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Chapter 16
The pounding of the horse's hooves made young Ian McBride and the senior groomsman look up from their daily chores. As one of the youngest members of the Rosing's staff, Ian was not used to being noticed. Other than menial jobs to lighten the load of the other servants, he was a boy with little significance. That is, until he had been summoned to the great house three weeks before.
Yet, that was something he was trying to forget. From that moment until yesterday morning, he had feared for his position; that the money he gave to his mother for his younger brothers and sisters would stop. But, it couldn't stop. With his father's death five years before, he had been given a position in the stables, and he knew his luck. He'd learned at his father's knee, and had a way with horses, but that didn't matter to lady Catherine. He did not want to become like other members of her staff who, once having displeased her, immediately were forced to seek out other employment. But with the great woman's departure to London to aid her minister, he had begun to breathe easier.
The approach of the rider brought him back to the present, and he realized it was the Colonel, one of Lady Catherine's nephews, approaching. The gentleman immediately addressed the head Groomsman.
"Has my cousin gone out to ride this morning?"
"Yes, Colonel. He has been out for above an hour." The sound of a carriage approaching made the three men look up. Reaching into his pocket, the Colonel held up a coin. "Whichever man can find him the quickest, and bring him back to the house will be compensated." He dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to Ian. "When found, inform him he is needed directly at Rosings. Dr. Wiley has returned with a specialist."
The boy lowered his gaze from the Colonel and took the horse into the stables, tied it up and continued out the back door. He knew where to find Mr. Darcy…Mr. Darcy, and Miss Bennet. He had watched them long enough to know their habits. And none of the other servants are going in the right direction. He grinned to himself and crossed the back pasture towards the stream, all the while thinking about the last several days.
After a good quarter hour, he came upon them just as he predicted. They were in close conversation, Miss Bennet gazing up at Mr. Darcy, then lowering her eyes. He was reading something which he stared at incredulously.
As Ian came closer, he heard the gentleman ask, "How did you get this?" and Miss Bennet began to respond when a branch snapped under his foot. The couple stepped back from one another and looked up with wide eyes.
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Darcy. Miss," he said, tipping his cap. "Colonel Fitzwilliam has sent us to find you and bring you back to the house. A doctor is here to see you."
He didn't wait for an answer, but instead nodded and turned back towards the direction he came.
Ian knew he'd interrupted something, but it was none of his concern. I need to stay out of the business of the higher-ups. He shuddered as he walked past a large bush by the rock which had been the center of so much anxiousness a little over a week before. It was lucky that Mr. Darcy woke up. If something worse had happened, Lady Catherine would have… A sickening feeling came over him. Maybe I need to find a new position somewhere. My cousin is always writing about the mills up north. I could just do my work, then go home with no Lady Catherine breathing down my neck. Yes, that's exactly what he would do.
When he arrived back at that house and informed the housekeeper he had found Mr. Darcy, Ian refused the silver piece she attempted to give him from the Colonel. No. He had already done too much to affect Mr. Darcy, whether he knew it or not. Jim didn't deserve any kindness. That was for certain.
They had been interrupted. A servant running to fetch them had halted whatever conversation they would have had. But what was he to have said to her? How was he to recover after finding her in possession of that letter while wearing the shawl he had bought from Bingley's store? Nothing made sense, and he had no time to attempt to understand it, for the aforementioned servant appeared.
Dr. Wiley had arrived, and with him a specialist from London who wanted to examine the patient. Richard had intercepted the doctors in the next town and had cut his business early and brought them himself, sending every footman and servant he could across the estate, with the promise of a silver crown.
And they found us. I know not why the haste, but they found us.
He handed his hat to the footman as he entered Rosings, and Elizabeth removed her bonnet and gloves.
"Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet," the trusted butler said, bowing. "Sir, the doctors are in the Drawing Room with Colonel Fitzwilliam."
"Thank you, Holden. Send them to my room in a half hour."
"Yes, sir." The old servant bowed, and walked towards the unexpected guests, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth alone in the hallway.
"I believe I will retire with a book," Elizabeth said, barely meeting Darcy's gaze. She took a step towards the stairs, when he reached a hand out to stay her. "Miss Bennet…Elizabeth…we must speak."
"Yes, we must," she said softly, her gaze rising to meet his. Confusion was in her eyes, and he wanted to soften the furrow between her brows.
A small smile crept across his lips. "However," he continued, "I fear Rosings is not the safest place to do so. My Aunt's servants are loyal to a fault and she would swoop down like a hawk upon us with all do haste if an express was sent off tonight informing her of our conversation."
A soft chuckle escaped her. "I do believe you have the right of it, Sir. What do you propose?"
"Would you care to go for a carriage ride later?"
Her answer was not immediate, and a trace of anxiety spread through him.
"I would like that very much."
"Very well. My business should be concluded in two hours. Where shall I seek you out?"
"Mr. Darcy. If I am anything, I am predictable."
He grinned at her teasing. "The library?"
"Yes, the library." She smiled shyly, and walked up the stairs towards her room. Darcy watched her go, and waited until she was at the top and down the hallway until he was able to move. There is still hope.
As he began to move towards the staircase his thoughts left the woman herself and instead were occupied by the letter she had discovered in her reticule. It is not possible! I wrote that in my dreams with the threat of Wickham's duel before me. Elizbeth and I had come to an understanding. In this life there is none who knows of that.
He heard the door open down the hallway and Richard's voice carried towards him. "I will check on my cousin's location and return shortly, gentlemen." A heavy step was heard and the Colonel came into sight. "Darcy you are back! Come into the study. The Doctors, Wiley and his associate, are waiting."
"Richard, why are you are hunting me? Sending the servants and footmen out with the promise of a silver piece? Why such haste?"
His cousin laughed. "Really no reason. I just knew if you were out with…" he stopped and looked around for the servants who would notify his Aunt. Finding none, he continued, "I just knew if you were with Miss Bennet, it might be more difficult to convince you to come home. So, I had to make it seem dire. Sorry if I interrupted anything too worthwhile."
"Well, you did, but that will hopefully be remedied later. I am going to my room to clean up. Send the doctors in half an hour?"
"I will," Richard said, nodding to the footman in the hallway, and indicating the drawing room. The servant bowed, and turned to make the instructions known to the doctors.
Richard followed Darcy up the stairs. "I will be in the room when you are examined."
"Richard!"
"Do not gainsay me. I want to make sure you do not force your will as you are apt to do."
Darcy threw open his door, and stormed into the room. "I am a man in full possession of myself! I do not need a nursemaid!"
The Colonel slammed the door behind him, leaving them alone and away from anyone's listening ears. "No, but you might need a good box of your ears. You do not know what we, especially Georgiana, have been through this last week. She wept continually that your illness was her fault, and she not even here when the event occurred! I will not put her through anymore grief because of your headstrong ways, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You will listen to the doctors and follow all of their directives, is that understood?"
He barely listened to the Colonel's diatribe. "Georgiana was blaming herself? Why?"
"As I said," Richard replied walking over to sit in a large overstuffed chair. "I am uncertain." He laced his fingers and rested them upon his chest. "To be truthful, it made no sense to me, but I am an old bachelor not familiar with the minds of a young lady. Yet, when we were alone, she would cry that if she had not married Wickham, you would be safe."
"Not married Wickham?" Darcy spat out his words and turned quickly towards his cousin. "She said that?"
"Yes!" Richard held up his hands. "She insisted that she had married him."
"Did others hear her? Did you investigate?"
"There was no reason to do so again. We exhausted any claim that blighter had to her after Ramsgate. Nothing was new on that front."
Darcy sat down on the edge of his bed visibly exhausted, and rested his head in his hand. "Then what could she mean by it?"
Seeing his cousin's fatigue, Richard checked his own emotions. "Now see here, cuz. You are tired, and it is no surprise. I have caused you great irritation for no reason. Let us have you rest. I will notify the doctors you will be unable to meet with them until later this evening."
"There is no need to coddle me, Richard. I will be well. I am just perplexed about Georgie."
"…and about Miss Bennet?" the Colonel waggled his eyebrows and dodged the pillow Darcy threw at him.
"Yes, if you must know. But that I can attempt to remedy. Georgie I cannot. Why would she feel to blame?"
Richard leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "I am unsure, but attribute it to her dreams."
"Her dreams?" Darcy cocked his head. "What dreams?"
Richard shrugged his shoulders. "Mrs. Annesley stated during your illness, she would wake Georgie up from terrible nightmares where your sister would scream out in fear and anger. Our young charge could not discern between reality and night-time imaginings once awoken. She was apparently quite addled."
"Addled? How is this the first I heard of this?" Darcy stood and began to pace, hands waving in the air. "I am her brother, her guardian. I should be kept informed when things occur!"
"Darce. You have recently been unavailable. Remember? We have taken good care of her. It is nothing…merely difficulty sleeping. Forget I mentioned it. Now, shall I send a footman down to get the doctors?"
Darcy waited a minute before replying. "Yes. Ring for Briggs, would you? I will be out in a quarter of an hour."
Once the directions had been given and the men called for, Darcy was at ease. He attempted to remove the thoughts of Georgianna in peril from his mind. It was only a dream or two. You know what it is like when your dreams seem real. He nodded as his valet entered the room, having anticipated his master's call, and began to divest him of his walking clothes. It is only my dreams seem to have some truth to them.
Within a quarter of an hour, Darcy was refreshed and ready to answer the knock at the door of his faithful physician.
"Asa, thank you for coming, although, you will see I am in tip-top shape, and you need not concern yourself with my well-being any longer."
Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled as he walked in behind the physician. "We will let Doctor Wiley and his associate make that determination, Cousin."
"Ah, yes," Darcy said turning his back to the door to signal for his valet to leave them. Facing the doctor again he began to ask, "Would you introduce me to your––." His words died on his lips as he stepped backwards and the color drained from his face. "Dr. Clarence!"
XXXXX
The summer Darcy turned ten-years-old, he and George Wickham had been riding horses through the woods of Pemberley and come upon a gypsy camp. Naturally reticent, the future master of the estate wished to inform his father at once, but his companion had other plans. Wickham had heard tales of the wealth and second-sight of the gypsies and was not going to leave until his curiosity had been satisfied.
For two young boys, one seeking adventure and the other seeking an escape home, the experience proved uneventful. Uneventful until they were preparing to leave. A raspy voice with a withered fingered had pointed at Darcy from across the camp.
"You. Come, boy. Come to me." Her gnarled hand outstretched, and the normally cautious Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley had begun to walk towards her not by his own free-will. When his playmate followed, the elder had held up her palm. "You stay. No good will come from you."
Stunned, Wickham had spit on the ground. "You old hag! Do not speak to your betters in such a manner!" Turning back to his companion he had hollered, "Darcy, let's be off. They will be expecting us, and there is nothing of import to keep us here."
The woman's attention had gone back to young Darcy. "Come, boy. I see something in you I haven't seen in many years."
Her eyes bore into his, and he was absorbed into the patterns the light projected in hers. "Yes, mother."
The familiar appellation caused a smile to spread across the leathered skin. "You are a good boy." She motioned for him to come towards the fire as she threw in twigs and sand. "You will become a great man. All you see will be yours," she said waving her hands around, indicating the forest. "But, who you surround yourself with will one day try to harm you." She looked over his head at Wickham. "You know this, and will be wise in your decisions."
Wickham had mounted the horse and was waiting on the trail. "Darcy, let's go. There is nothing here for us."
The old woman tisked at the sound, and gently took Darcy's chin in her hand. "Someday, you will have the chance to change your life; to choose your circumstances. Do not abandon what you know to be your destiny for something else. The purest love will always recognize your soul."
The young boy cocked his head. "But, Mother. I make choices every day. How will this be any different?"
A rusty snicker rose from her throat as she patted Darcy's head. "You are a wise one, boy. Remember to not allow your desires to blind you from your needs. And, you must always trust in here," she said thumping his chest. "When you have lost all hope, I will send you a sign. All will be well."
His brow wrinkled and he said, "But, Mother. Only God can send signs."
A brittle chuckle escaped her lips. "Dear, boy. Your God is a friend to the gypsies. Now go before your own mother fears you have been harmed." She had patted his head again, and shooed him on his way before he had rushed back to mount his horse and catch up with the retreating figure of Wickham. Before he kicked his horse to go, he glanced back at the spot where the old gypsy had been, and she was gone.
That memory had been the furthest from his mind as Darcy had welcomed in Doctor Wiley and his associate an hour before. His shock at seeing Dr. Clarence could barely be disguised during the whole of the examination. Richard's concern was evident as the normally opinionated and direct Darcy was quiet and pensive, keeping his eyes averted for almost the entire duration. However, when the examination concluded, and the doctors were preparing to freshen up and rest in their chambers before dinner, he spoke.
"So, Asa. You are not concerned with my current condition?"
"No, Darcy," the physician said, putting his instruments in his bag. "You are further along in your recuperation than I hoped when I first saw you a week ago."
"And I am also quite pleased with your clarity of mind," Dr. Clarence said with a knowing gaze.
Darcy nodded without turning his attention to Clarence.
"If my colleague is pleased with your clarity of mind, that is commendable." Dr. Wiley said, closing his bag and walking to the door.
"Why is that?" Richard asked.
The doctor stopped. "Because, Dr. Clarence's studies on injuries to the head are quite thorough and respected. We are lucky to have him examine Mr. Darcy. He has been traveling in the East Indies for several years and has only recently returned."
Darcy raised his eyes to meet those of Dr. Clarence. "If that is the case, Sir, might I discuss a few things with you privately?"
"I would be happy to."
"Darcy?" Fitzwilliam asked, stopping in mid-stride. "Are you well?"
Darcy's hard stare at his cousin indicated he had had enough molly-coddling for the day.
"Very well. But Dr. Clarence. If you discover anything regarding my cousin which he refuses to accept, please notify me."
"Of course," the doctor replied nodding. Both men stood silently waiting as Richard and Dr. Wiley left the room. As the door latched, Dr. Clarence turned to Darcy.
"Hello, Mr. Fitzroy."
"You are real," Darcy said, falling into a chair and sitting forward, staring at the older man.
The older man chuckled while nodding his head. "Yes, I am real."
"So, it was not a dream? All of those events occurred?"
Silence was Darcy's affirmation.
"Why? Why did that happen? Why did you show me the joy of what could have been?"
"Why did I show you? If you recall, you were the one who asked." Dr. Clarence walked across the room and sat on the ottoman. "You were the one who in a letter said you should never have been born. I was only a steward for your wishes."
"But how are these events occurring? The shawl? The letter? And who knows what will come next? If it was all a dream, how did it come to pass?" His eyes sought out the older man's.
A sad smile played on the corners of his lips. "Do you not recall?"
"The gypsy?"
"The gypsy."
"But how? Why?"
"Darcy, I know you will not be pleased to hear this, but that is something you must discover for yourself."
A low groan escaped his lips. "I knew you would say that."
Dr. Clarence stood. "I will depart in the morning."
"But what if I have another question? What if I need your guidance?"
"Darcy, when have you needed anyone's guidance but your own?" The older man walked towards the door, and paused before closing it behind him, "I will see you at dinner, Darcy. All will be well."
XXXXX
Georgiana Darcy was troubled. The last week with her brother's illness had been one of fear and uncertainty. What would happen if she lost him? Would Pemberley go to a distant cousin she did not know? Where would she live? Would Richard realize his full shame of her and send her off to boarding school?
Her fear only intensified at night when she slept. Dreams. I have become a slave to my dreams. All eyes had been upon her too many times to count. She felt the censure and derision of her family and Miss Bennet when they looked upon her.
They know. Surely, they must know I have dreamt of Wickham. Of being his wife. A silent tear pooled in her eye. But it was not as I imagined a marriage to him would be. "I still harbored hope."
She picked up the white Persian cat rubbing against her legs, and scratched his grey ears. "He told me he loved me," she whispered to one she knew could not judge. "That my fortune meant nothing to him." She squeezed the soft fur and nuzzled the top of its head. "He lied. William told me the truth, and George lied."
But she had known. In her heart of hearts, she had known that her brother was the honorable man; that her decision to 'surprise' him with her marriage was not an idea of which he would approve.
"It had all been so romantic; so much like a novel." Up until this week, a part of me still hoped George would prove William wrong. But, my dreams were so real, even if he arrived tonight and proved himself to be the best of men, I would never marry him. Not the way he treated me! "That he slapped me? That he was going to send me to Bedlam? No! I will not be the whipping boy for any man."
She stomped her foot and turned with a huff allowing the cat to spring from her arms and walk to its bed, pawing the soft blankets. "If William has taught me one thing in this life, Fleur," she said leaning down to give it one more scratch behind the ears, "It is that I am cherished. I will not marry a man who believes otherwise!"
The sound of the clock's chime arrested her attention, and she pulled the cord for her maid to come in and dress her. Yes. I will put these dreams from my mind and will not think on George Wickham any longer, and there is nothing which can make me change my mind!
XXXXX
She had waited for him in the library long enough for her to have closed her eyes 'for only a moment.' By the time the creak of the floors had awakened her, the servants had come in to light the candles, and were leaving her to her respite as a sudden winter storm raged outside. The warm rays of the sun stretched across the library and she untucked her feet from underneath her and touched her feet to the floor.
Certain Mr. Darcy had not forgotten about her, she leaned her head back against the rear of the chair. Maybe he is as out of sorts with this letter as I and is uncertain how to proceed? Because within this letter, there had been so much…love.
He had loved her. Not only in this life with that horrible proposal, but in her dreams. But now, her dreams were muddled into reality and she did not know what to trust. How could that letter have been real? How could Mr. Darcy have known about the duel or the night in Mr. Collin's study?
"I hope he does not believe I somehow fabricated its existence," she whispered to the room, while standing and walking to the window, peering out at the dusk of night settling over Rosings. But, in truth, how could I? How would I copy his precise handwriting? And he looked just as shocked as I!
She reached up and ran her hand up and down the green velvet curtains, taking comfort in the soothing texture. I know not how to explain what has occurred, but I am certain Mr. Darcy wishes to have answers, just as I. For if there are not answers to be had, what is the state of my mind?
Her fingers pressed against the cold glass, and she turned to pick up her book and proceed upstairs when the man himself walked in the room, stealing any semblance of sense from her mind.
"Mr. Darcy."
"Miss Bennet. Forgive me for keeping you waiting. Were you retiring?"
She shook her head. "My plans were not yet fixed. I had been reading Shakespeare's sonnets and lay my head down for a moment, only to open my eyes with all the candles lit by the servants."
He raised an eyebrow and asked, "Shakespeare's sonnets? Do you not find the Bard to be…somewhat inappropriate for young ladies? I would assume that with such questionable morals displayed in the pages, you would be forbidden to read such a book?"
She felt her blood begin to race. "Forbidden, sir?" She swallowed. "What would make you say such a thing? I know not that in the whole of my life I have been forbidden to read the Bard. What a comical notion." Her eyes darted from the floor to the spot above his shoulder; anywhere but in his eyes. The only time I have ever been forbidden to do something from anyone other than my mother was in my dreams!
He cleared his throat and walked towards the window she had just left, picking up a chess piece on the table from an unfinished game. Rolling it around in his fingers, he gazed across the same landscape she had only moments before, his words echoing off glass. "Do you believe in fate?"
"Fate?" he heard her swallow and sit in the chair. "I am unsure." Her fingers began to tap on her leg. "I believe there is some force which moves us towards our destiny, if we make the choices necessary to fulfill our obligations. But fate seems predisposed to the control of others. I could not imagine you believing in fate, Sir, as you rarely are not in control."
A soft snort met her words, and he tempered his reply. "Miss Elizabeth, it has only been these last two hours where I could have imagined disagreeing with you." He turned to meet her gaze and indicated the chair next to her. With her nod, he sat down, leaned forward and clasped his fingers together. "Before I speak to you on the subject which we were unable to finish discussing today in the meadow, I would like to ask you if you were ever in possession of another letter I had written?"
"I believe so." At his confused look, she responded. "That letter I believed to be in the reticule from which I pulled the one I showed you today."
"So, you do remember another letter? It is not just a dream?"
"Yes, I remember."
Darcy cleared his throat, a nervous energy coursing through him. "And has the memory of the first letter diminished?"
"Not quite."
He let out a deflated sigh.
"However," she said, gazing up at him through thick lashes, "The appearance of the second more… thoughtful letter…renders more clarity on the character of the writer."
"You are aware then," he said, reaching out with hesitation to still the fidgeting of her fingers, "the sentiments expressed in the second letter are…real and just?"
He watched her turn a lovely shade of rose, before responding. "Yes."
"And, if I may be so bold to ask what your…own sentiments on that subject are?" At that moment, the world stood still. All he could hear was the sound of the wind outside and the chiming of the clock down the hall.
"I had…had hoped they were."
He felt himself exhale a breath he had been holding for two life times. "Elizabeth. I––"
"Wills? Brother are you in here?" Georgiana called entering the room with Mrs. Annesley. "There you are. Who are you…? Oh, Miss Bennet. Forgive me. I did not wish to interrupt. I just came down for luncheon and could only find Dr. Wiley and his colleague."
"It is no bother, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth replied. "I must refresh myself and will be down again shortly. Mr. Darcy, might we continue our conversation at a later time?"
He swallowed his glee, and nodded his ascent, afraid his words would betray his joy.
"Pray, excuse me," she said, with a nod at Miss Georgiana, and a smile at Darcy.
A smile? Nay, he would not characterize it as such! It was a gleaming force, brighter than the sun reaching out its fingers to stroke his heart and wrap it in the warmth of its touch. No, it was no smile. Nor did he hope he would ever have to use that insipid word to describe the look on Elizabeth's, dare he hope his Elizabeth's, face again. He rose, and had just turned his attention to Georgiana as he heard Richard's voice in the hallway.
"Miss Bennet, may I introduce you to Dr. Wiley, and his colleague––"
But the rest of Richard's words were interrupted by Elizabeth's scream and the sound of her body hitting the floor.
