Obligation and Desire

by DJ Clawson

Story 10 of the series. Updated about twice a week.

Enjoy the story!

Chapter 2 - The Barefoot European

Geoffrey Darcy – gentleman, husband, father, and world-traveler – returned from his extended voyage to the Orient after making a shocking discovery that would have sent any dandy into convulsions: his boots no longer fit. After two years of wearing sandals, his feet had spread, and attempting to slip into leather boots was a painful experience. Even in Capetown, as their ship rounded the coast, they were unable to find anything. He would have to have new boots made upon their return to England.

Not that his wife had any objections; Georgiana Darcy (nee Bingley) found the whole thing amusing, and having a fashionable husband was the least of her concerns. That did not mean she was particularly pleased with him at this time. She always found the first few months of her condition to be the hardest, with the rocking ship not helping.

Aside from Brian and Nadezhda, the only one unperturbed by the lengthy journey was Alison Darcy. At four years of age, she was easy to amuse, and her smile could melt the heart of even the hardiest of sailors, especially when they spoke to her in Dutch and she answered in Japanese. The deck of the ship was not a large playground, but she had plenty of toys in her room and her father to care for her when her mother was resting or ill (which she always seemed to be, in Alison's opinion). They insisted on speaking to her in another language, but it did not interest her in the least.

"She's not in an English environment," Brian said to Geoffrey. Almost all of the ship's crew were from Holland. "She'll pick it up as easily as she picked up Japanese."

Geoffrey had no doubt of it. They parted ways with the Maddoxes on the Spanish coast, taking only their essentials – their clothing and money – and boarding a ship to take them to Italy. The ship was much smaller, and the rocking was more difficult for both parents, but fortunately Alison was easily entertained by the passing ships of the Mediterranean and the often-visible coast. The crew was Italian, which Georgie spoke enough of to manage steady communications from her year in seminary.

They'd written to her brother Charles of their intentions from Japan and again from South Africa, but they had no way of knowing if the letters reached him in time. Previously he invited them to the villa he inhabited on the Italian coast, so they assumed the invitation, something he did not readily give to other family members, was still open.

"I hope he's happy to see us."

"I hope one of us remembers to bring Alison when we both race off this boat."

Geoffrey laughed and kissed his wife.

Clad in the new, ill-fitting suit purchased in Capetown, Geoffrey was the first with his feet on land, but only because he carried his daughter across the plank (which she deemed frightening).

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?"

He looked at the dock warehouse and said, "Say it in English."

"Papa!"

"Say it."

She put her hand in her mouth. "That – Uncle Charles home?"

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?" he said in English.

"Is this Uncle Charl is house?" she mimicked.

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "It isn't, but well done."

Georgiana, who was wearing one of the new dresses over her kimono, returned to them after speaking to a local. "The address is half a day's ride from here."

"In a carriage or a palanquin?"

"I insisted on the palanquin."

"I'll walk," Geoffrey said with a roll of his eyes; Georgiana instructed the dock-workers to load their one trunk onto the carriage. The bumpy roads were nothing to the incessant rocking of the ship, and there was something comforting about the smell of the inside of a closed carriage, padded with cushions and local fabrics. It was still foreign, but so much more like home to them than anything they had felt in years, not even in the British colonies in India and South Africa.

"Is this Uncle Charles' house?" Alison repeated, pressing her finger against the glass at the appearance of every farmhouse, shack, and tollbooth.

"No," Geoffrey said. "Let your mother rest." Georgie wouldn't ever dream of admitting it, but she was worn out not just from the journey but also from her condition. She was pale, and drank ginger tea constantly, keeping it in a flask in her purse. A warm bed and rest would do her good. If they were at Pemberley, so much the better, but that would have to wait a few more weeks.

"What if we miss it?" Alison whispered in Japanese.

"We won't," he assured her, and pulled her over to his side of the carriage. "I promise."

Alison was quiet long enough for even Geoffrey to doze. He woke to the halt of the carriage, and found Alison with her head in his lap. Still yawning himself, he waited for the groom to open the door. "Signor."

Georgiana was already awake, but she did not look composed, and Geoffrey stepped out first and handed the note with the address to the driver to confirm that the yellow-washed stone house on a hill he was looking at was indeed the current home of Charles Bingley III. He gestured for their trunk to be removed, and picked up Alison and set her down, then went about seeing Georgie out of the carriage. "Are you all right?"

"Starving," she said. "And – I suppose I could use some air."

"There certainly is plenty of it," he said. The air smelled of the sea, and he helped her to sit down on the trunk. There was a footman at the beginning of the manicured path leading up to the villa, and he approached and exchanged some words with the groom before turning to the Darcys.

"I am Signor Darcy," he said. He could manage that much in Italian. "My wife is Signora Darcy, Signor Bingley's sister."

"I speak Italian," she announced, picking her head up. Her bonnet was not particularly efficient at blocking the sun. "Please, sir."

They exchanged some words, and it must have gone well, because the carriage was given permission to depart. Geoffrey could only catch bits of it, but it seemed that Charles was not expecting or seeing visitors. Georgiana redoubled her explanation of who she was (as the letters seemed not to have reached him in time) and how she would see her brother, and the footman relented, and gave Geoffrey a nervous smile. He was either astoundingly well-dressed for a servant, or they had been in Japan for too long.

Another servant came down to offer assistance with the trunk. He spoke no English whatsoever, but that didn't stop Alison's barrage of Japanese questions, the first being whether he was her uncle or not.

"Your uncle is blond, darling," Georgiana said. "You might even recognize him."

The path, not paved but smoothed for curricles and horses, was beautiful in of itself, with periodic potted plants and columns in imitation of the old Roman style. Each one of them was differently colored and was even possibly of great age. Between the trees they could see the ocean, a beautiful blue seen through a clear sky. Why anyone would want to live here was no mystery.

The villa itself was a square structure with a red roof, rather simple in construction but not in appearance. It was surrounded by gardens and patios and everything man could do to compliment it, making a house smaller than theirs in Lancashire appear grander, if in a Continental way. Everything exuded elegance.

True to her father's hopeful prediction, Alison did recognize her godfather. "Uncle Charles!" she screamed, running ahead of them to greet the man emerging from the house. Charles Bingley the Third was exquisitely dressed with his coat in an Italian cut, his blond hair tussled, and his side-whiskers kept short. He retained the features of a man several years younger than he was, and he had an easy smile for his niece, kneeling to greet her. "Goodness! Alison Darcy, look at you!"

"I know who you are. Where did you get your house? Does anyone else live here? Can I play in the garden? Did you bring presents? Did you miss me, Uncle Charles?"

Unfortunately, her amusing tirade contained only two words 'Uncle Charles' understood – and those were the words. The rest had been in a steady stream of fast-spoken Japanese. He recovered quickly. "I missed you, too." He hugged her, and stood to bow to Geoffrey. "Welcome back, Geoffrey. Georgie, are you all right? I apologize – I wasn't expecting you."

"We wrote, so you should get the letter in a few months," Geoffrey said as Georgie embraced her brother.

"I'm fine," she said, and whispered something in Charles's ear, which he responded to with a wide smile.

"Really? Oh – " He spoke quickly to the woman in black standing behind them in Italian, probably the housekeeper, and she curtseyed and left, returning with a chair for Georgiana. "Please. What would you like?"

"Tea. Any kind will do," she said. "It is so good to see you." She held his hands in hers for a moment before she let him go, and he had more orders for the servants. He was surprised that they only had one trunk, but Geoffrey shrugged.

Eventually they were settled on a patio overlooking the valley below, and Charles did manage up a surprise of a doll for his goddaughter, who managed to thank him in English. Georgiana's color was returning, and she nibbled on a pastry, then scarfed the rest of them down.

"Oh G-d," Geoffrey said after taking a sip of the offered wine. "This is the real thing. Do you know what I would have paid for this a year ago?" He clinked his glass against Charles'. "Italian?"

"French."

"Of course."

"He's going to be cup-shot in a few minutes, and asleep in an hour," Georgie said as she watched her husband happily down his glass. "But he deserves it, I suppose."

"You see how you like wine made from rice!" Geoffrey said to Charles.

"I'm sure I wouldn't," he said. "So am I the first to be graced with your company?" He grinned. "It is an honor. I did get a few letters sometime last summer, all in a bundle, but I had only news about you by way of England to know you were alive and well. So Uncle Brian and Her Highness have gone ahead with Danny?"

There was an uncomfortable cough from Geoffrey, and Georgie answered as fearlessly as she did everything else, "Danny stayed."

"Stayed? Stayed where?"

"In Japan. He wanted to travel more."

"Did his father grant his permission?"

"Did Papa grant you permission to be here?"

Charles looked away. "I don't need Father's permission. But this is only Italy, and besides, Danny's young."

"He would not listen to reason, and as I am very accustomed to loved ones' and relatives' individual streaks, I did not tie him up and toss him on the boat with Mr. Maddox," Geoffrey said, "though we did consider it."

"Did he say how long he plans to stay?"

"A year. Maybe more," Georgie answered. "I suspect until his sight is gone, which will be soon, but you ought not repeat that."

Charles nodded, and sipped his wine. "As eager as I am to hear all of the details of your trip, I can see that you both are exhausted, and while I was not expecting visitors, the guest rooms will be ready momentarily." He said something quickly to a servant, who nodded and took away his glass. "I assume Alison is not fluent in English."

"We're trying our best," Geoffrey said. Between the wine and his own exhaustion, he was light-headed, and glad that Charles brought their conversation to a close. "She'll pick it all up again soon. I'm just happy she recognized you."

They shared a laugh, and Charles showed them to their rooms – beautiful, spacious bedrooms with murals on the walls and a view of the ocean from the balcony. Georgie saw that Alison was fed and put to rest in her own room before she would agree to lie down herself. She kissed her brother on the cheek. "I worried for you."

"I would say the same."

She hugged her brother again. Geoffrey nodded to Charles, who left, shutting the door behind him.

They both collapsed, still dressed, on the grand bed, complete with carved wooden posts and a canopy. It was bizarre to be so far off the floor. Geoffrey helped Georgie out of her new dress, unlacing it in the back for her, and she slipped under the sheet in her under-kimono as he removed his jacket and vest, and kicked off his sandals. Despite all she had eaten, she was still a little pale. He slid a hand in and rubbed her belly, where there was just the smallest swelling of what would hopefully be their next child. This time, Georgiana bore her symptoms with considerable might, but they assaulted her small frame all the same.

"You'll feel better soon," he whispered. It was probably true; they were back on land, and she was probably near or passing her three-month point, when the initial symptoms would ease. "And you don't have to drink any more foul potions."

"If I still feel this way afterwards, I'm going right back on it. You caught me in a moment of weakness."

"It is the only way you can be caught."

They giggled, and with that, managed to finally relax.

Geoffrey rose first. He did it quietly, so as not to disturb his sleeping wife from her well-deserved rest. The servants were a bit shocked, when he entered the dressing chamber, that he had dressed himself, and looked at his feet, but he just shrugged in return and inquired after his daughter.

Alison was more than happy to see him, and pushed away all of the food the maid was trying to feed her to greet her father. "Papa! I missed you!"

"Did you rest?"

She nodded. She was not accustomed to being away from him and cared for by others, but it was an adjustment he told her she would have to make. "Where's Mama?"

"Still sleeping."

"How long is she going to be sick?"

"Several months, but then she'll be better."

"Promise?"

He smiled. "I promise." They explained to her, in some form, Georgiana's condition, but of course it was beyond her understanding and part of them wanted it to remain that way. "Why don't you finish your dinner?"

"I want to eat with you. Why can't I eat with you?"

"English children don't eat with their parents."

"Then I don't want to be English!" she shouted – appropriately, in Japanese.

"I'm afraid you've no choice in the matter," he said, and gave her a reassuring smile. "When we are home in Lancashire, we'll eat together sometimes. How about that?"

She grumbled, but agreed, and returned to her meal. The Tuscan sun was setting, and Geoffrey found Charles on the largest of the many balconies, watching the sky turn orange, and then red. Before Geoffrey could reach him, he nearly crashed into a charging servant, who uttered something in Italian that didn't sound particularly apologetic and continued on his way.

"Charles."

Charles just looked up at him and nodded. "Geoffrey." His face was flushed, as if he was agitated, or maybe it was just the wine. "Dinner's late here – but you're welcome to something if you are hungry."

"I'm not, but thank you." He took his seat, wondering if he would have to make conversation first. Fortunately, the decision was not his.

"Did my father send you?"

"You know the answer to that. We haven't even been home yet."

"I mean, did he write you and tell you to come?"

"No." Geoffrey looked at his cousin, but Charles' eyes were lost in his own thoughts. "Eliza did."

Charles said nothing, but acknowledged this with a slight nod.

"Practically all of her letters were about you. Your time in London, your habits as a bachelor, the doctor's visit."

"So nothing is sacred," Charles grumbled. "I'm not ill."

"She said you looked ill." Here, in Italy, Charles did not. He had a healthy weight and color on his face, not like Eliza had so painstakingly described in her letters. "She has a right to be concerned when she sees you in bad shape."

"I wasn't ill."

"You were in some fashion – enough for her to write us halfway across the world – "

"It was none of your business." He sighed. "But I suppose it is, and you've come to drag me home."

"I'm not inclined to drag anyone. Charles, there are people who want you home. They desire your presence. They worry about you for all reasons you've given them. I'm worried about you. Georgie's worried about you." He paused, and considered his next words. "Is this about marriage?"

Charles laughed unhappily. "My father hasn't pressed the issue, no. We're not all inclined to make a running leap to the altar, like Frederick and Edmund."

"But – Edmund?"

"What? Oh, it must have been too recent for you to hear. Edmund is to be married. Or, is married. I forget the date. He met a girl while escorting Eliza to an assembly and that was that." He swallowed his wine. "He wrote that since he had no idea of your arrival date, he would reluctantly pursue his endeavors without his sister present."

This Geoffrey needed to digest for a moment. Edmund, married? At twenty? "Why aren't you home?"

"I was not invited."

"Don't be ridiculous. He needn't even say – "

"You mistake me. I was not invited. Edmund made that very clear in his letter and it is my brotherly duty to respect that."

"It is your brotherly duty to – what?" He shook his head. He understood the words, but he did not understand. "Does your mother know about this?"

"That's the first thing out of your mouth?"

"She is my aunt. And mother-in-law."

Charles shook his head. "It's between me and Edmund. I don't want to hurt my parents any more than I already have."

"What is between you and Edmund?"

His cousin finally looked him in the eye. "If Eliza couldn't get it out of me, you certainly won't."

"Georgie will."

"In her condition, I wouldn't recommend it. It's not so simple. And no, it's not about marriage, or illness, or Kirkland. Not specifically."

Geoffrey considered this. Did Edmund covet Kirkland? He never expressed an interest before, and life had hardly dealt him a bad hand. He did well in school and was already on his way to being a successful barrister, and if the news was true, he was married. He didn't need Kirkland. But that wouldn't prevent him from wanting it. Geoffrey was suddenly never more thankful not to have a brother.

It did sort of make sense. The older brother, simpler one, inheriting almost everything, and the younger brother – who was undeniably more cunning – forever attempting to prove himself. Perhaps even Uncle Bingley wasn't aware of it, but Geoffrey was not prepared to brand his uncle such a fool.

That didn't explain everything – not by far – but it was something to think on.

"Geoffrey," Charles said, "for old time's sake, make me a promise."

"I'll hear you out."

Charles swirled his glass around, letting the wine twirl in the glass. "I know you've come to bring me home, but at least give me a day or two before you bring it up again. I'm not prepared."

How could he refuse? It would be too cruel. "A day or two."

"Yes."

"All right." He stood, leaving his wine untouched, and patted Charles on the shoulder as he left. "All will be well."

But Charles' sad chuckle told him otherwise.

...Next Chapter - The Witch