The clock struck nine, and the guests rose from the table in unison and assumed their choreographed roles in the sitting room. This was Lady Matlock's element and people put on their best evening wear and manners for her dinner parties. She was charming and though approaching sixty, still elegant and beautiful. But above all, very generous person, in contradistinction to her husband. He just couldn't understand how these two very different people could have been so happy together.
Servants brought delicate crystal goblets of wine for the ladies and brandy for the gentlemen. Darcy took the fullest snifter, watching his uncle smoking and politicking across the room and silently told himself "only half an hour more" and they could leave. He found a chair in the corner of the crowded room and counted down the minutes as he sipped his drink.
A maid signalled Elizabeth, who rose and moved away. Jane must be awake and hungry. The cacophony of polite chatter paused, eyeing her sceptically. No one had cut her but no one would, not tonight. They'd take note so they could tear her to shreds over tea tomorrow in their lush salons. Darcy knew how this game was played. She was an outsider. A pretty, mysterious gentleman's daughter found in Scotland, who'd somehow come to be married to earl's only nephew and son of his late sister, Lady Anne. Obviously, because he had to marry her. Everyone knew he'd been devastated by Anne's death. Everyone could count. Jane had been conceived soon after Anne had died. "Opportunist," they silently dubbed Elizabeth. "Shameful on a grieving widower." Everyone knew that Edward had come five months after he'd married Anne. They gasped and gestured in leisurely distress. "When will Fitzwilliam learn?"
Darcy gritted his teeth and took another snifter of brandy from the tray as the servant passed.
"Fitzwilliam, come sit by me," his aunt, Lady Catherine suddenly offered, and he went to her, sitting on the sofa next to the older woman. She was as same beautiful and elegant woman as his aunt Lady Eleonore but for Darcy, she was the closest person in his family, after Anne's death. Living with him at Pemberley she literally was like a second mother to him.
"Are you enjoying yourself, aunt?" he asked dutifully, looking up at her. It was the first time they'd spoken since he arrived, which meant it was the fourth time they'd spoken since Anne's funeral.
"I am. You seem so sad though."
"We haven't been out among society, Elizabeth and I, yet," he said. "It's difficult."
"Of course it is. So many things have changed."
"Yes," he answered softly, as she ran her fingers through his hair like she had when he was a boy.
"Everything has changed. These drapes are new. And the rugs. I knew you'd notice. And don't tell Eleonore but they are so ugly! I would never put them in my home." She admitted with certainty in her voice. "Oh, and, of course, my dress!"
"Your dress is lovely, aunt," he answered automatically, leaning against the rustling lilac fabric of her skirt as she shifted her attention to another of guests invited for the Matlock's dinner. Lady Catherine always smelled like a purple flower. Violets or lavender or maybe just all purple flowers. It was comforting.
"Fitzwilliam," she repeated, catching his attention. "Where is Mrs. Darcy?"
"Upstairs with the baby, I believe."
His aunt's eyes widened, and she leaned down. "You left Anne alone with the baby?" she scolded him.
"Elizabeth," he whispered back, "She is fine with Jane."
She blinked, appearing momentarily confused. "Of course. I apologise. I didn't mean to be uncivil. Yes. Elizabeth," she said to herself. "Your wife is Elizabeth. The baby is Jane."
"Yes. I think she's finally awake. Do you want me to check?"
She nodded, so he got to his feet, feeling the pleasant warmth of the brandy tingling his toes and fingertips. She tilted her cheek for a kiss, squeezing his hand before he left the sitting room.
As he climbed, he remembered waiting, horrified, on his uncle's staircase while Ed was being born. A few weeks earlier there was a fire at Pemberley kitchen and he and Anne were staying at Matlock's estate when she went into labour. They'd started out in the parlour, quite proper and trying to stay out of the way but as the hours had passed and the tension built, edged closer and closer to the upstairs bedroom. Darcy could hear Anne pleading with the midwife to make the pains stop and had gnawed his lower lip raw as dark crept into dawn. Maids rushed up and down the stairs, carrying towels and water and scissors and avoiding questions. "Soon," his uncle had assured him, trying to sound confident and Darcy had chanted that word to himself, as comforted as if the prediction had come directly from God. Soon everything would be all right.
He wanted to go home. He wasn't ready for this. Every nook and cranny were a memory. He felt the copper of his heart being drawn out again, groaning in pain and fraying as it was pulled thin.
"Lady Catherine wants to see Jane again and then we're going," he told Elizabeth decisively. "It's getting late."
He nodded to the maid who went to tell the butler to tell bring the carriage around.
"You look nice. I don't think I've told you that tonight," he added, paying her the obligatory complement. "You do."
The low neckline of her dinner dress showed off her shoulders and the tops of her breasts pushed a little by her corset. She was petite anyway and while he'd liked the softness, she'd had a month ago, the tape measure around her waist now met with her approval. He'd supplied the jewellery this afternoon. A single large pearl suspended from a gold chain around her neck and a pearl-seeded comb in her hair. He'd watched the maid putting Elizabeth's hair up earlier, securing all the curls with the one comb. He didn't know how that was possible but he was looking forward to pulling it out and seeing her mane cascade down over her bare shoulders.
"Thank you," she answered after he'd forgotten what he'd said. "I would ask if you are all right but I know you are not."
"No, I'm not. Let's get this done and go home."
She nodded and following him and Jane down the stairs.
"Brown eyes," his aunt commented, stroking Jane's chubby cheek. "But she looks like you, Fitzwilliam."
"Do you think?" he answered evasively. "I think she looks like Elizabeth, except for the hair." A light covering of blonde wisps had finally appeared on Jane's head. "Do you want to hold her?"
"Another time. My dress…"
"Of course. Aunt, please kiss Georgiana from us and tell her I miss her."
"I will."
"Aunt," he turned to Lady Eleonore. "Everything was lovely, as always. We'll see you again soon. I want to get Elizabeth and the baby home before it gets any colder outside." Or before he screamed how surreally wrong this all was.
She smiled sweetly but didn't respond when Lady Catherine broke in: "You be careful Fitzwilliam. Have my Georgie to come give me a kiss before she leaves."
Darcy leaned close, out of everyone else's hearing. "Georgiana is in your home, aunt. She isn't with us tonight."
There it was again. That fleeting look of airy confusion in her eyes.
"Of course. Yes, I remember now. Did Anne come, then?"
"Anne's dead, aunt."
"Of course," she repeated, still smiling.
*~~*~~*
He wasn't drunk, but he was close and Elizabeth wasn't happy about that. He'd been fixated on pulling the comb out of her hair and there was the tongue promise he'd made a few days ago. Obviously, neither was happening unless he wanted to get frostbite from her thighs. He couldn't say be blamed her. He wouldn't want to go to bed with him tonight, either.
"I could do that if I had breasts," he mumbled, watching her from the doorway of the nursery.
As he said them, those words made perfect sense to him. Maybe he was drunk after all.
"I will buy you one first thing tomorrow," she answered tiredly, unbuttoning her dress.
"No, I want two. I want them about…" he held up his hands, cupping them as though he was holding grapefruits. He checked the outline of Elizabeth's breasts and resized to oranges. "Like this. Fair. Dark pink nipples."
"You will have to take whatever the store has. Go to bed, Mr. Darcy."
He yawned and wandered to their bedroom, stripping off his shoes and waistcoats as he went. He'd planned to wait for her and apologise but tossed and rolled and eventually fell into the confusing twilight maze between awake and asleep.
In his dream, the house looked different. The room smelled of mortar and the wooden. The sun was shining outside the window.
His stomach growled as he came through the door.
"Where's my boy?" he asked around.
"Upstairs asleep," he heard someone's voice.
"Asleep?"
"He's taking a nap."
Darcy turned to the door, hurrying toward the nursery.
"Miss Anne's with him," the voice called after him and Darcy walked faster.
Ed's nursery was empty. He didn't find him in the master bedroom either. Anne was sleeping on the bed. He was glad to see she'd finally relaxed. She'd been up the last few nights, restless and peevish, and keeping him awake. Normally, he tried to sooth her fears but by four this morning, after the millionth "what if, Fitzwilliam" question, he'd had enough. No one was going to break into the house, he'd told her tersely. No one was going to look in their bedroom window, no one was going to spy through the windows and no one was listening outside the door, as if there was anything seeing or hear, anyway. "Stop being so silly, settle down and go to sleep," he'd snapped from the sofa and she'd huddled down in the bed, if not sleeping, at least being quiet enough for him to sleep. He'd intended to apologise at dinner.
"Where is our son?" He asked her, sitting on the mattress beside her and stroking Anne's shoulder. Anne didn't move. Her bottle of laudanum was on the night stand. She was taking it when she was upset.
He couldn't find Ed. Leaning over Anne, he tried to wake her up.
"Anne," Darcy said sharply. "Anne," he repeated, his stomach clenching. When there was no response, he turned around and suddenly his son was lying on the sofa. He ran to him and put his hands on his shoulders and shook him. Boy's head lolled, and he coughed, having trouble breathing. Darcy sniffed his breath, detecting the sickeningly sweet scent of laudanum.
He opened his eyes as the clock chimed third, disoriented and still a little tipsy. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, licking his fuzzy teeth and scratching his bare chest sleepily. Anne wasn't in the bed. Something was wrong.
Ed's nursery was empty too. He raised his candle and stared at the cheery wallpaper on the wall behind the crib, remembering which woman and baby it was he was searching for.
Anne was dead. It was Elizabeth and Jane who weren't in bed.
Half awake, without the aid of reason or daylight, he imagined all the things that could have happened. Someone could have broken in and taken Elizabeth and the baby. Some lunatic or perpetrator. She, she, she could have been carrying Jane in the darkness and fallen, knocking herself unconscious and unable to call for help. Or she could have just taken her daughter and left him.
He checked every room and went through every hall. The floor under his feet was changing from marble tile to plush rugs to smooth wooden planks as he went downstairs reached the kitchen. No one was here. He turned to leave when he heard something from the other side of the closed door.
"Elizabeth?"
He heard water sloshed.
"I am here," she called.
His throat tightened, choking off breath. "Where's the baby?"
"She is with me."
His heart beat faster. He rattled the knob, but the door was locked.
"Open the door," he ordered. "Right now."
This wasn't real. It wasn't happening again. He was still dreaming.
Water splashed again. "Just a minute."
"Now, Anne!"
"Mr. Darcy?"
He stepped back, gritted his teeth and kicked open the door with his bare foot, splintering the wood.
Elizabeth was standing near the small bathtub, holding Jane wrapped in a towel against her chest, and staring at him like he was mad. The baby cried immediately.
"What are you-"
"Give me," he demanded, snatching Jane from her. He jiggled the terrified baby, trying to sooth her.
"It's okay. It's okay. I have you. It'll be all right." He murmured to her and sat next to the fireplace, to keep baby warm.
"What is wrong? She would not sleep and she always sleeps after the bath. I didn't want to wake anyone to help me with water so I took her to the kitchen."
"I was- I, uh.…" He swallowed, realising what he'd done.
Not knowing what else to do, he turned away, carrying Jane blindly through the darkness, navigating by memory.
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth called, following him up the stairs and down the long hallway to their bedroom. The cold air hit her skin, and she got goosebumps. "Are you mad? What is wrong with you?"
He stared at her wordlessly, unable to get any sound out. "Forgive me," he finally managed.
"Why did you kick the door open?"
"Forgive me."
"You are bleeding. Your foot is bleeding. Sit down and let me look-"
"Don't come near me," he hissed, backing away with the baby.
She followed, stepping toward him. "You called me Anne. You have never done that before. Not even in bed."
"I did not."
She nodded her head up and down. Yes, he had.
"You thought I would hurt her. That is why you ask me all the time if I think Jane is all right." She paused, studying him. "Did Anne hurt Edward?"
"No," he said forcefully, finding his legs against the bed so he couldn't retreat farther. He laid Jane down, fencing her in with pillows. When he turned around again, Elizabeth was still standing in front of him.
"She did. You never told me how Edward died. And how did she died, Mr. Darcy? What was the accident?"
"What. Do. You. Want!" he blew out, towering over her.
"I want to help you."
"I don't want your Goddamn help! And I don't need it!" He exhaled suddenly, then bit his lip and braced his hands on his hips. "I'm going out. I must, I must talk with Mr. Hockins," he decided. That was Elizabeth's cue to get out of his way, but she stepped even closer, staring up at him.
"It is third in the morning. You are not going to meet with your steward. What was the accident, Fitzwilliam?"
"Move, Elizabeth. You don't tell me what to do."
"What was the accident?"
"I'm warning you…"
"What was the accident, Fitzwilliam?"
"She jumped! She went to the window on the second floor and jump! There! That's how she died! She killed herself. She killed the baby. Because of me. Is that what you wanted to know?" he shouted at her.
He leaned against the bed, struggling to hold back tears.
"Is that what you wanted to know, Elizabeth?" he repeated hoarsely. "How I found her dead behind the house with her head in puddle of blood? A lot of blood. Do you want to know what Georgie's face looked like when she stood five steps away and saw everything? Do you want to know how it felt standing in the graveyard as they buried my wife and daughter while my sister sobbed alone in the home and knowing it was my fault? Is that what you wanted to know?" his throat croaked out.
She continued staring at him, stunned.
"I will take Jane to the nursery," she whispered, after a long pause. "And then I will bring a basin and some bandages and see to your foot. Stay here."
He nodded not looking up. His blood pounded in his ears and his stomach churned. It hurt to breathe, and he wished he would vomit and get it over with.
"Do you think I'm mad?" he muttered when she returned.
"No. I told you. I think you are hurting."
"I think I'm mad," he said.
She put her candle on the night stand and guided him back so he was sitting on the mattress. Instead of sitting, though, he laid down, hugging his arms tightly around his shivering body.
"I need to see your foot," she urged him gently.
"I don't care. Let it bleed. Lie down, Elizabeth."
For the first time since they'd been married, she hesitated. "Mr. Darcy… you are scaring me. Please…"
"No, just lie down."
She did, very slowly. He scooted forward, putting his arms around her, burying his face in her hair and closing his eyes, waiting until he could speak again.
"When we were first married before Ed came," he whispered to her hoarsely, "Anne would sew shirts because she was my wife and she thought that was her job. They never fit. The sleeves would be two different lengths or the whole shirt three sizes too big but I couldn't bear to tell her. So, I'd have a tailor make copies that fit and wear those and she never knew."
He tried to laugh at the memory and couldn't even come close.
"She loved getting dressed up to go to the theatre and the opera, but she had no idea what was happening on stage and she usually fell asleep against my shoulder before it was over. During intermission, though, we'd look through our opera glasses at people and I'd make up what they were saying, and she'd laugh. She loved me. She adored me. She thought I could do anything, fix anything. She was wonderful, Elizabeth. And I couldn't save her."
"It wasn't your fault."
"She got sick after Ed was born. She loved him but couldn't take care of him. She was so unhappy when he was around. I knew that she cannot stay alone with him but I fell asleep. Anne took him. She put him and herself on a horse. She knew she cannot ride a horse." He shifted, huddling even closer to Elizabeth in the darkness. "He died. She just broke the arm. And he died. She... She just didn't want to have children but I insist so and she got with child again but couldn't stand having baby again and she killed herself. And she killed the baby. She killed Edward. I disappointed them all. I was the head of the family and I couldn't save them."
"You tried." She whispered.
Mr Darcy's Second Chance Page 9