Undoing

by L. L. Diamond

  The grooms all gave slight bows when they took his horse or passed him in the stable. They expressed their sadness and grief at his father’s death. With a numbness he had never known, he shook each of their hands and thanked them before he walked to the house, taking the door through the kitchen so he could address the staff.

  “Oh! Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Reynolds hurried forward, her eyes red and swollen and a handkerchief clutched in her hands. “I am so sorry.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “Your father has been taken to his rooms. His valet, though I told him to wait, has insisted on cleaning the body and dressing him in his finest suit.

  “Miss Georgiana is still in her rooms. I have instructed her maid to take her time preparing her. As yet, she knows nothing of the fire or your father.”

  When he peered behind Mrs. Reynolds, maids, footmen, the butler, and those who worked in the kitchen all stood watching. A few had been crying. He took a breath, but when he went to speak, he could not utter a sound. His mouth moved, yet there was nothing.

  “Sir,” began Cook, who glanced around her before she looked back at him. “We all cared for Mr. Darcy and are greatly saddened by his death. Pray, accept our condolences.”

  “Thank you.” He gripped and released his hands by his sides as he choked out the words. “I should tell my sister. If you will excuse me.”

  He wound through the staff, shaking hands with many of them before he took the servants’ staircase to the family wing. He was covered in soot and filthy, but his sister needed to hear this from him—not discover by chance when she ventured to the dining room or the music room.

  When he reached her door, his hand lifted but paused before he knocked. Her maid answered and allowed him inside with her lips pressed into a fine line. Georgiana pivoted on her heel, her eyes lighting when she saw him. “Why, Fitzwilliam, have you been playing in the fireplaces?” She giggled at her own joke until she truly took stock of his face.

  She paled and her hands clutched at her stomach. “Fitzwilliam? What, pray tell, has happened?”

  Chapter 9

  The carriage drew in front of Pemberley’s grand entrance, and the duke alighted before the step could be placed, helping Elizabeth to alight as soon as his feet were both on solid ground. Without pause, they strode through the entrance, hesitating only briefly at the sight of the hatchment hanging upon the door. The duke’s lips pressed tight and his bearing stiffened.

  The horrid letter came by express rider as they had finished breakfast in their chambers. Her husband had hastened to Elizabeth’s room, not bothering to knock before he entered, to demand her dressed and ready to travel immediately. Never had she seen the duke in such a state! Of course, once she knew the reason, she hastened to join him for the short journey to Pemberley. Their servants were to pack and follow them as soon as they were able. Their swift arrival was more important than waiting on their belongings.

  Mrs. Reynolds bustled in to greet them while maids took their coats and hats. “Thank goodness!” She shook her head and wrung her hands. “I am so relieved you are here, Your Grace.”

  “I wish to see my cousin.” The duke’s voice remained firm, yet not harsh.

  Tears pooled in the housekeeper’s eyes. “His valet has washed him and clothed him in his finest suit, but pray be warned, sir. ’Tis not a sight anyone should see. The poor man was burned horribly, but at least the child he pulled from the fire was spared, and dear Mr. Darcy did not die in vain.”

  Her husband closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “I should like to see him all the same.”

  The butler stepped forward and gave a slight bow. “Pray, follow me, Your Grace.”

  As the duke departed, Elizabeth approached Mrs. Reynolds. “I know you are adept at running this house on your own, but should you require my aid, do not hesitate to ask.”

  “The seamstress in Lambton will come tomorrow,” said Mrs. Reynolds, ticking off one item on her fingers, “to measure the young miss for mourning clothes. We have black crepe put away from when Mrs. Darcy passed.” After pointing to a second finger, she stopped to dab her eyes with a handkerchief. “If the duke can be of aid in planning the service, then we shall be grateful.”

  Elizabeth’s forehead crinkled and her insides roiled. “What of Fitzwilliam? He might have some desire to plan his father’s funeral.” She rarely referred to Fitzwilliam as such to the servants, but Mrs. Reynolds had been present to her addressing him so informally before. At the moment, it prevented confusion.

  “Oh, ma’am. He has been in a wretched state since this morning. The poor boy came home just covered head to toe in soot. He attempted to address the staff, but he could not manage to utter one word. The words simply would not come to him. Instead, he went directly to Miss Darcy’s room and spoke to her. The poor dear went into hysterics. He tried to calm her, but she was simply inconsolable. Fortunately, her maid had the foresight to prepare a draught with laudanum. The young miss has been sleeping ever since.”

  “What happened to Fitzwilliam?” She could not imagine losing a father. The three of them were also terribly close—closer than many families.

  “He allowed his valet to draw him a bath, and he changed into clean clothing. He then disappeared into the library. He has not allowed one person to enter and has not eaten since dinner last night. I do not know if he can manage this.

  “The footmen who helped at the fire told me how the young master held his father’s hand so carefully while he begged him to live. Forgive me for saying, but I saw the master’s body when it was brought in. His death was a blessing. He had to be in excruciating pain.”

  Elizabeth’s hands clutched her stomach while her own vision blurred with tears. This morning, when she learnt of the express, she found it difficult to believe Mr. Darcy was dead. Now, even with Mrs. Reynolds standing before her speaking of it, she still had trouble crediting that he was truly gone. A mere fortnight ago, they all sat in the music room while she and Georgiana played duets and entertained the gentlemen. They had been such a merry party.

  Her hands covered her face while she breathed away the urge to cry. She had to remain strong enough for Georgiana and Fitzwilliam. When she composed herself, she grasped the housekeeper’s hands. “You said Fitzwilliam is in the library?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Elizabeth drew herself as tall as she could. “Very well, I shall speak to him.”

  “I believe he has locked the door, ma’am. I could give you my key, but he might not appreciate the intrusion.”

  “Never you mind. I shall see to it. In the meantime, we shall need to have refreshments at the ready. Nothing too grand and nothing that will spoil quickly. Tonight’s dinner should not be much. I do not think many will have an appetite.”

  “I had the same thought, ma’am. I shall talk to Cook.”

  As soon as Mrs. Reynolds disappeared into the servants’ corridor, Elizabeth proceeded in the direction of the library. She dismissed the footman standing outside the door and glanced in both directions before she pulled a hairpin from her curls and bent it just so. Jacob Lucas had taught her how to pick a lock when she was nine. She hoped she still remembered the particulars.

  Three tries failed before the lock gave way with a satisfying click. She carefully lifted the latch and let herself inside, taking care to be as silent as possible.

  Fitzwilliam stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the portrait of his father over the mantel. His bearing was hardly the normal proud, tall stature to which she was accustomed. Instead, he swayed in his spot as he raked his fingers through his curls.

  Elizabeth silently closed and locked the door behind her. She trod as quietly as she could across the carpet until she stood a mere few steps from him. “Fitzwilliam,” she said softly.

  When his head turned, his red eyes and almost wild look tore at her heart. His hair stuck out at all angles, no doubt from running his fingers through it numerous times.

  “Lizzy.” His voice came out in a rush of
air. He took two long steps until he stood before her and collapsed against her, drawing her into his arms and sobbing into the crook of her neck. “He is gone. He is gone,” he repeated over and over.

  Once the shock passed, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, cradling the back of his head in her hand. “Shh, I know. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

  His legs gave way and pulled her to the floor with him since she did not have the strength to hold them both standing. As he continued to cry, she rocked him back and forth. She kissed his hair and his forehead while she murmured and told him all would be well. When he stilled, she paused, realizing his even breaths meant he had fallen asleep.

  Elizabeth examined her surroundings and managed to reach a couple of cushions from a nearby chair that she used to prop her back against the stone edge of the unlit fireplace. Her position with Fitzwilliam was not proper, to say the least, but she did not care. She loved him, and he needed her. She would not abandon him there to sleep on the floor alone.

  As he slept, his head slowly slid down until it rested upon her breast, his exhales warming the flesh below while his arms remained tightly wrapped around her body. His legs stretched across the floor between hers, pressing her gown to the carpet below. He had to have been exhausted.

  She relaxed into the cushions behind her and continued to comb her fingers through his hair while she held him in her embrace and allowed him to sleep. How long had it been since he had really slept? Had someone awakened him during the night due to the fire? Given the time of the message, it was likely.

  The clock on the mantel ticked above them and chimed, but she did not keep track how many and how often while the two of them lay there. Eventually, a key rattled in a lock, startling her, but when the door opened, it was only her husband. His eyes met hers, he glanced at Fitzwilliam embraced to her chest, and nodded before he departed.

  Her stomach had jumped within her when she saw him but relaxed when he turned and walked away. Why was she surprised? He had offered for her to take a lover if she wished. He had even confessed his original plan for his cousin to seduce her. Why would he care if she comforted the son?

  “The young master has fallen asleep on the sofa,” said the duke, his voice muffled by the door. “Presently, Her Grace reads a book while she ensures he remains well. You need not fret, Mrs. Reynolds. My wife will see to him for now. I believe we should give Fitzwilliam some privacy and time.”

  Elizabeth exhaled heavily, relieved that it had been him to enter and not a footman or a maid. If discovered, their position would certainly invite gossip of the worst kind. The key clicked in the lock, ensuring they were blessedly alone for the time being.

  He nuzzled into the warmth below him and lifted his head to bury it into the crook of her neck, caressing his lips against that spot where her pulse fluttered against the skin. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you too.”

  Those wide doe eyes that had fascinated him from the beginning caught his when he lifted his head. Instead of withdrawing as he should, he found himself drawn closer and closer until their lips met.

  What began as a gentle exchange soon turned into more as he opened his mouth and coaxed her lips to follow his lead. She was a little clumsy at first, but he groaned when his tongue dipped in and tasted hers. This was even better than he had ever imagined. Her lips were soft and sweet and clung to his so passionately.

  His fingers dug into her sides, anchoring himself, and his need only became greater. He moaned and dragged her atop his lap, pressing her as flush as possible to his body. “Lizzy,” he breathed as his lips moved back to her neck.

  “Fitzwilliam, we must stop.”

  He let her voice sink into his brain and ripped himself away, pulling himself against the sofa and standing. “Forgive me. I forgot myself.”

  That dullness that had slowly disappeared from her eyes during her visit to Pemberley was once again visible to those who looked close enough. The edges of her eyelids were red-rimmed and well . . . sad.

  “I believe we both forgot ourselves—though not our true selves. Both of us expressed ourselves honestly for the first time. Do not feel regret for that.” She took his hand and slowly rose to her feet. “You should know my husband told Mrs. Reynolds you slept on the sofa while I kept watch.”

  “He knows?” Why had Thomas not pulled him off and demanded satisfaction? He had his head on his wife’s breast for heaven’s sake!

  “I believe he borrowed Mrs. Reynolds’s chatelaine to ensure you were well.”

  “I must apologise to him,” he said as he closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. “God help me. What would my father say?”

  She surprised him by grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands away. “You owe your cousin no apology, for he will not care. Our marriage is of a peculiar nature. While it may sound odd, I daresay he would be pleased that you took comfort from me.”

  His chin hitched back a bit. “You make no sense.”

  “I shall explain when we do not have other matters to address. Mrs. Reynolds expressed the need for my husband to message the vicar for your father’s service. Should you wish to handle matters, you may want to make that desire known. There is also the matter of your sister. She will need you when she awakens.”

  He blinked away the sting of tears. “I cannot do this.”

  “You can and you will, Fitzwilliam.” Her hands wrapped around his forearms. “The people of this estate need you, your sister needs you, and we need you to be well. Your father would not want you to despair. He trusted you with your sister as well as Pemberley.”

  “He wanted me to have time to make decisions while he ensured I did not fail.” He needed his father still. He could not do this on his own!

  Elizabeth shifted closer and cradled his face in her hands. “No, he had confidence in you but knew you required time to have confidence in yourself. Do not doubt yourself. He had faith in you.”

  “She is correct.”

  His head shot back from her hands, and he clenched his fists at his sides. “Forgive me, Thomas. I had not meant—”

  “Stop, Fitzwilliam. My wife and I have no romantic attachment. She is free to do as she likes as long as she is discreet.”

  His eyes lifted to Thomas’s and then darted to Elizabeth’s. They could not be serious!

  “But that is not important at this moment. I simply do not want you to flog yourself when you have done nothing to deserve it.” His cousin pressed both hands upon his shoulders as Elizabeth shifted back. “Your father had every faith in you. He and I discussed how well you would do when this time came. When his father died, George had no experience running Pemberley on his own. He wanted precisely what Elizabeth said: for you to gain confidence in yourself before he died. Only God had other ideas.”

  How could he not believe his godfather? His eyes lifted to the portrait of his father over the mantel then searched the face before him.

  “Should you not believe me, I know your father left a letter for you with his important papers. He also left one for Georgiana. I daresay those should be of great comfort during this time. Elizabeth and I shall remain at Pemberley for as long as you have need of us. After, I hope you will come with us to Worthstone for a while. It might do you good to be away. The harvest will be done.”

  “What of your own harvest?”

  “My steward is more than capable. If he has need of me, I am not even a day’s carriage ride away. After all, what is fifty miles of good road?”

  “Thank you.” He took one last long look at the portrait and gulped down that lump he could not seem to be rid of. “I should find those documents and letters. Have you notified the vicar at Kympton?”

  Thomas shook his head and cleared his throat. “I have spent the afternoon with George. It may sound nonsensical, but I had a great many things I needed to say. He excelled at listening to them all.” He coughed again and tugged at his cravat as though it choked him. “I confess I am glad Mrs. Re
ynolds warned me. I hope you do not let Georgiana say goodbye in person. She should not see her father in that state.”

  He shook his head. “No, I fear it would do more harm than good.”

  “I agree.”

  “Should she not be allowed to decide?” Elizabeth stood so straight she could have had a board strapped to her back. “She is not a small child.”

  “Lizzy, even you should not see,” said Fitzwilliam softly. “My father was terribly burned—even his face.”

  She glanced back and forth between them before she walked through the door and towards the stairs. What was she doing? He made to catch her, but Thomas grabbed his arm as he followed. “Let her. She will see. My wife is no weakling. She can manage better than most of her sex.”

  They had not needed to rush since a footman kept her from entering. Upon Fitzwilliam’s word, the man allowed her into the master’s bedchamber with him and Thomas trailing behind. She marched inside and straight up to the bed, gasping and covering her mouth as soon as her eyes set upon the form on the coverlet.

  A sob rent from her throat and Fitzwilliam grabbed her when she turned and held her to his chest. “Do you agree with us?”

  Her head bobbed up and down under his chin. “Forgive me. I am but a silly girl.”

  “You love Georgiana and Fitzwilliam,” said her husband. “Your compassion does you credit. Pray do not think yourself silly for wanting what is best for them.”

  “How much of him is so badly burned?” Her eyes searched Fitzwilliam’s, and he could not lie. He also needed to speak of it. He needed to say it to someone.

  “The entirety of his back and the backs of his legs,” he said. “He held the boy in a blanket in his arms, protecting him from the blaze, which kept his chest from burning. I believe he had the unblemished side of his face against the blanket.”