The Road to Pemberley

by Marsha Altman

  Suddenly, Lady Anne turned ashen and teetered dangerously as she grasped for her husband’s aid. Relying on the support of her husband’s arms, Lady Anne fanned herself with her handkerchief until realizing it to also be a source of her distress. Casting it away from her, she fanned herself with her hand to rid her senses of the smell causing a consuming wave of nausea. “Mr. Darcy, that odor… I am unwell.”

  As he gently led his wife to a place to lie down, Mr. Darcy shot his son a stern look. “Get to your room, Fitzwilliam, and clean yourself up. I shall be up in a moment, and we shall have a talk.”

  Darcy let go the crumpled cloth of his shirt he had been worrying with his hands as he looked up at his father. “Talk” was most likely not the correct phrasing for what his father had in mind, but he would not argue the point. With one last look of concern for his mother, he did as he was told.

  That night, young Darcy lay on his bed, smarting from the punishment his father had inflicted, while also dreading what was yet to come. What also stung was the lesson in human nature he had learned that day. He was angry with Robert Leyton for provoking his anger and speaking ill of his father. He was incredulous that George Wickham should implicate him when he had never been anything but forthright with him. He was upset that his father had taken the word of the constable and assumed his guilt without giving him a chance to explain. But mostly, young Darcy was disappointed in himself, for being the cause of such misery to his parents.

  Elizabeth looked over at Darcy. “Melons?” she asked and laughed.

  Darcy smiled slightly and nodded his head, “Indeed, it was quite a scene.”

  “How so like Wickham to behave in such a way, Fitzwilliam. It is a wonder you have tolerated him all these years. How did you know it was really he who owned the guilt?”

  “Richard told me later, after the length of his punishment was fulfilled.”

  “Was your uncle severe?” Elizabeth asked.

  “My uncle would not tolerate having felons for sons.” He added, “Mention the Lambton honeydew affair if you want to see the colonel blanch.”

  “And you? Was your punishment indeed thorough?”

  Darcy shifted unconsciously in his chair, remembering his father’s words and the licks of the birch branch that had followed. You are a Darcy, not some hooligan who goes brawling about. There will always be some windbag challenging you. The now-grown Darcy smiled momentarily at his father’s inadvertent admission of his opinion of the Leyton men. Use your head, Fitzwilliam. Choose your battles carefully or you may wind up at the point of some fool’s sword. Darcy sighed as he admitted, “I was banned from the green for the remainder of the holiday.”

  Elizabeth pondered her husband’s demeanor. For a moment, she thought that he looked just like that eleven year-old boy he once was. The blunt end of the sword he held had fallen to the floor as he contemplated some thought with a broodish push of his lower lip. “And?” she pressed, with unspoken mirth, wondering that there was not something more.

  Darcy glanced at her uncomfortably before mumbling to the floor what had been the worst of his punishment, “And I had to apologize to Leyton the next day.” Darcy’s pout soon turned to a wicked grin as he felt the satisfaction he had known then upon seeing the dark blue–and–green bruise consuming Master Leyton’s right eye. Darcy lifted the sword’s point to an angle of inspection as he murmured, “I swore to myself then I would never allow myself to be humiliated by that person.”

  Elizabeth flushed and looked down at her needlework, realizing all the more acutely what her husband had forgiven about the circumstances of her first meeting with Robert Leyton. After her marriage to Darcy and her arrival at Pemberley, Elizabeth had been headstrong and taken a curricle out alone one day to visit a neighbor. The horse had been stubborn and the curricle stuck fast in the mud. It was Robert Leyton who had found her and returned her home to her husband, but not without expressing a sardonic comment as to Darcy’s aptitude as his wife’s guardian.

  “And you never told your father?” Elizabeth asked curiously, also turning the discussion away from their querulous neighbor. “That is, you never told him of Wickham’s involvement?”

  Darcy looked a little sad as he relaxed back into his chair, reflecting, “He was a fair man, Elizabeth. He would have been grieved to know he had believed less of his own son than his steward’s son—and made me suffer for it.”

  Chapter 5

  Once their fathers deemed them sufficiently punished for the incident on the green, the boys were allowed to continue their pursuits at the ruins. After breakfast one morning, young Darcy ran to his room, grabbed the sword, and scurried down the stairs to catch up with Edward and Richard. In his haste, he practically ran into his mother in the gallery.

  “Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed. “Dearest, do be careful with that stick. You are surely going to hurt someone with it.”

  “Yes, Mama. I shall be back later, Mama!” Darcy assured her confidently as he continued on his way.

  His mother watched him go, and hastily called after him, “And do not climb trees!”

  When the boys reached the ruins, they drew sticks to see who would have to be the villain. Darcy, unfortunately, lost the draw and resigned himself to the odious task of portraying the Sheriff of Nottingham. He decided to fight fire with fire this time, so he ran into the wood and climbed a tree, lying in wait for the merry men.

  When he saw Edward come bounding out from behind some brush, Darcy slipped his leg over the branch he was sitting on and jumped down to scare his cousin. His ploy worked and he did frighten his cousin. However, Darcy landed hard and fell backward as his feet hit the ground. He reached back and his arm became pinned between a rock and his body. He yelled out as he felt a sudden pain from the twisting of his arm.

  Richard and Edward ran over to him, “Wills, are you hurt?”

  Edward reached for Darcy’s shoulder to help him up, but when he touched it, Darcy screamed out in pain, “No, no. Do not touch it!”

  Edward ran back to Pemberley house for help, and Richard stayed with his cousin until the earl, Mr. Darcy, and a few household attendants came running. They carried Master Darcy back to the house, where Lady Anne was waiting to see her son.

  “Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, what has happened? Will he be well?” she exclaimed frantically.

  “Yes, dear, he will be fine,” her husband said in an attempt to console her.

  Darcy looked at his mother as the attendants carried him up the stairs. She was worried beyond consolation, and he saw her grab his father’s arm as she held Darcy’s toy sword in her other hand.

  “You know, my dear, that was the last time I remember seeing this,” Darcy said as he looked at the toy sword.

  Elizabeth gave a motherly smile. “She must have hidden it in the trunk in an attic, so that there would be no danger of you injuring yourself with it.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Darcy sighed and then gave a chuckle. “All these years, I thought Edward took it. I owe him an apology, I think.” Darcy looked over at his wife, and saw her fatigue. It was getting late and he had kept her from their bed and much-needed rest for too long with his stories of that summer long ago. “Elizabeth, you must go to bed now. I shall take you up, directly.”

  “Fitzwilliam, I am fine—really,” she protested halfheartedly. “What happened during the rest of that summer?”

  “There was not much more to it, really. I spent the rest of my holiday nursing my wrenched shoulder and arm. My uncle, aunt, and cousins left a few weeks later to return to London, and my father sent me with them to return to school. He had always taken me to London himself before then. I suppose his concern for my mother was too great to leave her alone.”

  Elizabeth noticed Darcy’s happy countenance fall as he thought of that time. Was he melancholy? she wondered. But then, she saw his features harden into the taciturn man she knew him to be when he was resolved not to let the world inside his heart.

  Darcy helped his wife up fr
om the chair, and they slowly walked out of the library and above stairs to their chambers. Darcy left Elizabeth safely in the capable hands of her maid. “I shall return, my love. I will take a turn about the house.” He kissed her and she smiled wearily, putting a hand to her back and one to her side as she thought of laying her growing body down in their comfortable bed.

  Darcy walked out into the hallway with a candle and began his nightly inspection of the house. When he entered the library, he strode over and picked up the toy sword from the chair. He gave one last swipe through the air with it, and held up the candle to look at the large portrait of himself and his mother. He moved the candle to his right and illuminated a portrait of his father, painted around the same time, during his eleventh year.

  “Father,” Darcy said out loud, “why could you not have let me be a boy for just a little longer? Where is it written that a Darcy must be serious and reserved, when there is so much more to life?”

  Darcy leaned against the desk for a time in quiet contemplation. He remembered how he had been unsure of his life after that summer. His sister had been born while he was at school, and she had become the child in the family. His father had encouraged him from then on to be a little more serious in his studies, and when he was home on holiday, his father insisted that he learn how to manage the estate and also learn about affairs of business. Not long after, Lady Anne became ill and left Mr. Darcy alone with his son and a small daughter. Fitzwilliam Darcy had felt the weight of the responsibilities pressing on his father—and his father’s loneliness.

  “How I wish you were here, Papa,” Darcy whispered as he looked back up at the likeness of his father. “I have so many questions.” Tears welled up in Darcy’s eyes. “I fear I do not know how to be a father. That was always your part. I was contented to simply be your son.”

  Darcy breathed in deeply and collected his thoughts. He took one last look at the sword, and placed it in the top drawer of the library desk.

  Elizabeth and her young daughter, Hannah, walked along the path to the north of the house for some time, until they came to a clearing where the old ruins stood. They hid themselves safely behind a large tree and peered around it, quite unnoticed.

  “Who goes there?” a tall, dark-haired man called down from atop the rubble.

  “’Tis I, Will Scarlett! I have come to pursue Robin the Hood!” a thin, dark-haired boy yelled up, making his voice sound as big as he could.

  The man climbed down from his perch atop an old pile of masonry rock, wielding a carved toy sword, and said, “No one sees Robin the Hood!”

  “How are we to play, Papa, if no one can see you?” the boy said in defeat.

  “Of course, you can see me, Andrew,” Darcy said and chuckled. “You are supposed to fight me for the right to join the merry men.”

  “Oh,” the boy replied, and then turned around and called out excitedly, “Christian! Christian! Make haste! Papa is going to challenge us to a battle!”

  A very small boy came charging out from behind the bushes with a toy sword in his hand and a wicked grin upon his face. “Come down and battle me, Papa!”

  Darcy brandished his toy sword and pretended to fight off the advances of his sons. He was laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. Andrew stuck his father in the ribs with the blunt point of his sword, and Darcy writhed in mock agony and fell to the ground, much to the delight of the giggling boys.

  “Get up, Papa! Shall we do it again?” Christian tugged on Darcy’s sleeve. “I want to do it again!”

  “Christian, I am not as young a man as I used to be. Shall we not rest here a moment?” Darcy smiled and the boys hurried over to where he sat on the ground and took their places at his side. Darcy wrapped his arms around his sons. “Shall I tell you more of Robin Hood?”

  Elizabeth and her daughter laughed, but remained hidden behind the tree, listening to Mr. Darcy as he began to recite a child’s ballad: They are all gone to London court,

  Robin Hood, with all his train;

  He once was there a noble peer,

  And now he’s there again.

  Many such pranks brave Robin played

  While he lived in the green wood:

  Now, my friends, attend, and hear an end

  Of honest Robin Hood.7

  Father of the Bride

  BY LEWIS WHELCHEL

  Lewis Whelchel was first introduced to Jane Austen in college by friends at UC Irvine in the mid-1980s. Since that time, Pride and Prejudice has been his favorite Austen tale. He started reading Jane Austen fan fiction in 2001 and began writing in 2003. His first full-length novel, Rocks in the Stream, was released in early 2011, and his second will appear later that year. He and his wife, Tracy, and their children still living at home, relocated to central Tennessee in 2010 at the invitation of his employer, and are enjoying the beautiful countryside very much.

  Mr. Bennet is a favorite character of mine, and I wanted to include in this collection one story that focused on him. Welchel’s “Father of the Bride” is that story.

  Chapter 1

  “If you will thank me,” [Mr. Darcy] replied [to Elizabeth], “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you.”

  Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

  Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances.

  Pride and Prejudice, chapter 58

  “My dear Lizzy, where can you have been walking to?” was a question which Elizabeth received from Jane as soon as she entered the room, and from all the others when they sat down to table. She had only to say in reply that they had wandered about till she was beyond her own knowledge. She colored as she spoke; but neither that, nor anything else, awakened a suspicion of the truth.

  Pride and Prejudice, chapter 59

  A suspicion of the truth was not awakened in anyone—except Mr. Bennet, who was determined to learn the cause of that blush. He looked sternly at Elizabeth. He finally caught her eye, but she turned away with a laugh.

  Throughout dinner, Mr. Bennet kept a close eye on Elizabeth and her co-conspirator, Mr. Darcy. It seemed to him that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were exchanging frequent glances. Though never truly staring at each other, when their eyes did meet, it was plain that they were engaged in unspoken communication.

  Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth never spoke, but sat so close that their shoulders frequently brushed against each other. For some reason, Mr. Bennet observed, Mr. Darcy ate only with his left hand and Elizabeth with her right. Their other hands remained out of sight, hidden by the tablecloth. He would bet the whole of Longbourn estate that those hands were touching.

  Mr. Bennet knew his second daughter well. Ever since she could walk, she had wandered the countryside around Longbourn and Meryton. The older she grew, the farther she went. He knew that she had left late that morning in the company of Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, Jane, and Kitty. He was also aware that Mr. Bingley and Jane had returned alone in the early afternoon, and Kitty not long thereafter. However, it was not until many hours later that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had come back.

  Although they had been gone for a substantial period of time, Mr. Bennet was convinced that this was not because Elizabeth had gone beyond her own knowledge. That possibility was not a consideration. Something else had either held their attention or prevented their timely return. Eit
her way, his daughter had been alone with Mr. Darcy, out in the countryside, for the majority of the day.

  Mr. Bennet did not want to suspect his daughter of any…what could he say…misconduct…but her behavior at dinner with Mr. Darcy provoked questions he never would have imagined asking Elizabeth. It had been true of Lydia, though, and he would not dare venture an opinion of Kitty’s…situation—but Elizabeth?

  Determined to know what had happened, he excused himself from company and retired to the library. He knew it would be some time before the gentlemen left. Once they were gone, he would have a private conversation with Elizabeth.

  Tea had been served and it was time for the gentlemen to leave. The acknowledged lovers exchanged handclasps and tender words. The unacknowledged lovers parted in silence, with longing in their eyes the only communication between them.

  Mr. Bennet was out of his library the moment he heard the door close. Walking with as much ease as his agitated mind would allow, he crossed the hall to the drawing room. He found Elizabeth tidying up her needlework.

  “Lizzy, will you come to my library? I would like to speak with you,” said Mr. Bennet.

  Elizabeth thought nothing of this request, as it was not unusual for father and daughter to spend hours reading together or in conversation.

  Mr. Bennet followed Elizabeth into the room and invited her to take a seat in front of his desk. He sat in the chair next to hers. After looking into her eyes for a moment with a glance she readily returned, he cleared his throat and began what he hoped would not be a distressing interview.

  “Lizzy, did anything happen today about which I should know?” asked Mr. Bennet.

  Elizabeth shifted in her seat. Mr. Bennet noticed her discomfiture with raised eyebrows.