Obligation and Desire

by DJ Clawson

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

Sometimes I go deeper into my thoughts on certain chapters on the message board for this series. Check it out by deleting the spaces:

laughingman . web . aplus . net / phpbb / ? f=23&t=57

Chapter 36 – The Prodigal Nephew Returns

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy the Younger were greeted as if they had been gone years and not months. Their family had changed. Alison was taller, and her words clearer. William had a full head of his father's wild brown hair, his mother's green eyes, and a love of his latest accomplishment – sitting up.

"Just like you," Darcy said to his son. "You used to go from one end of my study to another while I did my correspondences. He'll be doing it before long."

Geoffrey looked at his wife and blushed. Georgie was thinner, happier, and had more energy than even a few months before. She paid immediate call to Kirkland and they invited her for dinner the following night, but Pemberley was her home now. It was where her husband was, and where her children would spend a good sum of their childhoods.

Perhaps no one expressed more joy than Mr. Bennet, ever eager to see another "great-something" as he put it. "Three great-grandchildren. A regular Methuselah I am." Alison was too big to sit in his lap, but she sat next to him and told him all about her lessons, even the ones she didn't care for. She liked music but not calligraphy. She wanted to play her shamisen but no one could teach her.

"You probably can read better than I can," he said, "unless the print is very, very large." William, sitting on his knee, began to cry, and Alison picked her brother up and escorted him to her mother, who was sitting in the other room with Anne.

"She's very responsible with him," Geoffrey said.

Mr. Bennet turned to him. "What was that?"

"I said 'she's very responsible with him.' Her brother."

"Ah. Yes, she is." He pointed to his ear. "The doctor says I should use a horn, but it seems such a pain to give one of my arms up to holding it in the air. It tires easily. I much prefer silence to indignity."

Geoffrey said, "I know the feeling." He rarely used his ear horn, even when he ought to. His pride would only suffer so much. After all, he was a Darcy.

Then there was the joy of sleeping in his own bed, the one he had spent most of his life in, with his wife by his side. Lancashire was their home, but he remained unwaveringly faithful to Pemberley. After William was fed and rocked to sleep, Georgiana crawled back in bed and he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

"I saw Charles," she said, not that it was in question. "He looks well."

"Is Edmund speaking to him?"

"He was there and he did, so I assume so. I'll learn more tomorrow night."

"How are your parents?"

"It's strange, to hear them talk about being grandparents. Like they wanted it."

"You didn't notice?"

"I can't imagine being ... that old, to be blunt about it. To be a grandparent."

"It's a good way off. Twenty years, maybe. A lifetime."

"Or never, if you have your way about it with Alison."

"I've never said anything about Alison marrying. I haven't even thought about it."

"You'll be just like your father and you know it."

He kissed her exposed shoulder. "You're probably right."

********************************************

In the chambers of the current mistress of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy stoked the fire one last time before taking up his side of the bed. Only then did Elizabeth put down her book, but kept it open in her lap. "Georgiana looks well."

"Georgiana?"

"Yes, your niece."

"I was merely commenting on – "

"The order of my observations, yes. They're all well, but you know how hard the last child was on her."

"They lost the last child."

"Alison was hard, too."

"Alison required a certain sacrifice of personal pride."

She shut her book very loudly. "What does that mean?"

"That – uhm, you know how she was, before marriage."

"You're going to say 'wild' but you shouldn't."

"It would be an accurate statement."

"It does not mean you should make it."

Seeing she was serious, he softened. "I mean she's grown into motherhood. It's meant to be a compliment."

"Then I will take it for her and spare her the embarrassment and you her reaction," she said. "A woman does not go from being a person to a mother."

"That was not – entirely what I was implying."

"If anything, Japan should have proved that."

"What did she learn there, anyway? What was the sacred enlightenment she gained? Forgive me, but I'm ignorant of it, which isn't very good for an uncle to be."

"She learned how to kill people with her touch."

He stopped fluffing his pillow. "Oh."

"I have it on good authority."

"Brian Maddox is not a good authority."

"I was speaking of our son."

"Oh." He frowned. "Perhaps I ought to be more careful what I say around her."

She kissed him on the cheek. "If you haven't learned that by now, I daresay you never will."

********************************************

The Franklins' visit gave William a playmate, though neither of them were old enough to know what to make of each other. They were not well and truly settled until the man of the hour arrived, his overgrown hair wet with snow and still trailing books behind him in sacks and trunks, kept better than his clothes. George Wickham was slimmer than when he left two months before, which he immediately attributed to the Scottish diet and welcomed a plate of hot food despite the hour of his arrival.

The dinner party had been just then breaking up, but there would be none of that now, as everyone hugged and kissed and welcomed the graduate. And of course there had to be a toast to a job well done, and all challenges overcome. The physician's exam lay ahead of him, but he could have passed it two years ago. He had to be reviewed by the board, but Dr. Maddox was on the board. While George was not one to count chickens before they hatched, what he did achieve, he allowed others to be proud of and indulged them in a toast – or two.

"We're all so proud of you," Jane Bingley said, as she gave her nephew a farewell hug. The party did have to break up, to continue at another time, because snow was falling and the Bingleys needed to be home, and there were two wailing children calling for their mother's attentions. "Even your mother is proud of you. Did you get her letter? She was worried you wouldn't."

"Why did she send it before I sat for the exams? How did she know I would pass?"

"She believed in you," his aunt said. "She didn't have any doubt. She was more worried about her letter so she wrote me and your Aunt Darcy to make sure you heard."

"Thank you, Aunt Bingley." George smiled because he was happy – and he was drunk.

"Good show," Edmund Bingley said, offering a rare grin.

"Strong work," Charles Bingley III said. George looked at them oddly; it was the only time he could remember hearing them speak in concert.

Eliza hugged him. "Did you hear from Mr. Turner?"

"Yes. I suppose we'll share notes tomorrow."

"We shall."

The Bingleys were gone, and Mr. Bennet was sound asleep in the armchair and had to be carried to bed. George collapsed in the same chair once it was vacant, at which his uncle appeared before him. "Oh no," he said, to the blue bottle Darcy was holding. "I've had enough."

"I bought this when you became a Fellow to open when you completed your education. Now I know you've just had the best whiskey in your life, so you're fortunate that this is brandy." He opened it and handed it to the butler, who poured everyone surrounding a drink. Darcy shoved one in George's hand. "To Dr. Wickham!"

"To Dr. Wickham!"

He drank and it was very good. It was possibly the best brandy he'd ever had. He was contemplating it and he looked up and noticed Georgie had returned. He tried to rise to bow to her, but stumbled and fell back in the chair.

"You're right – he's still a lush."

"Wha – how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. But I can't blame you – it is very good brandy." She had her own glass. The study seemed empty now of even Uncle Darcy. It was just Georgie and Geoffrey. "Congratulations."

"There's a word I've never heard before."

"How about 'we're so proud of you,'?"

"Yes, yes."

Geoffrey snickered. "You know you deserve only the best, of course?"

"Now you're not even trying!"

"We don't have anything else to say!" Georgie said, and sipped from her own glass as she sat down on Darcy's desk. "We're happy for you."

"You know where we were seven months ago," Geoffrey said. "The two of us."

"I was a madman and an addict and you were boxing with the inspector over Georgie."

Geoffrey pointed at him. "You said that never happened!"

"You said we should say that and I said yes, except I didn't say I wouldn't keep it when I was drunk, because I can't do that when I'm drunk, and you should know that if you're going to give me booze. You know enough about me already." He turned to Georgie, which made him dizzy. "They were very loud."

"Did he hurt Audley that badly?"

"What, you're not concerned for me? Your husband?"

George broke into giggles as Georgie swiped her husband. "You're not supposed to hit a policeman!"

"I'll hit any man who touches you," Geoffrey said in a voice that might have sounded more serious if it wasn't slurred. "You're mine. I love you." He kissed her, which served to soothe her.

Not that George cared a whit about anything other than the visual. He covered his eyes best he could without relinquishing hold on his glass. "I'm not looking!"

"When were you such a prude? You have a whore in every city. London, Paris, St. Andrews – "

"I didn't."

Geoffrey said, "What?"

"I didn't see anyone in St. Andrews. I haven't seen anyone since I went to the hospital. At first I was scared – I was scared of everything – and then, then I met Miss Turner." It sounded more like Mish Turner. "And I haven't gone to a whore since."

"You haven't fallen in love. You've sunk," Georgie said, pulling away from Geoffrey. "George, you have to marry this woman. You – you have to."

He swallowed. "If she'll have me, when I tell her."

"Tell her what? That you're not a virgin?" Georgie said, and whatever else she said dissolved into laughter. Painfully, Geoffrey joined her.

He wasn't in the mood for it, not at that moment. "That I'm a madman!"

They stopped laughing. Georgie still smiled, and cupped his cheeks with her hands, touching not the flesh but only his extended whiskers. "George, if we love you anyway, she certainly will. Or she's a bitch and you should forget all about her."

Geoffrey started laughing again, and George sunk into his chair. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he wouldn't fall asleep in front of them, and endure that humiliation. Instead he lurched. How did he have it in him? No, Geoffrey was helping him up, being the most sober of the three of them. "Come on. Put your back into it, Wickham."

"I don't wanna – I don't want to mess this up. I want to be happy."

"So you've come off your high horse and joined the rest of humanity at last." Geoffrey chuckled. "No you walk, I'll steer. I need some air – I have to carry Georgie up."

"Don – don't you have people for that?"

"If I'm to be master of Pemberley, I should at least know how to do what they do," he said, and carried him in some direction; George lost track. His face hit the pillow.

"Are you – are you all right?"

He barely heard the question. "I don't like hearing I'm so well because I don't feel it, like I don't deserve to feel it." His head was turned on its side, so he could see Geoffrey standing there, ever the sentinel, like his father.

"You deserve to feel – I don't know, it."

"Normal?"

Geoffrey laughed. "I'm sick in the head and my wife is a San Soo master. I don't know what that is."

And then Geoffrey was gone and George fell asleep like that, sleeping on his chest with his coat on, in a warm, dark place between drunkenness and sobriety, darkness and light.

********************************************

George Wickham would have greatly preferred if he had had more time with his sister the day before – that or he could convince her that they would have plenty of time in the days afterwards. She was too eager to see him, knocking on his door and going away only to reappear in what seemed like moments but were actually much longer stretches of time. He hid from the light, a pack on his head, and drank the tea the servant brought even though it had mint in it, and he didn't like mint, but didn't have the wherewithal to say so.

He finally sat up, slipped out of yesterday's clothes and into cleaner ones, and received her in the darkened sitting room. She brought Edward, whose wail he could have done without, but at least his nephew ceased when in his arms. "Sorry. Time is it?"

"Noon. We have dinner at Kirkland tonight, and Christmas Eve is tomorrow. Edward wanted to see you."

"And how did he express such a sentiment?" But then he looked down at Edward's smiling face, and his heart melted. "Fine, you are adorable and I do love you. Are you satisfied, or must I give you something?"

Edward only reached up and tugged at George's whiskers. They were definitely too long, but this seemed to please him.

"The post has come, despite the snow," Isabel said. "There are all kinds of Christmas letters. Should I have yours sent up?"

"No – I'll be down. I should join the world of the living eventually," but he didn't take his eyes off his nephew, who looked back at him with wonder.

After two cups of tea he was ready, and greeted the cacophony of voices that were sitting down for lunch, though there was more reading than speaking. George's letters were at his setting. He had one from Julie Bradley, written by her but with the signature or mark of the rest of the Bradley children, wishing him a Happy Christmas. His mother's letter was remarkably brief in that it didn't request money, leaving her with little else to say. Mr. Bradley trumped both of them by congratulating him, and listing all of his accomplishments from their first meeting (when George was so well-spoken and thoughtful for someone his age) to his degree. George thought back; most of what he remembered of Mr. Bradley between their meeting and Julie's birth was his mother, telling him again and again to be quiet and polite to this man who would now be the man of the house, not Mr. Bennet. He did as was told and stayed in his room, but decided he had no reason to dislike his stepfather, who won him over with a massive Latin dictionary with a gilded cover. Did Mr. Bradley remember that? It seemed that he did.

Mr. Bennet read Joseph Bennet's letter aloud. The boy – now very much a man – was a year away from graduation and ordination in the Church of England, and his letter was full of humility and joy and thankfulness for the blessings of family, as befit a man of the church in his Christmas greeting. Unlike an ordinary Vicar, when Joseph Bennet wished them well they knew him sincere and could hear his voice reciting it like a sermon, not just because they were his relatives but because of who he was. He was spending Christmas, as usual, with his mother and the rest of the Bertrand family at Longbourn.

George suspected a certain favoritism of Mr. Bennet for this grandson – more than suspected, he knew. It was obvious that Grandfather Bennet had a special place in his heart for the bastard child who, by the circumstances of his birth, had his name, something no one else could boast. Now with Mr. Collins deceased, the entail would be broken with Mr. Bennet's death and Longbourn would be sold to Joseph, who would be the new Mr. Bennet of Longbourn. How could one not feel the inherent connection? The Bennets had, as grandparents, favored their first grandchild – a title George Wickham laid claim to – and Mrs. Bennet had in her lifetime shown George love and care, and Mr. Bennet spent long hours tutoring him, letting him flourish within the walls of his book-lined study. There he was safe; there he could escape his mother weeping in black or cursing Uncle Darcy. In that room, he wouldn't be judged. The other occupant was Joseph Bennet, before Mr. Bradley came along and they moved to Gracechurch Street. George looked down at his letters and his broth, and he sat lonely despite being surrounded, for a time and a place he could never revisit. He sat for awhile and had a biscuit, but then left, and retreated to the library.

"George."

He turned and bowed. "Georgiana."

"I'm sorry for last night." She did not look her best, either. "We just rarely see you drunk; I've forgotten how moody you can be."

"That's your apology?"

"Not very good, is it?"

He waved it off and sat back down. "I shouldn't have said anything about Paris."

"Did Geoffrey really punch Robert?"

She used his first name. Something had been between them – not that he doubted it. "They had quite a scuffle. Broke one of the tables, but it seemed to settle things. I swore not to say anything; Geoffrey was ashamed of his behavior."

"He was probably ashamed you found out," she said. "I told him I thought it was adorable."

"It was violent. Oh, I've forgotten, I'm talking to Georgiana Darcy."

She smiled and sat across from him. A nurse came in, who passed William to Georgie, who passed him to George. "Hello there," he said, giving him a squeeze. "I suppose I should have a present for you on sight if I'm to live up to the standards set by Charles Bingley. Well, it's in the trunk, so you will have to wait." William grabbed George's tie and tried to put it in his mouth only to be prevented by his cousin. "Thank you," he said to Georgie.

"Did you get a letter from your mother?"

"That wasn't it. Just thinking of days gone by."

"All will become nothing. Just like a dream, whatever things we enjoy will become a memory. Whatever is past will not be seen again."

George looked up at Georgie, and saw she was serious. "That's rather on the droll side. Where did that come from?"

She rose, and went to the shelves, removing a small volume from between two big ones and handed it to him. With one hand holding William, he opened the cover. " 'An Account of an Embassy to the Court of Teshoo Lama, in Tibet; Containing a Narrative of a Journal through Bootan, and part of Tibet, by Captain Samuel Turner.' Well, I can't say I would put it past you, but it's still a dreary idea." He closed the book, but she did not indicate she was eager to have it back.

"It's not; it's a difficult philosophy that embraces change. If you accept that all things living will die, then theoretically, we can enjoy the present, and be less surprised and worried for the future."

"Do you believe that?"

She smiled. "The only thing I believe at this moment, because I know it for sure, is that if you're not careful, William will swallow one of your buttons."

George looked down, and noticed his godson had his tiny mouth around a button and was doing his best to chomp down on it. "Please, don't put that in your mouth!" He pulled him away. "It's not clean. It's not safe."

William began to cry, and Georgie took him. On cue, Alison appeared. "Mama-san, is William all right? What's he doing?"

"Nothing he should have been doing," Georgie said. "Darling, manners."

Alison curtseyed. "Cousin Wickham."

"Miss Darcy. How are you today?"

"I don't have a headache because I didn't stay up to make a drunken fool of myself."

"Alison!"

"Grandmama Darcy said it first."

"That does not mean it should be repeated!"

"But she said – "

"I don't care what she said. Apologize this instant!"

She did, but it was not all that difficult, as the moment did not stay serious no matter how hard Georgie tried to keep it that way, because George was laughing too hard.

... Next Chapter - Christmas in Winter