at Darcy House.

His father followed his gaze.  “Ah that is it!  From this moment on the heirs will descend from one us, Fitzwilliam, no more worry of some unknown distant cousin coming along to take our home if your wife does not produce a boy.  Yes, this is as it should be.”

“It will not be happening at Matlock.”  Lord Matlock snorted.

“You have an Earldom to protect, I fortunately, do not.”  George dipped his pen in the ink and was poised to sign when Harding turned from where he had been fussing over a tray. 

“Wait, wait, Brother, we should toast this momentous occasion.”  Smiling, he handed around glasses to the men in the room.  When all were served, he looked seriously at his brother.  “I am proud that our father’s blood is that which will forever run through the veins of the master of Pemberley.”

“Here, here!”  George cried and with one swallow; downed the port.  Coughing, he laughed and took out his handkerchief to wipe his mouth.  “I drank that shoo fast; you would think I wash in my cups already!”

“No, that will come later.”  Lord Matlock laughed and lifted his chin.  “Go on Fitzwilliam; sign while your father collects himself.”

“Yes, Uncle.”  Darcy signed off on the old entailment then handed the pen to his father.  Mr. Darcy coughed again.  “Father?”

Clearing his throat, he shook his head.  “Odd, I feel odd.”

“Nerves?  Second thoughts?”  Lord Matlock snorted.

“No, no . . . I . . .”  He swallowed hard.

“Perhaps you should lie down, Brother.”  Harding offered and moved to take the pen from his hand.

“No, no . . . I . . .”  Drawing himself up, he dipped the pen in the ink and signed his name, breaking the entailment.  “Now, where is the new . . .” His voice died away and he gasped, clasping his hand to his chest. 

“Father!”  Darcy cried as he collapsed on the table, knocking over the inkpot.  Mr. Easterly snatched up the new and old entailments just before the black stream reached the paper. 

Harding Darcy stared as his brother began gasping.  “Father!”  Darcy knelt by his dying father and held him while Lord Matlock called for help.  Darcy turned his panicked eyes to the judge. “Uncle . . . help me!”

December 1811

The judge’s eyes closed.  “I am sorry, Fitzwilliam.” 

“Sir?”  He started to find Carson had reappeared.   “Sir, I found these in your coat, would you like them sent to the kitchen?”  Displaying a small sack of almonds, he looked at his master and nearly dropped the bag, seeing the reappearance of the ill man he thought had been cured. 
Oh no . . .

“My coat?”  He stared at the bag and vaguely he remembered the night of the dinner and how he had stolen away to grind up the cyanide-laden nuts to add to his serving of orgeat. 
Oh Lord . . . I was going to take my life!  Why?
  He tried to hang on to the present and looked to his waiting valet.  “No . . . no, those . . . were disappointing.”  He snatched the bag and tossed it into the fire.  “Rotten inside.”