'He reminds me of my black, your horse, they look very much alike. Which means that you may have to name yours, Fowler, or we'll all get confused.'
'Name a horse? Who, me? I've never named anything, sir.'
Nick was really stunned for a moment, but he was always polite to Darcy.
'Yes, Fowler, it's your horse, and you will be spending a lot of time with him, and trusting your life to him. You should give him a name. But it need not be straight away, you can think about it. Although Anne named her grey quickly enough.'
'May I inquire what you named your beautiful horse, Miss de Bourgh? Did you like her? Were you afraid? I bet you weren't!'
'I liked my horse very much, and I wasn't even a bit afraid, just exhilarated. I named her Peppermint. Mrs Darcy named her new hunter Barley, for barley sweets, and I liked the idea very much.'
'Good, I didn't think you would be afraid, I know you are a very brave lady, investigating noises in the night at the Blackwood house, and standing up to your mother. What is a mere horse in comparison?'
He smiled his devastating smile, and Anne suppressed the sudden urge to hold him and kiss him.
'Well, I suppose I'd better call my horse Liquorice then, since I used to love Pontefract cakes and always bought them when I had a few pennies to spend.
They were as black as him, and I always thought the castle that marked them something out of a fairy tale. And now I live in an even larger and more beautiful house, and ride a black horse that is my very own.'
'It is a perfect name, I think, Nick. Liquorice has such an exotic sound. And you can shorten it to liquor, you like brandy, too.'
'I love all liquor, I'm afraid. Fortunately I can steer clear of it very easily, I saw plenty of good people ruined by overindulging. But as a horse's name it
won't hurt. I do feel my legs, I suppose that is normal after riding, Mr Darcy?'
Darcy laughed and observed, 'If you feel them now you will be in agony tomorrow. It takes about two weeks to build the necessary muscles. Taking a hot bath will help, and you can give each other a nice firm massage. You'll need it, too, Anne. Once you get used to riding you won't suffer much stiffness anymore, unless you fall off. That hurts even more. But those techniques you showed us to fall the right way may save you from a break some day, Fowler. I bet you have them ingrained and don't have to think about them anymore.'
'I do think that is true, Mr Darcy, but still I'd rather not fall off at all....'
Darcy laughed, and said cheerily, 'Oh, you'll take a fall or two, Fowler, you'll gain confidence daily until one day you try to impress Miss de Bourgh and overreach yourself. We've all taken falls, it's not that bad.'
Nick seemed resigned until he spoke up, 'I suspect the falling isn't the worst, though, Mr Darcy.'
'Indeed, Fowler, it's not the fall that hurts. It's the landing, and you have an advantage because you already know how do that safely. Still, maybe I'm wrong and you are more sensible than we were as boys. We thought we were invulnerable and nothing could really harm us, and you have already found out that life can be a delicate thing.'
And still Anne couldn't embrace Nick and kiss him, when she wanted to so very much.
'Maybe you'd better get that bath, if you want to be able to ride again tomorrow.'
If that wasn't the best excuse to spend some time on each other, Anne didn't know what was. They left quickly to make their way back to the house with Georgiana and Eric, still elated by their first time on the back of a horse.
Frederick was talking to the stable hand who had given them their riding lesson, but he'd find her to have that little talk he mentioned.
After their visit to the Brewers, Darcy had made arrangements to send them to London. They had been glad to accept, and had left a few days after the visit to search the attic. It would mean some extra work for Darcy, spring was the time when his tenants were sowing and there was always someone needing help or advice. But that was a small price to pay for his steward's future, Nathan had always given his all to Darcy, and Darcy felt he needed to repay that in kind.
When the letters from the Brewers' attic hadn't offered any conclusive proof, Elizabeth and himself had searched for evidence at Pemberley, looking for hidden drawers in Darcy's father's desk, and checking under the carpets whether there were any signs of loose boards. But of course there weren't, his father had not been the type to warn his mistress to burn his letters if he was going to save hers. Everything she ever wrote had certainly been safely disposed of.
Whereas his father's room was exactly as it had been before he died nearly six years ago, Georgie had taken over her mother's bedroom and the furniture in it when she turned twelve. Their mother's possessions had been stored in a different room, and they had searched them thoroughly, though without expecting to find any proof of an affair that had not been hers at all. Still, uncle Spencer had suggested she'd known of the involvement, and those letters had disappeared, there was a chance they'd find something, it was worth checking.
Not having found any useful correspondence in either his father's former room or among his mother's possessions, Darcy and Elizabeth had decided to write to his uncle to remind him he had been planning to search his sister's private apartment at his estate, and to beg him to let them know the results.
And while they waited for his reply, they would ask Georgiana permission to check out her mother's former bedroom, and the furniture, which meant they had to tell her about her father's dishonourable behaviour and the resulting suspicions about Wickham's parentage.
'Should we have something like the confidence room out here as well, my love?' Elizabeth asked, and she was right, they should. An idea struck him.
'Remember the little room I had decorated for Georgie? I suppose they'll want the Clementi in the drawing-room, and we can use that room for exchanging confidences.'
'Excellent. Do you want to ask Georgiana to join us there, and tell her about Wickham?'
However much Darcy disliked having to do that, it needed to be done, he'd already postponed it for too long.
'I really don't think she'll mind that much, my love. But why don't you let me tell her and save yourself the heartache?'
He could and he would tell his sister, but in a way it would be even better if Elizabeth did so. It would be less of a burden coming from her, Darcy guessed, since Elizabeth wasn't upset about the whole thing like Darcy
himself was. Georgie couldn't pick up feelings from her sister-in-law that weren't there, as she might from her beloved brother.
'Yes, please. Do you think Fielding should be there?'
'I do. We share life's difficulties, they should be able to do that as well.'
'That is true. I'll ask them at breakfast then, and you can tell what we have found out.'
And thus they were sitting in the room with the Clementi, in comfortable chairs, his father's letters in a stack on the low table in front of them.
Elizabeth did not dawdle but instead came to the point immediately.
'Georgiana, you know that your father was leading a kind of double life, don't you?'
Georgie nodded and replied, 'Yes, didn't he visit bars in the seedier parts of town, together with George Wickham? I seem to remember that you suspected he'd led Wickham astray.'
Elizabeth affirmed, and continued, 'Your uncle Spencer and I both suspected it might be worse, we feared he'd had an affair with Mrs Victoria Wickham.'
'Wickham's mother? I can imagine that, she was so pretty and always dressed to perfection, and so full of life. Mother was beautiful, too, but in a transcendent way, you see. Mrs Wickham was earthy, more real, somehow.
She was always very kind to me, and when mother had passed away she really knew what to say to make me feel better. I was devastated when she died so soon after mother. And you say she may have had an affair with father?'
'Uncle Spencer thought so, and I had my suspicions. I told Fitzwilliam and we went to the Brewers to look for evidence. We found these.'
'So it's true. Can I read them?'
She studied the letters for another moment then observed, 'These go way back, Elizabeth, that is Fitzwilliam's birth year!'
'You can read them, both of you.'
Elizabeth did not warn Georgie about the content and frankly, she didn't need to. Eight letters, spread over almost as many years, all starting with affection and ending with love. Enough to predict what was in them.
Fielding read each letter as Georgie finished, and she read all in one go, not pausing for remarks or questions. When she was done, she waited for Fielding to finish the last one, then she observed dryly, 'I suppose this means
I have been very fortunate to escape marrying my own half-brother? I feel sorry for all of them, you know, not just mother and Mr Wickham. George, too, I suppose he never knew, or he wouldn't have tried to elope with me?
Will you tell him?'
'It's not at all certain he is your father's son, Georgiana. She was married to Mr Wickham after all.'
'Father was too fond of George not to have known, and let's be honest, they were like peas in a pod, apparently. Victoria Wickham was a nurse, maybe she knew how to prevent getting with child by the man she married but didn't love, we all know now that it can be done. She never had another child, did she?'
'We will not tell George Wickham anything before we have hard evidence that he is your half-brother. A lot of letters were missing, we know your mother suspected for she told uncle Spencer. We're hoping to find the missing letters in her room, either here in your former bedroom or at your uncle's estate. Maybe there is conclusive proof in one of them. And even if we do find proof, it won't change anything for Wickham.'
'Not with two legitimate heirs for father's estate, no. And father never acknowledged him, which is what might have made a difference for George.
Though I suppose the man he thinks is his father was the better man.'
'Does reading this make you angry, or sad?'
Fielding had not said anything so far, but when he finally did of course it was exactly the right thing. Georgie took her time to think, and when she spoke she sounded fine.
'Not angry, and only sad for them, not for myself. Maybe for George, though I cannot think what might have been different if he'd known. He will be angry if we tell him, and rightfully so. I'm certain he often wished he'd been our father's son, and not just for an inheritance. Maybe he would have heeded father more if he'd been a parent instead of a friend. And maybe father would have expected more of George if he'd acknowledged him as his son. We'll never know. But of course you may search my old bedroom for hidden caches. Maybe you can find the old hunt master, he may yet live and know more. Apparently he was close to father.'
That was an excellent idea, Mrs Reynolds would remember him and know whether he still lived and if so, where.
'Do you know how George Wickham is doing, Fitzwilliam?' Georgie now asked him. She really seemed interested, and since he did know, he told her.
'Colonel Drummond told me he is doing very well with the Rifle Corps, and that his regiment will will be transferred to Kent pretty soon to prepare for action.'
'That sounds very dangerous. Whatever he did, half-brother or not, he is now fighting for his country and deserves our respect. Sometimes I do remember him as he used to be, he was such a fun companion, and so kind to a lonely little girl. I suppose I'll never see him again, but maybe I should write to thank him for those years, and to wish him well.'
'I think he would appreciate it, Georgiana. He made a lot of mistakes, the life he leads now is what he made of it himself, but I don't think it is a bad life, he seems to enjoy being an officer. Still, I think it would make him feel good to know you don't remember him all bad.'
Elizabeth was so forgiving, and Georgie, too. How did they do that? Was he really that resentful? Georgie didn't seem overly emotional, just a bit sentimental, as Darcy himself felt when thinking of his summers with Anne, Spencer and Fitzwilliam. Maybe what one did in those years, and the people one was close to, made an extra impact.
'I will think about it. Will you let us know if you find anything? I'd love to help with the search, but we need to practise, we've neglected our instruments shamelessly the last week.'
And indeed, Fielding was already eyeing the Clementi, eager to get on with their morning's work. He looked fine, much calmer than in London, and less tired. Married life and privacy were doing him a lot of good. His riding was improving steadily, and though he liked shooting as little as he liked fighting, he practised with the same determination he applied to his own art, and results could not fail to follow.
Though there was one gentlemanly occupation that Fielding seemed unable to appreciate: billiards. Besides shooting and riding there was nothing a true gentleman enjoyed more than a bout of billiards, and both Darcy and Manners were true aces in the sport. Simon had been initiated in the sport years ago as a result of several rainy Sunday afternoons at aunt Catherine's, when Darcy had been so bored and fed up with his aunt he'd fled the drawing room and invited Simon to play billiards with him. Fowler was of course almost brilliant, he had regularly played a more common version of the gentleman's game in public places with his rowdier friends and besides, he was good at all sports, he rode like a trooper on his black Liquor, and shot like one, too. The first time he had fired a rifle he'd commented, 'Compared to
Lieutenant Talbot's musket this rifle is about ten times as easy to handle and at least twenty times more accurate. Why doesn't the King give his soldiers rifles? They risk their lives for him, don't they?'
Darcy didn't know, but Manners did.
'Talbot told me once, Nick. Rifles are incredibly expensive, and so is the ammunition. And most soldiers do not have to shoot accurately, they fire en masse on a large enemy formation, no need to aim, you're always going to hit something. Darcy's brother-in-law is with the Rifle Corps, they're skirmishers who need to be sharp shooters to pick off officers or key figures in an attempt to destroy the enemy's formation, and for that they have rifles. And green coats, to not stand out. But despite that they will take huge losses in the field, it's an incredibly risky assignment.'
But Fowler's prowess in gentlemanly sports was not the reason that Fielding didn't seem to enjoy them. He practised riding and shooting readily enough.
Darcy suspected that his brother-in-law considered billiards an incredible waste of time. Shooting and riding would help him cross the continent more safely, but hitting a ball with a stick was probably utterly useless to someone who spent five hours a day at the piano.
Chapter 8
Well, this was it, the day that his beloved would get married and not to him.
Nick had pushed the fact out of his mind time and time again, telling himself she loved him, and that this was the best way to be together, living among the class Anne had grown up in. Never in his wildest dreams had Nick imagined the wealth and the privilege that class truly possessed. He had thought Anne and her relatives a step up from the Blackwood family, but only now did he understand the gap between his former master and Mr Manners, the man who was going to marry the woman Nick loved.
She was sleeping beside him, looking much younger than her true age and almost childishly innocent that way. Would nothing change with her marriage? Would Mr Manners allow another man to sleep with his wife, sire his children? Anne was convinced he would, or she would not have agreed to connect herself to him. Just yesterday her fiancée had asked to see her in private, and while Anne had feared either he or Simon had gotten cold feet, in
fact he had wanted to make certain she agreed with the arrangements he and Mrs Fielding had made for Anne with respect to her fortune. That wasn't a man who planned to rule his wife's life, was it? Why then couldn't Nick just trust everything to work out well? And what was the worst that could happen?
Ending up back in London, destitute
, with his heart broken? Mr Blackwood would take him in and find him a position. Nick had known he'd get his heart broken when he realised he had fallen for Miss de Bourgh, no surprise there.
But he also knew Anne was in a way marrying Mr Manners for Nick, to be with Nick. If she hadn't loved a commoner, she could have waited for a gentleman who deserved to be loved by a special woman like herself. If the worst happened, Nick would be miserable but free to resume his former ways. Anne would pay her entire life for misjudging Mr Manners' intentions.
'You really hate us getting married, don't you? Frederick and I? I'm sorry to put you through it, but I still cannot think of an alternative.'
Anne had woken up, she watched him with concern and spoke with a very feeling voice. Nick found himself unable to speak, he loved her so much and he was so afraid to lose her to a loveless union, even if it would make the society pages buzz with excitement. But wait...if Mr Manners only wanted Anne for her status and money he wouldn't have agreed to a quick ceremony in a tiny church, would he?
By now, Anne had him in her arms, stroking his face and his hair, kissing him with so much love he could feel it washing over him. An angel in Heaven could be more beautiful than she, but no-one could be more loving, no way. Her concern drove him to exert himself to speak.
'I'm so afraid he will change, my love. What man would allow a servant to touch his wife?'
She looked at him in a really strange way, held him at arm's-length as if to see whether he was fooling her, then burst out laughing.
'That is why you were looking so intensely unhappy just now? Do you seriously fear that Frederick will change into some tyrant all of a sudden?
Nick, he doesn't even want to touch me, he'd touch you before me. Haven't you seen enough of Frederick to know that he is not at all what he pretends to be? Strong, yes, bossy, maybe, but almost anxious to be liked by those close to him? I would have thought you'd trust him a lot better by now, but again, I have underestimated your past, it still has such a hold on you.'
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