Mistress Mary and the General: A Pride and Prejudice Inspired Story

by Bronwen Chisholm

  She sighed and looked about. Perhaps she would feel differently once Georgiana arrived. Darcy’s sister had been in London preparing for her wedding, but wanted to spend one last summer at Pemberley before beginning her new life as Mrs. James Kirkpatrick.

  Mary bit her lip in contemplation. Another young lover. She sighed, wondering if that would ever be her fate; even while still uncertain if it was a thing she desired.

  A flurry of motion in the woods to her left broke her reverie. Mary turned, but saw nothing unusual. Standing, she began walking in that direction; hoping movement would settle her sudden unease. With one hand holding her bonnet against the winds, she made her way across the expanse of lawn leading down to the wooded area, all the while scanning the tree line for any movement. Still uncertain as she came within the shelter of the woods, she turned and looked back at the house.

  Pemberley truly was beautifully situated. It brought to mind Elizabeth’s letter upon her first arrival at the grand home, and she spoke it aloud. “I have never seen a place for which nature has done more, or where natural beauty has been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.”

  “She is magnificent, is she not?”

  Mary startled at the sound of a man’s voice and turned to find General Fitzwilliam standing a few feet from her. Once she regained her equanimity, she noticed his appearance was radically altered from their earlier meeting. His pantaloons were stained by dirt and grass, mud caked about the edges of his once polished boots, and bits of flora and debris clung to his coat; his hat was missing completely.

  As he appeared unharmed, she was uncertain if she should question him; so, still nervous after their earlier encounter, she returned her gaze to the grand manor house. “I was remembering Lizzy’s description when Darcy first brought her here. It seemed as though it were designed for her, and she for it.”

  “I have always considered Pemberley an oasis, a Xanadu if you would.” His voice was nearly a whisper, as though he did not realize he spoke aloud.

  Mary took a moment to observe him, quite aware he had forgotten her presence. His eyes were red-rimmed, and deep lines about his mouth which may have once been laugh lines, now appeared to belie an age far advanced than his thirty odd years. Though he wore the clothing of a gentleman, he seemed out of place in them. The calloused hands which flexed at his sides appeared desirous of some activity outside of society’s expectations.

  In the past when they had been in company, Mary had rarely seen him without a smile and a humorous story to tell. He was never far from his wife, and it was obvious they had loved each other deeply. Watching him had almost been exhausting to Mary then. He was so full of life and exuberance. The shell standing before her was nearly unrecognizable as the same man.

  While he remained in a state of deep contemplation, she considered his lot in life. The love of his life was gone, as was his career. She could not imagine it had been easy for him to leave the Army after so many years in service. Mary reflected upon the stories he told, obviously censored for the ladies’ sensitivities, and the sparkle in his eyes which nearly rendered him handsome. He was now beginning to traverse a new path, but was clearly lost in how to begin.

  A sigh escaped her as her eyes returned to his countenance, only to find him gazing directly at her. She could feel the colour rise in her cheeks as she quickly looked away. A moment later, they were both speaking at once.

  “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. Please continue,” he motioned for her to do so, though she did not see it.

  Slowly finding her voice, Mary still refused to meet his gaze. “I simply wished to apologize for my words this morning. I did not mean to reprimand you, sir.”

  Shaking his head, he brushed a hand against his leg in an attempt to dislodge a particularly large clump of dirt. “You were doing what you believed was best for my children. I thank you for that.” He raised his eyes and reached out toward her so she would look at him. Once he held her gaze, he allowed his hand to fall without touching her, and smiled sadly. “I am not the neglectful father you believe me to be, Miss Bennet. I treasure my children, but ….” His eyes filled with tears and he turned away, cursing under his breath.

  “Your children are missing Sarah also, sir. Would it not be better for all of you to share your grief?” She stepped closer to him. “Proverbs nine and twenty tells us a child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame. Your children are looking to you for direction, sir. Would you desert them when they need you most?”

  Realizing she had once again overstepped, she turned away. “Forgive me, sir, for speaking so harshly after promising not to mention it again.” She glanced over her shoulder in his direction. “Please know that I only speak out of genuine affection for the children. I dislike seeing them so sorrowful. They are young and should be filled with joy.”

  She took a few steps away from the shelter of the trees and felt the wind whip at her skirts and bonnet. Turning her back against it, she addressed him once more. “I cannot believe Sarah would want her loved ones to continue in this manner.” As quickly as was possible, she returned to the house and hurried up the stairs to her room before she could be intercepted.

  Tossing her bonnet on a chair, followed by her pelisse, she stepped to the window and watched as dark clouds moved across the sky. She looked to the woods, wondering if the General had remained there, if he would be at dinner that evening, and if she could ever speak rationally with him again. It seemed as though she had taken on the role of conscience to the man, and she was not certain he appreciated it.

  ***********

  Richard watched Miss Bennet’s petite frame fight its way across Pemberley’s expansive lawn, battered by the winds which signalled an impending storm. He looked down at his clothing and shook his head. What worse could a bit of rain do? Turning back into the trees, he whistled and began his search again.

  His frustration in recognizing the wisdom in Miss Bennet’s words during breakfast had led him to make a foolish decision. He had chosen to ride a spirited mount while distracted. Phantom, unhappy with riding in the strong winds, had chosen to find cover amongst the trees, and in his preoccupation, Richard had not seen the branch which unseated him. Lucky to have suffered no greater injury than the one to his pride, he had then begun the search for the vexatious animal.

  His greatest fear was Phantom would return to the stables without him, raising an unwelcome alarm. Richard grimaced as he considered Darcy’s reaction to such an occurrence. Thankfully, he had found the animal soon enough, but the confounded beast cantered away whenever he came within a few feet. He was making slow progress in the direction of the stables, when he had come upon Miss Bennet. Realizing he owed her an apology for his ungentlemanly behaviour that morning, he had approached her; but her look of admiration as she studied Pemberley House had caused him to pause.

  Pemberley truly had been a kind of balm to his soul over the years. Richard had sought refuge there during most every crisis in his life. And this was no different, except he now realized he was fighting the healing spirit that seemed to fill this place. He said he desired peace, but he turned away whenever his pain appeared to ease. It was as though he wanted to cling to the grief which threatened to overwhelm him.

  “I cannot believe Sarah would want her loved ones to continue in this manner.”

  Miss Bennet was correct.

  An ache, completely unrelated to the branch which had struck him, began to grow in his gut. It tore at his insides, threatening to rip him asunder. Dropping to his knees, Richard’s hands enveloped his face as he released a low guttural groan before pitching forward into the soft bed of foliage covering the floor of the wooded area and released the accumulation of emotions which had filled every corner of his being since Sarah had passed. He heard more than felt the rain as it began to fall, washing over him as though cleansing him from within. As the rampage of emotions slowed, he became aware of a warm breath on his neck. Rolling over, he looked up into Phantom’s shining eyes. For a moment the
y appeared almost human.

  Slowly, so as not to chase the animal away again, Richard reached up and patted the horse’s nose. Phantom tossed his head and whinnied his displeasure with being wet before nudging Richard’s side.

  “You are correct, Old Man. It is time to return.”

  Chapter Five

  The servants’ hall was all in uproar. General Fitzwilliam had been gone most of the morning and Mr. Darcy had been quite disturbed by his absence. The normally exacting though kind master, had been snapping at any who approached him. They realized the only thing which would settle him, other than the safe return of the General, was the presence of his wife; but none dared wake the recuperating Mistress.

  When the General finally appeared at the kitchen door, resembling a half-drowned dog more than a man, they bustled him inside and sat him by the fire while O’Toole was called. Realizing Mr. Darcy was in a state of alarm over his well-being, Mrs. Reynolds was about to send word to the Master, when General Fitzwilliam stopped her.

  “I beg of you, Madam, to delay notifying my cousin until I have reached my rooms. Perhaps even until I have settled into a warm bath with a bit of brandy?”

  His warm chocolate eyes pleaded with her, and she was unable to deny his request. Mrs. Reynolds had been the housekeeper at Pemberley since the current Mr. Darcy was a small child. She had watched both him and his cousin grow into respectable men. Seeing Richard Fitzwilliam in this manner tore at her motherly heart.

  “Then that is where you must go, sir.” She turned toward a footman and motioned him forward. “Assist the General to his rooms. I shall order hot water to follow immediately.”

  O’Toole met the men as they made their way up the servant’s stairs, and relieved the footman of his burden. Saying not a word, but shaking his head every few minutes, the valet assisted his soul-wearied master to his rooms.

  “Go ahead, O’Toole. Tell me what is on your mind,” Richard said as he dropped into the shaving chair and waited for the bath water to arrive.

  A grimace passed over the other man’s countenance as he surveyed his master’s appearance. Shaking his head once more, he took hold of a boot and slipped it expertly from Richard’s foot. Clucking his tongue, he tossed it aside and took hold of the other. The buckets began to arrive as the second boot joined its partner.

  Once the bath was filled and Richard stripped of his ruined clothing, O’Toole hurried the footmen out of the room with their bundles for the ragbag. Clearly disgusted with his master, he began noisily bustling about the dressing room while Richard lay back in the water.

  “O’Toole,” Richard said as he watched his manservant. The man continued to ignore him until Richard barked out, “Major O’Toole!”

  On reflex, the valet snapped to attention before recognizing the impish grin upon his master’s face. Frowning, O’Toole returned to his work. “Was there something you needed, sir?”

  “Two things, actually. A bit of brandy and for you to speak your mind.” Noticing the stiffness in the other man’s shoulders, Richard took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I realize I have been acting like a bit of an arse …”

  “A bit?” O’Toole turned to the man in the bath, a look of incredulity upon his face. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Closing his eyes, Richard readied himself for the assault and nodded. “Speak.”

  “I would never take anything away from Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and it be right of you to mourn her, sir; but you have taken hold of your mourning as though it is your new profession, to the exclusion of all else.” As O’Toole warmed to his subject, his passion allowed a bit of the brogue he suppressed as a proper gentleman’s valet to slip through. “Wee Willie searches for ya each day. He is doing his best with the young’uns, but he wishes to talk with his father; express his own grief to the man who would most understand. The babes just want your attention.” He ran a hand across his lips as he chose his next words.

  “I feared this, when you resigned. You are a man of action, sir. Ya always were. In less than four months you lost your wife and your purpose. It is time ya found a new one.”

  Silence stretched in the small room until Richard finally sat forward and met his servant’s gaze. “Are you through?”

  Standing tall, O’Toole nodded as he waited for the other man’s reprimand.

  “Thank you.”

  O’Toole’s eyes widened, clearly uncertain how to respond.

  “Truly. I know not what the children and I would have done without you during this time.” He swallowed and sat back against the side of the bath. “You are correct, of course; I am in need of enterprise. I shall have to think upon it.”

  A loud knocking was heard at the bedroom door and Richard laughed harshly. “That will be Darcy. I am certain he has much to say of my behaviour; but he may be able to provide some thoughts as well.”

  The knocking grew louder. Nodding his head toward the door, Richard picked up the soap and began to work it into a lather. “Best to allow him entrance before he breaks it down. Oh, and could you bring us a bottle of something?”

  O’Toole nodded as he stepped into the bedroom and opened the door for Mr. Darcy.

  “Where is he?” Darcy snapped as the door swung back.

  “In the bath, sir.” O’Toole stepped out of the way, to allow Darcy’s passage, before moving into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

  “Richard!” Darcy strode into the dressing room and began pacing the small area. “What were you thinking? You are no fool. The winds were a clear indication of a storm about to descend, and yet you chose that moment to ride the most temperamental beast in my stables? You know you are the only one, other than myself, I would trust upon Phantom; but not in these conditions!” He stopped before the bath and met his cousin’s gaze. “Are you trying to kill yourself, man?”

  “No.” Richard continued to bathe as he watched his cousin. The fear and anger which had driven Darcy when he first entered was clearly dissipating. “I must offer you an apology, Darce.”

  “As well as half my household!” Darcy dropped into the shaving chair and rested his head in his hands. After briskly rubbing his face, he looked up at his cousin. “I hope I never know what you have experienced in losing Sarah. If anything were to happen to Elizabeth, I am certain I would wish to join her. But your children are so young, and they need you. We all need you, Richard.

  “You have been my companion as long as I can remember. I cannot tell you the pain I have suffered, not knowing how to ease yours.” Darcy studied his hands, releasing a bitter laugh. “For years you have ribbed me of always being in control and having things my way. Well, you are correct. I do prefer to be the master of everything about me. It is within my power to affect the happiness and well-being of so many in my protection. When you came here, I felt as though you were placing yourself in that set. But no matter what I have done, or attempted to do, you appear determined to bring yourself to ruin.”

  Pushing out of the chair, he walked to the window and looked out across the lawn at the blowing sheets of rain. “Will you be continuing in this manner?”

  Richard stared at his cousin’s back, as if seeing him for the first time. They had always known their roles when they were growing up. Darcy would be the grand landowner and Richard the cavalier military man. Each had poked fun or envied the other in many ways over the years. He had seen how serious and withdrawn his cousin had become under the responsibilities of Pemberley, but he had never considered himself one of those weights which sat upon Darcy’s shoulders.

  He cleared his throat and waited for Darcy to look in his direction. “My man has just given me a dressing down of which our fathers would have been proud. He has pointed out to me that I am without purpose at the moment.” He waved his cousin away as he began to interrupt. “I have the children, and I swear to you I will make them the centre of my life from this moment forward, but there is nothing to draw my thoughts in those hours of silence. Those times when my mind strays to
all I have lost, and I wish to lie down beside my love and feel her embrace once more.”

  Blinking hard, he wiped a wet hand over his face, pushed himself up out of the bath, and grabbed a towel. After briskly drying off, he accepted the dressing gown Darcy offered him.

  Their eyes met and he shook his head. “You have never known me to be melancholy, have you, Darce? I have always been the jovial life of the party. Perhaps it was my way of lightening the atmosphere at home. Father was always focused on James and his training. Mother worried constantly of what would become of Eric. It was important to me that they not be concerned for my well-being.”

  He left the dressing room and padded barefoot across the little sitting area in his bedroom. At some point, O’Toole must have returned for there was a bottle and glasses on the table beside his favourite chair. He poured two drinks and offered one to Darcy who joined him.

  “I have never discussed all my experiences overseas with you, or anyone else for that matter, and I shall not start now. Suffice it to say that I came to terms with my darker side.” He swallowed the contents of his glass and savoured the slow burn as it coated his throat and warmed his insides. “Sarah helped me forget that side existed.”

  Taking up the bottle from where Richard had left it, Darcy refilled his cousin’s glass before raising his own in toast. “To Sarah.”

  Richard nodded and they drank. “O’Toole is right; I am not the kind of man to sit idle. I must find something to fill my time.” He sat down and stared at Darcy as a smile played about the corner of his lips. “I told him you would be the man to direct me to it.”

  Darcy’s brows knitted together as he considered his cousin’s request. Slowly pacing the length of the sitting area, he returned and took the accompanying chair. “You have always loved horses, Richard.”