Of all the reactions she may have anticipated, him merely laying his head back against the cushions, staring up toward the ceiling and face impassive was not one of them. Her voice trailed off, not knowing what to say in light of his odd stoicism. Silence fell for several heartbeats, neither saying a word.
“Georgiana and Richard,” he broke the quiet with a muted tone. “Yes, it is all clear now. You are correct, dearest. Completely insensate. I interpreted his agitation as grief over Lady Fotherby, which I largely think is true, and Georgie I thought was just upset about his pain, also largely true. They have always gotten on so well, loved each other sincerely, that the concept of it maturing into something more never occurred to me.”
“You… do not seem upset.” It was a question as much as a statement, Darcy smiling and turning his head to look at her.
“No, I am not upset. Surprised, indeed so, but it is not a horrible development. I always imagined Georgiana marrying someone with an estate at least equal to Pemberley, perhaps even a title to go with it. I desire the best for my sister, wealth and security being essential; insist on it actually. But love cannot be tossed aside as inconsequential. And Richard is a quality man, as I know. Honestly, I suppose I would not have preferred to see my sister wed a military man of modest inheritance, but they do not come any better than Colonel Fitzwilliam. You say she is confused? How so?”
“She is young yet and the evolution of her emotions, and Richard’s toward her, have happened so abruptly. And under distressing circumstances…”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “That concerns me as well. Richard can be impulsive and his heart is wounded, no matter how much he wishes to thrust it aside. Falling in love with Georgiana is not shocking at all, as she is beautiful and perfect in every way, but I do not want to see her hurt by someone who is, however unwittingly, seeking to assuage his own pain. I am glad he left without pushing for an engagement.”
“Georgie insisted he return to London and face the past.”
“Did she?” He chuckled. “Very wise, my baby sister.” He began to laugh louder, shaking his head in resignation. “Yes, I am truly the blind fool in this little drama. All the oblique glances, intimate conversations, and blushes are now flashing through my mind with clarity. Just a couple of days ago Richard was talking about finding love elsewhere, the desire for family and a home of his own, and moving on with his life past the disappointments. He practically nailed me to the wall in declaring his worthiness as husband material! He could have asked permission to court Georgiana right then and it would have been impossible for me to disallow it! Quite crafty, that cousin of mine.”
“I doubt if he was purposely attempting to coax you, as I think, from what Georgie says, that he is wise enough to recognize the need for distance and perspective. He would never do anything to cause Georgiana pain.”
“No, there is no question of that.”
She nestled closer to his side, his arm instantly encircling. “It appeals to you then? The idea of the two of them wed?”
He sighed, nodding slowly. “It will take some getting used to, I confess. An adjustment to my thinking on numerous levels. Her happiness is the prime objective so I would need to know for certain that this is what her heart desires above all else. I am adamant that they not rush, and I will assuredly torture Richard a bit over it. Part of the fun, you see!” He was grinning, his eyes distant. Giggles erupted from Lizzy, Darcy glancing to her amused face. “Yes, Mrs. Darcy? You are entertained?”
“I was recalling a man who raged and stormed when his sister off-handedly mentioned a Lord Gruffudd once upon a time.”
“She was only seventeen at that time, may I remind you, and beyond my reach. This scenario is entirely different.” He reached to cup her cheek, fingers brushing tenderly. “It is vital that Georgie find the happiness due her, as I have. I want to see Richard content and settled as well, but not at the expense of my sister. I am not taking this lightly, I can assure you. We must all be cautious. And patient.”
He leaned in to kiss her, moving slowly and sensuously over her lips. “Now, let us put aside the unsolvable puzzle of lovesick relatives for the moment. If memory serves, we have two special days to celebrate soon.”
“We do.”
“Alexander’s birthday will be a family affair with his own cake being created by Mrs. Langton, that an extravagance if you ask me, but since no one did, I shall remain mute on the subject. But for you, Mrs. Darcy, I have decided that our first anniversary was abbreviated and not the glorious celebration I anticipated. Thus we must doubly lionize this anniversary. Two years of bliss with the most beautiful woman alive.”
“And what did you have in mind, Mr. Darcy?” She asked breathlessly, the question partially redundant as he already had her reclining onto the sofa with his hard body pressed onto her now half-clothed flesh.
“Jewels, intimate dinners, dancing, perhaps a picnic in the orangery, more gifts, and long nights of passion before the fire.” His husky voice rose from her bared bosom, the stimulating fingers deep under her lacy shift leaving no doubt his intended way to initiate the celebration of their biennial. But he told her anyway, “What I currently have in mind, in case you were unsure, is to wildly, passionately make love to you right here on this sofa. What this will include, for your edification, is…” And he proceeded to descriptively verbalize each move, usually as it was being enacted upon her body.
Chapter Nineteen
Hearts Beat Once Again
Colonel Fitzwilliam spent the remaining days of November immersed in his work. There was a great deal to do, stacks of papers having accumulated on his desk and a fresh-faced batch of recruits to whip into shape. All of this was fortuitous, as it allotted him scant time to dwell on the two women who invaded his heart. Nonetheless, as the days passed and December loomed on the horizon, the maddening aspects of his situation escalated.
Georgiana’s presence intruded at odd moments throughout his waking day. Her adorable smile, gentle touch, melodic voice raised in song or lively discourse, glowing blue eyes, and lilting laugh pervaded his consciousness and filled his soul with peace and warmth. He missed her in a way that he never had before. Their separation was necessary, but sweetly painful in how he longed for her. That fact alone was gladdening and strengthened his resolve. Absence indeed made the heart grow fonder, and those instances of cheerful contemplation were grasped onto with vigor.
But at night, and even upon unguarded occasions during the day, Simone’s memory was equally vibrant and only grew in power. The stimulus was not due to specific places he went, as he rarely ventured beyond his humble house and the Regimental yard and offices. Nor was it mentions of her name in the papers or among his peers, as he still refused to glance at the Society pages and he did not mingle at the Club or other venues where London gossip swirled. She was simply there, in his mind and, to his irritation, his heart with a persistent yearning felt acutely in his body. He heard her voice, saw her smile, envisioned her eyes, and felt the tingles of her touch as surely as if she were standing beside him.
In his dreams she came to his bed with all the erotic and sensual glories that Georgiana did not. This latter distressed him greatly. Was it just lingering feelings of guilt or scruples over falling for someone he had known since infancy? He wished now that he had succumbed to his desires to kiss her that day in the conservatory, but solicitude for her emotions under the bizarre circumstances had stayed him. Was his inability to imagine being with her in an intimate way due to that? Yet, when he tried to force the fantasy, when he purposefully replaced Simone’s face and body with Georgiana’s, his mind recoiled. Vague qualms raced through his consciousness, inexplicable shame for envisioning her in such a sordid way. Of course this was ludicrous if she was to be his wife! He welcomed dreams of this nature with Georgiana, but they never materialized beyond tender kisses; always melding into Simone’s figure and face when the passion ignited beyond his lucid control.
Logic assured him that once
Lady Fotherby was completely beyond his reach, his heart and soul would be free to embrace the love he held for Georgiana.
The page finally turned, the dreaded month of December was ushered in, and with it came the arrival of Darcy to Town. His planned journey of approximately three weeks for business had initially been arranged as a family vacation. He and Lizzy thought it would be fun to spend the weeks prior to Christmas in London for the holiday entertainments available and improved shopping choices. They both agreed that this year they preferred a quiet Christmas, opting instead to visit relatives at their residences rather than inviting everyone to Pemberley. However, days before their departure date Alexander developed a mild cold and it was agreed that he should stay home where it was warm and safe.
Darcy arrived in London determined to finish the necessary work. He did, of course, immediately send word to Colonel Fitzwilliam hoping the two could drown their mutual sorrows in vigorous fencing or horseback riding or even darts if that would do the trick. He was not surprised when Richard did not respond.
For his part, Richard was not intentionally being rude. He was considerably swamped with work, his evasion of extracurricular activities not exclusively due to a desire to prevent idle chitchat that may inadvertently lead to a topic he wished to avoid. He knew Darcy would be in Town for several weeks, so figured there would be time later… after… when he would undeniably need his oldest friend’s companionship.
Yet, as the days ticked rapidly by and before he found the time to contact Darcy, two events occurred that would forever alter his future.
The first was the murder of Lord Wellson.
Colonel Fitzwilliam got wind of the tale one afternoon, three days before the marriage of Lady Fotherby and Lord Wellson was to occur, while walking through the yard on the way to the stables. A group of privates stood lounging in front of their barracks, unaware of the approaching officer as they were so engrossed in bawdy commentary and laughter.
“Caught him naked as the day he was born, in the act itself!”
“Wonder if he had finished. Seems a shame to take a bullet for the tasty joys of a trollop without the final glory, ya know!”
“What a way to go! Die with a smile on your face!”
“Maybe. Depends on how far it had gone. If the timing was right, then neither of them may have felt any pain.”
Richard shook his head, diverting around the rough group and hoping they would not see him as he was in no mood for salutes and genuflecting. His own thoughts were dark today for no reason he could ascertain, and being forced to chastise a rowdy bunch of underlings was not appealing. He was almost past when one of the young men said, “Old rake! Serves him right for carrying on with another man’s wife. With the pretty dainty he is engaged to you’d think he’d be willing to keep his stick occupied with her! Weren’t enough free bits-of-muslin out there to pluck, so Wellson needs to plow a married woman?”
Richard rounded on the fellows, face grey and tight. “What did you say?”
But he could get nothing coherent out of the men then. They were universally too embarrassed by being caught crudely gossiping and passing around a flask of whiskey by a Commanding Officer.
Heart thudding dangerously, he immediately whirled about and headed toward his office building where newspapers were plentiful. The story was plastered on the front page of every paper.
The notorious Lord Wellson was discovered flagrantly fornicating with the wife of a Fleet Street publisher by the name of Mr. Harris, in the man’s own bedroom no less! The man had suspected his wife of dallying with the infamous rogue and came prepared with pistol in hand. It was likely swift and messy, but details of the crime scene were so outrageously exaggerated that the truth would never be fully known. Lady Fotherby’s name was dragged into the circulating clamor, the reality that the poor woman was more a victim than any of the others lost to only a few. The scandal was immense and the gossip titillating.
Suddenly Richard could not circumvent hearing her name, and the associated rumors, as they were the prime discussion. Facts of any substance were scarce and so jumbled within the innuendo and blather that deciphering truth was difficult. But one detail that repeated was the news that Lady Fotherby had all this time been in Hampshire at her father’s estate. No one had seen or heard from her since well before the betrothal was announced. This was extremely odd, and although most folks used this as a launching point for further vulgar jokes, hidden in the discourse was the sporadic speculation that there was something unnatural about the whole relationship from the outset.
Richard felt truly ill. He could hardly think during the remainder of his day and functioning with any sort of normalcy was nigh on impossible. The new recruits and anyone else who crossed his path suffered the brunt of his foul mood. All the sensibilities of the past weeks that he thought he was successfully dealing with surged forth in a tumultuous spin of emotion. He could not focus onto any one long enough to grasp onto it. The reality that Lord Wellson’s death meant she was now a free woman again was not entirely lost on him, but the welter of emotions was so overwhelming and competitive that nothing rational reigned.
As soon as he was able, he left and rode directly to Darcy House. Darcy was waiting, whiskey thrust into Richard’s shaking hands before greetings were verbalized. There was some talking as the evening turned into late night, mostly on Richard’s part, as Darcy comforted by simply listening, but primarily Richard stared into space as his thoughts swirled.
Two days passed with Richard attempting to perform normally. At times the urge was overwhelming to do something, but he had no clue as to what that should be. What was the proper course? She had rejected him, he reasoned, so he certainly owed her nothing. Yet his heart refused to grow cold no matter how he pleaded for it to do so. By the end of those two days, as he rode slowly through the busy streets toward his home, exhausted and sick, the last thing he wanted or expected was to have another shock waiting for him.
My dearest Richard,
How many days and weeks have I contemplated what I would say to you if I was so blessed as to be given the chance! Oh God Richard, I pray you still believe in my love for you! Please, I beg you, do not toss this away as you probably should. I am so afraid that you will do just that and not read what I have to say. I have much to explain, but fear I have no time. As it is, I do not know if my fortunes will prevail long enough for me to finish this letter. I must be hasty.
I need your help, dear one. I am at my father’s house in Hampshire, where we have been since my foolish departure from you in September, under lock and heavy guard. My father and my uncle, evil men I now perceive, held me captive, using my children as blackmail to force me to agree to marry Wellson. Never would I have done it! Never! But my sweet Oliver has been so ill and treatment was declined him ere I relented. I know it must sound implausible, like a badly written play, but it is true. I have prayed incessantly for the slightest glimmer of hope, seeking any crack in the vigilance so I could escape and end the sham. It came finally in the news of that horrid man’s death! Please forgive me, dear Richard, for possessing no mercy, but I can only exalt in the salvation of his demise. The method matters naught to me, nor do I care about the scandal. I am in a state of utter bliss! Father is furious, somehow in his wicked dementia blaming me. He has gone insane, I am certain of it, and I am extremely fearful. Yet the ensuing chaos has given me an opening. At least I hope.
They are not watching me as closely, so I think I can slip this letter into the outgoing mail. I do not dare trying to escape and I refuse to leave my children in the midst of this madness. Please help me, Richard. Help us. I am not asking for your forgiveness, as I do not deserve it for causing you pain. My only prayer is that your compassion, which you possess in abundance, will draw you to me. There is no one else I can trust.
Yours, always,
Simone
Richard read the letter through twice in rapid succession. His weariness abruptly faded with the instantaneous rise of his w
rath and fear. He noted the date as written on the day of Wellson’s murder. Four days ago. For four days she was apparently unable to hide the letter to be sent. For four days she and the children were living in a madhouse suffering God only knew what. It was more than he could bear. But, with the conditioned response of the born military man, he wasted no time on fear or anger.
The first order of business was to enlist aid. No hesitation there, Richard riding fast to the house of his best friend from their Academy days and fellow soldier during numerous campaigns, Colonel Roland Artois. Colonel Artois leaned negligently against the doorframe, casually eating a thickly crusted rye roll, while Richard gave a brief, crisp explanation. Then he grinned, brushed the crumbs off his fingers with a slap, and said, “Sounds like fun. Rescuing a damsel in distress and vexing a Lord. My wife will think me so romantic. We have to include Warren or he will never forgive you.”
“My thought exactly. You get him and meet me at the Darcy townhouse.” And with nothing further but precise nods, they parted.
If Mr. Travers was taken aback by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s curt attitude he did not show it. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy was at home, if in a meeting with his solicitor and shipping partners, but it never crossed the butler’s mind to refuse Mr. Darcy’s cousin entrance or immediate access to his Master. Darcy strode out of his library office, meeting Richard in the middle of the foyer and without preamble asked, “What has happened?”
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