A/N: I did have to cancel my preorder, but the I am still posting chapters! Let me know if you want a scene in this book where Georgiana is made to stand in a corner because she was rude to staff... :) You can read all 5 of the previous books on my website. There is a thing happening where sometimes new accounts get put into a pending status. Know that daily I am manually overriding this, so if you sign up and don't get a notification right away, I will approve you manually that day. The credentials that you signed up with usually work though even before I "activate" you.
PS This scene is one that was really hard to write when I did so...
-Elizabeth
***
In a change to her usual schedule, Mrs. Darcy answered the summons of Dr. Matthews to her father's suite. The walls of Mr. Bennet's suite were covered in a deep crimson with gold plastered accents. It was a pleasing room, with a large fireplace, and a door that led to the balcony that overlooked the grounds. A month since the good doctor had come to live for a time at Pemberley to see to her father's care, the man's healing talent had been delayed some weeks while he nursed a severely sprained ankle.
Mr. Bennet's room appeared full of light when Elizabeth walked in. His burns healed, the man still suffering the effects of apoplexy turned his head when his favorite daughter entered, but he did not speak. He sat up in his bed, with the distinct air of a man waiting for the inevitable.
Upon the promise of gains in his abilities, Elizabeth's hopes felt dashed when she realized Dr. Matthews had not yet enabled her father to regain his voice.
"Mrs. Darcy, I believe your father would say that you look very radiant this morning," Dr. Matthews said, with a sly smile.
To Elizabeth's shock, her father began shaking and lightly thrashing in his bed. "Please, Dr. Matthews, is he seizing?"
Dr. Matthews began to laugh as Mr. Bennet ceased his movement and turned his head away from his daughter.
"Dr. Matthews, this is no laughing matter! Please, help me!" she said, running to her father's side, checking his head for fever.
"Mrs. Darcy, there is no need, he was merely agreeing with me."
Elizabeth looked at the doctor and back at her father, who once more began to shake in a frantic manner that was very distressing. It certainly did not look to the casual observer that Mr. Bennet was agreeing with anyone, but instead, losing complete control over his faculties.
"Mr. Bennet, would you like me to fetch your wife, Mrs. Bennet?" Dr. Matthews asked, and Mr. Bennet immediately stilled. He turned his face away.
"See, Dr. Matthews? I think you are distressing him. He calmed when you asked for my mother," Elizabeth said, though she still felt perplexed by the demonstration.
Dr. Matthews walked over to the bedside table.
"It's logic, Mrs. Darcy. Your father can answer yes and no questions, but his ability to control movement is limited. That is why he appears to be having a seizure, the nerve damage is impacting his options. Watch," he said, and then addressed his patient. "Now, Mr. Bennet, no funny answers. I have to convince her what your wishes are, okay sir?"
Upon that question, Mr. Bennet answered with the disturbing jerky movements he could manage. Dr. Matthews picked up a book and began to read. Elizabeth recognized it instantly as one of her father's favorite plays, Hamlet.
Snapping the book closed, Dr. Matthews began his interrogation. "Was that book I just read the Bible?" he asked.
Mr. Bennet looked away. Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
"I chose a complicated tome as well, Mrs. Darcy, so you would know he understands exactly what we say. But the man is trapped, without speech," Dr. Matthews explained, then continued his patient's demonstration of skill. "Mr. Bennet, was that book written by Shakespeare?"
Performing on cue, Mr. Bennet jerked his body several times to answer in the positive.
Feeling brave, Elizabeth tested her father's abilities. "Was that story Romeo & Juliet, Papa?" she asked, biting her lower lip, praying this was not all some trick.
Her father's doleful eyes connected to hers and turned his head away to the same side he had been.
Impatient that they would not ask him the correct question, Mr. Bennet again caught his daughter's eye and furrowed his brows, but only one of them slanted down, while the other side remained slackened and unchanged. She giggled at the odd expression, but Dr. Matthews shouted with joy, rushing to the other side of the bed to fetch his folio.
"That is a new reaction! He is displeased! Bravo, Mr. Bennet!" he said, hastily scratching down his notes, and checking the watch fob fastened to his vest.
"Papa, was the book Dr. Matthews read Hamlet?" she asked and clapped her hands as her father once more began to jerk his movements. "Dr. Matthews, this is most remarkable? Have you shown Mama?" she asked.
Mr. Bennet turned his head to the side, and Dr. Matthews began to explain.
"No, that is, I did attempt to show her, and I'm afraid she was very distressed by the way your father gives his assent. She did not remain for the subsequent questions."
Mrs. Darcy took a seat on the side of her father's bed and gently reached down to grab his hand on the side that showed the most movement. "Logic is not my mother's strongest suit to play, I'm afraid," Elizabeth said, and her father reacted by breathing through his nose in quick, short breaths, with an almost perceptible snort. "Dr. Matthews, has he done that before?"
Dr. Matthews lowered his spectacles at his patient, clearly incensed that the man had been holding back his methods of communication. "No, I dare say he is laughing, though we may have to conduct more tests to know for sure," Dr. Matthews said, adding to his notes. "Mrs. Darcy, I may have to ask you to visit with me here more often as it seems your father is much keener to perform for you than me."
Mr. Bennet continued his snortish breathing, and then took a large gaping breath and made a sound like a low- out of tune horn. Dr. Matthews and Mrs. Darcy sat there stunned and then burst out laughing.
"Another new sound! This is more progress than the entire previous week," Dr. Matthews commented. He allowed Elizabeth to whisper softly to her father's good side and peck a kiss on his forehead before he interrupted the touching father and daughter moment. "There is a very important reason though that I have asked you here, Mrs. Darcy. How familiar are you with anatomy?"
Elizabeth Darcy blew out a breath and closed her eyes. "My father shared books with me in his study, but I hardly think it appropriate—"
"No, no, Ma'am, nothing like that. I just wanted to know if you were familiar with the vascular system, our veins run like tree roots through our body supplying blood to various regions. Now the research is young, and there's only been a handful of successful surgeries in the world—" Dr. Matthews began, and Elizabeth interrupted him by darting up from the bed.
"Surgery? Surely that is too dangerous. My father was lucky enough to survive the fire, surely we cannot subject him to anything as barbaric as a surgeon's blade," she exclaimed, but Dr. Matthews walked closer and asked for permission from Mr. Bennet to show his daughter his wrist. Mr. Bennet did not agree, nor did he turn his head. Tears began to well in his eyes.
"Your father has more mobility than we have been allowed to believe, Ma'am. And while I believe that he perchance did this in his sleep, nevertheless, I would be remiss in not showing you." Dr. Matthews lifted Mr. Bennet's somewhat good arm that he had limited mobility in to move and turned it so Elizabeth could see the inside of his wrist. Deep gouges and bite marks marred the frail skin up and down the inside of his forearm.
Elizabeth gasped to see the injury, much younger than the fading scars from months ago.
"There is a surgeon in London, Dr. Astley Cooper. I have written to him about your father's case and answered his questions. The more recent gains in his mobility and understanding are most promising. Thank you, Mr. Bennet," Dr. Matthews said, gently. Then he reached up and guided Elizabeth's hand to her father's neck in the front. He allowed her to feel both sides.
One side, the one where Mr. Bennet held the most mobility, felt firm, but nothing amiss. Instinctively, Elizabeth raised her other hand to feel her neck in the same area, to feel that they were similar. When Dr. Matthews brought her hand over to the other side, she could instantly feel some abnormality under the skin. She jerked her hand back.
"I apologize, Mrs. Darcy, this is not a matter for a lady. But I had to try, for your father's sake."
Elizabeth took a few steadying breaths and then asked if her father knew what Dr. Cooper would do to perform the surgery. When Dr. Matthews started to explain the details, she held her hand up for him to spare her the grisly procedure.
"Does my father know what they will do to him?" she asked again, and Mr. Bennet began to jerk, the most violently since Elizabeth entered the room. When he calmed, Elizabeth bent over and looked him directly in the eye.
"If you want the surgery father, no violent shakes. You make the horn sound again, go on, show me that you are of sound mind, just not body," she said, in her most serious tone.
Swelling his chest to take the largest breath he could muster, Mr. Bennet attempted to make the sound he had earlier and failed. But Elizabeth was patient. Breathing quickly through his nose, he tried one last time to take a deep breath and then open his mouth, which only opened slightly on one side, but the low moan came out once more. This time Elizabeth Darcy did not laugh at her father's antics, she wept.
Dr. Matthews turned away to make himself busy with his notes as Elizabeth worked to compose herself. To her surprise, her father tried again and again to move his good hand and on seeing it move a few inches, Elizabeth reached down to take it. She squeezed it gently, and Mr. Bennet closed his eyes as though to rest.
After a few moments, Elizabeth gently released her father's hand as she could see they had tired him out immensely. She walked over to Dr. Matthews to spot that his folio was full of many drawings and notes of his various examinations of her father. She cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Ask Dr. Cooper if he will come to Pemberley. Tell my father when he wakes up. If we will lose him one way or the other, I'd much prefer the surgery that gives him a chance at living his life," she said, quietly.
Dr. Matthews nodded and said he would send a messenger to London immediately. Elizabeth Darcy then went in search of her husband. She made it halfway to his study before recalling that he had ridden out that morning with Mr. Bingley and the steward to inspect a far boundary on the property.
Holding back a sob, Elizabeth walked aimlessly until she realized she was heading in the direction of the chapel tucked away in the east wing. The chapel was a small room, often overlooked and neglected, but it was one of Elizabeth's favorite places in Pemberley. She loved the peace and solitude it offered.
As she entered the chapel, Elizabeth could feel the tension leaving her body. She walked over to the altar and knelt, closing her eyes and offering up a prayer for her father. She asked for strength and guidance from the Almighty, wishing for one of the few times in her life that her father had been blessed with a son. She had just finished her prayers when Mary walked in and apologized for interrupting Elizabeth's prayers.
"You did not interrupt me, Mary. I am happy for the company," Elizabeth said as she rose to her feet and walked over to hug her sister.
"I was just on my way to see Father and saw you walking this way. I thought perhaps you might like some company," Mary said.
"Thank you, Mary. That is very kind of you," Elizabeth said. Pushing her thoughts of dread out of her mind, she asked her sister if she came often to the chapel.
"Yes, and I have begun working with Mrs. Reynolds about the tapestries that were here. We packed some of them away to preserve the Darcy family heirlooms and I believe new ones are being commissioned," she said, pointing out locations where the wood paneling lay bare.
"I recall her mentioning that to me in our daily meetings. I was remiss in thanking you," Elizabeth said and Mary laughed.
"This home is too big for one person to take responsibility for everything! Mrs. Reynolds has her assistants, that's what your sisters are for," Mary said, quietly.
Then it was Elizabeth's turn to laugh. "And what shall I do when you all marry and leave me? Or will you simply live here forever? Hmm?"
Mary blushed. "I won't say that I know what God has planned for my life, but I could be very happy living here at Pemberley with you and Mr. Darcy."
Elizabeth accepted the compliment and the two sisters knelt side-by-side, each offering up their silent prayers.
Chapter 7 (Rosings, G. makes ally Mrs. Annesley, and meets de Bourgh heirs)The early winter gardens of Rosings Park were as alive as the inside of a coffin. The skeletal trees, bare plants, and vines showed only the most basic beauty of nature: pernicious survival. As the frigid daylight waned, Georgiana Wickham walked in the gardens of Rosings Parks with her son, Thomas, and his nurse. When they reached the end of the row, she hastily handed her infant son over to the nurse and waved down Mrs. Annesley.
Mrs. Annesley responded to the immediate movement and then sighed when she realized who was flagging her down. She made it no secret that she did not want to be caught up in whatever game the girl was playing.
"Mrs. Annesley, how lovely to see you," Mrs. Wickham said, greeting the woman who was once a companion to Anne de Bourgh. "Have you heard from your sister in Somerset?"
Mrs. Annesley's mouth thinned to a barely perceptible line. She smirked at Mrs. Wickham's fake sweetness, knowing the woman really wished to know when she would vacate Rosings. "I am surprised to see you here, in the gardens, Mrs. Wickham."
Georgiana gazed wildly around her, pointing out a long row of barren-looking trees, their branches mere sticks with irregular leaves littered about the ground. "I have always admired my late aunt's gardens. They are my favorite part of the estate."
"Funny that I've never run into you here, then, since you have enjoyed them so greatly," Mrs. Annesley said, continuing her constitutional walk. Ever since the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam to the property two weeks ago, Mrs. Annesley felt emboldened to challenge Mrs. Wickham on her petulant management of the household. She believed the good Colonel that the estate would lay in probate for a time and that Mrs. Wickham would not become the mistress she deluded herself to be.
Mrs. Wickham pointed for the nurse to take her now crying son inside and then hurried her steps to catch up to Mrs. Annesley. Breathlessly, she blocked the older woman's path.
"Forgive me, but I believe we have misunderstood one another. I know that I was unreasonable and difficult to bear since my arrival here," Georgiana began, and Mrs. Annesley scoffed at the feeble description the young woman gave of her behavior. "But, I intend to change my ways, if you will aid me."
"Mrs. Wickham, I have no interest in redeeming people undeserving of my time," she said and sidestepped the younger widow to shake off the intrusion.
But Georgiana's desperation urged her on.
"Mrs. Annesley, I own that if my choices had been different, I might have had another life entirely, but I now have my son to care for," Mrs. Wickham said, earning a small amount of sympathy from Mrs. Annesley.
"If you had made different choices in life, Mrs. Wickham, indeed, you might have had a companion such as myself to guide you. You were led astray by a few, but I am happy to hear you are taking responsibility for your behavior after," Mrs. Annesley said, with a pert nod.
This time, Georgiana did not chase after the widow, she called out after her.
"Mrs. Annesley, don't you wish to stay at Rosings Park?" she shouted and the older woman paused. Sensing an opportunity, Georgiana walked up to Mrs. Annesley with a calm gait. "I have heard that you have spent your entire life in this area. Surely, you cannot wish to go live with your sister in a place you've never stepped foot."
Mrs. Annesley's shoulders tensed. She closed her eyes briefly and questioned her morals in giving Mrs. Wickham any sort of compassion or understanding. The young woman of seventeen had proven herself to be extremely self-centered and potentially dangerous in pursuit of her aims.
"The new heir is expected to arrive any day, I don't believe we have a choice in the matter," Mrs. Annesley said, firmly.
Georgiana shook her head. "The estate will be in probate. My cousin told me when he tried to strong arm me into leaving with him to go to London."
Mrs. Annesley's mouth fell open and she stood with her eyes wide open staring and shaking her head. "Why did you spurn his generosity?"
Georgiana knitted her brows together. "He would have me marry again as soon as possible. My instincts tell me the new heir is my best opportunity to live a peaceful life, after all, the de Bourghs have not been to Rosings in decades. Mr. Longwell did write back to me to say we should expect Mr. Frederick de Bourgh and his son, Julian."
"And you believe you might marry one of them?" Mrs. Annesley asked, and Georgiana laughed.
"Or you might marry one of them," she exclaimed, pointing out they were both widows, although there were about twenty years between their ages.
Mrs. Annesley laughed hollowly at the insinuation that she might be desired by either man, but Georgiana's idea was not a bad one. It was a truth universally acknowledged that a single man of lower station, coming into an inheritance, must be in want of a wife. Particularly a young, pretty one who could produce an heir. No, it was likely to be Georgiana who would marry one of the de Bourgh heirs, and Mrs. Annesley wondered to what extent the young woman was asking for aid.
"How do you propose we accomplish any of this?"
Georgiana shivered, and they both began walking back toward the house. A cold wind had picked up during their time in the gardens, and night would fall in a few hours.
Both women became distracted as an unknown carriage and two wagons were stationed in front of the front entrance to Rosings.
"I suppose they have arrived," Mrs. Annesley said, and Georgiana placed a hand to stop their progress.
"Do we have an accord? I will not work against you, and you will not work against me, and if we are united in our behavior towards the men as two widows in desperate need of their generosity, well, if they are gentlemen at all, we shall have it."
Mrs. Annesley felt a pit in her stomach form as she suddenly realized what she had agreed to do. She gulped and nodded, praying fervently the de Bourgh heirs would be far more captivated by the younger Mrs. Wickham than herself.
As they neared the entrance, Georgiana slipped effortlessly into the role of gracious hostess. The four were ushered into the first-floor drawing room by the meager staff that remained, and greeted with a roaring fire in the grate. Mrs. Annesley raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Wickham, wondering if perhaps she had underestimated the young woman's ability to scheme.
"I hope you do not mind, sir, but I had the best suite in the household, the golden suite, prepared for you. My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, had the suite prepared for a visit from the Crown himself," Georgiana stated, addressing the elder gentleman first.
"None of this sir, business, my dear," he said, immediately enamored by the beauty before him. "You must call me Uncle Frederick, for your Uncle Lewis, was my brother. And this here, is my son, Julian de Bourgh." Frederick de Bourgh was a man in his late forties, suggesting that he and Lewis de Bourgh had been some distance in ages. His hair was still dark but shot through with strands of grey. He wore a thick, grey mustache. He had a strong jaw and a hooked nose. His eyes were blue and glimmered with mischief. Tall and broad-shouldered, his black suit and trousers appeared to have never been worn, belying a nouveau riche origin.
Julian contrasted his father in only eye color and facial hair. His eyes were a piercing green, like a jade-colored turquoise, but purer and brighter. His skin was weathered from years of living on the coast and spending at least a significant amount of time exposed to the elements. His build and height made him appear to be an imposing man, and gentle was not an adjective Mrs. Wickham would have used to describe him. He appeared to be close in age to her brother and cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and not at all happy to see the women there.
"I assumed you were to return to London, Mrs. Wickham, I believe it is?" Julian said, scoffing at his distant cousin by marriage. No one in the room mistook the slight derision lacing through his words.
Mrs. Annesley held her breath, fully expecting Mrs. Wickham's temper to get the best of her. To her surprise, the younger widow exercised an enormous amount of self-control but began to lay out her desires.
"My son is the rightful heir to the estate, Mr. de Bourgh," she said, "I do beg your pardon, Uncle Frederick, but I've had a letter from my solicitor that the estate is in probate. It is my strongest belief that the correct will by the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh will be attested."
Julian de Bourgh laughed before his father could answer. "They don't let the progeny of bastards inherit estates!"
Mrs. Annesley closed her eyes, believing not even Mrs. Wickham could swallow such an insult, but once again, she was impressed.
Georgiana's lower lip began to quiver and she made a grand show of fighting back emotion, pulling on the heartstrings of her new "Uncle."
"My dear, my dear, forgive my son, his greatest defect is a propensity to say whatsoever comes to his mind without consideration," Uncle Frederick said, offering comfort to Mrs. Wickham, and shooting a murderous glare at his son. "Julian has not found the polite manners that he will need for a place such as this," he said, gazing up at the room with medievally high ceilings and stone arches above them. "We partook in a more humble, but comfortable, living in Gillingham."
Mrs. Annesley attempted to diffuse the insulting situation by asking Uncle Frederick about his life in Gillingham. The elder de Bourgh happily detailed that his family had a stake in the dockyard there and that while he was retired from the management, his son left his position to come to Rosings.
Uncle Frederick then addressed his new niece directly. "While I sympathize with your beliefs, Mrs. Wickham, I have heard from Mr. Longwell, as well, as I have agreed for him to work in our interests as part of our one, large family," he said, stressing the last word. "In that vein, I ask that perhaps we resolve to live harmoniously here, at Rosings, as I suspect it will be some time before a decision is made about the estate, one way or the other. What say you?" he asked.
Georgiana Wickham looked at Mrs. Annesley. "Can Mrs. Annesley remain as well? I would be lost without her companionship," she said, biting her lower lip.
Uncle Frederick chuckled. "But of course! The two of you know about this home and surrounding land more than we do. What fools would we be if we sent you away?"
Mrs. Annesley proposed they leave the men to rest and change for dinner, and the whole party agreed to reconvene in two hours' time in the dining room.
As soon as the two men were alone, Uncle Frederick collapsed into the tufted armchair sitting conveniently by the fire, and sighed.
Annoyed, Julian walked over to his father. The younger man remained standing, keen to stretch his legs after the unfamiliar hours of travel in a carriage.
"Why did you lead her on? We should ship her back to her kin," Julian demanded.
Uncle Frederick twisted his mouth into a smile. "You have much to learn about how the world works, my son. Tell me, why do you think her brother and cousin have allowed her to remain?"
"She strikes me as a thorn, too young and brash in her opinions."
"A perfect wife for you," the elder said, with a taunting tone.
Julian swore an oath at his father, and the elder man's eyes flew open. This time his jovial spirit had dissipated and he pointed a long finger at his son.
"This place is practically bankrupt. And that cousin of yours, upstairs, has a dowry of tens of thousands of pounds. Mr. Longwell gave me the clues we need—"
"Long spent and wasted I'm sure by her first husband!"
Uncle Frederick spoke over his son. "Nay! Listen for once in your life, or take a horse and be gone with you! Go back to the stench of tar and tallow, repairing vessels so rife with worms that the grain on the boards wiggle! But I'm done with that life, and you are, too, if you would take an interest in your family."
"She is not my family."
"Ah, but she could be, Julian," Frederick said, as a footman entered the room and inquired if either man needed anything for their comfort and confirmed their rooms were ready.
Julian used the opportunity to storm off, away from his father, to his suite while Frederick ordered a bottle of port to be brought to him.
Enjoying his favorite drink by the fire and relishing his good luck, Frederick de Bourgh watched the coals in the grate glow brighter as more was added to the fireplace by the footman. Lifting a small, delicate crystal wine glass etched with the de Bourgh coat of arms, he imagined the wedding in his mind and toasted to no one.
"She could be," he whispered.