A Baby for Mr. Darcy

by J Dawn King

  Taking the available coins from his desk, he stuffed them into his pockets. Darcy knew how things worked. Bribes would be expected for any creature comforts.

  He would not fight the men doing their job. However, his Fitzwilliam family were in for the war of a lifetime. If he faced the gallows, he would die knowing he did his best to endure whatever he faced.

  Gritting his teeth, he had his butler called to the room. “Dobbs, would you see these notes delivered to Mr. Shaw and to my wife?”

  Nodding his head, his longtime servant took the offered missives. “Pardon me, sir. There is a man who arrived moments ago to see you.”

  Darcy checked the expression on Dobbs’ face. Disdain.

  “I am rather busy at the moment,” Darcy tilted his head towards the constable.

  Before Constable Blodget could offer a comment, George Wickham swaggered into the room. “My, oh my! What have we here? Are you in a spot of trouble, Darcy? Do not concern yourself, my old friend. I will do my best to see to an adequate future for your wife and a wonderful, eventful future for Georgiana.”

  “Wickham!” Darcy lunged for his nemesis. The footmen grabbed both of his arms, pushing him back down in the chair.

  “Did you see that, Constable? I told you Darcy is a man of violence. What more proof do you need that everything else I shared is the honest to God’s truth.”

  All of the puzzle pieces suddenly fell into place.

  “You are not in uniform, Wickham. Have you left your post? I do not believe the law looks favorably on deserters.” Darcy could not resist the jibe.

  Flapping his hand in the air, Wickham smirked. “Did you not know? Your good uncle arranged for my early release. I am staying at Matlock House as his special guest. Your family is quite welcoming once you get to know them. Unlike you, Darcy. Yes, quite unlike you.”

  “Get out of my house!” Darcy looked to the constable. “I believe we are finished here.”

  Taking a final look around the familiar room, he wondered gut-wrenchingly if it was the last time that he would see the inside of his home again.

  No, he could not think that way. He needed to be as confident in himself as was Elizabeth. He would return.

  Chapter 20

  Lady Olivia Fitzwilliam studied the man seated across from her at the table. He was a handsome devil with the perfect amount of cultivated charm. And, cultivated it was. She knew his roots. His father had been Pemberley’s steward for two decades or more. George Wickham had been raised with her cousin by marriage, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Despite the grand education, the steward’s son was a wastrel. She would not be playing with him.

  Glancing at her husband, Lady Olivia could not fail to note the evidence of good breeding in marked contrast to their guest. Henry was not the most handsome man of her acquaintance, but his elegance and stately manner more than adequately matched her own.

  The Fitzwilliams were a powerful family, one of which she was proud to be a part. She knew her duty as viscountess. She was to bear progeny to continue the Fitzwilliam line. For the past six years of marriage, she had delighted in controlling her husband’s presence in her bed chambers. For a certainty, she was aware of the other women who passed through his life. He most likely knew of the other men who had passed through hers.

  Nonetheless, when she reached her twenty-fifth birthdate six months prior, she chose to bring all the playing around to an end. The time was ripe for her attention to be fully turned towards her purpose in marriage. They needed children.

  Since giving all of her affection to her husband, Lady Olivia had not had her courses for three full months. Only that morning she had felt the quickening. Richard would not be the only Fitzwilliam son to have fathered a babe. Smiling to herself, she gazed at Henry.

  He was lifting his wine glass when he caught her eye upon him. Lifting a brow, she shifted her eyes to Wickham. The servant’s son was focused solely on her.

  She knew the exact moment Henry discerned Wickham’s interest. When her husband tilted his head slightly to question her own intent, she shook her head no. She would allow no other man to come to her until at least two of the cradles in the nursery were full.

  Lady Olivia delighted in her secret. To share her good tidings with Hugh Fitzwilliam or Henry would be to lose any freedoms she had cultivated over the years of their marriage. They would demand she remain at home to protect the child. There would be no more balls, theater, visits to the museums, calls on friends, or other ladylike pursuits she enjoyed. No, she would wait until this business with Darcy and Richard was done before letting them know their concerns were for naught.

  Like the viper they called her, Lady Olivia knew exactly when to strike.

  Mr. Peter Shaw entered Darcy’s cell with six of Darcy’s servants following behind. One carried bedclothes. Two others had a new mattress between them. Another hefted a large basket of food and drink that he placed next to the bed. The fifth had Darcy’s portable writing desk, while the sixth carried a large bundle of garments. Mr. Shaw’s hands held thick files of papers.

  “Are you well, Sir?” Mr. Shaw inquired.

  “I will only say that the rumors about the vile conditions in Newgate are true.” Darcy loathed filth. His surroundings were covered in all sorts of questionable debris. “I fear the greatest population in this establishment is lice and fleas instead of criminals. I am grateful for the provisions you have brought.”

  Once the servants departed for their return to Darcy House, the prisoner confessed, “I cannot recall ever feeling the shame I endured when they slapped the irons on me and escorted me through the courtyard. The jeering taunts, the insults, the petitions for me to share whatever my staff would bring, the begging for relief were all an offense to my sensibilities. In truth, I am greatly anticipating the day I walk out of here an acquitted man.”

  “Acquitted,” Mr. Shaw paused. “Let us talk about that, Mr. Darcy.” He rifled through the papers. “Should you be tried by the Lord Chancellor in the Court of Chancery, there are three possible remedies—specific performance, injunctions, or damages. Specific performance would be an order to make you fulfill or repair a breach of contract. An injunction would stop you from an action. In your case, I believe damages would be the order of the day. Should this happen, a penalty would be determined by Lord Matlock and the Lord Chancellor. If this happens, this is a situation where equity would be determined by the Lord Chancellor. Lord Matlock and his barrister will calculate the cost to himself for being lied to about the death of his only grandson for six weeks, having his grandson stolen from him for that period, then any expenses of restoration.”

  “I see,” Darcy understood the ramifications. His uncle would not hold back from requiring the most Darcy could provide. Pemberley.

  “You should know that the Lord Chancellor takes a particular interest in young children who do not have either parent available. With Mrs. Fitzwilliam dead and Colonel Fitzwilliam currently in the custody of the French, I highly suspect the Lord Chancellor will make the baby his ward, then personally assign guardianship until this case is concluded to his satisfaction. Unfortunately, this brings into question your position as guardian to your sister. With you here and her co-guardian in France, your sister, who is not close to her majority, would need to be placed under the guardianship of someone else. I would imagine Lord Matlock would be the most logical choice from the Lord Chancellor’s viewpoint.”

  “Good Lord!” A sick feeling started churning in Darcy’s stomach. This was bad news. However, Mr. Shaw was not yet finished.

  “Yes, well, I would say that this is not good as your uncle is a close friend and confidant of the current Lord Chancellor.”

  Mr. Shaw continued, “The Lord Chancellor’s appointment and authority was given to him by the crown. Thus, he rules the courtroom. There would be no jury. There would be no witnesses called. All testimony would be in written form. The process is quite lengthy, Mr. Darcy. The Lord Chancellor’s authority extends to more than determining mone
tary fines. He has the power to transport the guilty for penal servitude from a few years to life. He can also sentence a man or woman to hang.”

  Bile rose into Darcy’s mouth, burning the back of his throat and his tongue. This was dreadful. He could lose Pemberley, Georgiana, and his life at the whim of his uncle.

  “My other options?” Darcy wanted, no, he needed to know it all.

  “To be tried in the Court of Common Pleas would be to face a jury. Any defense of your case would be done by you. This court, in fact, all courts are under the authority of the Lord Chancellor.”

  Darcy sighed. “Basically, what you are telling me is that a judge will determine my word against my uncle’s. Is this correct?”

  Mr. Shaw nodded. “Indeed, I believe you to be correct.” He paused. “There is one item that could see to your immediate release and eliminate any further procedures.”

  Hope! Darcy yearned to have that one item.

  “Should you have in your possession a letter from the colonel appointing you as guardian over the baby, then all of this is moot. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as the sole surviving male parent has the solid right to determine who is to care for his child. In this, Lord Matlock with all of his connections and power would not prevail. Do you, by chance, have such a document?”

  “I have a letter Richard penned and left for me with the babe. Although he does not use the specific word guardian in the text, his direction for me to see to the current care and future life of his son is exceedingly clear.” A trickle of relief wafted through Darcy’s chest.

  “Might I ask, where is this letter?” Mr. Shaw leaned forward, his attention on Darcy.

  “I placed it in my middle desk drawer in my study at Pemberley.” Frustrated, Darcy pounded his fist on his thigh. “If only I could go myself to retrieve the letter. The drawer is locked.” Reaching into his inside breast pocket, he removed three keys. “I carry these with me at all times. One fits the lock on my desk at both Darcy House and Pemberley. Another is for my safe at Pemberley. The third is for my safe at Darcy House. For my man of business to retrieve the letter quickly, he would need this key.”

  “There is not another key that could be accessed in case this one is lost or misplaced?” Mr. Shaw looked hopeful.

  “Yes. There is an extra key in a secret place at Darcy House, known only by me.”

  “I see.” Disappointment settled on Mr. Shaw’s shoulders. “Even should you share the information so the key could be retrieved, it would be many days until a rider could reach Derbyshire and return. This means you will sit here in your cell until that can be accomplished.”

  “To hurry the process, I will entrust you with my keys. This will save the time of searching at Darcy House. Pray, hurry.” Darcy ordered.

  “Should you wish to write Mrs. Darcy a letter, I could send the key inside the post,” the solicitor kindly suggested.

  Darcy wrote a lengthy missive. His first inclination was to pen a short note as the longer it took to get into Elizabeth’s hands, the longer it would be before Richard’s letter arrived. As the words poured onto the paper, Darcy decided any contact he could have with his wife was worth the extra minutes in Newgate.

  Mr. Shaw left soon after to complete the task. Alone in his cold cell, Darcy pondered the power of hope. That anticipation of good, when under intense suffering, could change a man from sorrow to a glimpse of future optimism.

  He leaned back against the wall. His reality was that his uncle had spent his lifetime cultivating connections to power. Hugh Fitzwilliam and his son Henry thrived amidst illustrious company. Darcy and his father had avoided society with its many deceptions. Comparing the two in a popularity competition, Darcy would lose hands down.

  At that conclusion, his mind spun. In so doing, questions began to appear that served to direct his thoughts to a more positive attitude.

  Why was Aunt Catherine determined to see him brought to ruin and the baby restored to the Fitzwilliams? All in the Fitzwilliam family, including Darcy, knew that Anne was not her daughter, that Anne was a natural child her father claimed as his own. This meant Jem was not directly related to Lady Catherine by blood. What was little James Alexander to her besides her nephew’s son?

  When had Henry become lackadaisical about his younger brother’s life? Was his eldest cousin’s motive jealousy over the accomplishments Richard had earned in the army? How could that be? Henry never had valued hard work before. Was it that Richard had a son and Henry did not? Was that what drove Henry Fitzwilliam to ignore his brother’s plight?

  And, his Uncle Hugh, what personal issues did he have with Darcy other than politics? Surely, it could not be that simple. After all, before the death of Darcy’s father, the two families had spent many summers together, finding pleasure in each other’s company. In spite of heated political discussions of the goings on in the government between the men, there was a decided bond of respect between Lord Matlock and Darcy’s father. What had happened in the five years since the elder Darcy’s death to cause this rupture of the respect and trust between the two families?

  Darcy could not help but think that his Aunt Helen would have stopped this nonsense before it even began. Had she not died, she would have been the one to whom Richard would have entrusted Jem’s care.

  Which would have left Darcy where? At Netherfield Park still trying to avoid an emotional and physical attachment to Elizabeth.

  No! That could not be! Could it? If the message from Richard had not interrupted their dance, would Darcy have left Hertfordshire unattached? Or, would he have set aside the standards he had been raised to and stooped down to make her his wife? How arrogant that sounded to him.

  Lord in heaven, he hoped he would have still married her. Not having Elizabeth would have...his heart hurt as he considered her becoming wife to someone else or her not being beside him at Pemberley.

  He loved having her in his home, hearing her humming to herself as she studied the household accounts, watching her play with Jem when she thought no one was looking, and touching her soft skin intimately. Elizabeth had the coldest feet. Darcy loved even that part of her. Had she been there in the cell she would not have hesitated to slide them up his trouser legs to place them on his warm skin.

  He grinned at the idea, wondering if they would still freeze him during the warm summer. That sobered him.

  Would the letter be sufficient to see to his release? Would he then be able to see to Richard’s freedom? Would he and Elizabeth be able to provide a full life for the few years Georgiana had remaining at home before her debut and eventual marriage? Would they be able to have children of their own?

  The answer would be no if his uncle and aunt prevailed. Therefore, he determined to do all within his power to see they did not.

  With that in mind, he pulled his writing desk to him and began making lists of questions, apparent motives, consequences, and evidence. By nightfall, he had pages of parchment covered with details small and large. At the end, Darcy knew one thing for certain.

  He had much to live for. He had many reasons to love. And, he had a clear goal in mind.

  Chapter 21

  Elizabeth Darcy’s inclination was to personally escort the express rider to the kitchen to prepare for him food with her own hands while thanking him over and over for braving the snow and ice to reach her with news from her husband. Instead, she returned serenely to Darcy’s study, her refuge while he was gone.

  Breaking the seal, she expected to find progress in seeking the colonel’s release. What appeared before her eyes caused her to whimper at each word. Baby stealing? Prison? Newgate? Hanging?

  “What in the world has happened?” she yelled at the room. “How could...”

  Tearing open the attached letter from Mr. Shaw, Elizabeth immediately extracted the key and opened the drawer. On top was the letter from Richard.

  Now that she was seeing it in the brightness of the winter’s day, she noted the places where damp spots had dried. They were Will’s tears. “O
h, my darling man! I cannot bear your distress. Whatever can I do to help you, dear man?”

  She leaned back in his chair to regain some composure. Elizabeth knew nothing would ever be the same unless and until her dearest love was absolved of this terrible injustice and Jem’s future could safely follow the path Richard desired. Holding the small brass key in one hand and the priceless pieces of parchment in the other, Elizabeth was convinced that sitting in comfort when her husband was in the worst situation possible, was blatantly wrong and was not going to solve anything. Considering all of the persons involved, she determined upon a course of action.

  Calling Mrs. Reynolds, she ordered two coaches prepared, one without the Darcy crest marking its side. They would be leaving as soon as possible.

  Elizabeth rushed up the stairs and into Georgiana’s sitting room.

  “Come quickly, Georgiana! There is not a minute to lose.”

  Arriving at the nursery and dismissing the staff, the two hurried to Abigail, who sat in a corner rocking the tiny child to sleep.

  “Ladies, my husband is in dire straits. His uncle and aunt have had him arrested and thrown into prison for stealing Jem.” As soon as the two others settled from their initial shock, Elizabeth waved the letter into the air. “Proof of Will’s innocence is here in my hands. I intend to hurry to London without letting it leave my person.” When Georgiana and Abigail nodded agreement, she continued. “Will warned in his letter that his uncle has probably already dispatched someone to Pemberley for the purpose of removing Jem from us to take him to Matlock House. We cannot allow this to happen. Also, should this letter find its way into Lord Matlock’s hands, it ends any hope that Will could be released.”

  Georgiana swiped at her tears. “What would happen to my brother if he is not declared innocent? Because he is innocent. I know he is.”

  Elizabeth placed her arm around her sister-in-law’s shoulder and squeezed. “From what both Will and his solicitor say, he would either be transported or he would hang.”