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Posted on Sunday, 15 October 2006
Mrs. George Wickham audibly shuddered as she crossed the threshold of her modest London abode. The past few days had been the longest of her young life, at the tender age of 18 she had suffered more than many women twice her age. She had more than one occasion returned to her home to find her husband, her handsome charming George, in bed with a chamber maid or a shop keepers daughter. Her cries of sorrow had only been responded to by harsh laughs and on rare occasions the back of his hand. The infatuation she had felt at the age of 16 when she left her ancestral home in his company had long since abated. She had been left with the bitter realization that she had carelessly tossed away her future in the pursuit of one of the most worthless men England had ever produced. Even had she not grown up as coddled and petted as she had, living with such a man would still have come as a complete shock.
Now at 18, she had to bear the greatest cross of them all, facing the humiliation of becoming a widow of a duel. The enraged father of one of George’s conquests had challenged him to a duel, and unlike all those prior incidents, this time George did not escape unscathed. She had just returned from identifying his body and she was as badly shaken as she could be. The tears had come at last during her carriage ride home and she wept for him, she wept for herself and most of all she wept for the unborn child that grew in her womb. The child had resulted from an inebriated George taking liberties that his wife did not usually grant. Yet, she had learned the hard way that denying him in that state could be rather dangerous. She had latter cried bitter tears and cursed the days they had both been born. However, when several weeks later she realized that she was with child she felt a curious happiness stirring in her heart, finally something she could love like her own. Someone she could cherish and pour all her love into. Now she was worse off than ever before. All the joy she had felt had quickly evaporated knowing that her beloved child would bear the now ignoble name ‘Wickham’ she knew that she could not stay here and raise the child. He or she would forever be shamed by polite society for the crimes of the father.
As she entered her parlor, she removed the black veil that threatened to swallow her now thin face. Her maid was nowhere to be seen; yet she was not shocked when she heard a masculine voice call out ‘George’ from by the fireside. It was not unusual for her to find her husband’s creditors in her home.
“He is dead, what is your purpose here?” she asked wearily.
“It is not he I seek, I’m looking for my little George,” As he rose from his seat, she blanched and let out a whimper.
“Richard, you have come,” she cried as she launched herself into the folds of his coat, the sobs that had been so long repressed now could not be staunched.
“You know I would dearest,” he said as she shook her head emphatically still sobbing.
She stopped only long enough to notice the cane that now supported him. “What happened,” she asked with a cry as she touched his leg gingerly.
“Many of my friends lost their lives, I guess I’m lucky to have just lost part of my leg.” He said with a somber smile.
This only served to cause more tears to flow, faster than he could tenderly wipe them away. “I have missed you so very much,” she said.
“I am here now love, and I’ve come to take you with me,” he said moving her to the small settee
“Where?” she asked with a small whimper.
“Why home to Pemberley of course.”
Posted on Tuesday, 17 October 2006
As their carriage hurtled towards Pemberley, Col. Richard Fitzwilliam tried to ignore the pain in his leg and the ache in his heart by observing his sleeping cousin. If he looked at her with a critical eye it was plain to see that she was a beautiful young woman. Now as she slept, the eyes normally filled with pain closed, it was easy to imagine her as a just another carefree girl. Georgianna Wickham nee’ Darcy may have been wearing mourning garb but as she slept, tired from her tears, but her face was the picture of youthful calm. Oh, how had Richard missed that face, on the battlefield he had often thought of his ‘little George’ the affectionate nickname that her father had given her after she had proclaimed gleefully as a child that she and not her older brother was her father’s true namesake. That face that had always been a bastion of smiles growing up; he could see her now as a young girl running towards him, her gay laughter often ringing through the hallowed halls of Pemberley.
The past few years had changed that face, he recalled the first time he had seen her after her marriage, she had seemed so frightfully different, her smile so bright that it seemed false. She had welcomed him into their humble home without the presence of George and it appeared that she had not seen her husband in some time. She had kept begging Richard to stay, and stay he did- they sat in the parlor all day reminiscing, he stayed through dinner talking politics and it was only as he was taking his leave that he heard George’s slurred speech in the hall. Even if Richard lived a hundred years he would never forget his cousin’s face at that moment, she looked as stricken as if she had just been slapped. She had almost pushed him out the door at that moment and as he had met George in the hallway he felt a revulsion so strong he wanted to be ill. George reeked of cheap perfume, his cravat was askew and he was well in his cups.
At that moment he knew that he had not been absolved of his role as Georgie’s guardian for guard her he still must, even against her own husband. He then became a permanent fixture at the Wickham home trying not only to repair the damaged relationship between Georgie and her brother but also comforting his cousin in her time of need. He had become her dearest friend, bringing her news from their family, making her laugh and ensuring that she took care of herself. Now almost 2 years later Richard Fitzwilliam’s blood boiled at the sight of his darling little cousin’s bruised face. He was happy that Wickham was already dead so that he need not risk the gallows for running him through. During the 4 months he had been away, Georgianna’s situation had severely deteriorated. The house was in a state of disrepair, many of the nicer pieces had gone missing and the servants, long tired of not being paid on time had taken not to showing up.
The most shocking loss of all was the loss of Georgie’s smile.
Growing up the two of them had been thick as thieves; his older brother, Andrew, had been much older and much wilder than Darcy so he had consequently often escaped to Pemberley to spend time with the Darcy family. Although he had followed William around like a shadow growing up, often William would be closeted away with his father learning about the family estate. It was then that he used to turn his attentions to his little cousin who had been in turn following him around like his shadow.
Although his mother loved him dearly, never had any one worshipped Richard Fitzwilliam like little Georgianna Darcy had. His Uncle Darcy used to say that ‘Georgie’s seasons are marked by Richard’s visits, for her there is Richard visiting, Richard not visiting, Richard visiting again and Winter, and that’s only because she loves Christmas.’ In turn he loved his little shadow dearly although he probably would have eaten one of the frogs they used to chase before he admitted it. He pretended that he was annoyed by her constant presence but he secretly loved it- after all what young boy wouldn’t love to be utterly adored.
They would spend summer mornings when Darcy was busy splashing around in babbling brooks trying to catch tadpoles. He would take her skating, although he would always be a little abashed by how much better she was than him. He had danced with her outside their parent’s balls when they were children and he taught her how to waltz when she was 15 and he was home from leave. He had protected her and defended her, once risking his own life to rescue her when she had fallen through some ice. It was for this reason that his Uncle Darcy had made him her guardian even though he was only 5 years her senior. He had promised his beloved Uncle on his deathbed that he would watch over his only daughter.
And then he had failed him.
But more importantly, he had failed her.
Although William had loved George Wickham like a brother during their youth, Richard had never altogether trusted him. George had been a year older than Darcy and Darcy had spent his entire childhood looking up to him. Yet, Richard was ever aware that George hwas always a little too good at getting his own way and had all the Darcy’s eating out of his hand. Although he was never openly hostile towards George, he was always wary of him and his plans. He was forever getting himself and William into trouble, and William, the gentle soul that he was, was forever taking all the blame.
He remembered one summer when they had snuck into the Parsonage’s orchard to partake of a lazy afternoon of eating the best of the fall apples while sitting on tree’s sturdy boughs. It had seemed wrong to Richard at the time to let all of those lovely apples get knocked off the boughs as they scrambled up the tree, but George had insisted that all the best apples were at the top so up they had gone. When the Curate’s wife had found half the tree’s fruit scattered at the base of her prize apple tree tears had sprung into her eyes and Richard’s face had burned with shame. Darcy could not conceal the event from his father and so the boys had to suffer his looks of disappointment as well as help the gentle curate’s wife gather the fallen apples. She had been kind enough to make the boys a tart out of some of the less ruined fruit, shaming them further with her kindness. Richard remembered how George had crowed at her silliness, ‘who cries over some stupid apples’ he had said and he remembered his feigned remorse before Uncle Darcy.
Richard had followed George’s lead because William had, but after that day he spent a little less time with his cousin when George was around. Richard berated himself for never taking his disinclination towards George more seriously growing up, but how was he to know that the mischievous boy would grow up to become such an utterly disgraceful man?
Once Richard had joined the army his visits to the Darcys had grown less frequent although both Georgie and William remained faithful correspondents. He relished each visit he had with them and was always shocked to see his childhood playmates transform into young adults.
Even now he thought about his last meeting with Georgie before her elopement with a mixture of regret and fondness. Regret for both the irresponsibility of his actions on that occasion and for their consequences. Fondness for the woman he had met at his parent’s estate, the woman who would capture both his imagination and his heart for the next two years of his life.
Summer, Two years prior... (prelude to chapter 2)
Richard strode into his Mother’s sitting room, his face flushed with excitement. He had concealed the date of his return from his parents as a surprise and was tingling with the anticipation of seeing them after a lengthy separation. What he saw when he entered nearly took his breath away. There sitting on the settee was a young woman with one of the sweetest smiles he had ever seen. As his mother nearly cried with joy at seeing her beloved son, he remained mute, locked in eye contact with the young lady. As the introductions were made his addled brain managed to make a connection, ‘Hertfordshire? Did you say? My cousin and friend are currently in that part of the country, my friend having let an estate there by the name of Netherfield, have you heard of it?’
“Netherfield has been let at last?” she asked smiling, “I know that estate quite well, my family’s home is within walking distance of it.”
Posted on Friday, 20 October 2006
Summer, Two years prior...
Richard strode into his Mother’s sitting room, his face flushed with excitement. He had concealed the date of his return from his parents as a surprise and was tingling with the anticipation of seeing them after a lengthy separation. What he saw when he entered nearly took his breath away. There sitting on the settee was a young woman with one of the sweetest smiles he had ever seen. As his mother nearly cried with joy at seeing her beloved son, he remained mute, locked in eye contact with the young lady. As the introductions were made his addled brain managed to make a connection, ‘Hertfordshire? Did you say? My cousin and friend are currently in that part of the country, my friend having let an estate there by the name of Netherfield, have you heard of it?’
“Netherfield has been let at last?” she asked smiling, “I know that estate quite well, my family’s home is within walking distance of it.”
It had turned out that she was visiting the family of the Curate of Matlock, her Uncle, she had met his Mother at church that Sunday and had been invited to tea. A matter of some importance with one of the parishioners had come up and her Aunt had been forced to attend to it, so there she was sitting with his Mother in their sitting room.
He could still see that pair of soft eyes and smiling face that beckoned him them. He had never forgotten about Charlotte Lucas and all her feminine charms.
During the course of that initially brief visit he managed to spend as much time with her as propriety would allow. She listened to him and encouraged him, he could hardly recall if they had ever disagreed during their many meetings. He found himself dreading when he would have to go to Pemberley and leave her behind.
One morning as they walked through the gardens, he swallowed audibly and began “Miss Lucas, you must allow me to tell you how much I have come to appreciate your friendship over the last few days...I cannot but help to think, that is, I should not like to presume upon our brief acquaintance that you should feel the same way, but…”
“but?” she asked smiling up at him so tenderly that all thoughts of his speech flew from his head and before he knew what he was doing he had stooped down to kiss her.
Her lips were warm and soft and the sensation was so altogether pleasing that he wanted to kiss her once more as soon as it was done. Yet his sense of honor restrained him and he was content to trace a finger down the side of her face.
“Charlotte,” he breathed, sighing as if was the most precious word ever to fall from his lips. “I must go to Derbyshire,” he said tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.
“But why?” she asked her brow wrinkling endearingly in concern, “You have only just come, I cannot imagine why you would away so quickly, I am here for but a few more weeks before I return home…home to Hertfordshire,” she stressed the last word as one would stress, “India or China,” drawing it out and making it sound ever so far away.
“I shall go now, because the sooner I leave, the sooner I shall come back” he said with a smile. “I must go to see my young cousin who at the moment is alone at the estate with only her Companion to entertain her. Her brother, as you know, is currently in Hertfordshire.”
“That reminds me,” she said smiling slyly as she removed a letter from her reticule, “I have had a letter from my friend, in which she mentions your cousin Darcy,” she said laughing, “what a coincidence it is, it seemed as if we were fated to meet after all, for my friend is quite taken with your cousin. And I would not know why he would not be, for she is one of the most charming young women in that part of the country and very pretty too.”
“I must disagree with you there,” he said tenderly, “I cannot imagine a more lovely or charming creature than the one who walks by my side at this moment.”
Charlotte blushed, “Now I know you are mocking me, for I am as plain as the day is long,” she said turning away.
“I shall not even dignify such a blatant false hood with a contradiction,” he said dipping his face to her lips once more, “you are beautiful to me” he said almost in a whisper.
Many other sweet nothings were exchanged and by the time Richard had set off for Derbyshire he had talked himself into believing that a short visit to check in on Georgie would be more than sufficient, even though her brother was away, she was with her very capable companion Mrs. Young and what possible harm could befall her in such a short time.
He was so tied to this idea that he did not notice his little cousin’s peculior behavior, or how she seemed slightly less enthusiastic about his visit than usual. He did not notice how she pored over her correspondence or how she colored when she told him the letters were from Anne. Had he been less caught up in thoughts of Charlotte Lucas perhaps he would have noticed all this but he did not.
Perhaps the day he was scheduled to depart while they were saying there goodbyes he would have noticed the perplexed look on her face; and maybe then when she had begun to look as if she wanted to confide in him he would have jumped on the opportunity.
But hindsight is 20/20.
Some part of Richard’s brain picked up on all of these tiny peculiarities, the part of his brain that for the next few years would torment him with guilty memories.
In many ways he rationally recognized later in life that he could not have known, no matter how observant or vigilant he had been on that trip, that Georgie had been communicating with George Wickham and that Wickham had asked her to not confide in Richard about their correspondence. How would he have know when he decided to return to Matlock early to see Charlotte that Wickham would sieze that opportunity to finally seduce his little Georgie?
How would he have known? Yet although his rational mind accepted this, his conscience tore at him for the rest of his life. For leaving the beloved friend and cousin he had protected since he was a mere boy to the hands of a Monster.
And even though he suspected nothing when he waved goodbye to his cousin as he rode away from Pemberley, he managed to imprint the face of Georgianna the young girl in his mind that day.
It is an excellent thing he did, for the child in Georgianna Darcy died that very night. The innocence that had so far defined her almost 17 years on the Earth was taken from her and the woman that eventually rose from the ashes of that trauma was altogether different creature.
When he finally saw her again, after so many months of searching for her Richard Fitzwilliam, Colonel in the King's Army had almost cried at the sight. For when it counted the most he had let her down, because of his own selfish needs he had left her to be destroyed; and his rational voice that said he could not have known, could not drown out his guilt.
Posted on Tuesday, 24 October 2006
The fire crackled eerily on the hearth in the Master of Pemberley’s bedroom. Yet, unlike most nights, Fitzwilliam Darcy could find no solace in its warmth. Tonight he was lost in a contemplation so deep and lonely that no fire could penetrate to warm him. He was now deep in thought about the almost unbearable heartache that had filled the past two years, and how his current situation was almost more difficult.
Yet, for the first time, in a very long time, he felt hope.
The two women dearest to his heart would be arriving at Pemberley within the next 48 hours and after a busy day preparing the house for their arrival he was now at leisure to contemplate what their arrival would mean. He had altogether given up that one woman would ever be able to return to Pemberley, and as for the other woman…she had long since haunted his bedchamber in his dreams, but for the first time she would be crossing the threshold of the estate he had offered her a year and a half ago.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, in a most uncharacteristically slumped position, stared into the fire as reminisced about the past. For not the first time he pondered how he had gone from being a well-respected young landowner, to a fool in love to a heartbroken brother in the span of a mere two years time.
If he thought deeply about the past he could perhaps pinpoint the day everything had begun to unravel.
Although things had begun to change the moment he met Elizabeth Bennet, it was only much later, as they grew closer to one another, that his life spiraled so out of control. He remembered the day it began like it was yesterday- even though it was almost two years ago.
Longbourne
Summer, Two Years Prior
After a dinner engagement at Lucas Lodge, where Darcy had once more basked in the beauty of Elizabeth’s eyes and Charles had almost made a fool of himself over her sister, Darcy could not wait until morning to go and speak to her. He had foregone riding and taking a page from Elizabeth's book had chosen to walk to Longbourne.
As he walked briskly, absent mindedly swiping the grass with a long switch, he ruminated about the woman who had captivated his thoughts of late. True, she was not his equal in status, yet in their short acquaintance she and her family had proven to be veritable exemplar’s of good breeding. As for her person, he could not recall another creature in whom wit, beauty, intelligence and goodness had been combined in so perfect a measure. He realized that consequence need not play so large a role in determining his future happiness, with the exception of a dearth of connection, Elizabeth Bennet was absolutely perfect for him.
And as he laughed to himself, his connections were not all that were laudable. True he traveled in the finest circles but his best friend was the son of a steward, and his Aunt and Uncle, although part of peerage, were nearly impoverished by their degenerate Heir. Not to mention his Aunt Catherine, who at the thought of he visibly shuddered.
Yet, he also had to admit that it seemed altogether too early to declare himself, for now he would have to content himself with allowing her to learn more about him.
Perhaps in a few days time he would be able to get a better sense of how she felt, then perhaps he could fetch Georgianna and introduce her to her new sister...He chuckled to himself as he contemplated how quickly his thoughts had begun to run away with themselves. “You don’t even know how she feels yet you fool!” chastising himself for his impetuousness.
This morning he had rushed through his morning absolutions in order to make a morning call at the Bennet household and he saw the house in the distance he stopped to straighten his cravat in the garden.
It was then that he met the person who would be the lynch pin in the demise of his future plans; it was then that he met young Lydia Bennet.
The girl had been lovely in a pale green muslin dress painting a watercolor in the Longbourne garden. She looked the very picture of innocence as her golden hair escaped in little tendrils about her face; which she would ever so often swipe back with an impatient hand covered in paint. She appeared every inch the child, except for her eyes, which darted about the garden with a frightened quality more befitting a Gothic heroine than a young gentlewoman from the country.
Yet, her fear appeared quite real as she almost started when she heard the grass crunch beneath his feet. As he wracked his brain in an attempt to recall her name he vaguely recalled a conversation he had with the elder Bennet sisters referring to their two additional sisters who had not yet been out. He had met Ms. Kitty on her numerous walks with her older sisters, yet for the life of him he could not recall the younger sister’s name.
Regardless of this fact, he felt he must address this child. He felt a kindred pull towards this young girl, perhaps because she was the same age as his beloved younger sister. He approached her and like a frightened little bird she almost jumped, stuttering out a greeting and moving to alert the rest of the household of his arrival.
“Wait a moment, I presume you are the youngest Ms. Bennet?” he called out as he slowly approached her.
“Yes Sir, I am Lydia Bennet.” She said with an awkward curtsey and a furious blush covering her cheeks.
“Aah, I met your elder sister’s a few weeks ago, Ms. Bennet and Ms. Elizabeth, I am Fitzwilliam Darcy.” He said with a friendly smile as he made a small bow.
“I have heard...I have heard much about you Sir," she stuttered, "Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said without making eye contact.
“I know it may seem a bit strange for me to approach you as such, but you just remind me so much of my younger sister,” at this Lydia finally looked up, “she loves to paint as well.” Gesturing at the easel she had so recently occupied.
“Would you like to see?” she asked shyly moving towards the artwork and gingerly touching the canvas
“I would be honored,”
“It isn’t of course as good as what a trained Lady could do,” she said as she nervously bit on the edge of a paintbrush, “I have had no real Master but…well I do enjoy it a great deal.” She said trailing off as he critically examined her work from several different angles.
“It’s good,” he said in a voice that betrayed no false praise, “Especially without having any formal training…you have quite a bit of raw talent,” with that he even granted her with a kind smile and in return he received a just the hint of a shy smile.
She looked towards the door as “Lydia?” was called out a voice from the doorway
It was this voice that Darcy had come all the way to Longbourne to seek. When the owner of this voice turned into the garden, the sunshine outlining her lovely form, he doubted he had ever beheld a more breathtaking sight than this woman. “Mr. Darcy” she exclaimed, a becoming blush suffusing over her cheeks, “We had not expected…that is I didn’t know that you were com…Is Mr. Bingly here as well?” she said finishing lamely.
“He still had some business at Netherfield that he had to attend to before he could join me here, but as for me,” and here his voice became quieter “I simply could not wait.”
At this point Elizabeth blushed down to the tops of her breasts. Lydia looked on with another shy smile at the obviously love struck couple.
From the moment Fitzwilliam Darcy had met Elizabeth he had been struck not only by her beauty and humored by her wit but also astonished by her intelligence and awed by the grace and poise with which she and her elder sister carried themselves. Their younger sister Mary, who was also out, seemed to be a sensible yet rather bookish looking young woman who seemed to highly value the attentiveness of her older sisters. Their mother had accompanied them to the assembly and although she didn’t appear to seem as sensible or as graceful as her daughters she was all that was solicitous to her daughter’s comfort and unlike the matchmaking mamas of the Ton, avoided unduly putting her daughters forward. She seemed to almost twitter nervously whenever an unknown gentleman appeared before them to solicit one of the daughters for a dance. All together he had been impressed with the Bennet women and when Mr. Bennet himself had appeared he was already predisposed to like him. It was no surprise then that Darcy was impressed by the patriarch of the family, finding Mr. Bennet to be not only as witty and intelligent as his second eldest; but also an extremely attentive father who was ever cogniscent of his daughters’ locations.
It was with this knowledge that for the first time Darcy felt eager to dance with someone other than a member of his own party. Yet, that first evening when he asked Ms. Elizabeth to dance he had no idea that it would lead to him being utterly swept away by the beauty of her eyes, the keenness of her mind, and the music of her laugh. Ever since that evening he had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame and had been an almost constant fixture at her side both at Assemblies and at Longbourne.
Today however, was the first time he had ever met the elusive Lydia, he had already become fast friends with Ms. Mary and Ms. Catherine but when it came to the topic of the youngest Ms. Bennet it was as if the family was walking on eggshells. Darcy had begun to think that the girl didn’t exist as reluctant as the family had been to bring her forward.
“Lyddie, there you are dearest,” said Elizabeth with a patient smile, “Why don’t you run inside to the kitchen, I had Cook prepare some of your favorite gooseberry tarts.”
“Oh thank you Lizzy,” said Lydia brightening, and then impulsively embracing her elder sister affectionately before running into the house.
Elizabeth shook her head fondly as her eyes followed her sister into the house.
“So that is Lydia?” asked Darcy.
“That is our Lydia,” said Elizabeth, as she took his arm for a turn in the garden “She’s very precious to us, I cannot imagine how…as she is the youngest after all.” She finished lamely as her face colored, remembering she was indeed in company.
“She’s very talented, she reminds me a great deal of my sister.”
“Your sister is Lydia’s age?”
“Yes, it is quite an age difference between the two Darcy children, when our parents passed away it was almost as if I was raising a daughter rather than a sister.”
Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on his forearm, “what a heavy burden to place on someone so young,”
“It was not easy,” he said with a laugh, “but I had the help of my cousin Richard who is also her guardian, even though he is only a few years her senior, not to mention that and my Aunt and Uncle Fitzwilliam and my friend George, who was almost a brother to me growing up, have all had their hand in helping me with her.”
“Still, I am all amazement, I should find that raising a girl that age should be nearly impossible for me, let alone if I was a man.” Said Elizabeth with a laugh; here Darcy gave a long lingering sidelong glance that assured her that he most assuredly did not see her as a man.
“Your sister is quite shy, perhaps that is where they differ more, Georgianna has so long been the mistress of her domain that she is rather confident and has no compunction about ordering me about rather superciliously” he exclaimed as he fondly recalled the young girl he called the ‘little tyrant.’ Georgie was an excellent sister, and far more reserved in company, but she had the Darcy spirit and with it a healthy dose of pride.
Elizabeth suddenly grew rather grave at his side, “Lydia has become more reserved as of late, but then again that is to be expected is it not,” with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
Looking back on that fateful morning, Darcy realized how close his Elizabeth had been to revealing all to him. So close to preventing the disaster that was soon to wreak havoc on his well-ordered life.
Posted on Thursday, 2 November 2006
Like his cousin at Pemberley, Richard too was wrapped up in ruminations of the past…
After Georgianna’s elopement with Wickham, both he and Darcy had gone through the motions of denial, disbelief, and hope- then abject despair. Along with his parents and Lady Catherine, the two cousins scoured the countryside from Scotland back to London. They had feared her dead, or worse.
During that time all thoughts of Charlotte Lucas had flown from Richard’s mind, his concern for his cousin, coupled with his immense guilt at leaving her alone both fed him with anxiety and stole away his sleep. After 2 months of exhaustive searching Georgianna had arrived at their doorstep. They had been sitting in Darcy’s study, both wearily discussing the next course of action. When Darcy had seen her he had stopped speaking mid sentence, and he had risen as if he had seen a ghost. He had let out a strangled cry and then brother and sister had leapt into an embrace. The words had tumbled out of all of their mouths and she had tried to assure them that all was well, her mouth had laughed, she had smiled but they had both seen the panic in her eyes as well as the bruises on her arms.
Darcy had interrupted her speech and adamantly demanded that she take him to George. She had refused point blank and then they had argued until Darcy had begun to beg. And how he had begged her, on his knees he had knelt before her, to both forgive him and for her to return home to them. He swore he would arrange for her annulment. She had tried to laugh but couldn’t help but cry as she threw herself in his arms. She had sobbed into his lapels and he had smoothed back her hair as she had sobbed. After a few moments though, she had risen and the mask had returned.
“Richard,” she had held out her hand to him, “will you not congratulate me on my marriage?” she had asked as her lip trembled and she struggled to maintain her composure.
As tears welled up in his own eyes, he knew what she was saying. She was asking to do this on her own, she was in essence rejecting their help.
Richard could hear Darcy’s objections as one would hear a distant roar, or when in battle hear the background noise when bullets would whiz by. All he could see was their lives changing swiftly before them.
Just as she had arrived had she left, unresponsive to her brother’s almost frantic pleas that she reconsider. She said simply, “I have made this decision on my own, now it’s consequences are my own to deal with. I ask only for one-third the settlement that is my due; George expects that you would not allow me to have more than a quarter of it. This should be enough to satisfy him for now” she laughed then, the dry brittle laugh he would soon hear often enough from her.
“Georgianna Darcy,” cried her brother as fear turned to anger, “You shall not walk out that door, I cannot, I will not allow you to suffer through such a….such an entanglement, it is not too late for an annulment.”
“And what, ruin the lives of everyone I know and the Darcy name?” she asked “I should think you should know better than anyone what an annulment after two months of being actively sought after would mean.” Her lip trembled, belying the fact that after all she was but a 17 year old girl, “I am ruined. That is that. I do not mean to take the rest of the family down with me.” She turned and walked towards the door.
In a fit of pure desperate madness Darcy called out to her, “Georgianna Darcy if you walk through that door now…I…I can not and will not watch you make this mistake.”
She smiled, “That is going to be best for all of us I think, I want you both to be happy.” She said this with her face a picture of serenity. “I know you think you failed me, but it was my decision, it is I who failed you,” she held up a hand to stop them, “I expect our meetings shall grow more infrequent then after this,” she said to her brother, and then turning to Richard, “If you shall not try to wrench me out of this…situation…I anticipate…I hope that I shall see you at our townhouse…I left the card on the table.” With her back straight and her head held up high she walked out of the door, and out of life the she had known.
At that time, Richard Fitzwilliam did not he could ever tolerate a more painful interview.
Now he knew he could. As he watched his cousin sleep, now safe from her brute of a husband. He was at leisure to think of the past few days, to think of Charlotte.
When he had gotten the express about Wickham’s death, he had left the infirmary against his physician’s wishes to rush to Georgie’s side. Yet, he could not resist the temptation to see Charlotte on his way.
After Georgie’s elopement he had not seen Charlotte again for almost a year. It had been almost too difficult for him to revisit that place in his life. The guilt he felt when he thought of his own selfishness was overwhelming. He thought of Charlotte often, almost too often. Finally a year later he had finally gone to Hertfordshire and stayed with Bingley and his new bride. He had gone to Charlotte, subdued and ashamed. And amazingly, incredibly she had forgiven him.
His elation at being with her again was incredible. He had gone from desolation to hope and for the first time he felt his burden lighten. Even when he had been called away back to his regiment he left confident that she would be waiting for him. Yet when he had returned to Hertfordshire 6 months later, something had been different. Before leaving, in passing, he had told her of his family’s rather dire financial straits and he felt as if something had changed. He knew that it could not be for mercenary reasons that she had refused to immediately enter into an engagement with him. She had told him that she would accept him after he came back for his next leave.
Yet, being injured had changed all of that. As he traveled to Hertfordshire he had been so unsure whether she would still have him, he had his own small inheritance, it wasn’t much but enough to live on. He was lame and he was finished in the Army, the chance of his prospects improving was indeed slim. True he was a war hero but that would not get them very far in terms of financial benefits. Yet, he had been confident that his Charlotte was a romantic. So as he had raced to Hertfordshire his excitement had seemed to build. He remembered foolishly grasping the bit of ribbon he carried with him always. It had been his Georgie’s hair ribbon that she had tied around his neck when he had first been commissioned. She had been but 14 at the time and he merely 20; he had laughed when she had fastened it solemnly saying that it was her lucky ribbon and always wore it when she needed a bit of extra luck. Yet, during the most difficult times of battle he had held it in his hand both for the luck it might bring and for the memory of his most beloved little George. He had that luck more than ever as he had approached Lucas Lodge.
Even as the carriage had approached he knew that she was near, that brown head that he would recognize from miles away had been bent over flowerbeds. Before he knew it he had been out of the carriage and before her.
Yet the welcome he expected never came. He was unsure of what he had expected, whether to see her rush into his arms or at least gasp with surprise. What he had never expected was a calm and pleasant “Colonel Fitzwilliam how lovely it is to see you again, what brings you to Lucas Lodge?” He had felt as if he had been doused with cold water.
“Charlotte,” he said, “I have missed you so much,” he said solemnly, “I have returned to you, albeit a little worse for wear.”
“I have heard of your injury from Mrs. Bingley, I’m truly sorry to hear of it” She asked.
“What has happened?” he asked as he had held her arm, “why are you behaving as if we mean nothing to one another” he had asked almost frantically.
It was then that she laughed and tears had formed in her eyes, “Colonel Fitzwilliam do not tell me that you still hold stock in our little flirtation in Derbyshire, that has been some time ago now.”
“I came here to ask you to marry me Charlotte,” he said quietly
“Are you going to have to retire from the regulars?” she asked.
“Yes, I believe that appears to be obvious.”
“And, your inheritance, that is still reduced due to your brother’s spending is it not?”
“Charlotte, I can…”
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she began looking away, then turning towards him, her eyes looking into his, “Richard what do you want us to do? Live off your parent’s pittance no thank you. I don’t want my children to struggle like we did, I want my girls to have every convenience and my son’s never to have to marry for convenience” She had said harshly.
“What? Is it the money, you are afraid that we would be poor? Is that why…Is that why you are acting this way Charlotte?” He asked, his voice almost cracking with sorrow.
At this Charlotte softened somewhat, looking about herself she drew him towards a large tree in the garden, “Richard I am a practical, pragmatic sort of woman. There is not romance enough in the world that can put clothes on our backs, I do not wish to struggle through life, it is simply to short to spend it in want. More than anything I want my own little home and garden in the country, you cannot give that to me and I,” she paused here, “I have a chance for that with another man, he is a good man and respectable. He has an excellent income and I think I shall be quite happy with him.” She smiled at him kindly, “Please be happy for me Richard”
He had at that time been sorely tempted to tell her that he indeed did have a little estate in the country that had been bequeathed to him by a great-uncle, and that they would probably not be penniless just of very moderate means. Yet something had stopped him; he had asked himself ‘did he want to marry a woman who refused him for a garden?’ She did not love him that much was easy to see. “Did you ever love me charlotte?” he asked almost petulantly.
“I cared for you a great deal, I don’t think I’m the falling in love kind.” She said with a smile, “Perhaps if you were still in the Army we should have been happy together, we could have been happy together,” she looked down at his leg with pity, “But now I’m afraid it shall be too difficult to eke out any real happiness, I’m terribly sorry but I must go in, my fiancé must have been waiting for me inside for this past quarter of an hour.”
How he got back in the carriage and sped towards Georgianna in London he knew not. Had he looked back he would have seen a sight that would have eased his sorrow somewhat. He would have seen Charlotte weeping profusely at the retreating carriage.
What Richard had never known was that she had not been so untouched by him as she had let on; yet, in essence she had spoken the truth. He was lame and he was poor, she did love him; yet she did not think that love was enough to transcend all difficulties. Mr. Collins, albeit somewhat ridiculous was everything she had ever wanted in a husband, well-connected, well-educated, and well-provided for. A part of her knew that she was a fool for giving up the love of such a kind-hearted man for such a pompous blowhard. Yet, as always with Charlotte Lucas pragmatism won out in the end, the prospect of becoming mistress of Longbourne one day was entirely too enticing. As she dried her tears with a nonchalant shake of her shoulders, ‘all love fades in time anyway’ she had thought to herself as she entered the house.
Richard looked out the window, and there before them was Permberley, it's grandeur unchanged by the the events of the past few years. The woods looked no more polluted. He reached over and gently touched Georgie's cheek, saying softly, "George, we are home."