Memory: Volume 3, How Far We Have Come, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (13 page)

“It is part of it.”  She laughed when he grinned and drove in harder.  Gasping she took his face to kiss. “But we must be at Pemberley to fulfil my dream.”

“Pemberley!”  He cried.  “But it will be months and months!  You will be . . . Dearest you will be too large, I . . . I will no longer be able to . . .” His movement slowed and they lay entwined, her body curled around him.  Darcy’s face rested next to hers and they concentrated on the feeling as their hips leisurely ground together.  

Their mouths engaged along with their endlessly caressing hands.  “I love you, Will.”  Elizabeth brushed the back of her fingers along his cheek, and watched his face as breath from his parted lips washed over her, and his eyes, dark and fixed, stared into hers.  His breathing took on a panting rhythm, and his movement slowed as he fought to hang on.  “I love you.”  She whispered, continuing her caresses as the warmth between them continued to bloom, “oh Willlllll.” Elizabeth’s eyes closed and he gratefully felt her body’s desire to draw him in farther.  Her rhythmic embrace became too much and his release was shattering.  When he returned from the heights of his pleasure, he found that his mouth was latched to her shoulder and she was caressing his hair, a sleepy, glorious smile on her face, one that he only saw at this moment. 

“I love that smile.”  Darcy said softly, turning them onto their sides and tracing her lips with his fingers.  “That is only for me.”

“Now you know my fondest wish.”

“To make you smile?”  He chuckled.

“No, to have the smile that you wear at this moment captured for me.”  Elizabeth’s eyes crinkled when she saw his surprise.  “And I know it will never be.” 

“How can it be?”  He rested his head on her shoulder and studied her.  “You said that we could only fulfil your wish at Pemberley.”

“Yes, that is the only place where I have seen something similar to this expression.  You see, it remains.”  Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, “When you love me, it stays with you, and when you look out at Pemberley, I see that love, too.” 

“And when I look at Rosa?  What do you see?”  He sniffed and kissed her.

“That is different, that is a papa.”  She smiled and raised her hand touch his moist cheek.  Darcy brushed her tears away and moved his hand to rest over her belly.  “There . . .” She whispered, “there is papa’s smile.”  He looked back up to her.  “And there is mine.”

18 APRIL 1811

At last we have arrived back in London.  Well that does not sound right at all, as if we wished to be out of the country!  But to school the girls must return so back we came.  Kent was lovely, so different from Derbyshire.  Rosings is a perfectly beautiful estate; it was fascinating to tour the rooms with Fitzwilliam.  He told me how dark it once was, how gaudy and overdone.  It was difficult to believe, but his descriptions were so vivid that I could feel the atmosphere of silence and iron control that Lady Catherine exerted over her servants and family.  That she could treat her daughter so cruelly was not difficult to imagine at all.  A younger version of herself installed in her position of mistress, yes, I could easily see her bullying and demanding.  My dear husband was always the gentleman with her, how I admire his patience!   But I can also understand how that woman would take advantage of his manners and try to force him to her will.  My admiration of him grows as I understand more of his past.  I am happy that she did not visit again after Easter dinner.  Any woman who has nothing at least civil to say about a child taking her first steps is not one who I care to give my attention.   I was so proud of my dear daughter proclaiming clearly her obvious dislike of her great aunt!  Fitzwilliam took me for a ride around the estate in Lady Anne’s barouche, and let me take the reins.  We drove past the dower house, just in time to see Lady Catherine in her garden.  We stopped and Fitzwilliam and I greeted her, but her remark was so caustic that he simply wished her health and drove away.  He later said that he feels no remorse for removing her from our lives.  I would say that driving away from her that day and not looking back was both healthy and wise.  We will not miss her company. Nor will we seek it ever again.

Mary and the captain spent more time together, but she did not seek to have a moment alone, although it could have easily been had.  I believe that she wishes to have a clear head about her, and not be caught up in the heady atmosphere of Rosings when he approaches her.  Somehow I believe that she thinks herself still unworthy of him.  Oh sister, look in a mirror!  You glow with love for this dear, impatient sailor!  All in good time, as Fitzwilliam tells me.  All in good time.

Darcy smiled and closed her journal.  “There, you see, we give them opportunity and they do not take it.” 

“What are we to do?”  Elizabeth closed his journal and sat with it hugged to her chest. 

“Nothing.”  Tilting his head he tapped the leather.  “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?”  She startled and looked down at his book.  “Oh.”  She blushed. “Your love letter was . . . thank you.”

“So you prefer to embrace a book rather than the author?”  Smiling, he took the journal from her grasp.  “I think that we can do better than that.”

She laughed and stood up with his prompting.  “What do you have in mind?  It is too early in the day for an assignation.”

“I was thinking of a walk to our bench.”  He looked out of the window.  “It is a rare sunny day, love.  Let us take advantage before our return to town is noted.”

“Visits to the ladies.”  She sighed and took his arm.

“Visits to the gentleman.”  He shook his head.

“Dancing.”  Elizabeth smiled up at him as they left the room.

“Well there is that.”  He chuckled when she let go and twirled before him.  “Come love, one last moment of peace before it all begins in earnest.  If history is our guide, something is bound to happen.”

A LOUD CRASH followed by a stream of apologies and whispered voices made the heads of the three men turn towards the doorway.  “Inept.”  Robinson snorted.

“New girl?”  Hurst glanced up from his paper.  “Hard to find good help.”

“I am surprised that Caroline would hire someone who could not handle a tray.”  Bingley murmured and listened to the sound of the girl still sniffing and apologizing.  “Then again, Caroline has never been one to be kind to her staff, I imagine that you have a regular turnover?”

Robinson shot him a look then shrugged.  “Well there is no denying that.  As long as my man stays with me and my food is cooked, I could care less who the domestics are.  That is her responsibility.”  He saw the door cautiously open and a girl curtseyed.

“Tea will be a little delayed, sir.”

“As Mrs. Robinson is indisposed, we will discuss the cost of the china you broke later.”  He said sternly.

“Yes, sir.”  She whispered and left the room.

“Docking her pay?”  Hurst suggested.

“She may work it off.”  Robinson turned towards the window and contemplated the scenery.  “Pretty little thing, don’t you think?”

Silence fell over the room while the three men continued their vigil as Caroline laboured above.  Occasionally they heard the sound of a cry, but they were mostly insulated from the process.  “I am surprised, Bingley, no stories of the Darcy family today?”  Robinson walked over to his desk and sat down.

“I hardly make a habit of discussing the Darcy family.  But if you must know, they were in Kent.”  Bingley saw the door nudging open and he went to help the young maid.  She smiled a little and brought in the heavy tray, setting it down on a table, and with shaking hands began laying out the service. 

“Kent?”  Robinson’s eyes were on Jessica and the ill-fitting gown that she wore.  It was much too small and the neckline far too low.  When she caught his eye, she paled to see his appreciative expression and turned back to her work.  “What interest does Darcy have in Kent?” 

“De Bourgh has Rosings; you know that he is courting Miss Bennet.”  Bingley noted Jessica jumping at the names.  “I rather imagine that he was wishing to show her the house as much as entertain the family at his home for Easter.  Darcy used to go there yearly before he wed Eliz . . . Mrs. Darcy.  The other girls went along, Miss Darcy and Miss Catherine.  I think that they return home today.” 

“You think?  You do not know their itinerary?”  Robinson laughed.  “I swear Bingley; you are closer to that family than your own.”

“The Darcys are the kindest and best of friends, you are only jealous not to be in their circle.”  Bingley snapped, then seeing Jessica’s wide eyes, walked away, regretting instantly speaking before a servant. 

“Are you not finished?”  Robinson barked when he noticed her attention to his brother.

“Yes sir.”  Jessica looked at Bingley as if she wished to say something and then curtseying, began to leave. 

“I will call you when I am ready to discuss the china.”  Robinson reminded her.

“Yes, sir.”  She whispered and disappeared, closing the door behind her. 

“Skittish.”  Robinson observed with a smile.  “I like that.” 

“You would.”  Hurst sniffed.  “Do you make a habit of bedding the servants?”

“No.”  He shrugged.  “I keep it out of the house, but with Caroline decidedly unavailable for the next month or more, it will be convenient.  She knows not to question me.”

“It is disgusting.”  Bingley cried.  “How can you think of insulting your wife, your wife who at this moment is upstairs suffering to give you your child!”  He gestured to the ceiling as another faint cry was heard.  “Take your courtesans if you must, but keep it out of your home, her home!”

Robinson bristled.  “I have seen you in Bond Street enough times.”

“I have given that up.” 

“Is that so?”  Robinson went over to inspect the tea, and picked up a little cake.  “Problem?  A visit by the French disease?”

“I am surprised you have not had one yourself.”  Hurst pulled up from his chair and poured a cup of tea.  “I know enough men who have brought it home to their wives.”

“I used only clean girls.”

“Unless there is a convenient servant at hand.”  Bingley glared at him.

“What exactly is bothering you?  I bet that your first time was with some pox-marked chambermaid at Eton.”  He raised his brow when Bingley coloured.  “I thought as much.  What is it about casting stones?”  There was a knock at the door and the three men turned.  “Enter!”  The door opened and with it drifted a scream from Caroline, clearly in excruciating pain.  They all paled with the sound as it ripped through the air again.  Feeling the stares of his brothers, Robinson’s eyes dropped to the floor and he nodded.

“Sir?  This express just arrived for you.”  The footman held out the salver and Robinson snatched the envelope, glanced at it, then turned to the window. 

“Anything important?”  Bingley asked and stared up at the ceiling.

“I do not know.  I do not know the address.”  He glanced at it and thrust it towards Bingley.  “Here, you read it.”  The men became aware that the screams had stopped.  They stood still, waiting for more, and heard only the creak of the floorboards above their heads and the steady ticking of the clock. 

“Mr. Robinson.”  The men spun to see Louisa standing at the door with a tired smile on her face.  “Your son is delivered.”  Robinson stood still and waited.  “Caroline is exhausted, but well, as is he.”  Nodding, he accepted the handshake from Bingley, and Hurst’s hand on his shoulder, then straightening his waistcoat, he silently left the room. 

Hurst walked over to Louisa and she wearily relaxed into his arms.  “How are you?”

“I believe that if I ever give birth, I will be most considerate of those who attend me.”  She sighed and closed her eyes.  Hurst smiled and kissed her forehead, then looked over to Bingley.

“We are uncles.”

“Yes.”  He said quietly.  “Why do I feel sorry for the boy?”

“We will look after him.”  Hurst smiled at Louisa.  “Perhaps we will give him a cousin one day.”

“I hope so.”   She smiled and saw the letter in Bingley’s hand.  “What is that?”

“Hmm?”  He looked down and startled when he read the return.  “This is from Longbourn.” 

“I know that name.”  Hurst said and furrowed his brow.  “Why do I know that name?”

“That is the Bennet estate, Elizabeth, Jane, Mary . . . What does Robinson know of them?”  Bingley opened the letter and began to read.  His eyes grew wide.  “Good heavens!”

“What is it?” 

He stared at the paper then looked up to his sister.  “Louisa, was there a maid with you named Jessica?”

“Yes.  Caroline said she was going to rename her Maggie, she thought it more appropriate for a servant.”  She looked at him curiously.  “The most inept maid I have ever known.  I asked the housekeeper about her when she left the room and she rolled her eyes, saying the master had brought her home to look after the baby.  She acts like one who is accustomed to being served, not working, but she was trying.  Very well-spoken, I can see why Caroline would want that, but something was not right about her.  When Caroline is well, she will rip that girl apart.”

“Inept?”  Hurst said and looked to Bingley.  “I believe that we have met her.  What has she to do with Longbourn?”

“She is a runaway, and a classmate of Lydia Bennet.”  Bingley read the letter.  “She is a gentleman’s daughter.”

“How on earth did she come to be here?”  Louisa gaped and took the letter from Bingley to read.  “Selling oranges.  I wonder what she did before that.  No wonder she seemed subdued and incompetent.  That girl took everything that Caroline screamed without a flinch.  I imagine that she would not risk losing the position.  Oh my, Mr. Bennet does not go into details, but I fear for this girl being ruined.”

“No wonder Robinson brought her on, a ruined gentleman’s daughter.  That would appeal to him and his aspirations for higher circles, thumbing his nose at them, and taking on a girl who once had everything.  Knowing him, he probably thinks it an act of philanthropy to take her off the streets.”  Seeing Louisa’s surprise he smiled.  “Granted, he may not have known her origins.  Ah well, it is certainly common enough for these desperate girls of good family trying to survive on their own to sell themselves somehow.”  Hurst rubbed his chin.  Bingley stared and he shrugged.  “My father enjoyed my governesses for years, Bingley.  All were impoverished widows or spinsters, all with gentle upbringings.  Mother was happy for it; she produced the legitimate heirs and was left alone.”  He closed his eyes with Louisa’s look.  “No, I will not follow his lead.”