Continuing, he read his father’s words. “When Anne walked through the door, my heart leapt into my throat. I have never seen a more beautiful or captivating woman. I engaged her in conversation whilst Harvey and father discussed his plans for the future. Anne is as intelligent as she is beautiful. She loves gardening, especially roses, and she loves Renaissance literature. Her favorite poet is Sir Philip Sydney, and she loves Voltaire. Of all the French philosophers, trust her to like him best. Her favorite is La Henriade. I found that strange, as it is also a favorite of mine. Harvey has made a very fortunate choice. I hope he understands that, for had I met her first, I would do everything in my power to make her my wife. Is there such a thing as love at first sight? There must be, for I find myself in love with her.”
David read on, turning page after page. By now dawn was drawing nigh, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. His Uncle Harvey had been madly in love with his mother while his father had sat back quietly brooding over her—wanting her—silently loving her. He had even composed poetry for her, speaking words to himself in the privacy of his room that he dared not voice anywhere else.
David inhaled sharply at the next lines. “Let it be said that I am a fool. I love her when I know I shouldn’t. She is engaged to my brother, and it’s tearing me apart to watch them when they think I cannot see. This poem is for you, Anne, but you will never read it. Tonight I’ll burn it over a candle whilst I tell the quiet of my room that I love you. It’s an agonizing pain, knowing that I love you, but you can never be mine. Anne… Anne… Anne…You don’t even know I exist.”
David was greatly surprised by his father’s words and his reaction to his mother.
…My father writing poetry! Who would have imagined that? I’ve never read anything quite as beautiful or sentimental. Father, you should have been a poet.
As dawn approached, David decided that since he had worked relentlessly over the past few months, he deserved the day off—and tomorrow, too, if he wanted it. He’d become so engrossed in his father’s story that he knew he would not be able to put it down until he had discovered all there was to know.
He read on, learning that even though his father had gone out with many women and was then keeping a lover, he was hopelessly in love with Anne, but out of respect for his brother, he would never show it. Then one day the unthinkable occurred. After three years of being virtually inseparable, Harvey broke off his engagement just before he graduated and then went on a summer holiday to Italy and the South of France. Anne was devastated, whereas glimmers of hope flickered in George’s heart.
David shook his head, greatly disturbed by what he was reading. His grandparents had been so bitterly upset by their younger son’s behavior that they had asked George to console Anne, which he gladly did. His heart soared at the chance to take her to dinner, the theatre, dancing, a concert, or anywhere she would go with him. Soon they were a couple, and the usually reserved George Darcy wore a smile everywhere they were seen. Anne’s affections had transferred from the younger brother to the older, or so it seemed.
On the day Anne accepted his proposal, George wrote, “It is the happiest day of my life. Anne is the center of my world.” But when Harvey returned in desperation to reclaim Anne, the two brothers came to blows. The resulting confrontation was so heated that Andrew and two servants had difficulty separating them. The close bond that had existed between the brothers was shattered—replaced with raw hatred. Harvey pleaded with Anne to return to him, but she flatly refused. George and Anne were married within the month.
Overwhelmed by what he had read, David closed the book and fell back against the soft pillows, utterly exhausted and emotionally spent. Intending to close his eyes briefly, he soon fell into a restless sleep, tossing and turning. He slept for hours before being awakened by the raucous clamor of the alarm clock on his bedside cabinet. Reaching over to silence the noise, he rubbed his weary eyes. …I’ll take a shower and go out for breakfast. Then I’ll phone in until further notice. I must carry on reading until I finish these.
Returning to his flat from breakfast, David again settled himself in the center of his rumpled bed. He’d left word with the maid service that he was not to be disturbed. With a pot of freshly made coffee and a cup in his hand, he opened volume two and began reading. The wedding night had been a disaster. Anne had pushed George away, crying, leaving him to wonder if she might be a virgin. When he questioned her, she told him that was not the case. However, she did reassure him that there had been no one other than his brother. But this did nothing to console him. Instead, it left him feeling vulnerable.
Three days passed before she consented to consummate their marriage, and though he was as gentle and loving as he could be, he knew he had failed to touch her heart. As he lay there holding her close, he realized that he had made a terrible mistake.
It broke his heart. She didn’t love him—and yet she had married him. Had it been to spite his brother? That was a disquieting thought. It was one thing to lose his brother over Anne, but not to have her love in return pricked his conscience. While David read his father’s words, his heart ached as he began to understand his father’s sorrow. “If I am to survive this, I have to build up my defenses. I’ve allowed her to get inside of me. I’ve given her a piece of my soul, and she treats it as if it were nothing. I’ve got to get away from the pain she drives into the heart of me.”
They’d spent that year in London, socializing as George began taking over his father’s responsibilities while Estelle and Andrew retired to Pemberley. Everyone who saw George and Anne together thought they were the perfect couple, and people often commented as much. They appeared to be very much in love, but that was not the case. They lived in separate bedrooms, barely speaking. And Harvey was still not speaking to George and would have nothing to do with Pemberley, PLC. Instead, he chose a career in medicine. The hatred between the brothers intensified.
Then came New Year’s Eve, and George and Anne were to host the most magnificent ball of the evening. The champagne flowed freely, and everyone present was having an excellent time. One passage in particular arrested David’s attention as he softly read aloud.
“That night Anne had more to drink than usual, making her especially loving and inviting. It was the first time she actually seduced me. At last, I thought there was yet hope for our marriage, but then, at the height of one of our most passionate moments, she cried out my brother’s name. At first, I was stunned as we climaxed together. She kissed me wildly, and then she called me Harvey—not once, but repeatedly. Stricken with grief, I pushed her away. Getting up from the bed, I told her how much she sickened me as I took my clothes and retreated to the adjoining room. Days passed before I would even look at her, although she did try to apologize on numerous occasions.”
David winced at the lines that followed. “Something within me died that night. People tell me that love is the greatest of all the emotions—that it is beautiful. I am here to tell them that that is not true. It’s a lie. Love wounds. It scars and leaves its mark. It’s distressing how I have let it work its way inside of me, eating and gnawing away at my heart. It hurts—and not just in the conscious thoughts, either, but deep down inside of me, like a shard of glass working its way into my soul, cutting and slicing, slowly killing me. I toss and turn all night long. Sleep evades me. The pain is unbearable, but at least the pain tells me I’m still alive, and I can deal with that. I am not afraid of pain. God help me, for I am not a weak man.”
David swept the book away and sat up straight, shouting out loud, “Mother, how could you? How could you marry a man you didn’t love? A man whom you knew was in love with you? You came between Father and Uncle Harvey and you destroyed their relationship, not to mention what you did to Father. Had you done that to me, I would have hated you. Like my father before me, I am no fool. No woman will ever do that to me. No woman.”
Unable to stop, David picked up the book and continued reading. Two months after New Years, Anne called to
tell George she was pregnant. Her joy was so intense, that he couldn’t help but forgive her, and once again, they were back together. Anne was making an effort to save their marriage now that she was pregnant. The months that followed were to be among the happiest days of his father’s life as they went about preparing for Fitzwilliam’s birth. They decorated the nurseries both at Darcy House and Pemberley, laughing, cuddling, and making love almost daily. George wrote, “Perhaps we will make it. Anne is happy. I am happy. All is well.”
Fitzwilliam was born four weeks early, three days after George’s birthday, frightening everyone, and though small, he was pronounced healthy. Estelle was elated and Andrew couldn’t have been prouder, but the happiest person of all was George when he held his newborn son for the first time. George recorded it as being the second happiest day of his life, but as David read on, he saw the clouds once again begin to loom over their marriage.
After Fitzwilliam’s birth, Anne withdrew again, protesting that all her time was taken up by her tiny son, whom she doted on. George pleaded with Anne to stay with him in London, but she refused, claiming the country air suited her better than London’s dreary fogs.
Time passed and George’s father had begun to notice that something was wrong and felt it was time he stepped in. David read on.
“My father rang me Thursday afternoon and told me I should come home immediately and that it would be wise to take my wife back to London. I have tried repeatedly to get Anne to come to London with me. We have argued over it many times. I come home every weekend, and every Monday it is the same. She refuses to accompany me. Now I know why. My father has informed me that my brother is spending far too much time with my wife, and that he and Harvey have had quite a row about it. I left for Pemberley as soon as we hung up, intending to stay for a week, thinking I would play with my son and try once more to convince Anne to return to London with me.
“When I walked into the drawing room, anticipating the joy of holding Fitzwilliam, I was greeted with the sight of my brother holding my son whilst my wife looked upon my brother lovingly. I became furious as I stalked across the room, ripping my son from Harvey’s arms and handing him to Anne. Once again Harvey and I found ourselves in a fierce fight. This time it took four men to separate us, but not before the room had been destroyed.
“All weekend long Anne tried to console me, begging and pleading with me, telling me it was not what it seemed, until I finally relented. She knows my weaknesses, and she knew how to exploit them. After my anger had abated, I found myself again in her bed, making love much of Saturday night and into Sunday morning. In that respect, it was a good weekend, but by Sunday, I was so ashamed of my behavior, that I left for London on Monday without Anne and my son. She begged me to allow her to accompany me, but I remained firm. I left her crying under the shade of the portico. Why I didn’t allow her to come, I cannot say. I suppose I wanted to be alone, or perhaps my pride still stung from seeing my brother holding my son as if he were his own. Though he and Anne deny it, I know what I saw. Harvey has Anne’s heart. Must he also have my son? Once again my heart hardened at the thought of Anne giving her body to me whilst her heart belongs to my brother. I will not allow her to take me hostage again, eating away at my soul, leaving me to darkness. Some fools think of love as blissful happiness. I laugh at the irony. The loneliness of unrequited love is slowly killing me.”
David got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. This story was not what he had expected. It was his mother, not his father, who had entered into a loveless marriage. Returning, he picked up the book and continued to read. Two months had passed.
“I received a call from Anne today, telling me she’s pregnant again. She begged me to come home and bring her back to London, but I declined, telling her it is a little too late for that. When I had wanted her with me, she had refused. Now it was I who refused her. She cried all the harder, but I was unmoved. I remember well what I said to her, for I shall never forget it. It was meant to deliberately hurt her, just as she had hurt me. I asked her whose bastard was it, my brother’s or the stable boy’s. I took perverse pleasure in her pain when she burst into tears. I laughed and hung up on her.”
David threw the volume aside, cursing as he picked up his coffee. Sipping the lukewarm drink until it was gone, he set the cup aside and glanced over at the abandoned journal. …Well, that’s how I came into being. Disturbing at it is, I might as well read about it. He picked it up and turned the page.
“By the weekend, I relented to my mother’s pleas and went home to Pemberley and to my wife. When I walked through the door, Anne flew into my arms, grabbing me and holding me tight. Part of me wanted to fold her into my arms and hold and kiss her, but instead, I peeled her off of me and pushed her aside, telling her not to touch me. I cannot stand the way she thinks she can worm her way back into my life with another child. I was cold and indifferent. Not even the look of pain in her eyes moved me. I wanted—no, needed, a second child—a son, and yet I don’t want this child. God help me. I don’t!”
David looked up from the book, furious. “You bastard! That was me she was carrying—me—your son! Couldn’t you see she was reaching out for you? ” David raged out loud. “I’ve got to get some lunch and a couple of packets of cigarettes, and some whiskey. I can’t take this.”
Getting up from the bed, he went downstairs to the company cafeteria for lunch and then down the street to the local off-license for what he needed. Returning to his flat, he poured himself a stiff drink and put the cigarettes on the bedside cabinet. Once again, he piled up his pillows and picked up Volume Three. Reading about his birth upset him all the more. He, too, had been premature, but his birth had not been the joyous occasion his brother’s had been, although his father had been proud nonetheless. However, it was his mother’s reaction that most caught his attention and probably explained the close bond between them. He was the joy of her life.
His father had left a few days after she had come home from the hospital. Anne had insisted on having both her boys in bed with her, telling Grams that if she could not have her husband, then at least she had her sons. She had not nursed Fitzwilliam, but she did nurse David. Estelle later related the story to George, hoping to soften his heart towards his wife, but he had remained unmoved.
David slammed the book shut and threw it across the room. “Damn you! Damn both of you!” he screamed.
Downing his glass of whiskey, he lit up a cigarette, silently incensed. “How could the two of you do this? Mother, how could you marry the brother of the man you loved? Why didn’t you marry Uncle Harvey? Why did you destroy my father? And you, Father? How could you have treated her like that? It’s obvious she wanted to love you and make the marriage work. You cheated us! Couldn’t you have forgiven her? Not even for our sakes—for your children? How hard could it have been?”
No sooner had the words slipped from his mouth, than David knew the answer. He and his father were alike—cut from the same cloth. He would have been no different. Reading his father’s journal was like seeing into his own dark soul.
After finishing his third cigarette, he walked over to where the book lay and picked it up. Sitting back down in the chair beside his bed, he began reading anew. His grandmother died within a year of his birth, and his grandfather passed the following year. Things only disintegrated further between George and Anne, and when David was two, his father took a mistress, thus permanently breaking away from his wife. David read of the last bitter confrontation between his uncle and father, but this time, they did not resort to physical violence. David knew from recent events that it would be another twenty-six years before they spoke to each other again.
David closed the third volume and picked up the fourth, placing it in his lap. He dreaded learning how Georgiana and his younger brother had come about. Surely it couldn’t have been pleasant. Opening the book, he began to read. It was Christmas Eve and his father was coming for the holiday, his first time home since August when they had celeb
rated his and Fitzwilliam’s birthday. Anne and George slept in separate bedrooms, and although they were always polite and civil, they only spoke to each other out of necessity.
“It is so good to be home with my boys. How I have missed them. I picked them both up and swung them around as they giggled and laughed. Fitzwilliam is now nine, and my baby boy is five. I have an American quarter horse for Fitzwilliam and a pony for David. Tomorrow we shall all go riding. Fitzwilliam has insisted that his mother be allowed to join us, so yes, she shall come. Anne looks particularly lovely tonight. I’ve missed her, but I’ll be damned if I will tell her.
“Anne…Anne… my precious Anne. I’ve tried to fill the hole you’ve left in my heart with strong drink and a succession of women, but nothing can take your place. All they have done is to fill a transient need—that is all. Oh, what I would have given if only you had loved me. I’m sure you would be willing to live in harmony, but if I cannot have your heart, I don’t want your body. I feel so helpless. It hurts deep down inside of me.
“Sometime during the night, I dreamt that Anne was in my bed, and that I was making love to her. It was the sweetest, most pleasant dream I’d had in a long time, but when I awoke the next morning, I realized it hadn’t been a dream. There Anne lay in my arms, with all the evidence that we had made love during the night. Apparently I’d had a little too much Christmas cheer, and I’d found my way into her bed. I apologized profusely, and although she begged me to stay, my pride would not allow it. Slipping out of bed, I returned to my room, consumed with guilt.”
George left a note at the end of the entry. “Two months later, I received another phone call. Anne is once again pregnant. This time I was somewhat kinder. I only told her I hoped she had the little girl she wanted.”
The Cumberland Plateau Page 52