Chapter 32

Kympton, Derbyshire

The weather was too fine, on the day George Wickham was buried. This was Darcy's thought as he listened to the rector read the burial service. Wickham deserved a steady drizzle, if not the sort of unceasing downpour an English spring could occasionally produce. But no, Wickham received a few clouds in a brilliant blue sky and a good, steady breeze. It was, Darcy thought, perfect sailing weather. But instead, he was standing beside Charles Bingley and Tindall, listening as Wickham was laid to rest by the man who held the position he had once eschewed – and then coveted.

Tindall was there out of respect for Wickham's father; he was the only man left on staff who could still remember Pemberley's former steward. Charles was there because Darcy was there. And Darcy was there because despite everything the man in the coffin had done to plague him, he still felt some amount of responsibility for Wickham. So despite having vowed that he would not clean up another mess of Wickham's making, Darcy had committed himself to this last one.

Determining where to lay him to rest had been the most challenging step. Lydia Wickham had died during Darcy's absence, and he had not known where she was buried. Not wishing to trouble his wife with yet another difficult memory, he had asked Jane, and learned Lydia resided in the graveyard of Longbourn's parish church, beside her mother. When Lydia had died, Wickham had not much cared where she was buried, but Mrs. Bennet had cared deeply, and convinced her son-in-law and husband that Lydia should be brought home this one last time. When Mrs. Bennet herself had died not long after, it had been natural that she should be laid to rest beside her beloved daughter. Jane had not thought George Wickham would have much of a care for residing with his wife for all eternity, and so Darcy had gone with the simplest option, to have Wickham buried locally, beside his own parents.

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen," Chapman said, concluding the ceremony.

Darcy stepped nearer the hole in the ground, looking down at the black baize covering his former friend's coffin. What an awful waste of a life, he thought. Wickham had been given every advantage a young man in his station could have hoped for, but had chose idleness, dissipation, and even debauchery over attempting to live an honourable life. It was true that he had managed to hold his clerkship at Robertson's for some years, but he had still readily joined in a scheme to rob Pemberley of his share of 62,000 pounds – the boys had completed their count yesterday, and it was wholly accurate to what had been in the estate's books. Wickham had always felt himself entitled to more, and so perhaps he had seen a fortune stolen from the innards of Pemberley as his due.

Darcy was glad his father was not here to see this, then wondered if his father was indeed watching. The man who had blindly liked George Wickham was not the father Darcy preferred to remember, and he turned to his companions, asking if they were ready to leave.

Georgiana had committed to taking Julia without even asking her husband; she had been certain that he would never deprive her of the one thing she most longed for. She had been less certain as to his own inherent longing for a child. For so long, he had always been the one to comfort her, first as their inability to conceive a child together had become an increasing certainty, and then as her sister-in-law had unexpectedly given her a chance to claim the dearest little child of her heart.

In the days that had followed, however, she had come to see that while Philip's desire for a child might not have been so deep as her own unrequited maternal longing, it had still been a real thing, now fulfilled. They were in the nursery together; Julia had just finished feeding, and Georgiana asked if he would like to take her. Philip nodded and sat in a nearby chair – with only one arm to hold the baby, he preferred to be seated securely before taking her. Georgiana appreciated this deeply. Julia was the only child they would ever have, and anything that could be done to ensure her safety should be done.

There was a monument in the church of St. Oswald in Ashbourne, one known across Derbyshire for its poignancy, a heartbreaking effigy of a five-year-old girl – an only child. What had always touched Georgiana more, though, was the part of the inscription that read: "The unfortunate Parents ventured their all on this frail bark. And the wreck was total." There were times when she looked at Julia and thought of that inscription, thought of how all of the Colbournes's hopes for the future were now invested in this tiny little girl. Julia was not frail, thank God, but they would always take particular care of her safety, would always worry when illness struck. Georgiana had lived this herself, as her parents' unexpected surviving daughter, coming after more than ten years of trying for another child. It was possible for a child in such a situation to feel smothered and restricted, but Georgiana had not; she had felt deeply loved and cared for. She intended it should be the same for Julia.

She drew a chair up to sit beside Philip and the baby, gazing lovingly at both of them. Philip looked over at her and returned her smile, and Georgiana felt in that moment that her own happiness was heightened because of his, and it was the same for him.

When Darcy returned to the house, Tindall informed him that his wife was in the nursery, and he walked thither, seeking to see how she was doing. When he arrived, though, he found her standing in the doorway, still and silent. He peered over her shoulder and found she was watching the Colbournes and Julia, who formed the perfect image of a loving family: if one had not known of Julia's history, it would have seemed as though they had been thus since her birth, rather than for mere days.

Darcy laid a hand down on his wife's shoulder and she peered up at him. There were tears in her eyes, but they had not spilled over, nor did they as she reached up and clasped his hand, taking it to lead him down the hallway.

"It does my heart good, to see them together as a family," she whispered. "How was the burial?"

"Peaceful – but strange. 'Tis still difficult to believe George Wickham is gone from this world, and still more to determine how I should feel about it. He died trying to do this family harm, of course, but I find myself more disappointed in him than loathing him."

"I believe that is on your father's behalf."

"Yes, I think you are right. I cannot help but wonder if wherever my father is, he can see what Wickham did with his life. Perhaps they are even together now, and what they should say to one another – " Darcy sighed. Such thoughts could not be completed.

She rose up, to kiss him softly. "I think you should take your own sons out sailing tomorrow. Whatever your father's sentiments towards Wickham – then or now – that was what he shared with you, and what you now share with the next generation."

Darcy nodded. "I do intend to take the boys out sailing as often as I can, but I had been thinking on a different outing – for all of us, if you are so inclined. I want to go back to the shop in Matlock and allow the boys to each purchase something of their choosing, as a reward for their efforts in counting the money. Perhaps you and little Elizabeth might come as well."

"I would like that – an outing for our family. Will little Elizabeth be allowed to choose something?"

"Yes, of course. She may have been too young to aid in the counting, but she is our little sweetling and deserves to be spoiled at every opportunity."

She smiled, and for the first time in a very long time, there was a light in her eyes. Darcy longed to take that light and kindle it back into the fire that had once burned within. It would take time and care to do so, he knew, but this outing for their family – their family as it was now – would be a good step, he thought.

They set out early the next morning, and Elizabeth suffered a moment's trepidation upon climbing into the carriage. After what had happened on the way to Derby, perhaps she would always feel thus. William handed little Elizabeth up to her and then aided the boys in climbing the steps before getting in himself.

It was a fine drive, once she pushed all thoughts of carriage accidents from her mind. The boys knew the purpose of their outing and were chattering about what might be found in the store and what they would choose, while little Elizabeth sat quietly in her mother's lap, clutching the doll that had become her constant companion.

Their behaviour did not alter when the carriage finally stopped in Matlock and they all alighted. The boys were told they could explore wherever they wished so long as they remained within the shop, and sallied forth in great excitement. Little Elizabeth, however, glanced fretfully between her parents, unsure of such strange environs. Her gaze settled upon Darcy and she held out her arms to him, emitting a quiet little, "Papa?"

He picked her up and carried her in after the boys, her mother realising that she had been thoroughly supplanted as the parent her little girl wanted when she was afraid, and feeling a gladness in her heart that after all she had been through, little Elizabeth could have come to trust a man so thoroughly. Still more, she felt a deep gratitude towards the man who had put such efforts into gaining that trust.

She followed leisurely after her family, pleased that the boys were remembering their manners and not careening through the shop, as many would have been tempted to do. Instead, they were examining each toy and game with care, holding a detailed discussion over their merits. Elizabeth was glad her husband had limited them to one item each and made it seem as though it was a wonderful thing being bestowed upon them; in truth, a fraction of the fortune they had discovered could have bought out the entire shop, but in this way they could learn to be humble.

As for little Elizabeth, despite her father's encouragement, she remained in a state of great shyness until they reached the dolls, when she saw her own doll's twin upon the shelf and pointed with one hand in puzzlement, the other still grasping her own doll. That doll bore signs of the wear that came from constant companionship with its little mistress, as well as a few smudges of soot that had proven too stubborn to be removed. When Darcy asked if she would like a sister for her doll, though, she quietly whispered no.

Elizabeth's heart lurched at the mention of a sister. Her greatest hesitance in offering Julia to Georgiana had not been for herself, but rather for little Elizabeth's sake, for the little girl would lose the opportunity for a close female confidante within the nursery. For her mother, who could not imagine her childhood without the presence of dear Jane, this was a tremendous thing to deny to her own daughters, and it had been the reason for her request that the Colbournes settle nearby. Elizabeth and Julia would not grow up within the same nursery, but at least they could have some manner of familial closeness.

The boys finally settled upon a toy theatre and a game of battledore and shuttlecock, with William confidently informing his mother that, "If we get these, it's like we each get two, mama, because we can play with them together."

Elizabeth praised them for being both intelligent and thoughtful little boys, feeling another pang for little Elizabeth, that her brothers were already plainly so close. They would need to take care to ensure she was included in their play as she grew older. For now, she was still nestled up against her father, clasping her doll and uninterested in any other toys. William looked to his wife and shook his head. Elizabeth shrugged: if their daughter was content with what she had, there was no reason to push anything else upon her. Yet as William approached the shop counter, he passed a display of ladies' shawls, seemed struck by an idea, and picked up one of the smaller ones, draping it over little Elizabeth's shoulders. She smiled faintly and drew it closer about herself with her free hand, and her mother chuckled.

"I am not sure whether she truly wants that, or simply likes it because it comes from you," she said.

He smiled. "She sometimes wants to hide – I thought perhaps this might provide another place to hide. Will you take her? I wish to get a cork vest for her so she may sail with us when she is a little older."

"You should get one for Julia, too," little William informed his father, when he came to the counter with a little cork-filled vest.

Elizabeth swallowed. They had not discussed how to tell the children of the change in Julia's status; she had not thought it would be necessary so soon."

"You are right, William. I shall get one for Julia as well," Darcy said, turning to his wife and murmuring, "We will still need one for Julia when she visits."

"I had not thought to tell them so soon, but perhaps we should today."

"Yes – when we get to the inn. I think it is better to tell them today, rather than leave it for when the Colbournes take Julia to their new home."

William went back for another cork vest, and then the shopkeeper began tallying up their purchases, smiling indulgently at little Elizabeth and observing that it seemed she had liked her doll very well. Her response to this was to bury her face within William's shoulder, looking very much as though she would have liked to hide beneath her shawl at that moment.

She did burrow beneath it when the Darcys were installed in a private parlour at the Old Bath, to refresh themselves before journeying home. They had not brought Wilson with them on this journey, wishing to keep it a more intimate family outing, so William served the boys beef and cake as his wife prepared the tea. When she deposited a cup before him, however, he drank but little from it, and abandoned it entirely when the waiter brought him a tankard of ale.

"I never asked you – do you take your tea differently, now?" Elizabeth said. "You hardly drink it, anymore."

He looked up and smiled grimly. "It has nothing to do with your preparing it. I just find this tea – our tea – much too strong. 'Tis strange, for I can recall I liked it before, but it is just too much, now."

"I can prepare it differently. Here, let me take your cup." Elizabeth took his cup and poured a little of it into the bowl, then poured some hot water from the urn directly into the cup. "Try that."

He took a sip. "That is much better, thank you."

They drank and ate from the meal before them, watching indulgently as William and Henry ate beef and cake with the wolfish appetites of young boys, and eventually coaxing little Elizabeth out from under her shawl so that she could drink a little cup of milk herself.

When they were all finished eating, Elizabeth reached beneath the table to clasp her husband's hand and said, "William, Henry, Elizabeth, there is something we wish to tell you. Aunt Georgiana and Uncle Philip love –love you all very much, so much that they wished to take little Julia into their own home, and raise her as their own baby. You will still see her often as she grows up, but eventually she will go to live with them, in their own nursery."

To this, little William nodded knowingly, as though it made perfect sense to him. Little Elizabeth stared at her mother uncomprehendingly, as though she did not understand what had been said, and this was likely true; this would need to be explained to her again as she grew older. It was little Henry who took the news with the greatest upset, his little countenance wobbling as tears filled his eyes and then spilled over.

"What if Aunt Geowgy and Uncaw Fiwwip wants to take me, too? Or Wiwwim?" he asked.

"Oh Henry, my little darling." Elizabeth went to him and knelt down to embrace him. "They will not ask to take any of the rest of you because you are too old for that. They can take Julia because she is very young and will not remember the time before she went to live with them. Can you remember when you were Julia's age?"

Henry looked contemplative for some moments and then shook his head. "No, mama."

"You will stay with us, as will your brother and little Elizabeth."

Henry sniffled, seemingly done with his tears. His father laid his hand on his wife's shoulder, and the family descended into silence, Elizabeth reflecting on the relative ease with which the children had accepted Julia's leaving their immediate family.

The inn was busier as they made their departure, busy enough that they were noticed with little gasps and murmurs as they left the private parlour. It was impossible to ignore them, but Elizabeth held her head high as they walked out, hoping that in time their family's notoriety would pass.

Her namesake was more distressed (although it was possible any walk through a room filled with strangers would have discomfited her) and hid beneath her shawl for the entirety of the ride home, although quiet whispers to her doll indicated she had not been rendered speechless by the event. In time, her mother's mind ranged back to the more pleasant points of the outing, and when finally they returned to Pemberley, she smiled to her husband and said,

"I am glad you suggested this. It was good to get away and do something together as a family."

His wife's words were strong on Darcy's mind as they walked into the house. Unsaid, but implicit in her statement, was that they had gotten away from Pemberley, the place where she had suffered so much. He could not dwell on them, however, for Tindall informed him that he should go to Henry Fitzwilliam's bedchamber – quickly amending this with a reassurance that General Fitzwilliam was well, and merely wished to speak with him. Still, Darcy rushed to his cousin's bedside, finding it strangely unpopulated.

"Why are you not attended?" he asked. "If the others were unavailable, they should have arranged a footman or a maid to sit with you."

Henry pointed vaguely to his bedside table and grimaced. "They left a handbell for me – Kent is in my dressing-room. I wanted to be alone for a little while, to think."

"Shall I leave you, then – I thought Tindall said you wished to see me, but perhaps I misunderstood."

"No, you did not. There is something I need to tell you of, Darcy. My father had an express this morning: my brother died three nights ago, in a London brothel."

"My God – Ashbourne is dead?"

"Yes. My father intimated this was coming, but I still find it difficult to – to comprehend."

"Intimated? Henry, I do not understand."

"I have not told you all. I believe you shall, once I do. My father changed his will some years ago, to leave everything that was not entailed to me. I did not know about it, and neither did Ashbourne – until someone told him, likely Wickham."

Darcy gaped at his cousin, his mind spinning so fast he feared the return of his old headaches. "The footman's uniform – the carriage accident, the fire – it was not Neston trying to kill us, it was Ashbourne trying to kill you. And he nearly succeeded, this last time. But now – now you are Ashbourne."

"I am. It will take some time, I think, to adjust to that name."

It was only now that the rest of what Henry had insinuated caught up to Darcy: the earl had intimated this would happen, which meant the earl had made this happen.

"Your father – "

"Yes. I believe it must have been poison – I do not know that he was the one to administer the fatal dose, but I do know that he has acted as judge, jury, and executioner."

Darcy gazed at his cousin, feeling as troubled as Henry appeared. He could not like that the earl had claimed those roles rather than dealing with what Ashbourne – the former Ashbourne – had done through the law. Nor could he ignore the sentiments within himself that felt all had come out for the better and to the same end the law would have reached, with a great deal more scandal. To Henry, he just reached out and clasped his cousin's hand.

"I am sorry. This knowledge cannot ease your recovery."

Henry nodded. "It troubles me, what my father has done, but it also troubles me that I cannot be angry at him for it."

"It is the best outcome for your family."

"I do not think we should condone murder as a means of eliminating less-desirable heirs."

"Your brother tried to kill you, Henry. Three times. And he very nearly succeeded." Darcy's throat grew tight, but he continued, "He would have met this end, one way or another."

"I know." Henry sighed, then winced. "I give you leave to tell Elizabeth, if you wish."

"I will. If nothing else, she needs to know that the third man is dead and will not return to trouble us further."

Rising, Darcy asked if his cousin needed anything else, to which Henry's response was no. Darcy began walking towards the door, but then stopped and turned around.

"What of Kitty?" he asked, pointedly. "I am not blind to what is occurring under my roof, but nor can I put a halt to her presence here if it brings you comfort – and your intentions are honourable."

To his surprise, Henry coloured noticeably. "I would have stopped her visits if they were not, but I am in no condition to court her properly. I do intend to do so, though."

This was sufficient for Darcy, although he left his cousin in unsettled spirits. Some of his thoughts were of the late Ashbourne's end, but he found his mind ranging back even further, to his first proposal to Elizabeth. He had scorned her family back then, had considered Kitty a troublesome connection – one of the silly Bennet sisters. Now, she was likely to become a countess. Kitty would be a countess, while Darcy himself had spent several years as a fisherman, forming part of a loving family with people he would have considered far beneath himself in those days of his first proposal.

It was almost as though life kept bringing him lessons, Darcy thought, kept trying to ensure he learned what he needed to learn. Life had brought him a most beloved teacher, as well, and he owed her everything.

He told Elizabeth all that evening when they retired for bed, and although he had thought she would care most to know that the last man who had threatened their lives that awful night could no longer harm them, instead she replied,

"I am grateful you told me. I had been thinking what happened to poor Henry was yet another consequence of my wretched lack of judgement. I will not say I am completely blameless, for Viscount Ashbourne must have been in league with Lord Neston, but he was there that night on his own agenda."

"You should not blame yourself for any of it. You were – "

"William, I know what you mean to say, and it is kind, but at the very least I must acknowledge that I have been a terrible judge of character – with you, with George Wickham, with Lady Astley, and most of all with Lord Neston."

"In my own case, the character you saw deserved to be judged," Darcy said. "I was never trying to hide who I was, but the man I presented to the world – and the man I was at heart – needed to be taken to task. I am ever-grateful to you for doing so. But Wickham, Neston – they deliberately misled you."

"And I should have learned from my experience with Wickham. I should have applied it to Neston. I used to think Jane was the trusting one, but it is I who have accepted the veracity of what these men told me without questioning it. I will be more cautious in the future, with new acquaintances."

Darcy drew her closer. "You mentioned Lady Astley as well. We have not spoken of her, since I returned."

"It is not a happy subject." She swallowed. "I thought Margaret Astley was a dear friend, but after we thought you died, she decamped as quick as any of them."

Lady Astley had been one of the first to welcome Mrs. Darcy into the London ton, the two women being of similar age and wit, and they had formed what had seemed to be a close friendship. Her abandonment must have pained Elizabeth greatly, and yet again, Darcy found himself engulfed in anger towards Neston, to prey upon Elizabeth in such a moment: grief-stricken over her loss and left alone by those friends who should have stood beside her.

He spoke of none of this, instead kissing her softly and stroking her shoulder. "Elizabeth, would you like to go – away – I know not where, but just – somewhere else? I think our outing today did you a measure of good, and I fear you have many bad memories of this house, now."

"No. This is our home, and I will not let Neston frighten me from it," said she, resolutely. "I am grateful to you for asking, though. I would like to go on more outings, but that is because I want us to have time together, as a family."

"Of course. I would like that as well." Someday, Darcy knew he would need to go to Cornwall and see Jory and Eseld. He longed to see them again and he owed it to them, to let them hear the story of his life from his own mouth. Not now, though. Now was for Elizabeth.