Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian

by Jennifer Joy

  William laughed several times — a smooth, rich baritone she would like to hear more often.

  Elizabeth suspected she knew how she fitted into William’s life now, whether he recognized it or not. He would say he needed a mother for Anne — to love and protect the child as her own. And Elizabeth accepted the responsibility, understanding the honor in being bestowed such a trust. She would give her heart freely to the babe. Already, she planned the adventures they could have exploring Pemberley together.

  But Elizabeth was confident in her new role, and it had little to do with the baby. William needed her. He needed her cheer, her laughter, her love. She only had to help him see it. He had shouldered the burdens of others alone for so long, it would not be easy for him to allow her to ease some of the weight from him.

  William so rarely spoke about his sister, Elizabeth snapped to attention when he said, “Georgiana would have liked to hear what you have related about our mother.”

  Aunt pushed her dessert plate away, setting her napkin on top of the table. “There is something I must say now that I have the opportunity. It has plagued my conscience ever since I learned Miss Darcy got involved with Mr. Wickham.”

  Elizabeth’s pulse slowed.

  William’s voice dropped. “Yes?”

  Twisting her hands together, Aunt barreled on as quickly as she could speak, pausing only for the quickest breath. “As you know, my father sold everything from boot polish to ribbons and buckles in his shop. Several times, he extended credit to Mr. Wickham, and several times he had to appeal to Mr. Wickham’s father to cover his son’s debts. Had it not been for your father’s generosity, I am certain we would have been forced to sever all business ties with the Wickhams. I remember how Mr. Wickham would walk through the store, fingering all the items displayed on the shelves as if he owned them and had every right to take what he pleased. A couple of times, he did.”

  “He stole?” Elizabeth gasped.

  “He did not see it as stealing. He believed he had a right to whatever he pleased.” Directing her words at William, Aunt continued, “I knew this about his character — his sense of entitlement — and yet I said nothing. I knew how kind your father had been to him, and I did not wish to offend Mr. Darcy. However, there was one conversation I overheard which particularly disturbed me. It happened shortly after Lady Anne’s death. Mr. Wickham came into the shop, and my father asked him to please settle his bill. I do not remember every word, but I remember how it ended and the feeling of foreboding which has plagued me ever since. He said that he was practically a Darcy, that with Lady Anne’s death (of which he did not speak with enough delicacy to suit me or my father), he was the second son Mr. Darcy would never have. He spoke of Pemberley as if he had some claim on it.”

  Elizabeth shuddered, but she was not surprised. In her brief interlude with Mr. Wickham, she had been given a similar impression.

  Aunt Gardiner reached for her wine glass. Taking a sip, she continued. “I met Edward around then, and he convinced my father to return to London with us when we married. With so many changes, I will own that I gave little thought to the conversation I had witnessed. But when I heard of Miss Darcy’s elopement with Mr. Wickham, I felt guilty for not warning you before departing from Lambton. Had I said something, perhaps she might have seen his true character. Or perhaps you would have known to exercise greater caution around him. The truth is, I never considered it possible for him to manipulate himself into your family.”

  That was the exact reason Elizabeth had not connected Georgiana with Mr. Wickham sooner. She had not imagined it possible.

  Aunt’s voice shook. “I am so sorry. I trusted my reason instead of intuition, and I wish I had acted differently. I wish I had trusted you enough to do as you saw fit.”

  Elizabeth clutched the fabric near her throat. Trust. It all came back to trust.

  William did not speak for some time, but when he did, his voice was firm. “Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner. Allow me to reassure you that I was not ignorant of Wickham’s deceit. It is I who must bear the burden of guilt for permitting him to comfort my sister after our father’s death. I had thought of him as a brotherly figure for so long, it was easy to assume Georgiana saw him in the same light. Pray trouble yourself no longer over this affair.”

  He blamed himself for his sister’s disastrous choices. No doubt, he blamed himself for her death too.

  Elizabeth’s compassion stirred, and while the conversation had revealed Mr. Wickham’s ugly motive, it had also taught her a great deal more about her own husband. She owed her aunt a hearty embrace.

  Uncle Gardiner summed up the matter nicely. “Communication, even when it is unflattering and painful, is vital to establish trust and maintain healthy relationships. It is why our trade flourishes and why our union is a happy one, and it is what I most wish for our dear Lizzy with you, Mr. Darcy.” Raising his glass, he toasted their health and happiness.

  Elizabeth drank to that.

  Chapter 24

  Darcy had enjoyed the dinner party with the Gardiners. His connection to Elizabeth aside, he gladly would have sought out their friendship. Their cheer, their protective nature toward Elizabeth, and their positive outlook inspired confidence and offered a brief respite from the fear and anxiety gnawing at him. He ended the evening more at ease than he was accustomed to.

  Elizabeth, also, had seemed more relaxed in their presence. Her humor shone, and the dining room echoed with their laughter many times during the course of the meal.

  It reminded Darcy of the meals he had enjoyed with his family in his youth. Pemberley had been a peaceful, happy place then. Would it ever return to its former glory? Darcy had seen glimpses of it that night. It was enough to make him believe it possible again, though he dared not allow his hope to get the better of him. Not until he was certain.

  Mr. Gardiner’s advice echoed in Darcy’s mind. Communication. Trust. His own father had extolled the value of trustworthy friends, and Darcy knew from experience how important open communication was in the smooth running of a household. Unfortunately, trusting others was not so easy after suffering the betrayal of those closest to you. Emotion had blinded him, clouding his better judgment. The greatest betrayals stemmed from misplaced trust, and Darcy was cautious. Perhaps, overly cautious. He ought to have trusted Elizabeth more from the start. He ought to have trusted his instincts about her.

  Not lost on him had been Mrs. Gardiner’s admission of conscience for not acting on her better instincts — on emotion. She had apologized to him, and while he had not thought it necessary, he had appreciated the kindness in her disclosure.

  He had apologized to Elizabeth more over the last week than he could recall apologizing to anyone else in his lifetime (or so it felt.) Darcy wished to break that cycle by avoiding the mistakes he had made to provoke the need to make amends in the first place. But, where to start? He had kept too many secrets for so long, it did not come easily to speak at all let alone confide in the woman who would bear the burden of his trust with him.

  When he thought of Anne and her needs, Darcy easily justified his actions. He could not have done anything else.

  By contrast, when he thought of how those same actions affected Elizabeth, Darcy felt like a selfish creature. He ought to have confided in her. Several times, he had considered telling her, but the voice of reason had raised valid doubts.

  He needed more proof of her trustworthiness.

  He needed more time.

  He was not yet ready.

  So many excuses. It became impossible to sleep.

  Chased by an uneasy conscience, Darcy tucked his shirt into his breeches and went to his study. The growlery was cold and dark, and Elizabeth was not there. Not that he expected her to be at that ungodly hour.

  That same logic did not appease his disappointment when he went down to the library. She was not curled up on a chair with a book in her hands.

  Peeking into Anne’s room, half expecting to find Elizabeth swaying the baby
in her arms, Darcy again was frustrated. No Elizabeth.

  This was foolish. She would be asleep in her bedchamber as he ought to be. As a normal person in possession of their senses would be.

  Darcy paused in front of Elizabeth’s door in the hall. Was it his imagination, or did he see the flicker of a candle under the frame?

  Not trusting his eyes, he pressed his ear against the door. Was that a rustle he heard?

  Stepping back, Darcy pondered his next move. He ought to return to his bedchamber, but sleep would not come until he talked to her. Elizabeth needed to know the truth. All of it. And he needed to tell her while his determination was strong.

  Holding his breath, he tapped lightly on her door.

  There. If she was as restless as he was, she would answer. If she was asleep, his tap was too light to disturb her slumber.

  Thump.

  Darcy leaned forward. Had he really heard a thump or had he imagined it? It was impossible to hear anything at all over the drumming of his heart.

  He stood thus for what felt like forever. The door did not open, nor did he hear any other sounds to inspire the hope that it would.

  Exhaling his breath, Darcy turned down the hall, resigning himself to another sleepless night.

  The creak of the door swinging open abruptly on its hinges startled Darcy so much, he jumped.

  Elizabeth’s white nightgown glowed in the light of the fireplace. She looked fierce, the fire’s flames reflecting off her hair and casting shadows around her illuminated figure. Darcy’s mouth went dry, and his pulse galloped, the thin linen of her nightgown revealing the soft lines and rounded features from which he could not tear his sight. Not even the hat pin Elizabeth wielded over her head like a dagger pointed at him frightened Darcy to sanity.

  A battle of his heart and mind ensued. Elizabeth was his wife. Was it not his privilege to gaze upon her, to appreciate her as a husband should? Surely, there was no harm in merely looking.

  He groaned. Who was he fooling?

  Darcy slapped his hand over his eyes, but the image was burned in his mind. “I am sorry. I did not think…” his words trailed off. That was precisely the problem. He had not been thinking. What did he expect but to find his wife wearing a nightgown in her own bedchamber at this hour of the night? So much for acting on impulses.

  “I do not mean to stab your eyes out, Fitzwilliam. Put your hand down.” Elizabeth sounded annoyed.

  Lowering his hand, Darcy fixed his eyes to the floor.

  “It had occurred to me that your reason for marrying so quickly might be to produce an heir, and until I am convinced otherwise or we fall in love, I will not allow my husband to treat me like a broodmare. To think I had almost put the pin away after tonight’s dinner,” she scolded.

  Good Heavens! Darcy felt a blush spread over his entire body. Of course, she would assume he had come to claim his husbandly privilege. “That is the last thing on my mind, I assure you.” (Well, it had been until he had seen her in her nightdress. That much was true.)

  “Oh.” She lowered the hat pin. “Well, why are you here, then?”

  Now, she sounded disappointed. Would he never understand her?

  Darcy looked up at her, trying to keep his gaze focused on her face. Trying, and failing repeatedly.

  “Do you not have a wrap or a shawl?” he grumbled.

  She looked down, her eyes widening when she saw the display. Crossing her arms and legs over herself, she spun away from him. “Have you no decency? Close your eyes!” she exclaimed.

  Her snappish tone riled him, and he answered in turn. “I am not the one lacking decency, and may I point out that I covered my eyes as soon as you answered the door until you told me — quite crossly — to put my hand down?”

  The ridiculousness of their situation hit him, and Darcy swallowed hard to conceal a chuckle. He swallowed hard again when he looked up just before Elizabeth wrapped herself in a blanket. She had a marvelous backside.

  He shook his head, feeling guilty when she spun back around to face him. Guilty for appreciating his own wife. Was there such a thing as too much irony?

  Making sure he was watching her, Elizabeth made a point of returning the hat pin under her pillow. The gleam in her eye as she spoke belied her usual humor. “Now you know my secret. I sleep with a hat pin under my pillow to ward off my husband’s unwanted advances.”

  Offended to the core, Darcy said, “I would never make advances unless you wanted them.”

  She lifted her chin. “And I would not want your advances unless you wished to give them.”

  Communication. This was not communication. This was bickering, and while they seemed to have a talent for it, arguing would lead nowhere.

  Taking a settling breath, Darcy said, “My reason in coming was to lay bare everything I have been unable to tell.”

  “Unable or unwilling?” she asked.

  The question could have carried a harsh bite, but she seemed too interested in his reply to have already passed a judgment.

  Her eagerness to understand made it more difficult to answer. He could not confide Georgiana’s history with just anyone — not even his closest friends and most certainly not his relatives.

  Unable.

  But, while Elizabeth might receive that reply with more compassion, it was not the whole truth. It disowned him of all accountability for his role, yes, but it also made him a powerless victim. And that, Darcy was not.

  Unwilling.

  “I do not like secrets, William.”

  At least, she was not calling him Fitzwilliam. Yet.

  He did as she would do and used humor to diffuse the gravity of the conversation to come. Maybe, it would make the words easier to utter. “Is that why you hid a hat pin under your pillow?” he teased.

  She smiled. “A weapon is only as good as its hiding place.”

  “And a secret is only as safe as the confidante in whom it is entrusted.”

  Elizabeth nodded, her smile fading. “When I saw your sister’s baby, I understood your silence.” She lifted a finger. “Mind you, she cannot justify you completely. You still ought to have taken the time to see if you trusted me before we married, and once our names were signed in the wedding register, you should have included me. However, I will be lenient for the baby’s sake.”

  Her ability to lighten the air in the room was awe-inspiring. “Thank you.”

  She went over to the settee by the fireplace, waving for him to join her.

  He closed the door behind him.

  Sitting beside her, careful to keep a proper distance between them, Darcy asked the question that had been bothering him since their arrival. “What made you think Anne was my illegitimate child?”

  “You said you had a child — a secret child. You had also admitted to having your heart broken. Since you did not explain from whence the child proceeded, I had to suppose it was from you. After all, I had been told that your sister died of consumption. It never occurred to me that she might have had a child.”

  “She died in childbirth just as my mother did.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Darcy exhaled. “Me too. She would have liked you.” As soon as he said it, he knew it to be true. Elizabeth would have been a good friend to Georgiana. He rubbed his chest, the pressure rising to his throat so great, he thought it would crush him. He had come here to speak, and now he could not.

  Elizabeth slid closer to him, her hand touching his. How perfectly her fingers had fitted between his. Darcy would not mind it at all if she placed her hand in his once again as she had done earlier in the hall, but he did not feel free to initiate the gesture with what he had to tell her. The truth was, he had meant to use her. He was little better than Wickham.

  She said, “If you are anything like your mother or your sister, I think I would have liked them very much too.”

  Darcy scoffed. “I am not worthy of your admiration.”

  “You took care of her until the end. What is not to admire in that?” />
  “I failed her. It was my responsibility to keep Georgie safe, and now she is gone.”

  “You could not have known what she would do or how it would end. You did the best you could. You are caring for her child as tenderly as if she were your own.”

  Why did Elizabeth insist on defending him? He did not deserve her good opinion. “My big plan was to protect Anne by providing an heir of my own, but I am a selfish wretch who was so blinded by duty I failed, once again, to consider the interests of the woman who would be my wife. No, Elizabeth, do not speak kindly to me.” The words poured forth from Darcy like water bursting out of a water lock.

  “So, it is true. You married for an heir.”

  “You were right to doubt me.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “While I have concealed a hat pin under my pillow, I have not seen fit to use it, though we have been married a week. Had you been the brute you seem to think you are, I would have stabbed you by now.”

  He exhaled, her forgiveness overwhelming him when he had done so little to merit her understanding. “I do not doubt it. I would have deserved it. You could not have wished for this.”

  She sat upright, facing him, commanding his full attention. “You know nothing of my wishes, and you are hardly in a position to tell me what to think, so I insist you stop trying. I will be the judge of my own opinions regarding your character.”

  Opinions? She had more than one? Darcy determined it best not to ask.

  Elizabeth, however, was eager to tell. “Despite the many opportunities I have had to think ill of you, you have proved to be honorable and responsible. I do think that, perhaps, you take your responsibilities a bit too seriously, but since it involves a defenseless child whom you love more dearly than you will own, I can hardly fault you that. That is what I think of you, William, and it is what I will continue to think until you prove otherwise to me.”