These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  Gardiner laughed. “And that is why I came to see you, old friend. I find I have need of your expertise for my new ventures. May we step into your office?”

  As the two men threaded their way to the little clerical rooms at the side of the building, Darcy began to force his way to the main exit. By the time he emerged once more to fresh air, black spots were dancing before his vision and a trickle of sweat wove between his shoulder blades. He leaned against the outer wall, pressing himself weakly against the cold brick of the brokerage house.

  Betrayed by such a friend! He had not thought himself capable of misjudging another so badly! Whom else must he now doubt, if even Edward Gardiner had seen fit to profit by his dispatch? The heat of anger seared his cheeks, rage tinting his vision as he glared blankly out upon the street. How many others had stood to gain substantially, with him out of the way?

  Mentally, he rambled through a list of all those who might hold something against him. Wickham? It was hard to extort money from a “dead” man, but not from his bereaved sister. Wickham would have known, however, that Georgiana would be guarded all the more vigilantly by… his nostrils curled with a sharp intake of breath. Richard.

  He lurched from the wall, marching with purpose toward the street. He must get as far from London as possible to think! And then… and then, he knew not what.

  A passing cab, thinking he meant to hail it, stopped along the curb. “Where to, suhr?”

  Darcy wheeled to a stop, staring into the darkened portal of the cab through the little window. The horse shifted its feet, rocking the cab faintly. Just like the rolling, black hold of that first ship. He heard the driver ask a direction of him again, but his mind only saw the black, stifling interior of the public carriage. His breath came quick and uneven, and he felt his body stepping defensively away.

  “Suhr?” asked the driver again.

  He was shaking his head, his brows jerking in vehement rejection of the man’s services. “No! No, I intend to walk.”

  The driver had shifted from his seat to open the door, but he returned to his normal posture and shrugged. “Suit ye’self, suhr.”

  “Wait!” Darcy cried as the wheels began to creak away. “Where might I hire a saddle horse?”

  The driver paused and stared at him, shifting his tongue pensively over his teeth. He held out a hand. Darcy sighed and fished a coin from the purse.

  The driver seemed pleased. “Fer this, suhr, I’ll take ye there me’self.”

  “I shall walk,” Darcy repeated. “Just the direction, please.”

  The driver pointed with his whip. “Three blocks down, to the left, fifth stall. Ask for Ralph, an’ tell ‘im Jerry sent ye.”

  “Much obliged.” Darcy put his fingers to his hat brim and all but ran in the direction indicated. The sooner he fled London, the better—and the sooner he might find the one or two people he did trust. Each click of his heels on paving stones seemed to sound out the musical syllables of the one word crowding his mind. Elizabeth.

  27

  Near Lisbon, Portugal

  Richard was trying to look out the carriage window, but failing. He had hired a light gig—all that he could find anonymously and on a short notice—and therefore, the other occupant of the carriage rode at his side rather than facing opposite. He kept his head steadily forward, but his eyes drifted to a point just off his shoulder. This time, she happened to be looking back, her golden eyes dark now with unspoken feeling.

  He stiffened, and she turned away with a sudden blush. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured.

  “It is no harm,” came Amália’s stilted reply. She had tilted her face away, and the thick black veil she had cast behind her shoulders now fell over her cheeks. Richard glanced once more at the cold shroud, sighed, and turned back to the window.

  Miles rolled by in an awkward silence; both parties wishing to speak, but sensing an embargo on every subject. That both still carried the embers of a quenched love was not in doubt—nor that both suffered yet from the burns. Nothing more remained to be said of Darcy, for Richard had professed his gratitude until Amália had grown uncomfortable, and she had begged explanations until he ran out of words. All his uncertainty now turned to brooding while hers cascaded down her face, shaded by her dark veil.

  “We should arrive in Lisbon by nightfall,” he mused after half an hour, rather unnecessarily. From the corner of his eye, he could see her dark head bobbing in acknowledgment.

  “Amália?”

  At his soft tone, she turned to face him. “Yes, Richard?”

  He wetted his lips. “I… have you… will you be comfortable in the quarters, do you think?”

  She looked down to her hands. “I believe there are other women, wives and daughters who follow the drum. I shall be safe enough.”

  “I am sorry we could not bring your maid,” he answered gently.

  She tipped her shoulders and looked back to the window. “She was not my maid.”

  “Nevertheless, she was known to you. You might not have been alone while Ruy is out on exercises. Surely, he will still have his duties, regardless of where the general decides to send him.”

  “You are certain, no, that you will succeed in having him ordered away from the front?”

  “Not certain. I believe General Cotton will recognise that Ruy is too valuable to spend there, with all his experience and connections, but it is his regiment, after all. I cannot issue orders to a general, only ask a favour.”

  “Ruy has already served at the front, and he outranks all his fellows. The order was unjust!”

  “War is unjust, Amália,” he smiled tenderly. “As are many other things.” She drew breath and nodded, her lip quivering. There was no need for him to elaborate further, and both lapsed once more to silence.

  He saw the tears she was fighting back, the shivers she strove to contain, and his heart broke anew. His fingers twitched, aching to take her hand into his, but then he forced himself to look upon that metallic band round her finger. Fool! he castigated himself again. She can never be yours! He clenched his fists and crossed his arms across his uniformed chest, just to be certain they did not disobey him.

  “Richard?”

  He closed his eyes, steeling himself to meet her face again. “Yes?”

  Her lips were slightly parted, her chin trembling as her eyes glittered in the dark of the carriage. She hesitated, then shook her head and decided to speak her heart. “I thought of you. Always, I thought of you. It made everything else… bearable… when I could remember you. I thought you should know.”

  Of all the things she could have said…. His stomach knotted sickeningly as he recognised the implications of her words. He wished to unhear it, to think on his own sorrows without trying to also carry hers. Yet, she had confessed it! She had loved him, and not her husband, even in those moments whose very existence he had tried to deny. Oh, why did she have to speak so? Could he not simply continue to think of her as that innocent maid he had loved and whom he had once bidden farewell?

  But no! Too much life had flowed in those waters that had sundered them. He was no longer a shining young major full of ambition, and she, no fresh girl of youthful hopes. He had gone on to fight, to kill, to harden his heart, and she—why, she had been a married woman for at least a year, bearing all the proper trappings and duties of a wife. Oh, damn. Damn, damn, damn!

  His every thought must have played over his face, for she was now looking uncomfortably away. “I should not have said that,” she mourned. “Forgive me, Richard! I know I broke my vows, loving another in my heart, but I could not—”

  “Shhh,” he soothed, lifting soft fingers to her lips before he could stop himself. “No more of that, my flower!”

  She blinked, dazed at his touch. It was the only time he had dared so since that first delirious moment of their reunion. Realising the same, he allowed his hand to fall, but slowly. “There is no fault to find in you, my dearest. You, and I as w
ell—we were given no choices. We have set about the paths laid before our feet, and none could assign blame to you.”

  She was shaking her head, blinking rapidly and looking out the window. “None could fault my actions, but I know my heart was not true, Richard. I knew what was right. I could never have loved Miguel, but I ought not to have loved you. It was a choice I made, because I thought it would make things easier. Instead, I only despised my life all the more for what I could not have. Can you not see my wrongs?”

  “I cannot. How could you be expected to remain content with such a man? Do you accept the blame for his actions, excusing them as the natural consequence of a jealous husband? Can you think that he would not have eventually shown his colours, regardless of your own affections?”

  “I am certain he would have, but that does not absolve me. I made a holy oath, devoting myself to him alone, but the whole of my heart searched instead for you. I ought to have crushed those memories when they came back to taunt me, but instead I dreamt them, cherishing what remained of you. It was too tempting, and I was not… not strong enough to resist!”

  His jaw was clenched as she spoke, but his simmering resentment boiled over the moment she had ceased. “And why should you be? Are we not both human? We have broken no law of the church, yours or mine! I have protected my honour, and you have preserved yours, but by heaven, Amália, at least permit me my memories without claiming they were sinful!”

  “They were not! Not then. Now….” She heaved a sigh of frustration. “Matters are different.”

  “Indeed, they are.” He crossed his arms, retreating once more to his side of the narrow trap.

  She was silent a moment, considering him with sad eyes. “Did you never try to forget me, Richard? Surely you must have. Your duties alone would have kept you from thinking too often of me.”

  He frowned, and suddenly found it necessary to rub his left eye. “I tried. Goodness knows, I tried. Every time my mother attempted to introduce me to a pretty girl with a fortune, I would look at her and find fault with every feature that did not compare to yours.”

  Her mouth twitched ruefully. “You compliment me more highly than I deserve and do them a disservice. You are too courteous a gentleman to dismiss them out of hand—surely there were some lovely girls among them.”

  “Not a one. ‘Lovely’ is a term that encompasses more than a lady’s face, Amália. Oh, my father wishes me to marry my young cousin, and I am fond of her, but… no, I have never been tempted. In fact, there was only one other I fancied even slightly, but in all my talks with her I could but reflect on how well you would have liked her. No, I kept you safely tucked away in my heart, taking your memory out to look at now and again when I was feeling sorry for myself, for my lot. But a bachelor and a soldier I am, and shall remain. It is well that I should not marry, for no woman ought to be troubled with army life. I have seen such women, and I would not wish that on any other—least of all you,” he spoke the last words huskily, a hesitant smile tugging at his mouth.

  “If you had married with a care to fortune, you might have been able to retire from fighting,” she suggested.

  He snorted. “Darcy often said the same to me, but he does possess a fortune, and could find no suitable bride. Shrews and cats, almost to a one, unless they be charming and poor. No, I would rather remain as I am, beholden to no lady, for I have little enough to offer her of either fortune or love.”

  “Then,” she smiled with quivering lips, “you do understand my great wrong. You have done better than I, for you made no vow to another that you cannot now escape.”

  “Amália,” his tones became grave, “you cannot go back to him. You know this, do you not?”

  She looked down. “I may have no choice, Richard. I go to Ruy now for protection, but I cannot hide forever. Even if I should flee the country, I do not imagine that Miguel could not find me and demand my return.”

  Richard was becoming agitated. “If he struck you before, only think what he would do to you after your part in releasing Darcy. He will kill you! Perhaps not at first, but one day his temper will get the better of him and he—oh my dear girl, I cannot bear thinking of it. I will not have it! Can you not enter a convent, at the least?”

  “I have thought of it, but I may be… prevented. Senhor Vasconcelos has his friends everywhere.”

  “Then you must have Ruy bring you to England,” he decided. “I do not imagine that we could ever… that there could ever be anything between us,” he swallowed. “But you could be safe there. I have places you could go, friends who would protect you in secret. You could live peacefully in the country, and—”

  “Richard,” she laughed sadly, placing a hand on his arm, “you cannot save everyone.”

  He bit his lip. Damned if I won’t try. A tear was sliding down her cheek, chilling his own heart. “Oh, Amália,” he sighed bitterly. “What I would give if there had been no differences between us! No divide of faiths and family interests. It is wrong, vile that we must sacrifice what is pure and right for that which is not!”

  Another tear joined the first in her eyes, and then a third spilled from her lashes. She only nodded, fearful of speaking, lest her voice crack. Tenderly, he brushed the tears from her cheeks, then slid a brotherly arm about her to ride out the rest of their journey in heartbroken silence.

  ~

  “Fitzwilliam,” Ruy extended his hand, “I thank you for bringing her to Lisbon. It nearly killed me to obey orders and leave her in Porto when I was sent here.”

  Richard nodded, accepting the other’s gesture with as little emotion as he could manage. “I have given a letter to your general. I was unable to see him, but his aide swore to pass it directly into his hand. I should have liked to be certain that you would be reassigned, so that she might not be so easily found. I am sorry I could not do better.”

  Ruy shook his head. “You could not have done more. Our division is not likely to be needed in Spain after all, but if that should change, I think nothing would compel Cotton to reassign an able-bodied fighter. Certainly, Lecor would object to losing another commander if we are required to ride east. Still, a word from you will go for as much as any man’s and much farther than most. I am grateful, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Not half so much as I am. You risked a deal, helping my cousin as you did. You both did, and I thank you. You will write the address I left you if you learn anything more or if you are in need of help?”

  “In London? Yes, I have it.”

  Richard grunted in acknowledgment. His gaze had left the Portuguese officer and wandered to the neat little buildings where the women belonging to officers of the regiment had their abode. Into one of these she had been taken, but he did not know which.

  Ruy tipped his head in that direction. “You will speak to her again before you leave, of course. Shall I send for her?”

  Richard pressed his lips together. “No. No, I leave at once. Darcy is likely walking back into a trap at home, and besides…” his eyes wandered again, “I can only bring her more grief. Better that I should go straightaway.”

  “I shall have a mount saddled, and one of my men will ride with you and return with the horses. He should be ready by the time you have finished tea.”

  “No!” Richard jerked his longing eyes away from the houses with finality. “No tea. I will saddle my own horse if necessary, but I cannot delay another moment. I cannot risk… I mustn’t miss the tide, assuming I can find a ship ready.”

  Ruy’s face tightened, revealing little but a spark of conciliation. “Very well. You may ride my horse, if you promise to send him back in good order. This way.”

  A quarter of an hour later saw Richard swinging into the saddle, a young aide at his side whose name he had already forgotten. There was some fluttering near the barracks, the distant sound of masculine objections raised against feminine insistence, and from the corner of his eye he caught sight of a billowing black veil. He held his breath, raised his han
d in salute to Captain Rodrigo de Noronha, and put heel to his mount.

  Ruy was still stolidly in his place when his sister’s hand tugged urgently at his elbow. “He is gone? So soon, he is gone?”

  Ruy caught her hand in his own, squeezing it in comfort. “He said he could not stay another moment.”

  Her face drooped, and little sobs shivered through her small frame. “And so that is to be the end of it! Not even a farewell, as if all the past were as nothing. Oh, Ruy, he is too cruel!”

  “Nay, this parting gesture shows you more honour than all the rest. I think he would not have been strong enough to resist a display that you would both later come to regret. He is right—it is better that he did not linger to tempt you. You must keep up your name even here, for the wives of the regiment will welcome and protect you as lionesses if they respect and perhaps pity you. If they do not, you would do better back with your husband.”

  “We are not to stay here, are we? Is there no other post where you might be assigned?”

  “Of course, there is. I may go on to Spain or anywhere else with my regiment if they are sent, or I may wait and see about arranging a return to Porto. I did not tell our friend as much, but his request to have me assigned to Brasil will be fruitless.”

  “Brasil!” she cried. “So far! But why there?”

  “It would be hard for Miguel and his father to find you, no? As for me, it would also be a great favour, for I should not be fighting. I think my general will not allow it; there is no need to send more men there when they are wanted here. Even if we do not fight at the front, the peace must be kept all over the country, and that is a weighty task in these times.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder, blinking fiercely. “Where shall I go, Ruy? I cannot remain here, even with you, for Miguel will certainly think to look for me in Lisbon.”

  He smiled and wound his arm about her. “We shall see what my orders say, dearest. For today, you are safe. In that, let us rejoice.”