The Cumberland Plateau
Page 57
For a moment, Harvey said nothing as Fitzwilliam looked on. Then, he finally spoke. “Yes, it is, but it’s a long and complicated story. Would you like for me to tell you about it?”
Shaking his head in disgust, Fitzwilliam said, “No! I don’t think I want to know the sordid details. I have enough problems of my own.”
David reached over and gently clapped his brother’s shoulder. “When you are ready, you can borrow the journals Father left me. They’re slightly different from the ones that are to be ensconced at Pemberley. These are more personal and have more details.”
Fitzwilliam cut David a sharp look, but before he could answer, his uncle interrupted. “Fitzwilliam, we need to talk about you…and your wife. It’s the main reason for my visit.”
“No—we don’t.” Fitzwilliam bore down. “I can handle my own life. There is no reason to worry about me.”
“Ah…on the contrary,” Harvey said, warmly. “I believe there is. You’re drinking far too much and burying yourself in your work. You cannot sleep at night unless you’re drunk. You’re drowning in your sorrows.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes averted his uncle’s stare as he fidgeted with his wedding band. After several uncomfortable moments, he softly spoke. “It hurts—it really hurts. I don’t even know why she left me. Oh, I know what she said, but I still don’t understand it. I thought she loved me, but she told me that being the wife of a CEO was not what she wanted,” Fitzwilliam said, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. He took another large sip of whiskey, downing his glass.
David had come to know this as his brother’s usual habit for calming his nerves and numbing the pain. He shook his head. Looking from Fitzwilliam to his uncle, he determined now was the time for answers. “Uncle, Fitzwilliam may not be interested in yours and Father’s love triangle, but I am. Now why don’t you tell me your side of the story? I want to know the truth—all of it.”
Looking David straight in the eye, Harvey replied, “I see you come straight to the point. Well, you get that from your father. You’re very much like him in that way, but in other ways, you’re like your mother, too. You do know that she loved you, don’t you?”
“Yes, and I loved her,” David said. “We all did. Carry on.”
“Fitzwilliam,” Harvey said as he turned to his older nephew, “do you wish to hear this? If not, I can speak with your brother at a later date.”
“Oh, what the bloody hell! I might as well hear it.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what you want to know then.” Harvey halted briefly as he cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. In a hushed tone, he began. “I met your mother at a Cambridge dance I attended with a friend. As you know, I was at Oxford whilst she was at Cambridge. Roger, that was his name, was there to see a friend of your mother’s, and I went along for moral support.” Harvey smiled, as if reliving a fond memory. “When we were introduced, I think I fell in love right there on the spot, for I was taken by your mother from the first time I laid eyes on her. We sat and talked for most of the night.” He chuckled softly. “We never even danced. That’s how taken I was with her. I was absolutely mesmerized, so before I left, I asked her out for the next weekend.
“After that first date, we were inseparable. People did not live together back then without the benefit of marriage, but we spent as much time with one another as possible. We read books together, critiquing them as we went. We listened to music. She liked the Beatles whilst I liked the Stones. I remember how happy we were. We were so very young and carefree and very much in love in those days. So, when we were in our second year, I asked Anne to be my wife, and she accepted me. That was the happiest I ever remember being. I still ache for that lost love, and yes, I know I shouldn’t.”
Releasing an exasperated sigh, he shook his head and took another sip of whiskey as he looked between the brothers. “Your mother was sensitive and charming with a sharp intellect and a keen sense of humor. We connected on such a deep level that speaking was virtually unnecessary at times. We could look at one another and tell what the other was thinking. I would start a sentence, and she would finish it. That’s how deep our connection was. I was her hero, and she was my lady. It was as if we were one.” He briefly closed his eyes. “I loved Anne very much.”
David briefly cut his eyes away. A tinge of sorrow echoed in his voice. “Yes, I recall my father writing similar words. So tell me, if you loved her so much, why didn’t you marry her?”
“Because I was a selfish fool, that’s why.” Harvey’s eyes shimmered as he sipped his drink. “By the end of our last year, I was beginning to rethink my position. I told your mother that I wanted some time to be free and enjoy a single man’s life before I married. I listened to the counsel of foolish friends and broke off our engagement. They convinced me to leave with them on an extended holiday and explore life after graduation. We partied every night, living lavishly, first in Italy, and then in the South of France. My picture appeared in the papers with women of questionable character, much like yours have, David. I’m afraid I wasn’t very circumspect. You have come by that honestly.”
David rolled his eyes. “Things run in cycles, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose they do at that.” Harvey nodded. “Of course, your mother saw the pictures, read the papers, and I’m sure was very hurt by it all, even though we were no longer committed to each other. George, who had met Anne through me, came along behind me, picking up the pieces. They began to date, and before long, became engaged.” He paused, fighting back obvious pain as a tear slipped from his eye. “When I found out about their engagement, I returned to England immediately, but it was too late. I begged Anne for a second chance, but she refused, telling me she would not break your father’s heart as I had broken hers. Consequently, she married George, and I was left with a misery of my own making. I suppose it was poetic justice, because I didn’t realize how much I loved her—wanted her—until I had lost her. You see, I had erroneously assumed that your mother would always be there, waiting when I decided it was time for us to marry. I never stopped loving her. I simply wanted a little freedom to experience life before marriage. That foolish mistake cost me dearly, and I lost the love of my life to my brother—your father.” Harvey turned to face his older nephew. “So you see, Fitzwilliam, I do know what it is like to have loved and lost.”
Wiping his eyes, Fitzwilliam replied, “Uncle, I do feel for you, but it’s hardly the same—”
“No, it’s not. My loss was final, but yours is not, at least, not yet. Fitzwilliam, your wife is out there somewhere. I know what separated you. It was Pemberley. I know of your arguments. And I also know how much she begged you to let her come to London and why you did not let her come.” Leaning toward his nephew, Harvey said, “You still wear your wedding ring. She still holds your heart. You still love her.”
Fitzwilliam glanced at the rose now hanging between his parents’ portraits and shook his head. “It’s not that simple. She left me of her own volition. I didn’t leave her.”
“Fitzwilliam,” Harvey smiled kindly, “I have regretted to this very day letting my foolish Darcy pride destroy my chance to have the woman I loved. I am confident that, had I married her, Anne would be alive today. She wanted a large family, and since I had no objections, there would have been many children,” he said. “Oh, do not mistake me. I love your Aunt Susan, and she knows about my relationship with your mother. We almost separated over it many times whilst your mother was alive. Somehow, though, we managed to reach an understanding and stay together, but the kind of love I shared with your mother only comes once in a lifetime. It’s a deep soul connection, and I know from looking at you that you’ve loved to that same degree. All Darcy men are capable of it if they will only allow themselves the opportunity.” Harvey looked pointedly at David. “I have little doubt that, to the best of his ability, my brother also loved your mother, but from what I’ve heard, the specter of me was always between them… if only in his mind.”
“Ye
s, that is true. Father did love her, and because they could never connect, as you call it, it destroyed them both. He loved her every bit as deeply as you did,” David said sharply with a biting edge.
Harvey fought to suppress his emotions. “Yes, I know he did. We both loved the same woman deeply. She was a beautifully spirited woman with a beautiful mind, and she didn’t deserve the life she had. I loved her until the day she died,” Harvey said. “David, you know your father and I fought bitterly over your mother, but what you don’t know, as I’m sure Anne never told him, is that I begged her to run away with me both before and after Fitzwilliam was born. But she wouldn’t. The last violent encounter between your father and I was when he came home to Pemberley and interrupted your mother as she was telling me her resolve was set, and that we would not speak of us being together again, even though she would always love me in a special way. Before your father walked in, she was in the process of telling me that she had grown to love and respect him, and for the sake of her son, she would remain with my brother. George, of course, misunderstood what he saw and assumed that we were having an affair, but I never touched your mother in that way after our engagement was broken.”
“My mother…torn between the two of you. What a disaster the three of you created.” David rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Harvey cast a quick glance at David as he rose from his seat. “It is as it was. Fait accompli. Choices were made long ago, and I have to live with them.” He turned to his left. “Fitzwilliam, nothing is final until it’s final. Ring me next week for dinner and do spend time with us. Take it one day at a time. Things will get better. If it does become final between you and your wife, then life does goes on. You are a Darcy. There is pride associated with our name, both proper and improper. We’re all here to help you get through this. You know I love you, and so does Susan.” Uncle Harvey finished his Scotch and set his glass aside and moved towards the door, but David stopped him.
“Uncle, there is one final thing I have to know. Why didn’t my father tell us the real reason for Mother’s death? Why was her cancer kept from us?”
Harvey drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. David could tell this was not going to be easy for him. “We didn’t tell you because your mother didn’t want you to know. She was afraid you would be bitter because she had chosen to risk her life for your brother. Had she not done that, her oncologist probably could have saved her life.”
David winced. “Yes, I can see that. At the time, I thought my whole world had died with her. I would have felt betrayed if I had known it was a choice.” David turned to Fitzwilliam. “Did you know?”
“No, I didn’t. Her secret was well-kept. This is just as much a shock to me as it is to you,” Fitzwilliam said, staring at his uncle in disbelief. “And I’m afraid I would have felt betrayed, too.”
Harvey walked back and placed his hand on Fitzwilliam’s shoulder. “Someday we’ll all talk again, but for now, I must go. It’s past teatime, and Susan is waiting. Fitzwilliam, do ring me. I care as if you were my own son. George would want it that way. In the end, we made our peace, so do ring us.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your concern, and I will call ‘round.”
They both saw their uncle to the door and then returned to the study to talk.
“Fitzwilliam, if you were to find Elizabeth, would you want to reconcile? Would you take her back?” David asked as he paced back and forth, casting a meaningful glance from his brother to their mother’s portrait.
“I can’t honestly answer that. I would want to see her, but primarily to ask her why—why she did this to me, to us. Trust has been broken,” he said. “I just don’t know. Right now I’m trying to get over her. All I know for sure is that I don’t think I can ever trust or love anyone ever again after her. I don’t want to ever take the chance of going through this again.” Fitzwilliam glanced wearily at David. “Someday, I intend to read those journals. It’s just that right now is not the time. I can’t take any more pain. It seems to be a family affair,” he smirked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something to attend to.” Fitzwilliam turned and left the room.
~*~
Later in his room, David contemplated what he would do once Elizabeth was found. …I will speak with her first. I will not allow her to hurt him again. She will answer to me before I let Fitzwilliam know where she is.
Chapter Forty-seven
…You’re out of your league, darlin’…
With the third week of October approaching, David prepared for his annual appointment with Cecilia Lawton. Shuffling through the Lawton Coffee account Rita had placed on his desk, he was torn between personally attending the negotiations himself or spending time with his brother and sending his cousin Richard in his place.
He rubbed his hand across his face as he mulled over the decision. Besides his brother, something else disturbed him—Cecilia. In light of the experience of his father and uncle and Fitzwilliam’s broken heart, he wondered if he was going to be the next Darcy to make a mistake about a woman. Something was wrong with their relationship, and he wanted to discover what it was. Her calls had abruptly stopped after weeks of hearing from her on a regular basis, leaving him puzzled as to why.
How had he allowed himself to become emotionally involved against his better judgment? He laughed ironically. He knew why he’d let down his guard. It was like the running of the deer in the heat of the hunt. The thrill of the chase had challenged his ego and stimulated his mind. But after weeks of calling him regularly, why had she stopped? Perhaps she had decided to marry that dreadful creep and had not chosen to tell him. Whatever her reason, it bothered him. He wondered if Cecilia was simply living up to her reputation, and he had become another one of her victims—another notch on her bedpost. He couldn’t be sure, but he intended to find out. He picked up the phone and made the call to his personal assistant to finalize his travel arrangements. He would leave tomorrow.
~*~
Arriving in Charleston late the previous afternoon, David had once again booked a suite at the Lawton Hotel. He had contemplated calling Cecilia for a dinner date, but then decided against it. Standing in front of the mirror while attempting to knot his tie for the third time, he scolded himself. …Damn it, Darcy! How on earth did you get yourself into this predicament? You’ve let a five-foot, seven-inch, violet-eyed blonde get under your skin. You used to love ‘em and leave ‘em, and now you’ve managed to fool around and fall in love. …That’s why you’re here. You had to see her even though she hasn’t returned any of your calls. …What’s your game, Cecilia? What do you want? It’s time to put an end to this game.
He shrugged his shoulders as he left for the short walk to the Lawton Executive Complex. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon—perfect for musing He sighed as he walked. Damn it, Lawton…What are you doing to me? If only I could be assured of your loyalty…your love…your trust…if only...
~*~
Cecilia dreaded the afternoon. She had thought long and hard about the Darcy coffee account. For the past three years, she had sold her premium coffee to Darcy Enterprises, giving them better terms than any of her other clients. She wondered why she had allowed David to secure such a deal when she never gave anyone an inch, let alone a mile, but then she realized she knew the answer to that. She liked him. In fact, she liked him a lot.
It wasn’t the same as it was with her other lovers. Darcy was different, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why or how. She knew there was a danger that her resolve could slip, and that could cost her. But then Elizabeth had called, and once again her defensive walls had gone up. She was no fool. She knew what David was about. Had she not seen the same thing in her father? But still, the way he made her feel when they made love. She shuddered. No one had ever come so close to touching her heart as he had.
She sighed. What should she do about the Darcy account, and, in particular, one David Darcy? She drummed her fingers over the Darcy Enterprises account folder. Should she drop them
as a customer, or make him pay the price everyone else paid? It was a difficult decision since he would be here within the hour.
Finally, Cecilia decided that she would let the Darcys keep the coffee account. He wants me…I know it. If I play it right, I can get anything I want out of him… and information is what I need! I want to know what type of man could hurt such a tender-hearted woman the way Fitzwilliam has hurt Elizabeth.
Her resolve set, she would use every weapon she possessed and play her Scarlett O’Hara card. After all, it had worked with Rhett, hadn’t it? And besides, David Darcy was an English version of Rhett Butler if she’d ever seen one. She chuckled softly. “I can turn David’s head with a smile. Men willingly believe what they wish.”
Dwelling on that thought, she quickly went to her computer and searched the Internet where she found a condensed family history, Fitzwilliam’s academic credentials, his achievements, all of the tabloid stories concerning his marriage to Elizabeth, and a brief description of his involvement in the struggle to maintain control of Pemberley, PLC. There was also something else—the discord that had existed between him and his father. The information she found indicated that Mr. Darcy and his son had been estranged at the time of his death, but more than the marriage had caused the rift between father and son. The article indicated that father and son had been opponents in a fierce battle of wills. Mr. Darcy had been distressed that his son had shown no desire or inclination to assume the responsibilities of the family corporation.
Cecilia thought that his relationship with his father seemed to be similar to her own, except for the fact that she and her father got along. If she were a betting woman, she’d be willing to wager that Mr. Darcy didn’t know his son—probably neither of them. The family was definitely not close.