Day 2 #2
Live at Rosings? But why? What about Pemberley?
She hurried up the walk and onto the front steps of the parsonage, greeting Mr. Collins in his garden as she passed.
“Miss Bennet, might you answer one more question for me?” he asked, following her in.
“I will answer it, Mr. Fitzroy,” came a male voice.
Darcy walked into the room to be met by Clarence. “Ah, Clarence. You are most assuredly who I need to speak with.”
Darcy leaned back in the chair of his guest room at the parsonage.
The tea Mrs. Collins had offered did little to quench his thirst, but it was something to soften his circumstances.
Clarence clarified little else, refusing to explain the absence of Richard in Georgiana’s life, or why she and Wickham did not live at Pemberley.
Maybe Richard was on the continent? He annoyingly pronounced Darcy alone must discover the answers.
But not all circumstances were bleak. His mind ran through numerous possibilities of what was to come.
Clarence’s intimation that Darcy might try to win Elizabeth’s love filled his soul with renewed spirit.
He had kept watch on the Merino account for the last several years, without touching a farthing.
But if Fitzwilliam Darcy did not exist, would the account exist?
And if it did, surely the account must remain as it has always been, compounding interest from my father’s investments.
I will use that money to marry Elizabeth, take her to the Pembrook estate.
Or maybe…somehow…use the money to take back Pemberley.
I could walk the woman I love through the halls of my ancestral home after all.
And so, Darcy waited. The hours ticked by bringing him closer to his sister, his aunt, and his nemesis who, it appeared, had stolen his world.
“Mr. Fitzroy, Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, and Miss Bennet,” intoned the butler as the small group entered the drawing room, a room which Darcy recognized at once.
The furniture, which for generations had decorated the rooms at Rosings, had not changed, whether he had existed or not.
Although a little shabbier than he remembered, the grandiose wall hangings and brocade showed the wealth of the inhabitants of generations.
While the furnishings appeared more tired than fashionable, this too matched the people spread throughout the room.
He first searched for Georgiana, his eyes scanning the room until he saw her speaking to an old woman.
She was whispering and nodding, pointing to sketches, and seeming to describe them to the woman in the mobcap.
He then looked around for his cousin Anne and Lady Catherine.
His cousin was sitting on the “throne” as Richard had always called it, explicitly reserved for her mother, yet Lady Catherine was nowhere to be found.
“Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, Miss Bennet, how wonderful to see you again,” Wickham said, raising his glass in greeting. “And Mr. Fitzroy. How nice that you are well enough to join us.”
Somehow Darcy managed to maintain his composure at the sight of Wickham making himself so free in his aunt’s home.
Wickham said, “You will be relieved to know your fine horse was found wandering the back fields. He is currently stabled here at Rosings.”
“Yes. Miss Bennet informed me this morning.”
Mr. Collins interrupted. “We are honored to have been invited into your magnificent home, Miss de Bourgh. Might I present our guest? Mr. William Fitzroy of Pembrook in Salisbury, Miss Anne de Bourgh, the heiress of Rosings Park, and the daughter of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my patroness.”
“And your horse may remain for the duration of your stay,” said his cousin Anne.
Darcy bowed, wondering at her stately mien.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss de Bourgh, and I thank you for your kindness. I am certain my horse is well-cared for. My father was a contemporary of Sir Lewis. I remember him often speaking of your father’s love of shooting—and his very fine pointer, Vulcan. ”
Anne’s eyebrows raised at the mention. “Yes, sir. My father did have such a dog. He loved that beast. I thank you for the recollection.”
Her clipped tones surprised him, so much like his aunt, and he bowed again as she listened to the effusive praises of Mr. Collins.
What an odd turn. Where is Lady Catherine?
Hiding his eagerness to speak with Georgiana, he sat by Elizabeth and waited for an opportunity to engage his sister in conversation.
Sitting beside the woman he loved was certainly no hardship.
“My dear,” Wickham said, drawing the attention of the room. “Play for us.”
Georgiana started. “Oh, I do not wish––”
“Yet I do.”
There was no mistaking the command in his tone. As Georgiana moved toward the instrument, Darcy forced himself to loosen his grip on the arm of the chaise.
Elizabeth’s questioning look made him ease the tenseness in his jaw and regulate his breathing. “Mr. Fitzroy, are you well?” she asked, leaning toward him.
“Yes, Miss Bennet. I am managing.”
“May I get you some refreshment?”
He turned back to the woman who only days before, in a different life, he had proposed to and been rejected by. Oh, Elizabeth. That I had been a better man. One who was worthy of you.
His thoughts were interrupted as the pleasant smile on Elizabeth’s face evolved to a grimace.
“What say you, Fitzroy?” Wickham asked.
Darcy schooled his features and exhaled. “Forgive me. I was not attending.”
“Would you not turn the pages for my wife while I speak with Miss Bennet?”
He was torn. An opportunity to speak to Georgiana but at the cost of Elizabeth’s comfort. Her look conveyed acceptance. “I will return shortly, Miss Bennet. Then we might renew our conversation from earlier.”
She nodded with a grateful smile. “That would be lovely.”
Darcy joined his sister, who was playing a somber piece, and turned the pages. At the end of the song, she bowed her head in his direction without making eye contact.
“I thank you, sir. You may now return to Miss Bennet.”
“Will you not play again? You play so passionately,” Darcy said.
“Thank you, but no. I am fatigued and must return to my aunt.”
The numerous questions Darcy wanted to ask her were forgotten at the mention of Lady Catherine. “Your aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh is in residence? I had hoped to meet the illustrious woman.”
“Yes, she is. Although quite unwell, her health keeps her from joining us but briefly before she takes a tray in her rooms.”
Georgiana indicated the shriveled woman leaning against a nurse, he presumed, on the settee where she had been sitting when Darcy had arrived.
He stifled a gasp and feigned less interest than he felt.
Their conversation was cut short by the demands of her husband.
“Georgiana, you can’t be finished. Play something lively,” Wickham barked.
She sat back in the seat and began a tune Darcy recognized as one she would often delight him with at Pemberley.
Turning the pages, he looked from Elizabeth, to his aunt, and then to his sister.
“Miss Darcy?” Georgiana looked up from the keys, almost losing her fingering. It hurt to form the next words. “Forgive me. Mrs. Wickham. Pray, tell me about your home. I understand Pemberley to still be the most beautiful estate in all of Derbyshire.”
She shot a look at her husband, who was speaking with Elizabeth. “It is,” she said, slowing the pace of the song. “Pemberley was the most wonderful home any child could grow up in.”
“And you have no siblings? I seem to remember you did not, but I cannot recall.” At her questioning look, he added, “As I was telling Miss Bennet earlier today, I remember visiting Pemberley as a boy, and my father speaking of your parents fondly.”
“You visited Pemberley?”
“I was very young, but I recollect the kindness of your mother.”
“Yes, she was,” Georgiana said with an easy smile. “She imparted to me her love for the pianoforte.”
Darcy sputtered. “Excuse my intrusion, but you remember your mother? I thought she died upon your birth.”
“No, sir. She died upon the birth of my younger brother, who followed her but two days later.”
Younger brother? “And might I ask what became of your cousin Richard Fitzwilliam? He and I were also acquaintances at school.” Not doubting the stories from Elizabeth, Darcy still needed to hear facts from Georgiana’s lips.
“You must be mistaken, sir. You must be thinking of Alfred. I did not know my cousin Richard. He died in a sledding accident at Matlock House when he was a child.”
“He died? A sledding accident?”
“Yes. I am told he was a daredevil and sledded down a hill that lay near a frozen pond. The pond was not quite frozen through, and as he slid across, the ice cracked. His brother, Viscount Wenton, was the only one with him, and Richard slipped under the ice before Alfred could save him.”
Richard! Dead! The air was sucked from his lungs as he attempted to remain placid at the devastating news.
It took all in his power to not sit on the bench next to his sister to absorb the physical blow he felt.
He was not alone with his brother. I was there as well. The three of us—Richard, Alfred, and I.
The memory of that frigid morning rolled through his mind as a staged play in which he knew all the actors. He recalled the warning the previous day from both sets of parents to not slide down the hill. And how Richard had convinced the two reluctant participants to take part in his plan.
We knew we were not allowed to sled on the hill, but Richard was determined. The only thing that stopped him was that I went first and, always cautious, traveled down the backside.
“I crashed into a tree and broke his sled,” Darcy whispered aloud.
“What?” Georgiana asked, breaking his reverie.
“My apologies. I was woolgathering. You are correct,” he said. “I must be mistaken. My mind is still muddled, it would seem.”
“Georgie,” Wickham snapped from across the room.
“Why did you stop playing? Does Mr. Fitzroy not know how to properly turn the pages?” There was an edge in his voice, and he walked toward them.
Darcy noticed Elizabeth’s eyes were on fire and wondered not only what Wickham had done to upset her, but how she had responded to put him in such a state.
“I will take over from here.” Wickham sat next to Georgiana and placed his hand upon her leg. She startled. Darcy fought against his instincts to not lose control.
“Very well, Mr. Wickham. My head does ache, so I will return to my seat.” But he did not. Instead, he made his way to Lady Catherine and sat down on the other end of the settee, still attempting to control his grief for his cousin whose life ended at such a young age.
The old woman began to cough and soon gained his attention. Her outdated gown hung limply on her body. A glassy pair of gray eyes stared across the room, and her lips moved in silence. This is not the fearsome aunt I was raised to respect. This is a woman who is knocking at Death’s doors.
“Mr. Fitzroy, have you met Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth had come to stand before him, eyes still glowing with an anger he could not account for but understood the source.
“No, Miss Bennet. My memory does not serve.”
His cousin Anne appeared at his side and said, “Then, allow me do the honors.”
He shifted his attention to his aunt. His eyes rolled over the shriveled form of the woman who, for years, had struck deference into his soul. What ailment has caused Lady Catherine’s malady?
“Mama,” she began loudly. “Mama. This is Mr. William Fitzroy.” She grasped the old woman’s hand and gave her a little tug to gain her attention.
Lady Catherine’s vacant eyes turned in his direction and stared through him until… “Darcy.”
Does she recognize me?
“What?” Anne asked. “No, Mama. It is Mr. Fitzroy.”
“Darcy,” his aunt repeated.
Anne shook her head and indicated to the nurse sitting next to her mother. “Mrs. Abernathy, please remove my mother to her room. She needs rest.”
“Darcy, you must help. You must make it right.”
“Mr. Fitzroy,” Anne said, stepping before him. “Please excuse my mother. She is unwell.”
“No apology is needed. I understand full well.” He touched his temple and smiled, attempting to reconcile his aunt’s calling him by his true name.
He heard some grumbling behind him and turned to see Wickham still chastising Georgiana at the piano, her head lowered.
Anne resumed her chair to be fawned over by Mr. Collins. Elizabeth returned to sit beside him.
“Is she always like that?” he asked, indicating the retreating Lady Catherine with her nurse.
“She does have moments of lucidity. It depends on how much medicine is needed to control her pain. In the day, she is much as I believe she always was. But at night, her dosage is increased to help her sleep.”
“Her pain?”
“Yes,” Miss Elizabeth said. “From what Mr. Collins has told my sister, she began suffering from ailments a year or so ago. Miss de Bourgh is very attentive to her mother’s needs.”
“She is to be commended for her care.” He observed Mr. Collins awkwardly bowing to Anne while sitting, and Jane’s stoic expression. “How long has your sister been wed to Mr. Collins?”
Elizabeth sniffed before replying. “It has been five months. Our cousin is to inherit our father’s estate and he came to Longbourn in September. He immediately asked for Jane’s hand, and they were married two months later.”
“They seem to be very different personalities.”
She bristled. “My sister would make any man a good wife.”
“You mistake my meaning, Miss Bennet. It is only…Mrs. Collins’s virtues seem wasted on the quiet life of Hunsford.”
Elizabeth smirked. “That is what my father said, and my mother always believed her beauty, well… Still, when there are so few opportunities for women to meet eligible men, we are…well…we must take other paths to find happiness.”
“I would think you would not choose to marry for anything but love.”
She looked at him askance.
“Forgive me. I have spoken out of turn,” he said. Stupid man! Do not claim such familiarity.
Elizabeth was quiet as they both listened to another tune taken up by Mrs. Wickham at the insistence of her husband.
She leaned toward him. “You are correct.” Then the butler announced dinner, and they rose.
Darcy extended his arm, and she rested a delicately gloved hand upon it.
“Nevertheless, I do not believe I will ever have the opportunity to choose.” A small smile graced her lips, and Darcy’s heart fell, remembering her words only days before in a different life.