The Darcys of Pemberley

by Shannon Winslow

  ~*~

  Lydia had spent three days in utter wretchedness since learning of her husband’s death. Although her affection for Wickham had fallen off considerably from the boundless enthusiasm she once felt, she still fancied herself in love with him and had retained some hope of domestic felicity to the end. Upon her husband rested her every claim to future consequence and security. Although tenuous at best, they were all she had upon which to depend. Now, even these small comforts were lost to her.

  At such a time, Lydia might have benefited from the judicious guidance of her two eldest sisters, had they been available. In their absence, Kitty consoled her as well as youth and ignorance might be expected to do. Mr. Thornton’s counsel was undoubtedly of a more constructive nature, yet whether or not it made much impression on Lydia’s addled mind was difficult to judge. It had not yet taught her to be calm and reasonable. In her misery, she vacillated at fairly regular intervals between passionate wailing and listless silence.

  By the burial day, however, Lydia’s violent vagaries of mood had subsided, and some semblance of composure was beginning to reassert itself. Jane and Mr. Bingley called at the cottage to collect Lydia and Kitty and convey them into the village where preparations had been made for laying the body to rest. It was a very small group of mourners. Although Mr. Wickham had always possessed a talent for making friends, he had proved far less capable of retaining them. Therefore, no one attended him to his grave except his four relations and Mr. Thornton.

  The rector stood opposite the family and offered words of scripture, prayer, and meditation, intended comfort to them. Mr. Wickham had unfortunately forever slipped beyond the reach of their wisdom and amendment. Then nothing remained to be done but to consign the body to the earth and walk away. With the support of Mr. Bingley’s arm, and with her two sisters alongside, Lydia just managed to get through the melancholy event without fainting. Still, she was a pitiful creature to behold.

  Chapter 41

  Unfinished Business

  Mrs. Wickham accepted an invitation from the Bingleys to convalesce at Heatheridge. Accordingly, after the funeral, the whole party returned to the cottage to pack up her meager belongings, and thence to Pemberley House.

  The meeting that afternoon between Lydia and Elizabeth proved strained. Although Lydia professed compassion for Elizabeth’s injuries, she would listen to no hint that her “dear Wickham” could have been in any way to blame for them. Had he lived, she would have been forced to confront the infamy of his actions, and the insult to herself and to her sister they constituted. By his death, however, Wickham had at least preserved what remained of his reputation from the scrutiny of a trial and the disgrace of a public hanging. Consequently, Lydia was free to remember her husband as she wished, and the reflections she preferred cast him in a much more favorable light.

  Upon seeing her youngest sister again, Elizabeth found herself caught between opposing feelings. On one hand, she sincerely sympathized with Lydia’s current distress of heart and circumstance. On the other, she found her willful blindness to her husband’s profligate ways exasperating. Although she was grateful for her sister’s help in locating her on that terrible day, Elizabeth could not forget that Lydia’s own scandalous elopement was responsible for bringing Wickham amongst them in the first place.

  The awkward meeting did serve at least one useful purpose, by solving the remaining mystery connected to Elizabeth and Darcy’s recent discordance. In the time since the incident, Elizabeth had frequently reflected on the source of the enigmatic letter Wickham had produced to blackmail her husband. There could be only one explanation, she concluded. This was her opportunity to test her theory. Whilst her sister reminisced over her late husband’s charms, Elizabeth raised the question.

  “Lydia, my dear,” she began casually, “Mr. Darcy mentioned that your husband showed him a certain letter when they happened to meet in London. It occurs to me now that you must have been the one who wrote it, since I know that I did not. Am I right?”

  “Was it not a good joke? Poor Wickham and I laughed and laughed over it,” she said, smiling wistfully at the recollection. “Did you never see it yourself, then?”

  “Unfortunately not. Will you tell me about it?”

  “Very well. It is a vastly amusing story. One day, you see, I happened to mention to my dear husband that it was you who gave me my penmanship lessons when I was a child. I told him I was such a clever pupil that I learnt to copy your style exactly. I could fool Mama any time I wished. Remember?”

  “Oh, yes! You had a real talent for it,” Elizabeth said, encouraging her to continue.

  “Anyway, Wickham said, would it not be monstrous fun if I should write a love letter to him as if it were from you – in your hand and signing your name – since he had once been a favorite of yours. At first, I was not sure I could remember how, but it all came back to me. I daresay that, after I had got it just right, even you would have been taken in, Lizzy.” She laughed. “Wickham meant to show it to you. He said he thought you would be excessively diverted. What a pity you never saw it.”

  “But my husband did. I am afraid he did not find the joke at all amusing.”

  Elizabeth knew it would be pointless to tell Lydia how Wickham had really used the letter she had been duped into writing. Since Lydia refused to acknowledge her husband’s more overt crimes, it hardly seemed likely she would recognize the covert offenses of defamation and extortion. It was a relief, nonetheless, to have the author of the troublesome letter finally identified.

  ~*~

  Mr. Poole continued monitoring his patient’s improvement, and presently gave his blessing to Mrs. Darcy leaving not only her bed but her room as well. Although her headache was still with her and not all the gaps in her memory had yet filled in, she was making steady progress. She moved about slowly, but under her own power now. And except for a daily nap, she spent most of her time downstairs with the others.

  Five days had passed since the accident, and Jane was enough satisfied with her sister’s recovery as to want to be at home with her children again. After the Bingleys’ departure with Lydia and Kitty, the only remaining houseguest was Colonel Fitzwilliam. As much as they delighted in his company, Darcy and Elizabeth began to wonder why he stayed on so long. He seemed uncharacteristically restless and yet gave no indication that he wished to go.

  The colonel’s perpetual presence was a source of more pain than pleasure for Georgiana. She had made a point of apologizing to him for her earlier rudeness, but otherwise she avoided him whenever possible. However, as the size of the party round the dinner table diminished, they were necessarily drawn into closer company. No longer was there any chance of distancing herself from him, of avoiding the torment of hearing his mellow voice and seeing his affable face every day.

  Darcy, Elizabeth, and Colonel Fitzwilliam were talking together in the library one morning after Fitzwilliam had been at Pemberley well above a week. Georgiana was not with them, having once more taken refuge in the music room at the pianoforte.

  “Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy, “I have just recollected something you said when you first arrived here. We could not pursue it then, of course, but now I wonder what you meant by it. You said you had come to see me on an errand of urgent business.”

  “Yes, that is true,” the colonel said, shifting in his chair.

  “Well? If it is so urgent, do you not think we should get on with it?”

  Elizabeth observed Fitzwilliam’s discomfort at the turn in the conversation and conjectured that his reticence might be due to her presence. “If you gentlemen have private matters to discuss, I will excuse myself and leave you to it,” she said lightly, starting to rise from her seat.

  “No! Do stay, Elizabeth,” the colonel insisted. “Although it is something of a delicate nature, there is no reason you may not hear. In fact, your presence gives me courage; your husband would never do anything unpleasant to me with you in the room.”

  “Fitzwilliam, what on
earth are you talking about?” asked Darcy.

  “The truth is, old friend …” The colonel looked over his shoulder and went to slide the doors closed before resuming his seat and his explanation. “Well, the truth is I had come all that way to speak to you about Georgiana. You know how fond I have always been of her, but … when I saw her here at her birthday ball, it was like I was seeing her for the first time. It suddenly impressed me that she was no longer a child; she had become a very charming young woman.”

  Fitzwilliam paused to gauge his cousin’s reaction. Darcy, who looked more than a little uneasy, only nodded, authorizing the colonel to continue. Elizabeth, having resolved to keep quiet, since the business was clearly addressed to her husband and not herself, silently applauded such a promising beginning.

  “Then this summer in London, when we were thrown so much together, I began to realize that somehow, without my even being aware of it, things had changed between us. I had developed feelings of a most tender nature for your sister, and I had some reason to suppose that she was not totally indifferent to me.”

  Yes! Elizabeth inwardly rejoiced at this profession of love.

  Darcy looked far less pleased.

  “Before you go working yourself into a lather, cousin,” the colonel continued, “hear me out. To the best of my knowledge, I have never said or done anything to betray to Georgiana the change in the nature of my affection for her; you have my word of honor on that, sir. I decided that, especially due to our peculiar situation, the proper thing would be to consult you first. That is why I came here that morning. I know the circumstances are a bit out of the ordinary, but I hope any obstacles will not prove insurmountable.”

  Darcy had his rejoinder at the ready. “So … you have decided to make your fortune by marrying an heiress after all,” he said in measured tones.

  Elizabeth gasped, but neither of the men took the slightest notice of her. They were locked in a contest of wills in which she had no part.

  Taking no apparent umbrage at the charge leveled against him, Fitzwilliam returned his accuser’s steady gaze. “Since I have often joked about doing just that, it is a fair question. However, if capturing a fortune by marriage were my object, I would have done so long ago. Plenty of opportunities have been thrown my way, I assure you. Now, Darcy, I know this comes as quite a shock, and I am sorry for it. But you cannot really think of me so meanly, can you?”

  “I would never have believed you capable of such a thing before, no. Yet now I wonder. It would be wrong of me to take such a chance with my sister’s happiness,” said he, scowling at his cousin.

  A small chink appeared in Fitzwilliam’s usually imperturbable exterior, and he pleaded his case all the more strenuously. “I wish there were some way to prove my disinterestedness to you. All I can say on that head is that you may name any terms you like for the marriage settlement. If I am so fortunate as to win Georgiana’s favor, I will make no objection to whatever your lawyers propose. It is truly her heart, not her fortune, which I hope to capture. And I promise you, dear friend, her heart will be safe in my care.”

  Leaving the colonel dangling uncomfortably, Darcy deliberated aloud and at length over the questionable merits of the suit before him. Even when he eventually agreed to the idea in principle, he postured and held out several minutes more, arguing for a postponement of any application to Georgiana until at least her nineteenth birthday. Yet, in the end, Fitzwilliam won begrudging permission to speak to her.

  “Wish me luck!” he said as he quit the room with nervous excitement.

  Only after he was gone did Elizabeth let loose the tight reign she had kept on her countenance, allowing her merriment to pour out in a low peal of laughter. “Something tells me Fitzwilliam will need very little luck to carry his point with Georgiana. Oh, but you, Mr. Darcy! You are too cruel! How could you torture the poor colonel so? As if he were not exactly the sort of man you yourself would choose for Georgiana. Now admit it; you intended to give your consent all along.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I think you might, at the very least, have shown him some mercy in the end – told him he need have no misgivings about a favorable reception.”

  “Certainly not! I could hardly allow Fitzwilliam to claim his prize without a fight; he would not have respected me if I had. And it will do him good to be kept in suspense of his success a little longer.” Darcy’s face relaxed into a satisfied grin, and there was an undeniable spark of amusement in his eye. “Nothing good can come from overconfidence, you know, especially when addressing a member of the fair sex. I say this with wisdom born of painful experience, having once been sternly set down by a worthy lady in a similar situation. I would not wish that kind of mortification on my dear friend Fitzwilliam.”

  Elizabeth laughed all the more. Her delight in picturing Georgiana’s happiness, once she was assured of the colonel’s affection, made her quite giddy. She could not have been more pleased for them both. “So, my love, despite how it looked at the outset, you have proved yourself a good brother and a good friend too. Are you truly happy about this yourself, then?”

  “Happy? That is a bit much to expect of me so soon, Lizzy. Let us just say that I am willing to accept the inevitable without too much consternation. I suppose I should have felt some acrimony toward anyone who threatened to remove my sister from my care after all these years. However, if she must grow up and be married, I could not hope to relinquish her to a better man.”

  ~*~

  Whilst the contest for her future joy was being waged in the library, Miss Darcy sat at her pianoforte and played on, completely unaware that her whole world was about to change. She noticed when Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room, yet she did not stop. She knew he liked to listen to her, and she was more inclined to play for him than talk to him just then. With that thought in mind, Georgiana felt her misfortune at being very nearly to the end of the piece. She soon finished, accepted the colonel’s praise without a word, and was about to begin again when he prevented her. He took both her hands in his and gently turning her toward himself. To her total astonishment, Fitzwilliam then dropped to one knee beside her.

  “Dear Georgiana,” he began, “I am now at liberty to tell you that which has long been in my heart. Will you hear me?”

  Although too overcome to speak in any case, Georgiana had not the slightest objection to hearing whatever the colonel might wish to say to her on bended knee. She nodded her acquiescence, and he was sufficiently encouraged to go on. He commenced by describing the major revolution he had experienced in his feelings toward her over the last several months. He concluded with the fervent hope that she could in some measure return his earnest affection and consent to becoming his wife.

  To suddenly find herself the object of Fitzwilliam’s love was so wholly unexpected that Georgiana hesitated in her answer, not from indecision but from disbelief. The long-cherished wish that had lived on against all probability of realization seemed to be coming true before her eyes. Whilst her heart told her to consent instantly before she awoke from the dream in which she found herself, her mind called for a point of clarification.

  “You say you have been in love with me for some time now, Fitzwilliam. If I am to believe you, you must explain something. Why have I never seen any sign of it, any change in your manner, any gesture or word of peculiar regard? You have continued to behave toward me just as you always have – much more like a brother than a suitor.”

  “Oh, my dear girl, if you only knew how difficult it has been for me to show so little when I felt so much. But I was honor-bound to speak to your brother before giving you any idea of my true affection. That is the urgent business that took me from London into Derbyshire. Nothing less important would ever have induced me to leave you. Now tell me, dearest Georgiana, do you think in time you could learn to love me? Please say that I have some chance of winning your heart.”

  With her one and only reservation very satisfactorily overcome, Georgiana gave the gentl
eman to understand that her heart in fact already belonged to him and to him alone.

  Meanwhile, Darcy and Elizabeth were in no doubt as to the outcome of the interview taking place in the music room. The only surprise proceeded from the rapidity with which everything was settled. For it was not long after they heard Georgiana’s playing cease that the blissful couple returned through the library doors, arm in arm, to demand their congratulations. Elizabeth thought how extraordinary it was that, in the end, the work of ten short minutes effectively dispatched all the hopes and fears of so many months’ duration.

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  For the next eight weeks, Colonel Fitzwilliam remained as a continual guest at Pemberley, demonstrating the same faithful devotion to Georgiana as before, only now in a different role. He took himself away from her side only occasionally, and with great reluctance, to pursue some improvement in his situation. His prosperous love gave him new ambition to distinguish himself, wishing to be found worthy of such an honor in the eyes of the world. Though his personal income was not large, it was just sufficient to enable him to stand for Parliament in his home borough, and by such means he hoped to make a name for himself, for his lady’s sake.

  In truth, Georgiana cared nothing about the size of her future husband’s fortune or his worldly status. That she would soon be married to the man she loved and settled an easy distance from Pemberley was more than enough to make her completely content. She fairly danced about the house with a song always on her lips. As far as she was concerned, Colonel Fitzwilliam could do no wrong. The only man who could rival him for amiability and perfection of character was her brother, who had, by giving his consent to the marriage, once again proved his every virtue.