Chapter Nine #4
“Do not be embarrassed, Fitzwilliam,” she said, entirely serious. “It does me a great deal of good to know you love her so well.”
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, but to his credit, he looked directly at her. “I do, Mrs. Russell.”
“Excellent,” she replied. “I have some things to say and two rather significant requests to make.”
He gave her a single nod. “Whatever I can do will be done. I promise you.”
Olivia paused to collect her thoughts. “In light of what happened today, I believe we both know that removing from John’s home was perhaps not the best course of action.
However, Lizzy has been making decisions for the both of us for more than two years.
She is unaccustomed to being thwarted in such a way. ”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “I would not have allowed it should I have known.”
His eyes showed everything to her, and Olivia was struck by the fear she saw there. To be ruled by it would be his undoing.
“You will argue, you know,” Olivia told him. “And despite what your marriage vows will say about the wife obeying the husband, you have not chosen that kind of a wife. Do not issue dictates. Loving persuasion is your best course of action.”
“And if she will not be persuaded?” Fitzwilliam asked, a tinge of frustration in his speech. “What if she is putting herself at risk as she did today?”
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, shaking her head. She laced her fingers together and pursed her lips. “Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth has not received any letters from Georgiana since the summer. Were you aware?”
“Georgiana mentioned she had not heard from Miss Russell, but I was unaware Miss Bennet and Miss Russell were one and the same until fairly recently,” he said, bemused. “Why…”
Olivia held up a hand and he stopped. “I know the girls wrote at least a few letters. Both Georgiana’s letters to Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s to her were to pass through me.
Neither John nor I wanted Elizabeth’s whereabouts known.
Oddly, Mrs. Bennet’s insistence on Lizzy using the Bennet surname helped with that. ”
“I still do not . . .”
Olivia issued an impatient grunt. “Do not be obtuse, Fitzwilliam. If those letters have gone missing—and I am not so far gone as to believe them only mislaid—then someone on staff in the duke’s household is up to no good. How can we say she would be safer there than she is here?”
His countenance darkened. “I will allow that you are correct about the duke’s staff. Still, Elizabeth was not attacked when she remained at Bedford’s home, Mrs. Russell.”
Olivia watched him carefully. “So you have discovered who it was, then?” she asked. “Might I ask why I was not informed?”
Mr. Darcy scratched the back of his head, her certainty seeming to catch him unaware. “You were already gone. A footman named Harry Sykes was taking your mail and then returning it. We sent for him, but he had already left the house.”
Clearly not all the post was returned. Olivia sighed. “So, despite your assurance that Lizzy was safe in the duke’s home, she might not have been. And she did not remain in the house at all times, did she?” There was a touch of asperity in her tone.
He shifted in his chair. “Mrs. Russell, I . . .”
“Let us stop arguing and get to my point, Fitzwilliam,” she said firmly.
“You will never be able to keep Lizzy entirely safe. She is an heiress now and will be a very wealthy woman in her own right.” She did not add soon.
“Her position will attract a certain level of attention. While the details of her inheritance are not common knowledge, her connections would suggest it is significant.” Even she does not know how significant.
“You cannot anticipate every possible situation. Phillip knew that. I know it. Lizzy knows it.”
Olivia almost pitied the man, but she hoped, at the least, to save him a good many arguments with her headstrong niece.
At best, she hoped to alleviate the guilt she knew he felt.
“You do what is reasonable to keep yourselves safe, and then you go on with your lives.” She smiled.
“You cannot wrap her in cotton and store her safely in the attics.”
He did offer a wan smile at that. “No matter how sorely I am tempted,” he joked.
“Oh, Lord.” Olivia tossed up her hands. “Can you imagine the hollering?”
He made an odd sound in his throat she could not quite call laughter. “I can.”
“Very well,” Olivia said. “Now, to my requests. First, I wish you to be married soon.” She gave him a beseeching look. “Very soon. John has a special license.”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “He said as much. He would not hand it over to me as he worried Elizabeth would not invite him to the wedding without it.”
Olivia scoffed. “Lizzy is nothing if not forgiving of those she loves. As soon as he apologizes, he will be back in her good graces. We shall simply have to tell him when to arrive.” She eyed him. “When would that be?”
“I would prefer to have my family here,” he explained, taken aback by her insistence, “but we must be sure it is safe for them to travel. If the need is pressing, and Elizabeth agrees, we can marry as soon as possible.”
“By the end of the week, perhaps?” she asked, suddenly feeling every inch a doddering old woman.
He gave her a solemn look. “I shall speak with Elizabeth.”
The light, airy notes from the pianoforte filled the silence between them—the contrasting scores played by each hand representing two people conversing happily, exchanging ideas, making plans. It was the perfect choice for an engaged couple.
Olivia swallowed. He is very accommodating. I would have liked something grander, but given the circumstances… “Thank you,” she said.
“Of course,” he replied, his own hands clasped, thumbs pressing together. “You mentioned a second request?”
She paused for a moment, listening to Lizzy finish the song, then to the silence as her girl chose another. When that song was Handel’s Yes, I’m in love, she risked a glance at the young man who sat next to her bed. He was smiling with both sides of his mouth now.
“She is telling us that we are taking too long,” Olivia said with a little laugh. “Very well, let us be brief.” She laid a hand on the young Mr. Darcy’s arm. “My second request is related to the first. Lizzy does not want to hear that I am dying, Fitzwilliam. But I am.”
He met her earnest entreaty with a somber “I understand.”
She gave him a sad smile. “You see it, do you not? You who have experienced so much loss.”
His expression was mournful, but he nodded.
“I want to attend Lizzy’s wedding. And I want her to be married to the man she loves when she grieves me. She will need you to support her through the loss the way you supported me.”
His forehead creased. “I only wrote you a letter,” he replied, bemused. “Mr. Russell was a fine man, and he was good to me. It was, truly, the least I could do, having missed his funeral.”
“You told me stories about him in that letter. Things he did for you.”
He nodded again. “But I do not have stories about you.”
She patted his knee. “I know. Let her tell them. Encourage her to tell them. She will begin to remember me as I was.” Olivia paused here, then said emphatically, “Otherwise she will try to make an angel of me and that will never do.” She released a small laugh.
“It will help her, and in the process, you will learn a great deal about your wife.”
He placed his hand over hers, warm and comforting, and the ache for Phillip was nearly unbearable. But she said none of that.
“I give you my word,” he said, his voice deep and low.
Olivia smiled at him. “Then we are done,” she told him. Exhausted and grateful, she sank back into her pillows just as the final chords stilled and drifted away.