Fitzwilliam Darcy, Guardian

by Jennifer Joy

  She would discover his faults soon enough, but it was balm to Darcy’s soul to know Elizabeth thought well of him just then. She was the only person in the room who did.

  Darcy wished more than anything to hold that moment, to preserve it. But he had learned long ago that good things are not meant to last. Time was treacherous like that. It tore families apart in the most painful way. It stole what should have lasted forever. It had turned him into a liar.

  Resting his hand over hers, needing the strength of her touch, he said, “Then it is time I told you what really happened, of the lies I have told to hold what is left of my family together.”

  Chapter 25

  Elizabeth clutched William’s hand, leaning into him and offering him what support she could.

  Slowly, as if he were reliving the details as he narrated them, he began, “I allowed Georgiana to set up residence in Ramsgate in the summer of her fifteenth year. She loved the coast, and we had many friends there. It was her first opportunity to run a household, and she reveled in it. I saw it as good preparation for the time when she would marry and have her own family. My cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, who was her guardian along with me, agreed it was a good plan. Georgiana wrote often, telling me of her learned experiences and successes. I stayed away longer than I would have otherwise, not wanting to impose on her recently acquired freedom. I had not felt her so happy since the death of our father.”

  Of course, William would see his sister’s new opportunity as an exercise in duty and responsibility. He would never understand how such newfound freedom could go to a starry-eyed maiden’s head. Elizabeth dreaded to hear the rest, knowing that Georgiana’s story had not ended as it should have.

  “One day, I got word that she had eloped with Wickham. The companion I had employed had proved to be treacherous and facilitated their union. I did not know he had been courting Georgiana. She had made no mention of him in her letters.”

  And end her fun by telling on herself to her big brother? Elizabeth thought. Clearly, William was not at all familiar with the romantic notions most females of a certain age held. How could he have known if Georgiana had purposefully kept it from him? Pinching her lips together to keep from interrupting, Elizabeth listened as William continued.

  “Wickham calculated his plans well. He knew I was in London at the time, and Richard was away with his regiment. Had I been at Pemberley, had Richard been on leave, we could have intercepted them. As it was, I arrived too late. They had married over the anvil.”

  To be so close, but too late. William must have been crushed. He would not have been completely blind to Wickham’s faults. He would have known how miserable such a man as Wickham would eventually make the little sister William had been entrusted to protect. Elizabeth wondered if Wickham had given Georgiana any kindness at all once the deed had been done, or if her dreams had shattered the same day as their wedding.

  William cleared his throat, his voice tight and forced. “I paid Wickham her dowry — thirty thousand pounds. Without it, Georgiana would have been forced to face the reality of the life she had chosen much sooner. It was my weak attempt at delaying the inevitable. Wickham spent it in months. He wrote to me demanding more just as Georgiana’s letters became less frequent. I did not know if Wickham intercepted our letters, but I wrote every week to tell her she was always welcome at Pemberley. That I would always be here if she needed me.” The tension in his body spread to Elizabeth, and he gripped her fingers. She held onto him as tightly as he did to her, her heart breaking for him and aching for a girl she had never met; for the daughter Georgiana would not get to raise.

  “She came home,” he said, his voice trembling.

  Elizabeth wiped tears from her eyes. William would not cry — perhaps he never had allowed himself to when everyone looked to him for strength — but sitting as closely as she was to him, Elizabeth felt the weight of his emotion. She would share his challenges. She would help him raise Anne with all the love and affection she possessed. No child should be forced to pay for her parents’ mistakes, an opinion Elizabeth had always held but which was felt with much more intensity of late, thanks in whole to her own father.

  Her father. Elizabeth did not want to think of her father. It was difficult to think ill of the ill. She would deal with her burdens later. Right now, she would help William with his.

  “She must have seen your reassurances and taken comfort in them,” she said.

  “She slept for five days, too weak and exhausted to say a word. It was Mrs. Reynolds who told me of her condition. We did not know how far along her confinement was, but we persuaded Georgiana to stay until the child was born.”

  Elizabeth was puzzled. “Persuade?”

  “Wickham’s hold on her was so great, she would have returned to him. She was convinced he would change for her, that he only needed more time. She blamed herself for falling ill and tiring him.”

  Elizabeth gasped. Her body burned with anger. What sort of man allowed a young lady barely more than a child herself to bear the blame of his behavior? If Elizabeth had disliked Wickham before, she hated him now. He did not deserve sympathy.

  The bitterness in William’s tone told her his sympathy had worn out long ago. He continued, “I knew that if Wickham thought he could get more out of Georgiana, he would attempt it. She had nothing left to give, nor was I content to allow her to waste away. Not when I had been entrusted with her protection. So, I told him she had consumption and was too ill to travel. I told him she would have to stay at Pemberley under my care and that of my family’s best physicians. I lied.”

  “As any loving brother ought to have done,” Elizabeth defended. How many times could a heart break? She had lost count. How awful it must have been for William to witness. “He never came, did he?” she whispered.

  “Not once. Not that I encouraged it. I might have run him through had he attempted to come.”

  “I would have done the same.” She was tempted to carry her hat pin on her person on the chance she saw Wickham.

  William relaxed his grip around her hand, a faint smile softening his expression. “I am glad to hear it. Toward the end, I think Georgiana was disappointed enough in him that she would not have returned. Too many times, I saw her looking out of the windows toward the road. She knew he did not try to come. She knew he did not write, though she asked the butler as soon as the post was delivered every day. The month before Anne was born, she stopped waiting, and it was during that month when she directed all of her energy and attention to her unborn child that I saw the woman my sister would have become.” His chin quivered. “Our mother would have been proud. I was.”

  Elizabeth wrapped her arms around William, her face pressing against the soft linen of his shirt. She felt his labored breathing and held him tighter. Tears were a sweet relief, and she would squeeze them out of him if it lessened his anguish.

  Finally, with a deafening rush of air at his lungs, William enveloped her in his arms, bowing his head over hers. He shook silently, his breath coming and going in bursts. Elizabeth’s arms tired and her neck cramped, but she did not loosen her grip. William would be there to hold her when her turn came.

  She would be as steady for him now as he would be for her. As he had been for his sister; for his father. As he without a doubt was for everyone he loved. He confused duty and responsibility with love, but it was there and it was strong. It also offered the proof Elizabeth needed. William loved her — not with the ardent passion she desired … yet … but he loved her enough to forgo his duty in favor of her consideration. How it must have tortured him to spend a week in London for a silly gown when his heart and conscience demanded he return to his beloved niece.

  He pulled away from her, wiping his face and distancing himself. “I am sorry. I am not given to displays of emotion.”

  “More is the pity,” Elizabeth sighed. She longed to help ease his burdens, and William seemed intent on bearing them alone.

  When he looked at her stran
gely, she added, “It is normal to grieve the ones we have loved and lost. Our hearts are full of so many sentiments, its only recourse is to shed the bitterness in tears. But what it leaves behind are the pleasant memories. Those, we get to keep. Those are what we treasure, for they allow us to remember our loved ones without grieving their loss.”

  He blinked at her. “Maybe someday I will know what that feels like. I miss her too much now.”

  Elizabeth did not know which “her” he meant — his mother or his sister — and she chose not to ask when there was still more to be said. “I understand why you wish to keep Anne away from Wickham, but why must she be a secret? We cannot hide her away forever. It is not good for her to be restricted to her room at Pemberley with so few for company.”

  William’s eyes were dry now as they met hers. He searched her face intently as he spoke. “Until I have an heir of my own, Anne stands to inherit Pemberley, Darcy House, and the entire Darcy fortune. Our estate is not entailed, and she is my closest relation. Anne is the last of my family.”

  Now, that was taking it a touch too far. Straightening her shoulders, Elizabeth said, “You have me now. We are a family, and I will help you.” She meant it. It was a relief to have a foe other than her husband to fight. He was an ally now, and whether he liked it or not, they were a team. All of her bitterness and disappointment now had an appropriate target. She would pick up the battle where Georgiana had left off. Elizabeth would protect Anne … and she would fight tooth and nail against Wickham should he trespass into their lives. He had caused enough damage in the Darcy household. It stopped here.

  William’s eyes were particularly green, his chin speckled in prickly hairs the same color as his wavy ebony hair. His chin was firm and his arms were solid.

  Elizabeth had always believed him handsome, but William’s character added to his appeal. She felt herself falling, and while a part of her trusted him to guard her heart, Elizabeth prayed he would not cast her off.

  “Before she died, Georgiana made me promise to take care of Anne as my own. She made me swear to keep Wickham away from her, to protect her,” he said.

  There it was. The little worry that nagged at her. What would William do if he had to choose between fulfilling his vows to her and keeping his promise to his sister? It was a choice she would never ask him to make. That would not be fair. But, what if it happened?

  Elizabeth shook the doubt from her mind.

  They sat together in silence, their fingers entwined. For now, it had to be enough. All she needed was more time with William. Then, she would be certain of the constancy of his love.

  Elizabeth could have stayed on the couch with William forever, but she must have fallen asleep. She woke in her bed, alone, the following morning. The hat pin was still under her pillow.

  Chapter 26

  William rubbed his fingers over his lips, remembering how Elizabeth’s hair had tickled them when he had kissed the top of her forehead the night before. She had been light in his arms as he had carried her to her bed. He could have spent all night holding her, listening to her steady breathing and watching the changes in her expression as she dreamed, but she deserved to rest after their journey. He also did not wish to startle her and end up with a deserved stab from her rather sharp hat pin.

  He slept deeply, feeling more rested the following morning than he had in a very long time.

  When he checked on his niece, Mrs. Bamber told him that Anne, also, had slept like an angel all night.

  Peace had settled over Pemberley, and William marveled at Elizabeth’s ability to put everyone at ease when she had only just arrived.

  The weather turned for the worse, bringing winter upon them with fat drops of incessant rain. Normally, he would have bemoaned the loss of his daily rides, but William reveled in the opportunity the rainclouds gave him to court his wife.

  Much of their days were spent in Anne’s nursery, where Elizabeth knelt on the floor to encourage Anne to crawl and chattered with her about everything from the scientific explanation for the colors in a rainbow to whimsical stories of talking frogs and toads. She exceeded every hope Darcy had dreamed of in a mother for Anne … and a partner in life for himself.

  Mrs. Bamber enjoyed the extra time they allowed her to tend to her own family while, together, they cared for Anne.

  Mrs. Reynolds was delighted. With a hand over her heart and tears in her eyes, she said, “It is just like having your mother and father back.”

  Darcy’s respect and admiration grew until he could not imagine his life without Elizabeth, nor did he wish to do so.

  Taking Mrs. Fischer’s advice, he brought a breakfast tray to Elizabeth every morning, buttering her toast and sitting with her while she ate and they conversed. He prepared her coffee how she liked it, and he took care to leave her bedchamber before he was tempted to incite her to use her hat pin. He would not so much as kiss her as he longed to do until that object was removed from under her pillow.

  Every day, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner joined them. They would picnic in the conservatory and spend hours conversing in the music room. William learned a lot about Elizabeth’s childhood during those discussions. It was then, he realized the depth of Mr. Bennet’s betrayal. Elizabeth had gone from being his marked favorite whose happiness he had boldly defended to sacrificing her prospects to secure the futures of his wife and other daughters. While Darcy had thought Mr. Bennet’s actions to be responsible at the time, he now understood how it had been a harsh blow to Elizabeth. He never wanted her to feel dispensable when she was so important to him.

  Dinners were a pleasant affair now. It was during one such dinner, William reached over to touch Elizabeth’s hand. “May I ask you a question you may be hesitant to answer?” he asked. He feared her reply, but he had to know.

  She smiled. “You may ask anything you wish.”

  Darcy ignored the nauseating knot twisting in his stomach. “Do you regret marrying me?”

  “No,” she said without wavering, her quick reply merciful on Darcy’s taut nerves as she continued, “My father’s actions and your initial distrust aside, I believe that had we met under more favorable circumstances, I still would have accepted your offer to dance. I would have anticipated your calls and enjoyed our conversations. And I am convinced that I would have chosen you had I been given the choice.”

  “How can you be so certain? We have only been married a fortnight.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “A fortnight full of trials is better than a year of calm in learning a person’s true character. What about you? Do you regret marrying me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Even when I was argumentative and bitter?”

  “Especially then.” William did not know how to explain it, but he would try. “Even with the circumstances which led me to hasten to marry, I wanted a wife I could admire, a lady with opinions and views of her own.”

  “Even when they are contrary to your own?”

  William smiled. “Growing up here, with a mother and father who loved each other dearly, I observed how they complemented each other, how they made each other whole. I could not imagine one without the other. And yet, they did not always agree. In fact, given their opposing temperaments, they very often disagreed.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows knit together. “But you called your mother elegant and graceful. I had imagined her more … perhaps, complacent?”

  “She possessed a strong mind, and my father encouraged it. They debated often — more amiably than you and I have done, but I credit that to a lack of practice.”

  She chuckled. “We shall improve in time, then? I like that. I really would have liked to have met your mother.”

  “She would have loved you. As I … have grown to … I mean to say, I rather like…” Darcy was bungling this, but he tried again. “I did not realize how incomplete I was until you came. It is like a miracle has come into my life, and that miracle is you.” He shook his head at himself. A poet he would never be.

&n
bsp; Elizabeth raised his hand to her lips, brushing them over his fingers. “Oh, William. Sweet words, indeed, but your actions — thankfully — speak much louder than words. Mrs. Reynolds told me she heard from her sister, who told her about the bunch of violets you meant to give me. I would not have cared that they were crushed.”

  Darcy felt his face warm.

  “When we arrived here,” Elizabeth continued, “I had a letter from Jane. She told me how you had sent a physician to Longbourn to examine my father. I know the great lengths you have gone to for the security of my family, and I have seen how gentle you are with Anne. There are many more I could mention, but I do not want you to think so much of yourself, you become overly proud; then you would be difficult to live with and I would regret ever saying anything favorable at all,” she ended with a twinkle in her eye.

  Darcy laughed. “Can I not be proud of my choice in a wife?”

  “Of course, you may. It shows your good taste,” Elizabeth teased. “You will need to remember that when you have little use for me or tire of my company.”

  His laughter died. Is that what she thought? That he was no different from her father? “Why would you think that is possible?” he asked.

  Clasping her hands in her lap and staring down at them, she said, “Feelings can change over time.”

  “Mine do not.”

  “My father loved my mother when he married her, and now they barely tolerate each other.” She chewed her lip, her gaze still fixed on her lap.

  “While mine grew in love for each other with every day they spent together. I do not wish to be any other way.”

  Finally, she looked up, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I used to be my father’s favorite. I know he loved me. But he cast me off too easily when it was convenient to him. Did you know that the doctor you sent to Longbourn told him that he did not have consumption?”