Georgiana’s frightened gaze fell to the floor, after first darting a pleading look to Richard. “Mrs Annesley was not feeling well, Aunt,” she whispered. “The footman, O’Donnell, was called to assist her to her room.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Fitzwilliam, you must invite Anne to have her share in these conversations with your ward. Anne will, naturally, assume the guidance of Georgiana while you are away. While we are on the subject, I see no reason that two ladies’ companions ought to remain at Pemberley. One should do, for two seem only to stumble over one another. If you ask me, Mrs Annesley’s behaviour is by no means properly deferential, and she ought to be dismissed.”
Georgiana’s face bled to a pasty white as she raised horrified eyes once more to Richard. Her mouth opened and closed helplessly, too terrified to form an objection, but likewise too alarmed to allow the comment to pass.
“I think that would be premature, Aunt,” Richard interjected quickly. “I—that is to say, my mother has written to request Georgiana’s company in London when my father embarks upon a business tour he has planned. I had intended to escort her there—as well as Mrs Annesley, if she is better—when I come away tomorrow.”
Lady Catherine’s frosty brow hitched a fraction higher. “I had no word of this. I wonder that the Countess has not mentioned it to me.”
“I believe it was only a recent inspiration, Aunt. Father’s business came up rather suddenly, and she believes Georgiana’s company would be most welcome to her just now.” He chewed his inner lip nervously, hoping to avoid further questions on the subject.
She held him frozen in place another moment, pondering this new development. “Very well. We shall all adjourn to Darcy house. I shall send to have my trunks packed at once.”
Richard could feel Georgiana stiffening beside him. “No!” he reacted—a little too quickly. “Er… that is most kind of you, Aunt Catherine, but ought not Anne to retire to Kent? The Derbyshire winters are long and harsh for one of her constitution, and I fear that the London air would also not be agreeable to her health. With your blessing, Georgiana may ease my mother’s solitude while Father and I are away, and then… well, perhaps we shall return to Pemberley in time for the spring planting.”
The Lady’s mouth pursed carefully. “I applaud your care for Anne, Fitzwilliam. You are far more chivalrous than was your cousin! Very well, we shall return to Rosings as soon as the weather warms enough for Anne to travel. We shall plan to return directly after Eastertide to finalise arrangements for your marriage. Fitzwilliam, you shall find Anne in the Rose drawing room. She will wish to hear of your plans as soon as may be.”
She turned to go, after pointedly thrusting the nearly forgotten journal into his hands. He swallowed and cast a wide-eyed look of relief to Georgiana, but there was no time to rejoice, for Lady Catherine turned immediately back. “Fitzwilliam! While you are in London, be sure to see to the resignation of your commission. I expected that to have been done long ago! And you may as well purchase a license so that Anne may be spared the inconvenience of solemnising her marriage in Kent. Collins is a docile and serviceable rector, but by no means fashionable enough to preside over Anne’s wedding. I shall send word to the rector at St James’s.”
Richard coughed, tried to speak, and found himself unable. He coughed again, but managed a polite nod, tapping his chest all the while to signal his regret at his sudden indisposition. Lady Catherine apparently decided to accept his apologies, for she lifted her chin and withdrew.
“Richard!” Georgiana whispered in awe. “She is more horrifying than I ever knew!”
He exhaled—a growling, exasperated noise, and sank into the sofa. “She was being polite today.”
Georgiana shook her head, gazing after their departed aunt. “How did my brother ever bear it? As hard as she pressures you, Richard, she tried him as well, I am certain, and for many years!”
He shrugged. “Darcy always had an air about him which I never could understand, and never shall be able to adopt myself. She would attempt to rule him, but he never gave way.”
“I think he was the only person ever to defy her—well, save for your parents, for they are her equals.” Georgiana huddled her shoulders tensely, folding her hands into her lap as though their aunt’s wishes had been a strong gale, leaving her chilled by its passage.
Richard narrowed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “There was another, once.”
“And how did he manage? Perhaps if you cannot affect Fitzwilliam’s demeanour, you may apply this other’s strategy.”
“Oh! I think that should be more impossible for me than the first option. And it was not a ‘he,’ but a young lady of impertinent manners. She was able to laugh at our aunt’s rudeness and let the insults fall as water from a duck’s back. It was glorious, and I shall never again see the like! No, I do not think that I could attempt it myself.”
Georgiana sagged in disappointment. “So, we have no choice but for me to leave Pemberley for now?”
“I thought that was your desire.”
“No—well, I suppose. I do not wish to go back to London, but if I do, perhaps our aunt will leave Pemberley in peace. I may then hope that another return from Kent would be too great an undertaking for her, may I not?”
He snorted. “Do not depend upon it, but you are correct that it may bring everyone some respite. We leave in the morning, dearest, so ask your maids to be sure that your warmest things are packed. I do not know Mother’s plans, I hope she has no pressing engagements we shall disrupt with our arrival.”
“And where do you go, Richard? Is it army business, is that why you will not tell me?”
His brow creased and his frown deepened. “Not precisely. It is a rather personal matter.”
“Oh.” Chastised, she cast her eyes down to her folded hands.
“I did not mean that you may not ask, Georgie. It is no state secret! Only that I dare not reveal my errand until I have something to reveal. I will happily inform you once my questions are answered. I am sorry I cannot say more, but that will have to do for now.”
She sniffed a little, then nodded. “Yes, Richard.”
“Good girl.” He smiled, then chucked her chin, as he had used to do when they were much younger. “Then it is back to London with us.”
12
Porto, Portugal
Maria Amália Vasconcelos had long been in the habit of waking early. Every morning since she had left the nursery behind, she had risen promptly from her bed, pulled a silken robe about her body, and spent long spells leaning out over the balcony of her home, mesmerised by the diamond flecks on the massive Douro river. It was not the sea, as she wished, but if she closed her eyes, she could imagine that it was.
There was a thrilling power and a calming peace there—both life-giving sustenance and the awesome capacity to destroy, simmering together under the hand of the wise Almighty. She clasped her garment tightly round herself, relishing the feel of the rising sun on her shoulders and the cool breeze drifting through her unfettered hair.
She had always preferred the out-of-doors to the confines of her station. In her days of maidenhood, she had been fond of long walks in her father’s modest pleasure garden, or down to the walks along the river. Many a gloved hand in social circles had concealed whispered disapproval of her independent habits, but even her father’s mild censure had not checked her. Perhaps she had been spoiled, but her delights had been her own, sacred from any interference, until—
“Darling! There you are, my precious.”
She could not repress a sigh, but she did so before turning away from her view. “Miguel,” she smiled. “Good morning, my husband.”
He drew near, holding out a hand for her to accept. “You grow lovelier each morning, my flower.”
She took his hand, her breath coiled tightly within her breast. When had she ever granted Miguel the privilege of using that endearment? The glittering spark cast
by the adorned hand he clasped drew her eye, even as she groused inwardly over his presumption. Apparently, Miguel considered that marriage had accorded him privilege enough to call her what he liked.
He bowed low over her hand now, kissing her fingers as a bold lover who still wooed his lady. “I have been concerned for you, my dear,” he crooned. “You have been too often unwell of late.”
She lifted her shoulders airily. “It is nothing of any concern. I am only fatigued by the evenings, and my head pains me.”
He tilted a half-smiling gaze down to her. “Is that all it is, my dear? I had feared that you were discontented. As a matter of fact, I have set aside the whole of the day to spend with you, for your happiness is near to my heart.”
Her mechanical smile fell. “Oh! Forgive me, Miguel, but I had promised to pay a few calls this morning with your step-mother.”
“Surely that may be postponed. Can you not make other arrangements so that I may enjoy my wife this day?”
She slipped her hand from his. “I am afraid not, my husband. As your father has reminded me, I bear a most important role now as his daughter-in-law. It would be bad form, indeed, should I beg off my scheduled appointments. Think how poorly it might reflect on your madrasta!”
He lifted his hands, tipping his head in acquiescence. “You are quite right, my dear. Pay your calls to the society ladies, and then I shall claim you for the whole of the afternoon.” He leaned close to nuzzle a kiss to her cheek, then down to her neck.
Amália stiffened reflexively, even as she attempted to receive his advances without shuddering. What is it about Miguel…? “Did Ruy not intend to take tea with us this afternoon?” she added quickly. “I thought you had all manner of questions for him about matters at the royal court in Brasil.”
He drew back, his lips tight and his smile forced. “You tempt me so, my dear, that I had nearly forgotten. Yes, of course. Pray, do not tire yourself overmuch today. I have seen far too little of you, and I do intend to keep you to myself this evening.”
Her stomach clenched. You cannot put him off forever, she scolded herself. After all, the man was her husband, and she was bound to him for life. Perhaps a little friendliness was not out of line. She lifted a cheerful smile to him. “And what shall you do with yourself this morning while I am out?”
“I believe my father had some business here at the house. Perhaps I shall attend him.”
“Then I shall see you at tea with Ruy. And now, if you will pardon me, I think I must begin my toilette if I am to dress properly for my outing.”
He stepped back a pace, relenting. “You are breathtaking as you are, my flower, but by all means, conceal your beauty beneath more modest attire, for I am jealous that none but myself might admire your full loveliness.”
“You pay your compliments a little too artfully, my husband,” she blushed uncomfortably.
“Do you not deserve them?” He raised her hand to kiss once more, lingering cloyingly over her fingers. “Please do not delay too long in returning to me, for I fear I cannot breathe when you are not near.”
She arched a brow, helpless to resist at least one dry comment. “My visiting mornings are always of the same duration. I trust you will take care not to expire while I am out.”
“Naturally.” He smiled thinly, leaned near to place one more intimate kiss under the edge of her jaw, then retreated from the balcony. Amália turned to face the river once more, her white fingers gripping the railing of the portico. She rebuffed him more often than not, but he had clearly been growing less and less patient with her excuses. He desired a son—or rather his father desired an heir—and it was her duty to provide one.
~
Must not think of her. Must not!
Darcy was no longer permitted the freedom of movement about his chamber. He bore a shackle now about his leg, allowing only a step or two in either direction from his cot. What this restraint caused him to suffer physically—a limitation on his activity and some necessary concessions regarding his sanitary preferences—was nothing to the agitation it caused his mind.
For so many years he had been master of his own person, his affairs, and nearly every other with whom he had contact, that it had become a habit of course to assume his liberty could never be snatched away. Oh, there had been times when he had railed internally against the restrictions of Society; the demands of his station, and the duties he owed his family. So many days he had felt trapped, when his own desires had been at odds with the honour of his situation in life.
What he would give now to laugh at that artificial prison, defying its invisible walls by acting on his heart! Given another opportunity to visit Hertfordshire for the first time, he would have danced every dance at the Assembly with Elizabeth Bennet or one of her silly sisters, just to please her. He would have smiled and talked nonsense with everyone about, exerting all his charm for her family—without fear of the gossips, because the prize he sought merited every personal exposure and petty indulgence. He would have called at Longbourn the very next morning, and every morning after that, until at last he had either won her or driven her to send him away as a nuisance. If he had only known how the cool reserve he had once thought perfectly sensible would set into motion such a chain of misery for him!
Scowling, he kicked his shackled foot in frustration, but not so hard that he could bruise his leg further. Such a presumptuous ass he had been! Yet with each biting regret came the sweet knowledge that love had taught him grace, and grace had made him—at least for a time—a better man. Oh, yes, even without Elizabeth’s hand, he might have lived out his bitterly opulent existence, knowing that somewhere in the world there was one whose pleasure was dearer to him than his own—even more precious than Georgiana’s happiness….
No! He pounded his brow with a fist. It was permissible to think on Elizabeth, whose family and circumstances were safe from his own danger, but he must not allow his mind to wander to Georgie. Her very security in the wake of his presumed death placed her squarely within the wolf’s teeth, and he was but a man, as vulnerable as any to the torments of his captors. Thus far he had remained mute to their questions, but one day his body or his courage would break, and he would tell them how to find her vulnerable. His only hope was to willfully banish Georgie from his mind, to forget Pemberley and all that he was. If he could only flood his mind so thoroughly with other thoughts, perhaps what he cried out in his moments of desperation might not jeopardise his family!
The door to his chamber rattled. Cell—call it what it is! Darcy’s brow and chest burned in a cold sweat, conditioned now by terror. He lifted his head, unconsciously flashing a look of helpless appeal that, in former days, he would have found permissible only in the most deeply afflicted of persons.
The same man—Pereira—entered the room, flanked by four others. Two were his assistants, little more than cruel muscle. A third was a young dandy whose face was new to him, and the fourth was Vasconcelos himself.
“Senhor Darcy,” Vasconcelos bowed, a mocking half-smile twisting his face. “I hope your sleep has improved your memory.”
A number of salty retorts came to Darcy’s mind, but he merely shifted silently back on his cot, his eyes on the coarse bag dangling from one man’s hand. His heart began to pound.
Vasconcelos seemed perversely satisfied at Darcy’s symptoms of fear, despite the civil speech that followed. “Senhor, this need not continue so. I am a reasonable man, as are you. You force me to order such vile measures by your refusal to cooperate.”
He shook his head like a simpleton, his breath already coming in short little gasps. “No reasonable man would stoop as you have done!”
“I ask only for information, Senhor. Come, tell me what I must know, and once I have what I need, you will be free to go. Think how happy Senhorita Darcy will be to see you returned from the grave!”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, even as his gaze drifted to some neutral point on the ground. Georgie…. No! His f
rame snapped taut with resolve. “I know nothing!” he cried heatedly. “Anything you extract from me would be sheer falsehood on my part, availing you nothing! Why do you persist in asking the same each day?”
Vasconcelos shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Wealthy men do have so many secrets, and are often loath to give them up. I did remind you that I would release you after I have my deed, though I do appreciate your delicacy in warning me of potential falsehoods. Such might cost us both a deal more time and trouble. Come, Senhor, surely a man as well acquainted with his family history and estate as you ought to know each sheaf of paper and every private cache in the whole of his domain. Certainly, you would prefer to remember it on your own than for Senhorita Darcy to be compelled to find it.”
A rush of courage boiled to the surface, and Darcy stood at last, bracing his fists. “You have no power over her! She is too well defended. You may have found me in a moment of isolation, but her guardian will refuse to leave her side!”
“Ah, yes, the good Colonel. My son Miguel knows him by reputation; do you not?” He turned a derisive chuckle toward the younger man, then looked back to Darcy. “Is it so impossible, Senhor, that one you trusted might betray you?”
Darcy narrowed his eyes in disgust. “Say what you will, I shall not doubt my cousin’s fidelity.”
“No? So few of us can claim loyal companions when such ready wealth and power are at hand. The last word I had from my contact avers that the faithful colonel is expected soon to marry his ward, granting him independence at last. What hardships are the lot of second sons! Happy indeed is the man upon whom Fortune smiles.”
Darcy’s breath came ragged now in horror. “How dare you accuse any of my relations of treachery! You, who masquerade in your fine clothing then descend here to torture and abuse at your pleasure, you have no right to cast such abominations at the feet of true gentility!”
These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 17