Chapter 22
Richard slowed his horse to a trot as he neared Pemberley to allow the animal to cool a little, and he observed the house with a slight frown as he approached.
Early February — his cousin had been married for two months and there had been barely a letter, just one short, uninformative note in reply to Richard’s warning that his mother would be coming to Pemberley if they did not hear from his cousin.
Fitzwilliam.
I am well. No visitors.
FD
Richard had sniggered, knowing his mother would be incensed. And she had been, although she had also known that Darcy would be quite capable of turning her away, given the way Richard had described his cousin’s temper.
But she had made the decision that they would all decamp to Matlock and open Hayden Hall, despite the season still being busy. Matlock was merely ten miles from Pemberley and they would be closer in case of need.
Georgiana was, of course, hopeful she would be able to move back to be with her brother.
Richard had sat with her and explained again, as gently as possible, that her brother was rather altered by his injury, and that it would take some months to resolve.
Then of course he would permit her to return home.
She naturally had many questions about her new sister, and Richard had done his best to describe her so that Georgiana understood the lack of communication from her, and that no offence would be taken from it, and she was an estimable woman.
A groom arrived from the stable, and touched his cap. He smiled at the horse. “Well, well, Warrior, ’tis good to see you back at Pemberley.” Then the man grinned up at him. “I’ll take good care o’ him, sir.”
Richard swung down from the saddle, patted the horse and climbed the steps to the front door. He frowned; the knocker was down. Shaking his head, he tapped the door with his cane. He would not be turned away.
“Morning, Mr Payne.” He grinned at the butler’s air of relief. “I imagine you haven’t been instructed to turn me away?”
“No, sir.” The man nodded at a footman, who took Richard’s greatcoat, hat, gloves and cane.
“This way, please, Colonel.” Mr Payne led him to Darcy’s study where he knocked and waited.
Richard raised a brow; Darcy would never have made Payne wait after knocking before …
this. And, thinking of it, the atmosphere of the whole house was tense, quiet, and …
careful. Carefully quiet, carefully cautious.
On tenterhooks would be another good way to describe it.
And uncomfortable. Perhaps Darcy was not improved, and Richard’s lips tightened at the thought.
“Enter.” The voice was muffled, and the butler opened the door.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”
Darcy was standing by the window, half-turned towards Richard, who took in the room with a glance.
The fire was high, and the room over-warm. The desk was untidy, with scattered papers — and that, more than anything, told Richard that Darcy was still struggling.
“Cousin.” Darcy’s voice was tightly controlled.
“Darce.” Richard crossed the room to stand beside the man he thought of as a brother. “I am only here for a few hours, then I will return to Matlock. Mother and Father have opened the Hall.”
His cousin relaxed slightly, although he was still holding himself stiffly, his expressionless mask firmly fixed in place. Dark shadows beneath his eyes, and fatigue in every line on his face told their own story.
“Tough times, eh?” Richard kept his voice quiet. “Shall I order coffee?”
At his cousin’s nod, Richard left the room and crossed to the drawing room. He spoke to the nearest footman. “Coffee and refreshments, please.” He was surprised Mrs Darcy had not arranged it; and he sighed. He would have to attempt to speak to her.
He sat down in the cavernous, formal room, and relaxed back in the chair.
A few minutes later, there was a rustle of fabric and he rose to his feet as the former Miss Elizabeth Bennet slipped into the room with a curtsy.
“Good day, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I have just been informed of your arrival, and have ordered a room be prepared.”
Richard had risen as she entered, and bowed. “Mrs Darcy. I thank you for your welcome, but I am only here for a short while and will return to my parents’ estate before dinner.” He hesitated. “How are you settling in here?”
“I thank you,” she sounded formally polite. “I am well.”
He smiled and nodded. Propriety would allow nothing else. But he could not believe her. She was thinner, quiet, and an air of sadness hung around her, as ill-fitting now as the gown which had suited her better at Longbourn when he had seen her wearing it there.
He frowned. Why was she not in a new gown, one made of warmer fabrics for this northern winter? Mrs Darcy ought not to be in simple cotton and muslin dresses, especially in such chill weather.
He glanced at the door, wondering where the refreshments were.
She smiled wryly. “I think the refreshments have been taken to Mr Darcy’s study, Colonel.
He partakes in there, where you may join him.
The coach is waiting to take me out to visit some of the tenants, so I need to bid you farewell. ” She curtsied, and took her leave.
Richard stood and watched her as she moved down the corridor, and ran his hand through his hair abstractedly. Things were very far from right at Pemberley.
Richard made quiet conversation on peaceable topics during their refreshments, and allowed silence to be part of their time together. When he thought his cousin restless, he changed the tone of their meeting.
“Might we walk a little on the terrace, Darce? I have some news of a man who needs to be dealt with.”
His cousin scowled, but heaved himself to his feet and rang the bell. When the butler answered, Darcy brusquely ordered their greatcoats without a nod or a smile.
Richard hid a grimace. He hoped the staff understood that this was a result of Darcy’s injury and not their master disdaining them as servants.
Perhaps he might have the opportunity of a few words in private with Mr Maunder.
The valet had been a dedicated servant and Richard had come to know him better at Netherfield.
He walked slowly beside Darcy along the terrace, his cousin slightly bent and holding himself stiffly.
“Ribs still paining you, William?”
“Nothing I cannot deal with.”
At that, it was Richard who winced a little. If Darcy would not be helped, he was likely to lose all his acquaintance and many of his friends. But he was here to talk of Wickham, and he must do so.
“I have a lead of where Wickham has gone, knowing London is now too dangerous for him, and where the militia is not likely to look for a deserter.”
Darcy was still staring at the ground a few feet ahead of him as they walked, but he grunted at the news.
“Before I go further, I need to ask you if you are in agreement with my plans.” Richard would have to be very blunt.
“If I report him to the militia, he will be arrested for desertion. He will be court-martialled, and it is likely that he will be flogged and returned to duty rather than hanged. They are too short of men to hang them at present.” He took a deep breath.
“He will still be here, still be at risk of maligning your name and that of Georgiana and even possibly Mrs Darcy.”
Darcy stopped. “Why her?”
“She bears the name Darcy and she prevented him managing to kill you or injure you more gravely than you were.” Richard rolled his eyes.
“Another option is to have him arrested for the attack on you, but that would result in a court case and you and your wife would have to give evidence as well as listen to his lies as he attempts to escape the death penalty.”
Darcy grimaced. At least there was some reaction; Richard had expected more. But he ploughed on.
“The idea I prefer is that of impressment. One of my friends is first lieutenant on a two-decker about to head out to deal with the Spanish privateers. It is a dangerous task and he half-expects not to return. If, by some luck, they do return, he will ensure Wickham is transferred elsewhere. Meantime, he will receive the extended harsh justice of the lower deck for what he did to you.”
He observed Darcy’s expression. Although he kept his impassive look, Richard knew him well enough to see the relief.
“I agree that is the best option.”
Richard took a deep breath. “Then I will go south tomorrow, arrange a press gang and see it done.”
When they returned to the house and entered Darcy’s study again, Richard saw a light luncheon laid out at the table by the window. He raised his brows. “Do you always eat in here, Cousin?”
“Yes.” Darcy nodded, unsmiling.
Richard must speak to him about that, but first he must speak about Georgiana. Perhaps after they had eaten, he thought; he must allow the mood to soften after the Wickham conversation.
They ate mostly in silence, Richard only raising a light topic if he thought his cousin was becoming morose.
Afterwards, they sat in the deep leather chairs either side of the fire and Richard felt he could safely raise the issue.
“Georgiana is happy with Mother, of course, and I think she is content to have left London.”
Darcy made a sound of agreement, but no other response, and his cousin swallowed his annoyance. “But Hayden Hall is not far away, and she was dismayed at not being able to call with me today. She misses you.”
“No.” Darcy snapped. “Not yet. You must explain to her why.”
“And why not, Darce? Why not? You need not see her for more than a few minutes, and it would be a chance for her to meet Mrs Darcy — her new sister — and they could begin to become friends.”
“I said no!”
There was a moment’s silence, before he spoke again. “She is better with your mother.”
Richard tried again. “Perhaps I could escort Mrs Darcy with her companion to Hayden Hall to call on my mother and Georgiana?”
“I said no!” Darcy began to look angry and Richard knew there would be no changing his mind.
“Very well.” He sat back and sipped his coffee, wondering where his cousin was beneath this very different man. Was he protecting Georgiana from himself; was he embarrassed at his wife; or was he just afraid of his sister seeing him like this?
There was utter silence for ten minutes together before Darcy sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “I apologise for my temper, Richard.”
“Forgiven — if you will do something for me.”
His cousin’s sigh was heavy. “Why do I think you have something more onerous for me?”
“It is Mrs Darcy. If you have no visitors, and you dine in here, she must be lonely. Is her companion a good woman?”
Darcy shrugged. “I do not know if she has hired anyone. If so, it is down to her.”
Richard stared at him. “You would have been asked to meet someone being employed to such a position, would you not?”
“I suppose so.”
Richard rose to his feet to ring the bell. When the butler appeared, he asked the man to send for the housekeeper and then was bemused when it was not Mrs Reynolds who appeared. But that was a problem for later.
“Mrs Kerr. Does Mrs Darcy have a companion?”
The woman looked a little startled, and glanced at Mr Darcy. “No, sir.”
Richard pushed back his reaction, and nodded his dismissal at the woman before taking his seat again.
He glanced at Darcy, who at least had the grace to look somewhat discomfited.
I think I begin to understand. Richard stared into the fire, studiously keeping his gaze from his cousin.
He is not indifferent, or deliberately cruel.
He is avoiding what must be done, avoiding facing the memories of his mortification.
He believes self-isolation is the only way he will retain control.
He leaned back and crossed his legs before looking over at his cousin.
“I believe you really must begin to meet with Mrs Darcy. Just over a meal where you may be mostly silent would be a beginning.” He waited, but there was no response.
“Darcy, you are here at the home you were born in. Everything is familiar, safe. You are served by staff whom you have known for many years, some for your whole life.”
This time there was a quiet grunt of agreement.
“Mrs Darcy has no one. She was brought here with not one person she knew apart from you. Good God! She did not even have a maid with her.” Richard leaned forward.
“You and I, we both owe her our gratitude, Darce. If she had not intervened, Wickham might have killed you, or left you with much more severe injuries. She suffered the scandal and agreed to wed to save her sisters. She is not mercenary — she is still wearing gowns from Longbourn!” He shuddered, and rose to his feet.
Standing by his cousin’s chair, he laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Dine with her in the evenings, Darcy. Try to offer her some company, even if silent. You have a marriage to build, and it cannot be left much longer. A habit can harden into permanence if left too long, and neither of you deserve that.”
“Very well. You have made your point, Richard!” Darcy rose away from his cousin’s hand and crossed to the window.
He would not get much comfort from the grey clouds and winter mood, Richard thought absently.
“You ought to return to Matlock before dark.” Darcy’s voice was flat. Cold. He was offended, Richard knew.
As he trotted away from the house, shivering even under his warm greatcoat, he hoped dining together might be a good start. But Darcy was hardly in a good mood about it. He hoped the olive branch would not fail through Darcy’s fear of meeting his wife and having a brief conversation.
How would Mrs Darcy feel about the change in routine? I hope she will be well. She seems a rational sort of woman; but I hope he doesn’t frighten her.