Chapter 51
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
D arcy stopped by his own townhouse on the way back to Matlock House that evening. He had spent a wonderful afternoon with his beloved and her family, getting to know them and telling them about himself and all the things he loved about their Lizzy.
Lizzy . All her family called her that. Now that he was going to be family, would he be expected to do likewise?
“Lizzy,” he said aloud to himself, testing it out on his tongue. No. She was and always would be Elizabeth to him. His dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.
As he took his leave of her, after Mr and Mrs Gardiner had excused themselves in a not-so-subtle effort to give them a moment alone, Elizabeth had reminded him of the document Lady Catherine had charged him to pass on to Fitzwilliam. He had left it in his chambers at Darcy House, and, in the havoc of the day, he had completely forgot about it.
Stopping only to instruct Jeffries to have Georgiana’s rooms readied and Wickham’s cleared out, Darcy retrieved the slim packet, tucked it into his inside pocket, and hurried down the street to his uncle’s townhouse.
The jovial atmosphere of the Gardiners’ comfortable home had been a balm to Darcy, allowing him to forget for an hour the horrors of the day. The sombre air of Matlock House, which still smelt of spent powder and the coppery odour of blood, struck him like a blow. Death had visited this house. Anger and lunacy and greed and mourning had invaded this home and left a stain that would not be quickly lifted.
Lord and Lady Matlock had retired; Georgiana had not stirred since he had kissed her sleeping temple two hours before. He found Fitzwilliam in the rear parlour, well away from the gruesome scene of earlier, collapsed into a deep leather armchair, staring into the fire. Pouring himself a generous amount of brandy, Darcy joined him, falling wearied into the matching chair and watching the same flames dance and spit. They did not greet one another, did not even outwardly acknowledge one another, but Darcy knew the comfort he took in his cousin’s company was mutual.
At length, Fitzwilliam sighed.
“How do you fare?” Darcy asked gently.
“I am well, Darcy,” he replied in even tones. “I have taken the lives of enemies in battle before. This was no different.”
This was very different , Darcy wanted to say. The enemies the colonel had fought in the Napoleonic wars were decent, patriotic men who were willing to die for a principle in which they believed. Wickham was a murderous madman intent on harming people Fitzwilliam loved. This act was far more noble.
But Darcy could not say that. He knew Fitzwilliam hated his lot as a soldier; he had never desired to wield a weapon against his fellow man. He was like Darcy’s father in that respect; if Fitzwilliam had been given the chance to be a peaceful gentleman farmer, he would have preferred it.
“Your decisive action saved lives today. My own, certainly, for which I cannot adequately express my gratitude, but Georgiana’s as well. She would have been miserable, connected to that scoundrel for life. He would have married her in the hope that I was lying about her portion, then abused her and tossed her aside once he realised there was no way he could get his hands on the Darcy fortune. You spared her that fate, and I cannot thank you enough.”
“It was the least I could do,” Fitzwilliam responded after several seconds furrowing his brow. “To tell the truth, I was not thinking of Wickham. I was thinking about Anne. I loved her so much, and now I do not know exactly why. I was just attached to her, deeply attached to her, and my affection blinded me to what I can now see were flaws in her very fibre—beyond a disturbing fascination with dark things. If I had not allowed my feelings for her to overwhelm my good sense, I could have told you of her ramblings years ago.”
Darcy’s chest became tight. He had felt betrayed by his cousin, as if his implicit trust had been unwarranted. But then Fitzwilliam had acted for him, demonstrated his loyalty in the most powerful way.
“If I had been a truly loyal friend to you, I could have put your mind at ease regarding Lady Anne’s disappearance. Of course, I could not know that Anne’s hints held any truth behind them, but if I had given credence to her claims, if I had but mentioned them to you— Perhaps, had you known your mother did not abandon you, you would not have suffered such a lonely existence. I have seen how you keep people at arm’s length, Darcy, and only now do I comprehend that it was a result of your belief that Lady Anne had deserted you. I am more sorry than I can say, old man.”
“I hold nothing against you. God knows I understand the power a strong attachment to a woman can hold over a man.”
“All those summers spent by the fireplace at Rosings with her, endlessly reading her favourite play, and playing the court jester in hopes of seeing even a glimpse of the delightful girl she once was. It was many years before I finally gave up on that dream, and I suppose my hopes just overshadowed everything else.”
“I confess things have ended rather better than I had thought they could even a month ago.”
“Miss Bennet told me of your engagement,” Fitzwilliam said, finally lifting his eyes from the flames dancing before them. “I am truly delighted for you. She will make you the perfect wife.”
“I believe she will,” Darcy agreed. Silence reigned for several beats before he added, “I am sorry that your prospects did not turn out so well.”
“I believe I willed myself to see more than was there. I began including more and more personal information in my letters regarding Georgiana, and Mrs Younge simply took the opportunity to make me a pawn in Wickham’s schemes. She heralded herself a lady fallen on hard times, the victim of some malfeasance on her father’s part, robbed of the chance to live the genteel life she was raised for. I was a fool.”
“We are all fools in love.”
“I do not believe it was love. I believe I was in such tumult at your disappearance—with no word of your whereabouts or even your safety, I remind you—that I chose to cling to whatever hope for contentment I could find. Mrs Younge became the object of my wishes rather by default. A pathetic love story, really.”
“The fact was that he wanted to love somebody and—as he had not seen the right lady—he was obliged to love the wrong one,” Darcy said with no little sympathy.
“Quite so.” Fitzwilliam made it clear by his tone that he was finished with the subject. Moving forwards in his seat, he set his elbows upon his knees and swirled the last drops of liquid around in his glass.
“I had worried that your heart might be leaning in another direction,” Darcy said uneasily. “Elizabeth tells me you two were often in company after I left. I was afraid she was the reason you did not leave Rosings to find me.”
“Be at ease, Cousin. I had no intentions towards your lady love. Truth be told, my mind was in such a muddle after you ran away, I knew not what to do. I worried that, if you were wanted for treason, my searching for you myself might be considered betraying the Crown. Though I did join in the hunt for you directly after you escaped.”
“I know it. I was in the stage when you caught up with it,” Darcy said with a wry smile before adding after himself, “Kippahs?”
“That was you?” Fitzwilliam let out a bark of incredulous laughter.
“Aye,” Darcy answered in the same lowly fashion. “What would you have done if you had caught up with me?”
“I had a pouch of coin for you. I figured if you felt the need to flee, then I could at least aid you in that way. As it was, after scribbling letters to every corner of England and offering a tidy sum for any discreet communication regarding your whereabouts, I was forced to stay at Rosings to receive any news that might come in. And, as regards your initial worry, it happened to be that your Elizabeth was the only tolerable company in miles.”
Darcy was glad to have that settled. He would have hated to know that his cousin’s heartache might have been exacerbated by a disappointed tendre towards Elizabeth. He expressed his gratitude for Fitzwilliam’s efforts in his behalf before the man’s face fell once again.
“So, Mr Collins is no more?” he asked, again staring into the three drops of amber liquid at the bottom of his glass.
“That is so,” Darcy said, the mood in the room becoming ever more grave. “Anne stabbed him as she was attempting to murder Mrs Collins. Apparently, the weakness which overtook her during the early days of her pregnancy made her Anne’s ideal prey.”
“ ‘The devil drives’ indeed. Poor woman, to be so targeted must have been frightening enough, and then to be made a widow in such ghastly circumstances.”
“It was a tragedy. Though I do not think Mrs Collins will suffer too acutely from the loss of her husband. Elizabeth has made me to understand there was not much love lost there.”
“Yes, but to have to return to her father’s house. Her widow’s portion cannot have been substantial. Her situation is in every way deplorable.”
“Then, let us hope the child she bears is a male,” Darcy concluded. “For, as Elizabeth’s father’s estate was entailed upon Mr Collins, her son will inherit.”
“Only after the death of Mr Bennet,” Fitzwilliam ventured.
“I believe I might be able to convince Mr and Mrs Bennet to vacate Longbourn somewhat sooner than that,” Darcy said with a wry smile.
At Fitzwilliam’s answering grin, Darcy was reminded of the purpose of his mission. “I am a dunderhead. Lady Catherine charged me to deliver this to you, and in all the chaos, I completely forgot.” Retrieving the packet from behind his lapel, he handed it dutifully to his cousin, who took it with a quizzical brow.
“If it is from Lady Catherine, it is probably a letter instructing me on how not to be such a worthless lout.” Fitzwilliam pulled the strings loose and unfolded the papers.
“Something tells me it is not from Lady Catherine; indeed, she was quite hesitant to hand it over at all.”
Fitzwilliam read the words on the first page, his eyes so intent on the document before him that Darcy thought they might bore through the paper. Hungrily, he turned to the second page, reading so rapidly his head was shaking left to right as he took in its contents.
“What is it?” Darcy asked, now on the edge of his own seat.
“It is Rosings,” he croaked.