Chapter 17

With an easier birth came an easier recovery, although Georgiana still felt the exhaustion of having to nurse little William so frequently. It could not be said that she had more help with this second baby, but she did have more skilled help in the form of Mrs. Tippett, who told her the same thing Matthew had when she had borne Caroline, that she should do nothing more than eat, sleep, and nurse the baby.

Yet she was feeling well enough for more, and although she remained in her bedchamber, she began brief sittings with the baby each day so that Mr. Thorpe could complete their portion of the portrait, and entertained members of her family there when both she and William were awake. Her most frequent visitor was Caroline, however, for she encouraged Mrs. Nichols to bring the child down to her whenever her mother was awake, not wanting Caroline to feel neglected now that she had a sibling. Caroline had a busy social life, however, and between playing with her cousins in the nursery, going with her great uncle to see Amelia at Cavendish Square, and riding Buttercup in Hyde Park under the tutelage of her uncle, she had very little time to want for her mother. When that longing for maternal affection did catch up with her, she was then eager to tell her mother of all she had been up to, in speech that began to resemble actual sentences, filled with actual words.

Her mother was most heartened to see that Matthew usually went with her, on the expeditions with Lord Stretford and Fitzwilliam. There was still a degree of reserve in his countenance when he spoke of Lord Stretford, but with their brother, he seemed to be forming that friendship Georgiana had always wished to see. She had her best evidence of this about a fortnight after William's birth, when Miller knocked on the door to her bedchamber and informed Mrs. Tippett that Lady Stanton was to go to the window if she was awake. As Georgiana was awake, this request was passed on to her, and she pulled on a dressing gown and walked over to the window. Although giving birth is not generally known to impact one's arms, Mrs. Tippett still insisted on lifting the window for her, and Georgiana peered out, unsure of what she was to see.

"Mama, lookit me!" cried Caroline. She was seated – in a very small side-saddle, no less – on top of Buttercup's back, looking pleased and proud to be there. Matthew was by her side, presumably to catch her if she lost her balance, and Fitzwilliam was holding the pony's lead line. They both looked equally pleased and proud.

Was there anything so well designed to touch the heart as such a scene? Georgiana smiled with every fondness, and called down, "What an accomplished young horsewoman you are, Caroline!"

"Watch, mama!" was the child's response, and then she seemed to be directing Fitzwilliam to lead the pony into a walk. Georgiana was glad Matthew was there to catch her, but his intervention was not needed – Caroline remained quite comfortably balanced as she was led up and down a little stretch of Curzon Street. They drew to a halt in front of the house again, and Georgiana called down, "Very well done, sweetling! I hope your uncle Fitzwilliam will help us find you a pony of your own, for it seems you are more ready for one than I realised."

William began to cry, then, and Georgiana withdrew from the window so she could nurse him, but the man she presumed to be the instigator of the riding demonstration came up to visit with her a little later. Georgiana expressed her delight at seeing Caroline so comfortable, so happy to be riding, and Fitzwilliam proclaimed her to be a natural, like her mother.

"However did you manage to find a saddle so small?" asked Georgiana.

"It is yours, do you not recall it? I had it sent down from Pemberley – still in excellent condition after all these years," he said. "It's still a bit large for her, but her legs are short for a pony of Buttercup's girth, and this has been more comfortable for her than riding astride."

"I do not recall what age I started at, but I find myself glad to see her begin so early. 'Tis clear she enjoys it very much."

"You were not yet in your fifth year," he said, softly. "Papa and I started you on it as something to cheer you, after mama's death."

"Oh – oh of course," she said, remembering vague snippets of that time, of her father carefully positioning her on a much younger Buttercup's side-saddle and saying, "now there you are, my little sweetling," as Fitzwilliam held the pony's lead line.

In the silence that followed, he drew a chair over to the bed, where she was lying with several pillows propped up behind her back, holding William in her arms.

"May I?" he asked, and she carefully handed the infant to him.

Silence, again, until he said, "It has been so good, to get to spend this time together as a family, particularly to know Matthew and Caroline better, even if it does mean I am now called uncle Fitz by entirely too many people."

Georgiana chuckled.

"I fear we shall not be staying as long as I might have liked to, otherwise," he said. "Elizabeth is eager to return to ensure all is well with Mrs. Sinclair and her daughter, and I share her concern over what upheaval the new Mr. Sinclair may have caused within the neighbourhood since we have been gone. We shall stay through William's christening and your churching, of course, but after that we intend to return home."

"I understand. I cannot believe Mr. Sinclair is gone – I would never have thought of him as ill in health."

"I would have said the same thing about our father, six months before his death. I hate to say thus, but at least he had a period of poor health, so we had some warning of what was to come. Poor Sinclair's wife and child had nothing."

"What did papa die of? It was never really clear to me. At the time, I only understood he was declining."

"He had a dropsy of the heart."

Georgiana felt a strange, cold chill run through her, and she shuddered.

"Georgiana? Are you unwell? Is it too cold in this room? Here, let me get you another blanket," he said, handing William back to her. He did so, and then stoked the fire for good measure.

"I am fine, Fitzwilliam," she said, once all of this was done. "Just – thinking about papa dying. It's a bit unnerving."

"Of course," he said, then added, hesitantly: "Georgiana, are things better, between you and Matthew?"

"They are. I will not say they are completely better, but they are improving," Georgiana told him.

Yet she was wrong. She did not understand this for a very long time – it was not until after William's christening, after her own churching, after the Darcys had returned home, that she came to understand most of what had seemed Matthew's improvement was all an act. Perhaps if it had not been for William, she might have noticed sooner, but he was still at the age where his needs were substantial and frequent, and in turn his presence enabled Matthew's act, for when Georgiana saw him it was as a father, coming into her bedchamber to hold William or change his tailclouts (to Mrs. Tippett's great astonishment), or bringing Caroline in for a visit after her various social engagements.

It was little William, though, who ultimately exposed the fraud. As he often did, he woke Mrs. Tippett in the middle of the night with a bout of crying that proved to be a need for sustenance. Mrs. Tippett in turn woke Georgiana to nurse him, but he was still restless even after he had nursed his fill, and she gathered him to her chest and began walking about the room with him, for this usually calmed him enough to return him to sleep. He remained fussy on this night, though, and eventually Georgiana took her perambulations into the hallway. Matthew had been given the bedchamber across the hall from her, and Georgiana was startled to see there was still light visible from underneath his doorway.

She opened the door without stopping to think – certainly without stopping to knock – and found him seated in a chair beside the window, his head in his hand. The bedlinens were violently twisted; it was plain he had suffered another nightmare, and when finally he looked up at her, it was with a countenance too tired, too overwhelmed, too – too haunted – to continue with his act.

"Matthew," she whispered.

"Georgiana, I'm sorry. I am trying – I promise you, I am trying."

"Matthew, I do not want you to pretend you're better, or attempt to force yourself to be better, just for our sake. You cannot do that. I do not want you to do that."

Despite his mother's distress, William had begun to calm, and in the silence that followed her statements, Georgiana sat in the other chair by the window, gazing at Matthew in the candlelight.

"Please, Matthew," she whispered, "will you not tell me what it is in your nightmares that troubles you so?"

He was silent, and by his countenance it was plain he intended to remain thus.

Georgiana could not tell whether it was frustration, pain, or anger that finally pushed her over, but for the first time since he had returned she spoke sharply to him: "I am your wife! I have told you everything, even when it embarrassed me or pained me. Before William's birth, that nightmare I had, it was another awful dream about George Wickham, and you comforted me as you always do, but you won't ever let me comfort you. You won't even tell me what is in your dreams. Do you not trust me, Matthew?"

"It's not about trust, Georgiana – of course I trust you. Dearest, that you would ever think I do not, that my not speaking of it has caused you more pain – I am sorry for it, terribly sorry. My intent was to protect you, but perhaps in so doing I have done more harm than good."

"I think you have," whispered Georgiana, drawn from anger into sympathy by his tone. "Please, Matthew. Please tell me, whatever it is."

He nodded. "You – you recall when I first told you that I was to go over to the Icarus, how you had intended to go with me?"

Georgiana nodded. "You convinced me that it would be but a few days, and it would be far more comfortable for Caroline and I to remain on the frigate."

"You – you have never turned your mind to what would have happened if you had come with me," he said, his expression exceedingly ill as he looked her in the eye and continued, "Georgiana, what do you think would have happened to you, when I lost control of the ship?"

It took her only a moment's contemplation to understand what he meant, and then the only thing she said aloud was, "Oh." Yet her mind was roiling with what Matthew had insinuated, what Matthew had tried to protect her from considering, the fate of a woman on board a ship full of men – some of whom had just committed murder – wherein her husband had lost that authority which had always formed her protection. Her mind drifted down some truly awful lanes of thought before she recalled herself – it had not happened; it would not happen – and sought to reassure him.

"But, Matthew, there was never any chance of that happening. You encouraged me to stay on the Caroline from the very beginning. I do not think that formed your reasoning, but I was never in any danger. Even when – even when we were separated, I had Bowden for my protection, and Rigby, Egerton, Grant, Travis, all of your officers. And the men – they have always treated me with respect, because they respect you," she said. "Matthew, what happened on the Icarus was not normal. Those men committed murder, and whether they were pushed to it by abuse, or whether there was some flaw in their characters – or perhaps both – they were not acting as ordinary men do. I was always safe. I was always safe because your judgement was right."

William fussed then, and Georgiana was required to turn her attention to him, to rocking him in her arms and whispering, "shhhhhhh." She was slow to notice, therefore, that Matthew had left his chair to kneel before her, but she was certainly aware when he laid his head in her lap and began to weep. Leaving one hand for the baby, she gave over the other to rubbing Matthew's head, feeling very strange to be comforting both father and son. Eventually they calmed, both of them, and Georgiana said,

"Matthew, I want you to come back to my bed. I cannot say it is particularly restful, with William at this age, but I think it will still be more so than your being alone. I am not pregnant anymore, so there is no more risk to our baby. Come, please – be with me. Let me comfort you."

He looked up at her, and murmured, "Yes, my dearest."

Both Matthew and William slept through the remainder of the night, and Georgiana was of the hopes that now that the former had spoken of his nightmares, this might lessen their recurrence. It pained her to know that all this time he had been troubled by more than what had happened, that his nightmares were over her own safety.

He ceased his acting after that night, allowing his countenance to be troubled when he awoke in the morning. Georgiana gazed at him in sympathy and shifted closer so she could kiss him, drawing her arms about his neck. She had a sense that he needed to speak to someone of what had happened, someone who was not herself or Lord Stretford. Someone from the navy, who might be able to absolve some of his guilt. The Ramseys had remained in town with them, intending to stay through a few more outings to the theatre and a ball of Lady Tonbridge's, but Georgiana also sensed that Captain Ramsey was not the person she ought to approach on such a matter. Captain Ramsey was a peer, junior to Matthew on the captain's list and now retired on half-pay, at least as long as there was peace. He and Matthew had been in the house together all this time, and if no conversation about what had happened on the Icarus had taken place thus far, it would not take place. Thus, after Matthew left her to go down to break his fast, Georgiana asked Moll to bring her some writing things, and scratched out a letter while William slept.