These Dreams: A Pride and Prejudice Variation

by Nicole Clarkston

  A few moments later, she sent the poor girl in to them alone, and closed the door. Darcy spared a moment to glance over her person. She was dressed respectably now, though still in mean garments. Her figure seemed to have filled out with better food, but she still possessed the flighty quality of a hare. She surveyed them with large, nervous eyes, and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She seemed too frightened to speak, but she looked on Darcy with some degree of recognition.

  “Forgive me if we have alarmed you, Miss,” he spoke gently. “We mean you no harm. I do not know if you recall, but we have met once before.”

  She bit her lip and nodded mutely.

  “Very well. I am hoping that you can tell me where to find your brother, Mr Woods. Do not fear, I intend no retribution toward him. I seek information, that is all, miss, and if he cooperates, I will see that he is treated generously.”

  Her eyes slid fearfully to Richard in his red uniform, then back to Darcy.

  “I intend to make it well worth your while,” Darcy added, and drew a bag of coins from his pocket.

  The girl drew a deep breath, blinked, and began to speak.

  ~

  “I say, you did not have to offer the girl employment in your own house,” Richard groused as they mounted the coach again. “She will be turned out in disgrace within the month, I warrant.”

  “If she is, it will not be because she was not granted the opportunity,” Darcy reasoned.

  “How do you know she will actually send the fellow to meet us? Would we not have done better to make her lead us to him?”

  “I doubt she knows where to find him at any given moment, but from what I understand, he visits the house regularly to look in on her.”

  “This is the fellow with the missing tooth?” Richard asked, in a sudden moment of inspiration.

  “The very one.”

  Richard chuckled. “Ah, yes. I remember him.”

  “I would imagine he will remember you, as well.”

  “It will be a day or two before we hear from the man, if we ever do. What are we to do in the meanwhile?”

  “For myself, I intend to pay a call at Cheapside again this evening, and in the morning, I must speak with my solicitor. Doubtless we will have legal matters to discuss. As soon as it can be established that I am myself, I will arrange for a special license and ride to Hertfordshire.”

  “Without even settling matters with our family?”

  “Why should I go before my uncle in his own house? Let him come to me, and our aunt as well. They will know of my presence in London by now. If their consciences trouble them, they will assume that I am giving them the cut direct, and will wish to confront me on the matter. Until they do, I do not intend to wait in suspense. I shall visit Miss Bennet, for her company is far more agreeable.”

  Richard frowned and kept his thoughts to himself. He narrowed his eyes and his face fell into a deep scowl as he stared out the window.

  Darcy watched his cousin intently. Well did he remember another carriage ride, back from Kent the previous spring. Then, it had been himself retreating into sullen brooding and Richard attempting to pry open his bottled feelings. It would profit him little to offer advice or commiseration, for the case was a hopeless one.

  The carriage drew up to the Gardiners’ residence, and Darcy paused to look back at his cousin. “You do not wish to accompany me?”

  Richard would not meet his eyes, staring instead at the seat Darcy had just vacated. “No.”

  Darcy hesitated, then acquiesced. “Very well. Tell the coachman I shall be about two hours.”

  Richard grunted, but did not stir, and the carriage drove away.

  ~

  Darcy House, London

  Darcy returned to the house late that evening, and instantly sought Richard. He found his cousin in the blue drawing room by a roaring fire, swirling a half-finished glass of smuggled Scotch. His back was turned, and Darcy stopped at the door to observe him before betraying his presence.

  There was a languid, yet frustrated quality to Richard’s movements. One hand covered his mouth, and his head was cast back as if looking at the ceiling. His coat was thrown haphazardly over the chair back and his cravat hung loosely in repose, but his feet were curled beneath him as if in preparation to fight or fly.

  Darcy cleared his throat, then entered the room. Richard straightened somewhat at his arrival, drawing a sharp cleansing breath and stretching his shoulders back.

  “Darcy, is that you? It is about time, old chap. Georgiana and Mrs Wickham retired over an hour ago. I think Georgie was hoping to see you.”

  “I regret disappointing her. How did you all pass the evening?”

  “Oh, the standard routine. Mrs Wickham demanded a tour of the house and nearly stumbled upon her husband. As it was, she stopped some while and diverted O’Donnell, asking all about why he was guarding the door, and what manner of hidden treasures the townhouse held.”

  “Perhaps I was unwise in posting a footman known to her at Wickham’s door. Naturally it would raise her curiosity to see him there.”

  “Keep that lad near at hand, I say. He is useful, and has proved his mettle. It was a jolly good thought to bring him as a personal guard. Then, let me see… Mrs Adams served broiled fish. Have I ever told you that I can scarcely abide fish?”

  Darcy permitted a twitch to his lips. “No, you have never mentioned it.”

  “Ghastly. After that, the ladies came in here to practise their music, but Mrs Wickham is fearfully inept at the instrument, so they gave it up and played cards instead. And then… ah, yes, I stopped over at Matlock house to confront my father and our aunt.”

  “You what? I thought we had determined to wait.”

  “You determined to wait. He is my father, and it is my family home, so I decided to call.”

  Darcy suppressed a sigh. It was done, he supposed. “What have you learned?”

  Richard held up his glass to admire it and gave a sarcastic huff. “They knew all about Vasconcelos and the deed, but they thought it was lost a generation ago. Apparently, after your ‘death,’ each saw their opportunity to search your grandfather’s records and the house, just to make certain nothing ever resurfaced, but neither suspected Vasconcelos to be the cause of your disappearance.”

  “And you believe them?”

  Richard shrugged and took a swallow of his drink. “I’ve no reason not to. Wickham never indicated them, and I have beaten confessions out of liars on enough occasions. I know the look in their eye. No, I think they were speaking the truth, though they did spend most of the time bickering about whose fault it all was.”

  “What truth? Can they tell us more about the history?”

  “I got very little of that. Something about your grandfather, Richard Darcy having some business interests in Portugal over sixty years ago. There was a quake, I knew of that, and apparently your grandfather invested heavily into some rebuilding efforts. King José sought to appease him, or pay him off by passing off a land grant that he probably thought of no value.”

  “So, that much was true,” Darcy mused, rubbing his chin.

  “Except that the land did have value, and the king had taken it from someone else who owed him money.”

  “Ah,” Darcy breathed. “The Vasconcelos family. So, even according to my uncle, the man had some prior claim on that land.”

  “If you consider a debtor to have a legitimate claim, then yes.”

  “So, he tried to buy it back? My grandmother’s journal made mention of him paying a visit to Pemberley.”

  “That is where our relations seemed to stop talking. From what little more they did say, I could infer that Vasconcelos had tracked down Richard Darcy and offered to buy back the land. By then, however, your grandfather and mine had thought to form a partnership of sorts to make some profit from it; perhaps mining it as Vasconcelos planned to do. I would imagine they were not eager to give it up for a farthi
ng.”

  “And why would our family seek to cover it up?”

  Richard shrugged again, then drained the last few drops of his glass. “Something dreadful happened all those years ago that they cannot bear to have known. They would say no more, save to profess their innocence and seek to cast blame away from themselves. Lady Catherine is threatening to murder my brother for digging up old grievances—not to mention arranging to drag you away from Anne just as you were about to make your engagement official.”

  Darcy snorted. “And your father? Does he credit the viscount’s involvement?”

  “He might, if he could find him. Apparently, Reginald left town rather unexpectedly, and Father has been searching for him since he first heard that you had returned. I have known generals who were losing a battle who could not swear as fluently as he did tonight.”

  Richard flipped up his empty glass and looked his cousin in the eye. “I think he is sick over it all. He suspects, I’ll not deny it, but it is a monstrous thing, bringing a charge like that against his own son, and the heir at that. Do not expect him to support you carte blanche, but he is not without his doubts about Reginald.”

  “It is something, at least.” Darcy relaxed somewhat in his chair and gazed into the fire. “I daresay your evening was spent more profitably than mine. I ought to have gone with you.”

  “It would not have gone so well if you had. We’d have never got anywhere with Lady Catherine trying to draft marriage articles, and my father badgering you about legal nonsense. Besides, I imagine Miss Bennet was pleased to see you.” Richard flipped the glass in his hand again, but this time it tumbled to the floor. Annoyed, he bent to sweep it up, then roused himself from the chair to refill it.

  Darcy watched his cousin and weighed his words. “Not half so glad as I was to see her,” he commented quietly. “And it was a pleasure to speak with Mrs Vasconcelos. She is a remarkable woman.”

  Richard jerked the hand holding the bottle as the whiskey overflowed from his cup. He set it down on the sideboard with a bang, silently wiped his hand on his trousers, and took a great swallow.

  “Most military men of my acquaintance have been known to drink,” Darcy observed neutrally, “but you were never one of the more devoted enthusiasts among them. Why the sudden affection for my cellars?”

  Richard dragged at his glass again. “This started when I found myself warden to my cousin overnight,” he answered shortly, still staring at the wall.

  “A circumstance that has altered, yet you drink like a man who bears a grudge.”

  Richard muttered an impressively scandalous curse, but did not turn around.

  Darcy shifted in his chair and unfastened the top button of his waistcoat. “Richard,” he sighed, stretching his long legs, “why did you not wish to marry Georgiana or Anne when given the opportunity?”

  Richard’s shoulders bunched under his thin shirt. “Damn you, Darcy,” he growled, “I know what you are doing. Stop pretending innocence, and let it go.”

  “Pretending? I am not the one pretending, Cousin.”

  The glass slammed on the sideboard, Richard’s hand still gripping it as though he had thought to drive a hole directly through the wood. His entire figure was panting, each breath seeming to tear through his lungs. “I cannot go on like this, Darcy!” he gasped at length. “How can I see her and not cast myself at her feet? Yet how can I stay away and let her believe that I feel nothing at all? You cannot know what it is, that she is here and still forever beyond my reach!”

  Darcy closed his eyes in pitying silence. Oh, but he did know—how well he knew! Yet for all their trials, Elizabeth had not married another. He put a hand to his forehead, aching for his cousin, but he could not leave the obvious unsaid. “The young lady deserves better than to become a mistress. She cannot remain in London, if these are your feelings. One of you will crumble in a moment of weakness.”

  “No! Not she.” Richard turned round at last, shaking his head and pinning Darcy with red-rimmed eyes. “Never she! She has greater strength than I, and she has already seen how worthless can be the affections of a man. She cannot leave; there is nowhere for her to go, so I must. I would not see her suffer danger and hardship, simply because of my feelings.”

  Darcy covered his mouth with his hand and stared at the fire. “You could resign your commission. I will be in search of another steward at Pemberley. You know you always have a home there, if you have need.”

  Richard turned once more to his glass, but he did not take it up. His fingers stroked down the side and he gazed meditatively at the golden streaks lining the rim. “No,” he answered quietly. “I am going to Spain. There is a war on, don’t you know. As soon as this nonsense with my brother is settled, I will ask to be reassigned.”

  “Settled? How can it be settled? I see no circumstance in which the family does not require your presence more after all this, not less.”

  Richard’s shoulders shook in a rueful laugh. “If you believe any true consequence will find Viscount Matlock, you are very much mistaken, Darcy. He will remain untouched by the scandal, marry another heiress if he cannot get Georgiana, and in a few years, it will all be forgotten in favour of a more salacious rumour. You, meanwhile, must guard your own back, marry the woman you love, and father an heir. I go back to war.”

  “Richard—”

  “Enough, Darcy!” Richard bellowed, spinning around. “The matter is beyond your money and your wisdom to repair! There is nothing more to be done but to live our own lives, and I shall let Amália live hers.” He was quivering, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he stared back at his cousin. He clenched his fist and blinked fiercely, drawing a ragged breath.

  “I beg you, Darcy,” he pleaded in a lower voice, “the best you can do for me is not to mention her name. I know she is safe now, and I shall try to forget her.”

  Darcy swallowed, wishing he could think of something to say. There was nothing—no assurance, no promise of hope. The very thing his cousin longed for most would destroy the one he adored, and even Richard, love-blinded that he was, would never dare so.

  Richard set his glass aside and stepped away, raking his fingers through his hair. “Forgive me, Darce, I’m done in. I will see you in the morning.”

  “You will be here in the morning?”

  Richard huffed a short laugh. “Have no fear, I’ll not abandon you just yet. Good-night, Darcy.”

  Darcy granted his cousin the dignity of not watching him go, but he was listening to each foot-fall on the rug. Richard’s toes were dragging listlessly, something the schooled soldier in him never tolerated.

  Just as he neared the door, Darcy heard the footman’s voice. “Pardon me, Mr Darcy, but there is a young… person here. She claims to have been offered employment at the house. I tried to turn her away, sir, but she gave me your personal card, and said you told her she might come at any hour.”

  Darcy spun in his chair and met Richard’s gaze. The battle-hardened army colonel had returned, clear-eyed and alert, with square shoulders and a stiff back.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the footman continued, “do you wish me to send her away?”

  “No!” Darcy answered quickly. “Please, show her in. Has she an escort?”

  “Er… yes, she does, but I asked the man to wait in the street.”

  “Please send for him,” Richard instructed. He strode hastily to the chair to retrieve his coat, as if he had just remembered his haphazard appearance.

  A moment later, the pair entered. The girl was holding her breath and lingering behind her brother, but her face was freshly scrubbed, and her hair tied neatly. Woods stood before her, his chest puffed with bravado on his sister’s behalf. He flinched when he met Darcy’s eye, and then visibly forced himself not to flee when he recognised Richard.

  “Do not be troubled,” Darcy reassured him, “you are quite safe. May I ask how long you have been returned to London?”

  Woods’ eyes t
urned up and he began counting on his fingers. “Three days, suh.”

  “And in time, have you been contacted again for employment?”

  The man darted a nervous look to Richard, gulped, and nodded. “Yes, suh, yest’rday.”

  “Excellent, I was hoping as much,” Darcy smiled. “Can you, perhaps, tell me where I might find this individual?”

  Woods hesitated, wetting his lips, then turned to look at his young sister. “Yes, suh,” he replied at her urging. “I can tell yew righ’ where ‘e is.”

  64

  London

  The candle cast a dim glow over the flat. He frowned down at the street, then drew the shade. It would be some hours yet before he would know. There was little more he could do against the hands of the clock and the whims of fate. Either this night would grant him success, or it would not.

  He turned back to the bed of the seedy little apartment, and sank down upon it. His father had been right, he reflected, when he had spoken of foolish wives and fleeting fortunes. If only… yes, if only! Those two words encompassed an ocean of regret and lost opportunity.

  He sighed, snuffed his candle, then stretched out on the bed. He lay still in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the street below. London, he reflected, was a city that never paused. A man might have a fortune within his grasp, influence surrendered to him, or a woman under his power—yet the city outside hustled along, paying each man as little notice as if he were a beggar, a vagrant, or a forsaken one. Nothing truly mattered to the masses.

  He stared at the darkened ceiling. He would have to deal with his father at some point. The man could never be brought round, and would persist in his old patriarchal ways. That was not the way of the modern world—the world in which he desired to make a place for himself. His father would move to stop him soon, of that he had little doubt. The conversation would not be a pleasant one, and it would take a turn for the worse if his actions this night were discovered.