Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife
Page 78
One of the lesser evils with which Darcy had to cope was an unexpected foaling by Boots. Darcy had always wanted to extend her bloodlines, but Elizabeth had not, always keeping her fastidiously in a stall when she was in season. In querying the grooms, it was understood the only horse that had been near her was Scimitar, the night before Fitzwilliam took him to France.
And, indeed, it was exactly ten months later (the precise date of Fitzwilliam’s departure was etched in the Darcys’ memory) when Boots presented without a complication. Elizabeth had insisted upon being called and, clad in coats over respective night-shirt and gown, she and Darcy went down to the stable to witness the birth. It was a beautiful young horse, all wobbly legs and stockinged feet. In want of hiding his pleasure at the sight, Darcy retook his position of opposition that the sire was Scimitar, not Blackjack. He groused about it unreasonably, and Elizabeth understood he did that in lieu of his sister’s husband.
*
Once Darcy accepted the inevitable, he also admitted that the single man he could find no fault in as a husband to Georgiana was Colonel Fitzwilliam. No ambitions to entailment, after a lovely (but hurried) wedding at Pemberley, they were happy to reside at Whitemore and welcome their new daughter. Georgiana continued to write and reminded Fitzwilliam often how dashing he looked with a patch over one eye.
The colonel’s leg wound did not entirely heal, but he insisted if his good leg was strong enough to lift him into a saddle, Scimitar’s son’s eyes would help him find his way.
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So decidedly did he want to reach it, the crest of the knoll loomed before Wickham as precipitous as the cliffs of Dover. His horse’s breathing was laboured, but he knew only that hill stood betwixt him and escape of Armageddon, hence he dug his heels into its flanks once more. The last few strides to the top of the hill seemed to take forever, but finally his mount conquered them. At the crown, Wickham stopped and giddily looked over his shoulder in reassurance that he was, indeed, free.
The cannons below were booming yet. He could see that his company’s position was all but annihilated. A few scattered horses ran about, reins dangling precariously, skittishly trying to avoid the incoming fire. Grenades long expended, none of his men were standing, and only a few moving. Wickham stared at the sight dispassionately, turned, and kicked his horse into an easier lope down the reverse slope of the rise.
Yet in his pilfered corporal’s uniform, he slowed to rid himself of the detestable jacket. The French were taking his flank and British forces ahead. Now that survival was likely, Wickham knew if he could get behind Anglo-Prussian lines without being stopped, there was a chance for compleat freedom. Not once in his life had he made an uncalculated move. It was a point of pride. But it had stayed only in the back of his mind, was he to fake his death, he could not sell his commission, Lydia would.
At the time, it had seemed unimportant. But as he wove his way through British lines toward Belgium, he thought again of what he had to sell or barter. It took him less than a mile of rumination before a scheme fell apparent. He spurred his horse past a plumed hat resting upon a sabre driven into the ground. Picking it up on the run, he pressed it upon his head then tapped it down. A small amusement crossed his mind and forced the corners of his mouth into an unseemly smile.
He rode on.
Have you been to Waterloo?
I have been to Waterloo.
’Tis no matter what you do,
If you’ve been to Waterloo.
Acknowledgments
My eternal gratitude is extended to Deb Werksman, Sourcebooks Editor, who took up The Bar Sinister and had the vision to see what it could and should be. Deb told me that she would see to it that the essence of the book would not be compromised in the process of revision. She kept her word. Thank you, Deb. My thanks also go to Susie Benton, whose guidance through the sometimes treacherous editorial waters was both kind and patient.
Had it not been for my sister, Kathryn Baker (a brilliant writer in her own right), I would never have embarked on such an adventure. Her counsel and encouragement were invaluable.
Most of all I must thank my husband, Phil, for inspiring me to write and giving me the courage to follow through.
About the Author
Linda Berdoll is a self-described “Texas farm wife” whose interest in all things Austen was piqued by the BBC/A&E mini-series of Pride and Prejudice. Four years and much research later, her effort, Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife (originally titled The Bar Sinister) appeared, to the acclaim of readers and the horror of Jane Austen purists. This is Berdoll’s first novel, but she has since published a humorous book of euphemisms. The sequel to the sequel, Darcy & Elizabeth: Nights and Days at Pemberley, is available now in stores everywhere. She and her husband live on a pecan farm in Del Valle, Texas. Although she admits that she eloped in a manner similar to Lydia Bennet’s, to her great fortune it was with Darcy, not Wickham.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Preface
PART ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
PART TWO
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
PART THREE
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
Acknowledgments
About the Author