Chapter 3 #2
One bright hope in his life was that, after many interviews and an exacting confirmation of her characters, he and his co-guardian had hired a new companion for Georgiana, a Mrs. Helena Annesley. She, they had found, had genuine, impeccable references, and was born a gentlewoman.
Mrs Annesley had married at the age of sixteen and was widowed when her husband drowned after falling into a river while fishing. He had not been a good manager of their money; he had lost most of it in risky investments. His widow was left destitute, with no choice but to go into service.
Her previous employers were the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, both of whom had given her a glowing character. Their newly-married younger daughter told them she was only sorry she could not keep her companion with her after her marriage.
They related the entire story of what Georgiana had been through to Mrs. Annesley; it did not daunt her. Darcy and the Colonel were sure she would, eventually, be able to reach Georgiana—something they had both failed to do.
No matter what anyone said, including the voice in his head he ignored, Darcy knew it to be his fault alone. He had failed his father, his family, and his name by failing in his most basic duties.
He acknowledged God must have been with him that day. By pure chance he had reached Ramsgate before the elopement was to take place. Georgiana was now safe in her bedchamber at Darcy House.
Wickham had slunk away to lick his wounds after his latest scheme failed.
The investigators Darcy had hired to locate the wastrel reported he had hidden in the bowels of London, in Seven Dials, where only the lowest of the low went to skulk in the shadows.
There would be no help for Georgiana’s manipulator if his cousin Richard ever got his hands on him.
Sitting in his study, he reminded himself, were his excellent father still living, he would never have allowed this to happen. It struck Darcy for the first time, that his father may have had some modicum of blame in this as well.
Blind to any of Wickham’s faults, had not his father educated George as a gentleman?
Had not his father ignored what he was told about him, saying he was but sowing his wild oats?
Wickham had grown up expecting and demanding more and more from his father—and receiving it.
For the first time since Ramsgate, seeds of doubt regarding his own culpability were sown.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
After finishing his drink at White’s the Colonel recovered his outerwear from an attendant, returned to his barracks, and asked to meet with his commanding officer, General Grant Atherton.
He requested, and was granted, a leave of absence that would start the following Sunday.
Armed with this knowledge, he headed to Darcy House after the completion of his duties.
Killion opened the door, took his outerwear, and confirmed the master was ensconced in his study. The Colonel did not have to ask about his cousin’s mood; he could tell by the sombre feeling in the house.
The Colonel gave a perfunctory knock on the study door and entered, which he intended to do whether or not his cousin bade him enter.
The study, much like everything else in Darcy’s life, was neat and tidy, a reflection of his cousin’s fastidious nature.
Everything had its place. There were neat piles of documents on Darcy’s desk, which the Colonel knew were organised by subject.
Darcy was sitting at his desk, deep in concentration and chewing on the end of his quill as he contemplated what to write next. Richard knew his cousin always carefully considered his words before he put pen to paper. His attention was fully captured by the words on the page before him.
The study was cold. The fire in the grate had been allowed to burn low. The Colonel was sure Darcy was oblivious to everything but his work and his dark thoughts and had not summoned a servant to make up the fire.
There were books shelved in the room; a few were neatly stacked on Darcy’s desk, one lay open near his right hand. There was a spacious library next to the study, and although large and well stocked, it was nothing to the one at Pemberley.
Knowing Darcy would ignore him until he had completed his current task, the Colonel helped himself to a glass of Darcy’s best port from a decanter on the sideboard, then spread himself out on a settee below the window, propping his feet up on the armrest—knowing it would bother his ever-proper cousin once he noticed it.
He lounged patiently there, allowing himself the luxury of wool-gathering while Darcy finished his correspondence.
Little more than fifteen minutes later, Darcy acknowledged him gruffly, stood, and poured himself a glass of port as well.
The Colonel noticed but did not comment on the almost empty snifter on the desk that still had traces of brandy in it.
He also took note of the level of liquid in the bottles on the sideboard; they were much lower than normal.
As Darcy sat back down in his oversized desk chair, the Colonel looked at and assessed his younger cousin.
He did not berate the man, but he had to check himself before he did; Darcy should not have allowed himself to descend into the condition he saw before him.
The man sitting opposite him was a far cry from the fastidious cousin he was used to seeing.
He had never seen Darcy so unkempt, and he was positively gaunt! Darcy’s appearance was much altered; his clothes hung loosely on him. The Colonel surmised Darcy had lost weight by failing to eat properly.
The Colonel noticed the dark rings under his eyes.
Darcy also appeared not to have slept well.
He could understand why—his cousin probably had nightmares about what might have happened at Ramsgate.
He seemed a shadow of his former self. What worried Richard Fitzwilliam most were the emotions of despair and defeat that radiated from his cousin.
Darcy’s proud and noble mien had been replaced by slumped shoulders. Normally impeccably dressed, his cousin was dishevelled. He seemed like a man ready to give up.
Richard recognised the look; he had seen the same hopeless look on his own soldiers and enemy soldiers when all appeared lost and defeat on the battlefield seemed imminent.
He had never before seen his cousin so lost in despair, not even after the deaths of each of his parents.
His cousin was not living; he was just going through the motions.
The Colonel knew if he asked directly his cousin would not be forthcoming, so he talked of business first. “William, have you checked on your investments with Gardiner lately? I know father is overjoyed at the returns he has been receiving, as am I.”
It seemed to distract his cousin momentarily as he focused and answered, “I could not be happier with my returns. I know you invest as much as you can with Gardiner as well, and I suspect you are not the poor second son we often hear tales of woe about.”
“Very true, William,” Richard said. He could not help noticing that although his cousin answered he was still far away, so he tried another subject.
“William, did you notice Lord Blake sold his townhouse across the square from you? Do you know who purchased it? What a waste to lose his family’s fortune in games of chance. ”
“No, Richard; I have no idea who purchased it,” Darcy replied, his tone still distracted and distant.
“William, what is going on with you?” the Colonel demanded, deciding it was high time to be direct.
“Nothing...” Darcy began to reply.
The Colonel would have nothing to do with his lies and said, “I am not blind, William. I have known you all your life. You are like a brother to me, and I can see you are not yourself.”
“I said nothing, Fitzwilliam!” Darcy spat out as he pounded the arms of his chair in obvious pain and frustration, his fists so clenched that his knuckles were white.
Darcy only called him by his last name when he was perturbed or angry.
“Deny it all you like, but I know you are still blaming yourself over what almost happened in Ramsgate. You are not her sole guardian, and I was duped by Mrs. Younge as well. Imagine what would have happened to poor Georgie if you had not arrived when you did?”
“Enough Richard! I do not want to discuss this now,” Darcy growled.
Richard knew when not to push his cousin, so he backed off.
He drained his port and got up to refill it.
“I met Bingley at White’s earlier today.
He informed me you are debating whether or not to assist him when he settles at the estate he leased.
It is close to London, he says. I thought you promised to assist him when he made a foray into estate management.
Are you going to go with him to make sure he does not burn it down, or something equally negligent?
” Richard said, attempting to lighten his cousin’s mood with humour.
Darcy relaxed somewhat, his hands returning to a normal colour as he opened the fists he had not realised he made. ‘The tease must have helped some,’ Richard thought, relieved he had lowered his cousin’s stress level even slightly.
“Bingley has never managed an estate before. It was his parents’ wish he purchase an estate and allow his family to leave their roots in trade behind.
Bingley’s parents were never able to make their dream a reality due to their untimely death.
In his father’s will, he directed that on his passing if there was not yet a Bingley estate, his son was to be charged with making it a reality.
“Most of Bingley’s father’s estate was tied up in his majority stake in Bingley Coach Works.
Bingley sold his stake in the business for a handsome profit.
Now that the sale has been finalised and the funds transferred, the major portion of Bingley’s inheritance is unfettered and liquid, so Bingley has decided to try his hand at estate management. ”