Insults (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Prologue

Pemberley, Derbyshire

Mrs. Reynolds

Mrs. Reynolds paused at the entrance to the nursery. Her trembling hand grazed her cheek, brushing away the traces of sorrow that threatened to betray her emotions. The last thing she wished was for her young master, Fitzwilliam, to discern everything from her tears.

Mrs. Darcy will tell him everything. She was so adamant about it. I must take my time and compose myself.

Therein lay the quandary. Time was not on their side. Mr. Ashton, the apothecary, had given them four and twenty hours at most. Mrs. Darcy was so weak that the chances of her surviving those hours were exceedingly slim.

Mrs. Reynolds had witnessed countless deaths in her life of five and forty years, both within her own family and in the household of Pemberley, where she commenced her service as a humble maid at the age of thirteen.

She can recognize the moment when all hope fades away, leaving behind only despair. This was such a moment.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened the door to the nursery and walked into the familiar sight of a ten-month-old Miss Georgiana sleeping with her face pressed against Master Fitzwilliam's chest.

Oh, how dearly Mrs. Darcy would have cherished this sight? Poor Mrs. Darcy.

Master Fitzwilliam

Ten months past, on the day his sister came into this world, young Fitzwilliam Darcy vowed to himself that he would no longer shed tears in his lifetime. He had become an elder brother and aspired to be a true gentleman. A gentleman, he believed, should not indulge in tears.

Now thirteen, he was going through a mighty struggle to uphold his promise. His mother was taken ill on the very day he made that pledge. She was moved to the sick chamber, where she remains even now. Acutely aware of his mother's deteriorating condition, he struggled to restrain his tears.

She is always asleep. Oh, how I long for her to speak to me.

Raising his eyes, he saw Mrs. Reynolds entering, her tear-streaked countenance revealing recent distress.

“Your mother wishes to speak with you, Master Fitzwilliam. I shall take care of the young miss,” she said.

The moment he handed over Georgiana, Fitzwilliam hastened out of the door and into his mother's sick chamber.

Mrs. Anne Darcy

Mrs. Anne Darcy needed just one glance to realize that her stubborn son was making a tremendous effort to hold back tears.

Ah, Darcy men and their pride. Who first uttered the nonsense that a gentleman shouldn't cry? You are still a boy, son. You can cry in front of me.

"Fitzwilliam, do not stand there. Come and sit near me," she beckoned. He complied silently.

"Do you know why I wished to speak with you, son?" she inquired. He shook his head to indicate no.

"Has anyone informed you of my condition, dear?" she asked further, only to receive the same response in return.

"So, this is how it shall be. You shall employ gestures to respond to me. You shall not speak with your mother," she arched her eyebrows.

"No, Mother. I wish to speak to you. I have not had the opportunity to do so for the past week," came his abrupt reply. She distinctly heard his voice breaking at the end.

God! This is going to be difficult. Pray help me through this.

“Son, I can see from your expression that you understand the severity of my ailment,” she raised her hand to forestall his reply, “no, there's no need for words. Allow me to speak to you. Mr. Ashton has informed your father that I will never recover. I have days, no, not even days, only hours remaining. And I have many matters to discuss with you. I entreat you to listen most attentively.”

He nodded, still fighting to keep his tears from falling.

“I wish to discuss all of us - you, Georgiana, and your father.

Allow me to begin with your father. I am anxious about him, son.

I am genuinely, deeply concerned. You may have observed his struggles since my ailment took hold.

Son, Darcy men, such as yourself, are special.

You have all been blessed with an immense capacity for love.

Your love is for life. Unfortunately, for your father, it could turn out to be a curse, rather than a blessing.

His love for me is so profound that I dread he shall endure great hardship once I depart.

I fear he shall spend his remaining days yearning for me, mourning my loss.

I am terrified of leaving him in such a state.

Son, you must know this now. You will see a different father henceforth.

He shall require your aid, a great deal of it.

Strive to remain by his side as much as possible.

Engage with him, assist him with estate matters, accompany him when he visits his tenants.

You will learn much from him, for he is an excellent master.

Also, make sure that he spends time with your sister.

Georgiana will never know her mother. She will not even remember me.

Ensure that she experiences a father's love in her life.

Look after them for me, son. Devote all your love to them.

Remember, Darcy men carry within them an ocean of love. You are free to bestow it generously.

On Georgiana, I know she will be loved and cherished.

Mrs. Reynolds informed me that it is you who attends to her needs more than her nursemaid.

I find solace in knowing that you have someone, besides your father, to shower your abundant love upon.

Georgiana will serve as your steadfast companion, your anchor, until the day of her marriage.

I can envision her blossoming into a cherished woman, leaving an indelible impression wherever she goes.

I am also aware that she will attract attention from both virtuous and unscrupulous individuals.

Such is the affliction every Darcy faces in their life.

Yet, I hold steadfast faith in you, Fitzwilliam.

You will safeguard her. You will ensure no harm befalls her.

I trust that divine providence will ever be at hand to shield my children from perils.

You and your sister shall lead a beautiful life, Fitzwilliam.

I am certain of it. Just do this for me, son.

There will be a day when Georgiana grows up enough to ask about her mother.

Tell her about me. Tell her everything you know.

Both the good and the bad. And tell her that I loved her with every beat of my heart. ”

She paused, struggling to catch her breath. The effort required for speech became increasingly arduous. Yet, she knew she had to speak now. She may not receive another opportunity.

“I wish to speak of you, but prior to that, I must discuss another. Someone whom I cherish like no other - your Aunt Catherine.”

She smiled at the surprised expression on her son’s face. Catherine would be the last person he might have anticipated her to mention at this particular moment.

“I am aware of how you, and everyone within our family, perceives your aunt.

I don't expect anyone in the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families to hold amicable feelings towards Catherine any longer.

Even I struggle to understand the Catherine we now witness.

She is not the sister I grew up with anymore.

She has become a completely different person.

That is the crux of the matter, Fitzwilliam.

The aunt you presently behold is not truly her.

She has changed. The sister I grew up with was a different person.

She was kind and affectionate. A touch obstinate at times, and occasionally hard to understand, but she was still considerate.

I spent some of the best years of my life with her.

Everything changed after her marriage. There was opposition from the De Bourgh family.

Your uncle's grandfather desired his grandson to wed another, a French heiress.

Even after their marriage, your uncle's family sought to undermine her.

They claimed that she wasn't fit for Rosings.

Her incapacity to conceive a child during the initial two years was another point of contention.

They asserted she would never bear a child.

Your uncle, although good-hearted, lacked the fortitude to protect her.

I am acquainted with all of this. She used to correspond with me about her hardships then, something she no longer does.

Then Anne was conceived. I still remember Catherine's letter telling me about the change in her condition. All I could read in that letter was her relief, son, not her joy. She had suffered much from her husband's family.

Your uncle did not survive to see Anne. Rosings came under your aunt's care, at least until Anne attains her majority.

It was then that she began to change. I believe she realized the extent of power she was suddenly blessed with.

The stubborn, fighting streak in her raised its ugly head.

All the pain, all the humiliations she had endured hardened her heart to such an extent that she is no longer the loving, considerate person she used to be.

I believe she is afraid, son. That is the reality.

She is afraid of being vulnerable again, and she dreads being influenced by others. All she yearns for now is control.