Author's Note: Those who read Along the River may notice a certain symmnetry here with regards to a particular scene. I was also much influenced by Baroness Orczy in choosing Georgiana's betrothed and family. Enjoy.
Chapter LI.
Rosings Park, 20th October.
Richard Fitzwilliam paced the grounds of Rosings Park with little care for the damage he was doing to the grass with every angry thrust of his boots. He had arrived home from London late three nights ago in a frustrated mood. It was a mood that he really had no need for, as he had achieved the task he had set himself; to be allowed to let the Bennet family learn the truth of Lawrence before the rest of the nation could.
Yet the delay in telling them which had been imposed on him, had been unexpected, and thus caused this mood to come upon him. It was a delay that, as a military man, he could see the logic of, but it angered him nonetheless, because, metaphorically speaking, it tied his hands.
Until the day arrived when he could tell, he was powerless to do anything save wait. And he hated waiting. In the army he had been taught the value of patience, to wait for orders before going into battle, but the battle or the command had always come soon, rapidly drifting into silence as it became a matter of every man for himself. Any comparison to this present state of affairs was as pointless as a broken pencil.
Anne Fitzwilliam watched her husband from the windows of her mother's library. A place rarely frequented by her ladyship, always by her late father, hence she suspected her husband's preference for the particular piece of ground which it overlooked. Anne knew Richard all too well, especially when something was bothering his peace of mind, thus she had come upon him soon after his first arrival in the grounds outside.
What it was that was bothering him she had no knowledge of, for he had refused to tell her any of it when he had first returned to Rosings some three days ago. But she could grasp at the essentials. He knew now the reality behind Lawrence Bennet, but was prevented by his superiors from dashing to Longbourn and revealing the whole.
Anne could also see that it was a delay with which her husband's mind agreed with, thus the reason for his obvious frustration. Thirty years spent annually in his company and seven years of marriage to him, had taught her what he did whenever he needed to resolve his troubled mind. A day of pacing outside in some idyllic countryside always served as his time-honoured solace. Until now. Three days he had been at it, and still no sign that he had found peace. She rose up from her chair and walked to the doors.
Richard came to a halt the moment he heard the click of the lock. Schooling his features into an agreeable mask, he greeted her. "Anne, forgive me. I had not noticed the time. Has Lady Catherine been looking for us?"
"Richard," Anne rebuked, coming to stand before him, "I know you too well for such a mien to succeed. It is pointless dwelling upon a delay that has not been imposed by you and one that you can do nothing about."
Her husband smiled, his first real smile of three days. "How did you know I was doing exactly that?"
"I know you," Anne answered simply.
Richard clasped his wife's outstretched hand, bringing it to his lips. "Very well, my dearest, I am all yours. What do you require of me?"
"An easy task. Your company. Michael, Juliet and Charlotte are missing their father."
"Ah, a woman's usual trick. Emotional blackmail." Richard grinned wickedly.
"Blackmail? Just for that, Richard Fitzwilliam, I shall tell my mother what you have done to her formal gardens."
"Do, do," he replied, catching her in his arms. "She has not a had a good debate in months. She must be missing them."
Anne laughed with him as he brought her face level with his own. Their lips touched and the world for a brief moment slipped away.
It was broke all too soon. A servant appeared before them at the entrance of the Library, a square piece of paper in his hands. "An invitation has just arrived from Lord Devereaux, sir and ma'am. Shall I leave it with you?"
Netherfield, 21st October 1820.
"I do not see why you place such interest in this. Surely two people are entitled to a walk now and then?"
Jane Bingley turned in her window seat to face her husband. "Charles, have you forgotten how we began?"
"We, are a different case. They, are brother and sister," Bingley pointed out.
"Could be brother and sister. Neither of us believe that as well you know." Jane turned to the window again. "There is something there, or at least the potential for something, I am certain of it."
Bingley joined his wife at the window. Silently he followed her gaze to observe the couple again. "Even if there is," he allowed, "I do not think it will be easily achieved if it turns out that he has deceived us."
"He will have a hard time of it," Jane acknowledged, "but I think it will be the end result. It will just need patience."
Both turned away as the couple outside came to face the house once more. "It will certainly surprise your father if it does come pass," Bingley commented.
Jane chuckled. "Yes indeed it will. I do not imagine that there will be anyone who will not be more surprised."
"Except perhaps the couple themselves."
Jane shook her head. "No. Lawrence I think, already knows, and as for Lydia, she will learn of it through his actions."
"Do you think she will accept it though?" Charles queried. "She has had so much sadness in her life. Do you really believe she will want to risk herself again?"
"Coming to us after Wickham's death has already put herself at risk. Realising Lawrence's feelings will be easier. It is herself and her situation that she has to reconcile with more than anything. She needs to see that just because she has eight children her life is not over." Jane sighed. "She is only four and twenty. That is too young to face a life of solitude."
Charles drew his wife into his arms. "I worry about her too, my love. And you are right. It is herself that needs to realise the possibilities instead of the harsh reality that tends to consume her." He paused to kiss her hair. "What does Georgiana think of it?"
"Georgiana is concerned that Lydia thinks too much about how she appears to the world. She tries to distract her, but she fears how long she can succeed in doing so. And if she is even succeeding at all."
"Perhaps Lawrence will help in that," Was her husband's last words upon the subject.
22nd October.
"Are you busy, m'dear?"
Georgiana looked up from her seat where she had been helping her daughter and son on a puzzling piece of dissected map to find her husband's head had appeared by one of the doors. "Not for you. What is it?"
Michael Blakeney stepped inside, and abruptly halted as his children rushed from their mother's side to ambush him. Once they were satisfied that he had acknowledged their presence, they returned to their map, while he walked to seat himself by his wife. He held up the thick bundle of small paper in his hand. "I have just had my father's confirmation that they will come to the ball. He also hopes that we will return to Richmond with them afterwards."
"That would be wonderful," Georgiana consented happily. "For how long?"
"As long as we wish," Michael continued. "Father knows of our plans to spend Christmas with the Matlocks and is agreeable that that week will be our leaving date." He looked at his children who had returned to playing before them. "Of course we might only be going alone. You know what my parents are like with those two."
"Indeed I do." Georgiana leant back into his arms, letting a comfortable silence settle over both of them. Idly she wished for some material with which to sketch the scene before her. Her water-colours had been rare of late due to the demands of Matthew and Annette, something she knew had to rectify before teaching either of them the accomplishment. With a smile she quietly spoke of her thought to her husband.
"I was thinking exactly the same," Michael replied, stroking her hair. "Though I daresay my skill is far from your excellence."
"I love your sketching," Georgiana replied, remembering well that a mutual love of art and music had begun their courtship.
"Much to the astonishment of my parents," Michael added. "Father always asserted that drawing and music were not the ways to woo a woman."
"That was only because he had used the more traditional way. I remember one evening when we did a duet. His eyes were always upon us."
"Your brother was surprised as well," Blakeney pointed out.
"His reason for it was different. His talent for them had always been pushed away by our relatives, for fear he would neglect the estate. Elizabeth tells me he has returned to them though, to amuse their children."
Georgiana smiled as she recalled one instance that she had discovered herself; when Heloise and Lawrence were young. She had found him teaching them a song their mother had loved in the early hours of the morning while Elizabeth had to consult with Mrs Reynolds on the daily menu.
That memory brought to her mind another reminder and she realised it was the perfect time. "Of course, if Matthew and Annette decide to stay with their grandparents, we will not be alone on our journey to Matlock."
Michael turned to find his wife looking back at him with a significant smile. Pausing all thought to marvel at her beauty, he almost forgot her unusual choice of words that had made him turn in the first place. Then his found his hand moved by hers to rest upon her waist.
His immediate joy was enough to call the attention of their children as he embraced her.
23rd October.
Fitzwilliam Darcy entered his wife's rooms to find a most pleasing sight. Pausing at the door, he watched with admiration as Mrs Darcy described the view from the windows to their attentive youngest child, who watched her mother and the prospect with rapt fascination.
To a man who found himself falling more and more in love with his wife by the hour the scene was too lovely to interrupt, let alone even disturb by his presence. He forgot the reason he needed her, remaining in this position until she noticed him standing there, some five minutes later.
At her look, Darcy joined her quietly, coming to a halt just in front of the window seat where she and Imogen knelt. Bestowing a kiss upon his daughter, he gazed intensely at his wife, his eyes conveying all the depth of emotion that words only cover so far. She met his gaze, returning the devotion as the world tried to slip away.
Imogen shook her hand, and her parents came back to the scene before them.
"What is it?" Elizabeth asked.
Darcy paused for a full five minutes as his mind rapidly tried to recollect what it was that had brought him back to his wife, other than a need to simply be in her company. "The Matlocks confirm the plans for Christmas. I have just received their reply. A poor excuse to see you, my love, but I must try to think of some for appearance's sake."
Elizabeth eyes sparkled with humour. "Yes indeed you must. Are they well?"
"Very well," Darcy replied, setting himself opposite her. "Uncle is considering handing over part control of the estate fully to Martin in the new year. Actually considering is not the right word. His physician is insistent upon it."
"Is there any worry for his health?"
"Worry certainly, but you know my Uncle. He hates winter. Lack of activity ails him rather than the reverse. I think Dr Mitchell will change his mind as soon as some sun appears in the county." He paused as his wife seemed distracted. "What is it, Elizabeth?" He added, unconsciously speaking her name with reverence, as he always did.
"I am concerned that this matter with Lawrence will not be over before we leave for Matlock," She confessed.
"We have had nothing from your cousin bar his acceptance for the ball and father seems to have lost his enthusiasm for confronting Lawrence altogether. Unless of course he already has and is under orders not to say anything to us until Richard's arrival."
"I fear you might be right m'dear," her husband replied. "In both respects. Though I hope for all our sakes that the former is proved wrong soon."
