“I have no time to explain. I need your carriage and driver, now.”
Darcy nodded. “Done.” He gestured to Mr. Travers, who waited a distance away, giving the command, and turned back to Richard. “Anything else?”
“My father’s physician, Dr. Angless. Can you send word to him to be on the alert? I may need him, I am not sure, but he is one of the best in London.”
“I will take care of it personally and have him waiting here. You are going after her.”
It wasn’t a question and Richard was not at all surprised that Darcy would piece it together. “Yes. She is in Hampshire being held captive. I know,” he said, seeing Darcy’s raised brow, “it sounds melodramatic and medieval, but she would not lie to me.” He said it with conviction, suddenly realizing how true the words were. The clarity in thought was a heady rush, leaving him momentarily breathless at the wonder of how he could ever have doubted her. The guilt at not fighting harder, forcing the truth somehow, threatened to overwhelm him. But just as rapidly he pushed it aside, regaining control, as he needed to do to deal with the present crisis.
The clomping of horses’ hooves interrupted further explanation. Richard glanced out the open door to see Artois and Warren in the street. To Darcy he gave instructions to send the driver to the estate in Hampshire as hastily as possible, leaving with a faint smile of thanks.
The three men pushed their horses hard. Fortunately, these were battle-trained mounts prepared for much rougher terrain than the well-maintained roads near London, so the distance was traversed swiftly with the animals breaking out in a minimal sweat. The sprawling estate and ancestral home of the Earl of Wrexham was surrounded by a high iron fence with the gate chained and padlocked. The last time Richard had approached these gates he was met by two stern-faced, armed groundsmen, one of whom had returned with a rebuffing message from Lady Fotherby as well as one from Lord Wrexham with the Earl’s official seal ordering him to vacate the premises or face the consequences. This time only one of the groundsmen was on guard, the frightened, wild look in his eyes escalating upon spying the three mounted men in uniforms plastered with medals and officer insignias. He shook his head when the three halted less than a yard from the bars, attempting to speak and glare, but he never had the chance to muster his authority because Richard calmly drew his pistol and with one well-aimed blast he shattered the lock. The chains fell in a metallic clatter to the ground, Colonel Artois spurring his horse forward and kicking the gates open. They rode through in a united front, none of them glancing at the stunned guard.
The drive was circular and short, the house seen from the gates, so there was no doubt that the shot would have been heard. But the soldiers were quick. They flew off their horses before the animals were fully stopped, swords drawn to meet the three footmen descending the entryway steps. Bloodshed was avoided, thankfully, as the servants were no match for the soldiers and they knew it. The orders to prohibit intruders were obliterated the second they laid eyes on the gleaming metal pointed their direction!
Richard warily entered the foyer, eyes keen and reflexes on alert. Warren and Artois followed in a flank position, equally vigilant. Strangely, the initial impression was of echoing emptiness. The footmen had backed away, silently watching from a safe distance. A couple of other servants were noted, frozen with shock and wide-eyed stares. No one spoke or made a single move. The seconds stretched, the warriors rapidly scanning the premises to gain their bearings. Just as Richard turned to signal Warren to remain posted on guard while he and Artois headed upstairs where he assumed Simone and the children would be, an angry voice pierced the air.
“You will do as I say, you frigid, ungrateful harpy! Because of your hatefulness and obstinacy you weren’t married last month. None of this would have happened if you were more accommodating!”
Richard whirled to the right, the voice he recognized as Lord Wrexham’s reverberating down the long corridor running toward the back of the manor. He sprinted, sword clutched in a white knuckled hand, and unable to hear the murmured response. But the next words left no doubt who he was berating, not that Richard was questioning.
“He wanted you, would have bedded you from the beginning and been content. But, no, not Miss High and Proper! You’ll whore for your nobody lover, a soldier with nothing, but not for a nobleman willing to marry you! You, a used slut with that loathsome invalid you call your son!”
“No!”
A murderous Richard burst through the half open door, his pace not slowing as he took in the scene. Lord Wrexham was pacing, his arms gesticulating crazily as he continued to rant and swear, impervious to Simone’s shouted negation and the fact that she was fast approaching his back with a huge porcelain vase raised over her head. Neither of them noted the noisy entrance of three sword-wielding gentlemen, both too intent upon their individual fury.
“Simone!” Richard shouted.
But it was too late. She started slightly but it was only enough to switch the point of impact from square upon the back of her father’s head, as she intended, to his left shoulder. The vase shattered, the sound loud but not drowning the sickening crunch of broken bone. Lord Wrexham yelled in pain and staggered, blood rapidly soaking his shirtsleeve, yet he somehow managed to pivot toward Simone with eyes savagely blazing and right fist raised.
Richard launched forward, leaping over the low table in between, and bowled bodily into the earl. They crashed into the wall and his sword flew out of his hand. He compensated quickly, his fist a blur as it swung upward and made contact with the earl’s left temple, the stricken man’s eyes glazing and rolling back into his head moments before he bonelessly toppled to the floor.
Richard knelt, checking his pulse to assure he was alive and then peeling back an eyelid to assure he was deeply unconscious. Satisfied on both counts, Richard then turned to Simone.
She stood taut and straight, her eyes glittering with residual anger and gradually dawning happiness. Her cheeks were flushed, hair loose and disheveled, chest heaving with ragged inhalations, and the only thought that went through Richard’s mind was that she looked absolutely ravishing!
“You came,” she said simply.
“I came,” he responded.
And then the stasis broke. They crossed the short space between, arms embracing fiercely and mouths crushing together in a passionate kiss.
Artois nudged Warren, both men smirking as they backed out of the room.
“He always has all the fun,” Warren grumbled good-naturally.
“True. But no one knows the truth but us three, so the tale can be spun to our advantage. At least our wives can think we are the heroes and that should earn us more than a kiss.”
The marriage of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and Lady Simone Fotherby took place three weeks after Christmas in the small chapel attached to the Fotherby estate in Buckinghamshire. It was a humble ceremony and reception with the bride wearing an unpretentious pale yellow gown that accented her stunningly youthful blonde coloring and glowing mien. She walked down the aisle preceded by her two sons tossing rose petals and escorted proudly by her stepson, Lord Oliver Fotherby, with eyes only on her earnestly waiting groom. The Colonel wore his most elaborate dress uniform with the wealth of earned medals adorning his chest polished until gleaming, wool tailored to perfection for his stocky physique, and a countenance beaming with transcendent joy.
The intimate gathering of friends and family were unified in their happiness for the couple. How could anyone feel otherwise when the two were so forthright in their giddy elation? The sacred vows were exchanged before the altar with due solemnity only broken for a second when Richard glanced toward Darcy, who winked and grinned. Many in the audience knew of the tortuous road these two had traversed to reach this place as the scandals surrounding Lord Wellson’s murder and the formal severing with her father, Lord Wrexham, were now common knowledge. But only a handful knew the full extent of the trauma, and thus rejoiced in the union finally coming to fruition.
Congratulations and blessings were abundant. Darcy was uncharacteristically effusive in his felicitations, saving the best of his teases for after the honeymoon. Lizzy did not hesitate in kissing her cousin smartly on the cheek and hugging his new bride. Dr. George Darcy was as effusive as his nephew and did not reserve his teasing. Raul and Anne Penaflor were genuine in their well wishes while Lady Catherine de Bourgh nodded politely. Lord Matlock was stately, as was Lady Matlock, but the controlled tears in their eyes spoke volumes. Jonathan clapped his brother on the back and offered a lusty “well done” while Priscilla tried not to express her chagrin over the younger brother marrying a woman of higher rank. Lord Montgomery accompanied his wife to her brother’s nuptials, although he looked positively bored stiff with the procedure, but Lady Annabella Montgomery was surprisingly moved by her brother’s happiness and bestowed a heartfelt kiss and embrace.
Georgiana extended sincere congratulations and wishes for eternal happiness to the couple. Simone embraced her young cousin in true joy and understanding of the circumstances, Richard having divulged his tumultuous emotions during their separation. The groom, however, avoided Georgiana’s eyes. His remorse and discomfort were evident, feelings that were ridiculous as Simone and Georgiana genuinely liked each other and neither woman wished for anything but his happiness. It was a strained situation that pained all three of them.
A number of Richard’s friends and military associates were present, each delighted to be a part of witnessing the long-time bachelor finally succumb. The Vernors, Sitwells, Hugheses, and Bingleys were in attendance, as were a select group of Lady Fotherby’s lifelong friends and her three sisters. Considering the prominence of the bride it was a modest assembly, many in Society shocked and angered to be denied an invitation; but Simone was unfazed. She readily embraced life as wife to an ordinary gentleman, who in her eyes was extraordinary in every possible way.
“So, Cousin, how is matrimony suiting you thus far?”
“I have been married for exactly one hour, Darcy, so aside from wishing desperately that I was alone with my bride, I do not think I can give an explicit accounting of the matrimonial state. Ask me again in a month or so.”
“Indeed I will. If you are then ready to quit your bedchamber for an evening with me.”
“Remember that I am marrying a woman with children so will undoubtedly not have as much time to dally in my conjugal bed as you probably did.”
He grinned at his cousin, Darcy grinning in return.
“Young Lord Fotherby appears healthy at the moment.”
“He was slow to recover from the poor medical management administered by Wrexham’s quack,” Richard said with bitterness. “Simone lost too many hours of sleep worrying over him, another reason her father deserves to be shot for what he did.”
Unfortunately, the most Lord Wrexham would suffer as a result of his crime was a left arm that pained him and had limited mobility. It was monumentally unfair, but Simone had no legal recourse, as there was no proof that she was detained against her will unless she chose to launch an extended investigation. Since this would likely be a fruitless effort in light of her father’s wealth and influence, it was not worth further scandal that might harm her children. Harry and Hugh were young enough to be innocently unaware of the drama. Oliver’s sequelae was serious, his condition critically worsened due to nearly two months of mistreatment. But in the end, that too may have been an odd blessing as Dr. Angless collaborated with the Fotherby family physician, as well as Dr. Darcy putting his superior intellect and unique experience to the mix, and a new plan was devised for the mysterious ailment. Oliver was responding favorably, a great deal of his gaiety and heartiness undoubtedly the result of observing the only mother he had ever known glowing with happiness.
“You a father,” Darcy teased, noting the fond smile on Richard’s face as he watched Hugh, Harry, and Oliver laughing as they exhaled on a cold window and drew pictures in the vapor. “Who would have thought it?”
“Not I,” Richard said with a laugh. “Far too much responsibility for me. Simone must be crazy.”
“Maybe,” Darcy agreed with a grin. “Do you think you will miss it?” He nodded toward the mass of medals adorning Richard’s chest.
“At times I am sure I will. It is hard to fathom no longer being a part of what has been essentially my family and identification for nearly as long as I can remember, but I am prepared to enter a new phase of life and identity as husband, father, and estate manager. I gave the matter intense contemplation, as you know, and it is for the best. I cannot be the husband she deserves if I am encumbered with my professional duties. Nor do I want to run the risk of another war or being deployed. I will not be parted from her, Darcy, not ever again.”
Darcy nodded. “I understand completely, my friend.”
They paused for a moment to gaze upon their wives where they sat surrounded by children and ladies.
“Have you told Elizabeth of your plans to take her on tour through Europe?”
“I have hinted. I am keeping it tentative at the moment until I finalize some business matters and research travel options. I have never traveled abroad with a family, so concessions must be made. You shall see in due course, Cousin. Life is no longer easy, but well worth the discomfort, I assure you.” Richard smiled, a bit foolishly, and Darcy chuckled. “The plans are taking shape and if all is well, then I shall reveal it as a birthday present. By the way, do you think you and Mrs. Fitzwilliam will be able to visit Pemberley for the Summer Festival? We are planning a smaller affair for May this year. I thought I better extend the invitation now, since I will likely not see much of you in the subsequent months.”
“Very funny. If you keep this up I am tempted to avoid you purposely for the sake of my sanity! As for the Festival, we will be there… if you think it wise.”
Darcy glanced at Richard’s suddenly clouded face, noting that his gaze had strayed from divine wife to lovely Georgiana where she stood across the room in animated conversation with Kitty Bennet and a number of others.
“Richard, you need to let your guilt go. How many times must we tell you that Georgiana is perfectly fine? Only you persist in this train of thought. She is young and resilient, much as you are. Her only pain is in your remorse and embarrassment and avoidance of her. She loves you too much to want you to suffer. You need to talk to her, and although this is perhaps not the best venue, you should not embark on your honeymoon with any residual baggage.”
Richard nodded, eyes sad but suddenly determined. “You are right. Excuse me please.”
He was waylaid on his quest by his wife, a brief moment of whispered declarations of devotion and subtle caresses lightening his spirits. It was a face infused with radiant happiness that greeted Georgiana, who instantly smiled in return.
“Miss Darcy, Miss Bennet,” he bowed formally before turning to Kitty. “Miss Bennet, may I steal my cousin away for a stroll on the terrace?”
Arm in arm they walked among the scattered guests enjoying the crisp air, content in the silence of sweet companionship. With each step Richard’s irrational guilt disappeared.
It was Georgiana who broke the hush with a softly teasing lilt, “Now, this is not so horrible, is it Richard? Taking a turn with one of your dearest friends?”
He laughed helplessly, gracing her with his beaming face and bright grin.
She halted, reaching gentle fingertips to his cheek. “Ah! There it is! The sincere smile of true happiness that I have longed to rejoice in. The face that I so adore filled with peace. You are a fool, Richard Fitzwilliam, to think that I would ever wish for anything else for you. But I shall forgive you this one misstep, as long as you promise to be my friend for all of your life.”
He blinked stinging tears, swallowing the lump caught in his throat, lowering his head to briefly rest upon her shoulder before again meeting her glorious eyes. He lifted her fingers for a firm kiss, holding her gaze while answering, “All of my life and beyond to eternity, Georgie,
my little mouse. That is my promise.”
Kitty watched Georgiana and Richard disappear around the corner with a pleased smile on her face. Naturally, she knew the entire tale, she and Georgiana maintaining a constant correspondence over the months. The sadness that Georgiana experienced at what she feared was an estrangement with Richard was profound, and Kitty was thrilled to see the two finally speak. She had no doubt that their relationship’s wounds would be repaired, knowing that the affection shared was deep.
She sighed. Too bad not all relationships can be mended so easily, she thought. Of course, not all relationships were of an honest nature, a fact that she could not forget no matter how hard she tried. The odd part was that her heart no longer ached for Anthony Falke, and there were even times when she struggled to recall a fine detail of his appearance or character. Yet the damage to her soul remained as bleakly intense as on the day she was rejected so brutally.
Kitty had not shared the events in Stevenage with either parent. Primarily this was due to the painful nature of the ordeal, but also out of mortification. Being rebuffed so vigorously by someone who had professed love and proudly believing oneself a worthy recipient of love, only to have it dashed into a thousand pieces was a staggering abasement.
Torn between the fear of further lies and humiliation, and the conviction that she was deficient in some manner and therefore undeserving of the love she saw portrayed so beautifully in her sisters’ marriages, Kitty shrank from any male attention. She resisted attending the various assemblies offered in Meryton and when she was coerced, she danced few sets and generally with boys she knew to be “safe.” She had not been particularly keen on accompanying Georgiana to London, even as fond as she was of Colonel Fitzwilliam, but her friend’s pleading and misery had won over any misgivings.
Now here she was, a guest at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wedding, surrounded by a sea of men in uniform, and all she could think of was how her mother would shrilly scold her for not taking advantage of a prime marriage market when it was laid on her lap! The thought was actually quite humorous, and she smiled at the mental image of her mother in a nervous tizzy, chuckling under her breath until she realized that her expression had drawn the attention of an adolescent soldier standing several yards away. He bowed in a sort of salute, and to her horror started crossing toward her! Eyes wild, she launched from the chair and made a dash for the doorway.
In the Arms of Mr. Darcy tds-4 Page 41