Chapter 17
Darcy sat with two epistles in his hand as the coach swayed every time the wheels hit a bump or rut in the road. No matter how well-sprung it was, there was no way not to feel some of what the unevenness of the road caused.
Seeing that his mother had passed away when he was only twelve, he broke her seal reverently and very gently unfolded the pressed paper, which was somewhat yellowed after so many years.
He had never thought to see his mother’s handwriting again, unless it was in an old ledger where she had made a notation about the household expenses.
He remembered his mother’s paper always had a lavender fragrance; however, as much as he sniffed the paper in his hand for a trace of her scent, none remained after all the time which had passed.
He took a deep breath and allowed his eyes to focus on his mother’s writing.
William, my dearest son,
If you are reading this then you have reached your majority, and my suspicion that I would not survive the birth of the child who is making him or herself known to me with his or her kicks as I write this has been proved true.
My son, I hope you have accepted what I wrote to your father and not blamed my new son or daughter for what has befallen me.
William, do not forget it is God who decides how long each of us is allowed in the mortal world.
If He has decided to call me home to Him, then to blame your new brother or sister would be going against His will.
Of course, I would have preferred to remain alive to see you and Alexander or Georgiana (we chose the names for a son and daughter ahead of my lying in) grow up and take your places in the world. My desires will not change what He has determined for me.
First, let me tell you that if your Aunt Catherine attempts to browbeat you into engaging yourself to Anne de Bourgh, no matter what my sister says, it was never my desire and not once did I agree with her many entreaties to make a ‘cradle betrothal’ or to press your father to do so.
Catherine has always had problems with maths which is, I suppose, why she thought that with you being 3 years older than my namesake, you were in your cradles at the same time.
I was flattered that my sister named her daughter for me.
She thought that doing so would obligate me to acquiesce to her demands to engage the two of you.
In that, like so many (most) of her ideas and pronouncements, my sister was wrong.
Darcy was very thankful Anne was as sickly as she was, and not because he wished her ill.
It was for the reason that had she been healthy, he would have thought he was doing his duty to his mother to propose to and marry Anne.
His Aunt Catherine said it was a fact so often that he had eventually come to believe it to be true.
What else had his aunt been wrong about? He went back to the letter.
William, I love my sister, but I see her faults clearly.
I am afraid that you may have begun to adopt her ‘maintenance of the distinction of rank’ nonsense.
I know this may sound radical, but are we not all equal in His eyes?
I do not know if I will be alive to teach you that character is far more important than an accident of birth and inherited wealth.
That is why my wish for you is that you find a woman whom you can love and respect, and she does the same in return.
And, no, I do not mean only one of the first circles.
For my part, as long as she is the daughter of a gentleman, it will be enough.
What I do advise you is to not judge based on things which will not give you happiness or a good union.
Catherine is not only tone-deaf, but she is also uneducated. She always said that as the daughter of an earl she needed nothing beyond basic reading, writing, and sums. Your Uncle Reggie and I always believed that our sister was driven by indolence. She wanted the maximum gain for the least effort.
My prayer is that your father has helped you to understand that Catherine is not one to emulate in the way you see the world.
To his shame, as borne out by the way he had behaved in Hertfordshire and by the words of his proposal, Darcy had behaved far more like Aunt Catherine than anyone else.
He had tried to comfort himself that Miss Elizabeth’s reproofs were for the most part wrong.
Now, he saw they were all correct. He had been an unfeeling, arrogant horse’s arse.
Rather than push them to the side, Darcy realised that to become a better man, one of whom his mother would have been proud, he needed to address all of the reproofs and make the needed amendments to his character.
He was afraid his mother’s words would show him more ways he had erred, but he knew he must nevertheless read on.
I am only sorry that your father and I indulged you as a boy, which resulted in your being somewhat selfish. Had God allowed me to live on, I would have worked with your father to correct those faults in your character.
William, my dear son, do not misunderstand me.
There is much positivity in you, far more than what I have spoken of here.
Like your father, you will be the best of men who will care for all those who are dependent on you.
That being said, I would be remiss if I did not point out the things I see which need to be changed.
That, William, is what true love is. We love one another enough that we are willing to be honest with them. If I loved you any less, what type of man you will grow into would not be so much of a concern for me.
“Mr Darcy, do you want to refresh yourself?” Carstens, who had been riding with his master, asked. He saw the tears prick Mr Darcy’s eyes but had not, and would not, comment on them.
As he shook off his mother’s words, Darcy realised the coach had come to a halt.
They were at a coaching inn, and his valet was looking at him expectantly.
“I am well and will remain here. Carstens, go do what you need to do and make sure the coachman, postillion, footmen, and outriders all have what they need to drink and eat,” Darcy instructed.
The valet alighted and closed the door.
Determined to finish the letter from his mother, Darcy sat back against the squabs and lifted the pages.
Now I must address the distasteful subject of George Wickham.
I will attempt to open your father’s eyes regarding the boy, who is, in my mind, nothing short of evil.
I pray I will be successful. In case I am not, you must be very vigilant with him.
I get the feeling that the boy will not allow anything to get between him and that which he desires.
Before my lying in, I will speak to your father, and I will beg him to reevaluate all his support for young Wickham. I hope I will be able to influence your father in this matter.
Your father has another letter he will hand you on the day you marry. Until you read that one, these words will have to suffice. I agree; it is not enough, but it is all we have, my son.
The day I first held you was among the happiest of my life along with the day I wed your father, as will be the day I meet your brother or sister.
Never forget that I love you with all my heart. That love remains even if I am no longer in the mortal world.
Live a good life, William. With all my motherly love,
Mamma
Darcy felt some tears escape his eyes and roll down his cheeks. He cared not. He again thanked God for allowing him to find the letters. He wondered why Father never told him about the secret place in the wall.
It was then that Darcy remembered that his father’s death had been sudden and unexpected.
His late father had, in Darcy’s opinion, thought that he had more than enough time to tell his son about the letters.
At the same time, he thought about his arrogant and standoffish behaviour.
How much would that have been different had he discovered Mother’s letters soon after Father’s death?
That was unknown, so speculation gained him nothing.
He realised he needed to refresh himself. Hence, Darcy slipped his mother’s missive along with his father’s unread one into his inside jacket pocket. He alighted and entered the inn.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
For about a half hour after they departed the coaching inn, Darcy was deep in contemplation.
He allowed his mother’s words to wash over him and wondered, if he had become the man she had believed him to have the potential of becoming, would Miss Elizabeth have still rejected him?
As he could not change his past actions, Darcy told himself such thoughts were unproductive.
All he could do now was to strive to be the kind of man of whom his mother would be proud.
Feeling ready, Darcy extracted his father’s epistle from his pocket. He broke the Darcy seal, the same one which was now his to use. He looked at his signet ring with the indented ‘D’ and some laurel around it. Seeing it reminded him that he had used it to seal the missive to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
He had to accept that even with her vituperative rejection of his proposal, she was never far from his thoughts. Now it was time to concentrate on his father’s writing.
25 March 1803
William,
My son,
I will hand you this letter after your tour (such as it is with the war on) because, like you, it is sometimes easier and better to put my thoughts in writing rather than try to verbalise them.
You and I are not the only Darcy men to have that particular problem. My father and grandfather were very similar insofar as they also preferred writing to speaking their thoughts.