AN: So mistakes have been made. This is chapter 16 in the book, the chapter right after Darcy fights Sir Clement, and the one that had the formatting errors. I got mixed up about the count of chapters , and it turns out I somehow failed to include chapter five from the book when I was preparing the manuscript. There is nothing story essential in that chapter, so rather than reposting every chapter to get the order right, I'm going to just leave it as a bonus if you actually buy the novel. Otherwise, I should now have the order of chapters right, and thank you to everyone who first told me about the formatting error, and then who told me about the posting error. I am very sorry, and possibly next time I'm not going to try to upload all of the chapters at once before I start posting, because it seems that way leads to mistakes and frustration.
That afternoon, the dread and anxiety still stuck in Elizabeth's stomach when Fitzwilliam shook her awake upon their arrival at Darcy House. The brick and marble façade of Darcy house was familiar and comforting. Three stories, with the collection of chimneys and their iron peaks to keep the rain out, rising above everything else.
"Is Georgiana here?" Elizabeth asked eagerly.
"No. Richard said he would take her to Matlock house for the day." Darcy smiled, an achingly familiar boyish grin. "We shall grab her tomorrow, and I daresay, you two girls shall spend a great long time together tomorrow."
Elizabeth smiled back with pleased dimples, though she still felt a pit of anxiety that stubbornly refused to dissipate only because the crisis was past. "We shall. We shall conspire to spend a great deal of your money."
Darcy smiled at Elizabeth, and kissed her hand after she had been helped from the carriage.
Elizabeth blushed uncomfortably; they were married and that put a different complexion on her plan to shop with Georgiana. She was no fortune hunter; Darcy knew that.
They were alone.
And married.
Elizabeth's flush became far deeper, and she wondered what might happen this night. He was very tall, and he had kissed her softly before leaving the house that morning. If he smiled at her the way he had a minute ago, Elizabeth thought she could accustom herself to the idea of conjugal relations very well.
Perhaps it would help her forget the terror she'd spent the past day living through.
The previous day it had been impossible to think of anything but the duel. The familiar housekeeper and butler, with a mixture of staff Elizabeth recognized and new employees greeted Elizabeth and Darcy.
With a satisfied tone Darcy introduced her as Mrs. Darcy. There were curtsies all around, but Elizabeth fancied she detected new coldness from the butler, but not from Mrs. West. Did he think she had used some arts and allurements to entrap the new Mr. Darcy?
Had she?
Darcy was different.
He was still her knight, her dear friend, but — his scar and thinness of his body and face made him physically different. There had been some similar mark on his mind. He thought and acted in ways that the man she'd seen off from the docks all those years ago would not have.
The barely suppressed ecstatic thrill he showed at having killed Sir Clement surprised Elizabeth. She could not be happy that Sir Clement was dead. He may have harmed her, but he was another human. The friend she had had those long, imagined conversations with would have agreed.
He would have tried to keep from challenging Sir Clement. But what Sir Clement had said… Elizabeth knew any gentleman would have been expected to challenge him.
Rather than letting Mrs. West give Elizabeth a tour, since she already knew the house very well, they decided to walk around it together. Elizabeth began to feel frightened. Rather than the warm, though ostentatious, dwelling of her dear friend Georgiana, this suddenly was an imposing structure that she was Mistress of.
There was a ballroom that took up most of the second floor with a twenty-foot-high roof, and large windows that opened from both the back and front of the house. Elizabeth recalled Georgiana's brag when they explored it the first time she visited this house that fifty couples could dance at once in it. The cellar had thousands of bottles of wine and liquors. The three floors had space for more than a dozen guest rooms, and a large pair of suites for the master and his wife were built next to each other with a door between the bedrooms.
Elizabeth blushed brightly when they explored this and looked shyly at Fitzwilliam who smiled back at her.
There was a long gallery on the third floor, which had windows that looked out over the streets behind the square. A line of portraits of the great Darcy ancestors sat on the walls between the windows.
Fitzwilliam's eyes were caught by his brother's portrait.
He pressed his hand against his mouth. "I forgot. For a little while I forgot — your danger, the marriage, the duel. It drove all memory of him from me…"
He stared. The painting was as tall as life and looked much like what Mr. Stanley Darcy had appeared when Elizabeth saw him last. A haughty expression, a strong family resemblance to her Fitzwilliam — when caught in the right light it was possible, before Fitzwilliam's scar, to mistake the two. Handsome with an intelligent look.
Elizabeth had never liked him. Her throat still caught with sadness for Fitzwilliam. And sadness for Georgiana.
Darcy reached out his hand to brush the back of his knuckles over the paint making up his brother's hair and cheeks. "I did not know till we landed. Just a few days ago—"
Elizabeth seized Darcy's left hand in both of hers. A dark look was in his eyes. "I thought he was alive. A week ago, I expected I would today feast here with him. We would go to the races, and then return and drink wine and make fun of how different the other was. We would talk and remember Father. I know it was at Georgiana's urging, but he wrote me a few letters while I was in captivity. I wished to see and touch him again."
Darcy rubbed helplessly at his eyes and began to cry. He sank to the ground and sat with his knees pulled up against the wall. Elizabeth dropped with him and squeezed her arms around his neck and shoulders. He wept into the shoulder of her traveling dress.
Elizabeth looked at the yellow and blue silk wallpaper behind Fitzwilliam. He needed someone to comfort him, and she would always be there for him. She unembarrassedly pressed herself close to him.
He pulled back to sit against the wall when his tears stopped flowing, with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Darcy pulled Elizabeth onto him so that her back was against his chest, her head falling just below his chin. Elizabeth felt very comfortable with Darcy's arms around her. He whispered, "You have always been the only person I could cry in front of."
Elizabeth felt an exultant warmth inside. After a few minutes the hold of his arm slackened, and he snored lightly. She knew he hadn't slept more than a few hours the previous night.
Despite her earlier nap in the carriage, Elizabeth fell into a light slumber with him.
When they were woken an hour later by a surprised servant, Elizabeth found that sleeping on a hard floor was not at all comfortable. Fitzwilliam, however, stood and stretched easily. They dressed and then went down to dinner.
At first it was a quiet and awkward meal. Elizabeth wished to say something, but she did not know what.
Last night, with all its awfulness, did not count. Tonight was their wedding night, and there was something unsettled in her stomach at the thought. She was aware of his scar, and of the fine line of his lips, and of how his hands moved picking up the food. She kept remembering when he had kissed her.
She trusted him and looked forward to becoming man and wife. But the nervousness made it hard to speak, and while she tried to feel confident, she knew she wasn't.
"Enough of this quiet," Darcy said as the soup was removed and the roast brought to the table. "Though I should probably enjoy it. Once you and Georgie get together, you will have me run all about in evenings to the opera, and plays, and Vauxhall, and a dozen other entertainments."
"No!" Elizabeth grinned at his smile, her restraint broken by his teasing. "You wrong us. We plan to sit quietly at home and read improving sermons to each other every night."
"You forget, my dear, that I read all of your letters carefully. You revealed rather more of your true character in them than you think."
"Oh. I have told you most of my doings. You will not believe that I have no desire for balls and evening parties, and that I intend to spend every day in contemplation of Latin. I fear I've grown quite flighty since you saw me last."
"Yes. I will need to bear with taking you to occasional entertainments."
"Do not worry. I will hide you in the corner of the room with a book while I dance. I will expect you to have a good report of whatever the book is though, so I can try to pretend to all my friends that I have read it myself. I shall need such stratagems to keep my reputation as a great reader."
Fitzwilliam smiled brilliantly at her. "But I want to dance with you. I fear you shall need to read a few books for yourself. I hope I will make you a creditable squire."
She felt her heart flutter. "Oh you will. But only if you wear your uniform. All the girls are quite mad for scarlet coats, you know, and I shall reach the pinnacle of happiness in being envied."
"On which subject, pinnacles of happiness, I warn you that I played a great deal of chess on the ship home."
Elizabeth grinned back. "I did write that beating you would be my highest goal. And I haven't played nearly so much since Papa died."
"Do not worry, my dear, I promise not to let you win. You will have to bring yourself up to snuff before you can take me."
"What an outrageous plan!" The way Fitzwilliam kept smiling at her and his good humored bantering caused all of the anxiety about her marriage to recede away. He was still Fitzwilliam, and they would be very, very happy together. And he had half memorized her letters. A gigantic smile forced itself across her face. "But then you always were the most unchivalrous man of my acquaintance. I remember clearly how you never let me win an argument."
"Of course not. I do not intend to change that now. But I do hope you may prove a better challenge."
Her smile not wavering in the slightest, Elizabeth said, "Do not worry, I will tease you quite beyond bearing."
"Which is why I married you."
Elizabeth's smile now wavered. It was kind of him to say something like that. "I do thank you for marrying me. It is shocking that you had to go to such an extent to rescue me. And then… But no unhappy thoughts tonight. I…I am so glad you have your sense of humor still."
"Yes…" He took her hand. "I assure you, I have looked forward to being teased beyond bearing by you."
Something in his look and voice made Elizabeth's heart beat faster. It convinced her that he truly was not unhappy that he'd married her. But of course he was not, they had been, and would be again, such dear friends. And her letters — he did know much of who she was.
They continued dinner. The fluttering in her stomach made it hard to attend to the food. "Georgie and I do plan to drag you to a great many places, I confess. But do not worry: we can go to the dressmakers to spend your money on our own."
"Yes, it is fortunate that you will have such a good confidant. I have never understood lady's hats. Or men's, for that matter."
They chattered in like manner for the rest of the meal. They joked about languages, remembered Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy, and talked about their visit to the continent. Darcy's Latin had degraded more than hers, her early exposure to the language meant that she still was nearly as fluent as she had been as a child despite not more than occasionally rereading Catullus or the Aeneid since Papa had died.
When the meal was brought away Darcy said, "Perhaps, you would like to lose the first of many games of chess to me?"
"Maybe." This was her wedding night. Her anxiety was still there, but after laughing and talking with Fitzwilliam, she felt a great deal of anticipation too. She half yawned. "Early to bed maybe? We were up all night."
He took her hand, softly rubbing his thumb in a very distracting way over her hand. There was a question in his eyes.
Elizabeth nervously said, "That is, tomorrow we will retrieve Georgie. Do you not think it would be better to play chess when she can alternately insult and praise us both?"
"Georgie would do that." He searched her eyes, and then seeming to find what he was looking for in them pulled her hand up to kiss in a delightful way. "Chess can wait."
Someone pounded a rattling set of knocks on their front door, and Darcy glanced out the window. It had already turned dark some time ago. "At this hour? It is quite late."
An anxiety mushroomed in Elizabeth's stomach. The butler led four men into the room. They were dressed in some official uniform, though Elizabeth could not tell if they were watchmen, or Bow Street Runners, or what. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam stood at their entrance.
Their leader, a gray-haired man with giant bushy sideburns sticking out from the sides of his face, shook Darcy's hand and said, "Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy?"
"Yes." Her husband had no tension in his manner, but Elizabeth realized her hand was trembling as it held the back of her chair. She felt almost dizzy, and wondered if she might faint.
"You have been charged with the murder of Sir Clement Allen, and we must take you in to await trial."
Fitzwilliam nodded amiably. "Certainly." He turned to his butler. "Have a bag of necessities prepared and bring me my coat and money. Also call Tomlinson."
The gentlemen made no objection to this delay, and Fitzwilliam added to the footman who had been waiting on them while they dined, "Bring these gentlemen something to drink, some of the brandy. I daresay it is cold out tonight."
The four men nodded, murmuring that the night was terrible cold, and they made their thanks to Darcy for his condescension.
They were going to hang him. Elizabeth knew it. She had managed to kill Fitzwilliam.
She stared endlessly at Fitzwilliam, trying to imprint his image on her mind. Why hadn't she refused to let him sacrifice himself to rescue her?
He looked at her, and his sangfroid broke. "Oh, Lizzy." He took her hand and kissed it. "Do not worry. There is nothing to worry about — who brought the charges?"
The leader put down the glass of whisky he had finished and said, "I believe it were a Mr. Allen, the brother of the deceased."
"Really." Fitzwilliam half smirked. "He was Clement's second. If I recall the laws on dueling correctly, he counts as an accomplice. That would be quite a joke if I sent you boys after him."
The men smiled and one of them laughed aloud at the jest.
Elizabeth clenched at the chair and Fitzwilliam's hand.
"There is nothing to worry about." He smiled confidently. "It only is annoying that this had to happen now. I do not know what Mr. Allen's game is, but he'll only waste money on court fees and expenses for any witnesses he calls. It was a fairly fought duel, and I was given sufficient provocation before challenging Sir Clement. There isn't a jury in the whole of England who would convict me in this case."
Elizabeth stared at his face, begging him to be right.
Tomlinson entered the room, and the butler handed Fitzwilliam a full valise. Darcy shrugged into his great coat, and then pulled his purse out of his inner pocket. He handed each of the men who had come to take him prisoner a full guinea. "Well let's be off."
He kissed her hand one last time. "Lizzy, there truly is nothing to worry about."