Mr. Darcy wants a sheep, not a wife
Chapter 1
Fitzwilliam Darcy, the Second Earl of Ripley, opened his eyes, still dreaming of the last time he saw his parents. Their faces marred on the yellowing ceiling. He blinked their visage away, rubbing his eyes to ensure he was no longer in a dream and ready for the morning. As usual, he heard chattering further down the corridor. His younger sister, sixteen-year-old Georgiana, made her chores twice as hard as they should be. Sometimes she'd insist on bold colours for her day dress over a pale, subtle palette. Sometimes she'd argue that her hair should be down to let her curls loose. Most of the time, Mr. Darcy knew where the squabble came from. When their mother had passed, Georgiana was only a baby, but the ache of her loss remained. And so, she often took it out on their poor maid.
Darcy's valet, Winston, still as stocky and wide as the day he was hired, drew the curtains to let the light in. Winston had been his father's valet and knew everything about the man. He knew how he liked his baths, what scent didn't irritate his skin, and how many sugar cubes to set out for his afternoon tea. His relationship with his children, his financial difficulties, and his alleged gambling. Darcy was determined not to give Winston the same insight. His relationship with the valet remained cordial but rather cold.
"Would you like to shave this morning, My Lord?"
"No, thank you, Winston." Darcy rubbed his face.
"Are you sure? It has been three days."
"I am very sure," Darcy said, trying to cover his irritation. He detested how much Winston clearly didn't trust Darcy's judgement.
"Run me a bath, would you?" Darcy asked.
"You bathed just yesterday, My Lord."
"And I'd like to bathe again." Darcy stared at him indignantly.
Darcy was determined that Winston would never instruct him when to shave or when to bathe. Besides, his facial hair was modest compared to his father's. The man needed to be shorn like a sheep every few days. Darcy was certain his father only bathed once a month. No sooner had Winston taken his master's nightshirt off than there was a banging on the door. It had become more apparent that his sister wanted his attention.
"Brother, would you please tell Hannah that it's perfectly acceptable for me to wear blue today?" Georgiana's voice screeched through the cracks.
It always sounded more cheery and pleasant when she tried twirling her brother around her dainty little finger. Darcy rolled his eyes and indicated to Winston to pass him a flannel to wash his hands and face.
"Give him a moment, My Lady," Winston bellowed, hastily brandishing Darcy in the many underlayers of his garments. More arguing could be heard behind the door. No sooner had Darcy had his leather riding boots pulled on was the door swung open. A red-faced Winston attempted to use his body as a barricade. But his ageing body was no use against Georgiana.
"Brother, I think how I've dressed myself is perfectly acceptable," she stood, arms at either side. "And, very beguiling, I might add." She said, beaming eagerly.
"Georgiana, it's improper of you to barge into my room in this manner. We've spoken about this— "
"I tried to tell her, My Lord, I always do." Georgiana's maid, Hannah, huffed and puffed behind her. It seemed she had broken a sweat in her simple morning task of waking her lady up. She tried with all her might to will her back to her own bedroom.
"I know," Darcy was understanding of his sister's behaviour. He took a deep breath.
"Georgiana, go and get dressed in a proper manner and ready yourself for breakfast."
"I am wearing this! The blue perfectly matches my eyes,"
"Fine, sister, but at least make yourself more presentable." Georgiana sighed and turned with a stomp on her foot and down the hallway.
The slamming of the door made Winston shuffle on his feet, and he gave Darcy a stern look.
"Hannah, ensure Lady Georgiana is properly dressed, no matter her indignations," Winston leaned in further, raising his grey brows higher and barked.
"And doesn't barge into my quarters in the morning," Darcy added with annoyance, feeling his valet's breath down his neck. Hannah nodded her head and left.
"I do wish you wouldn't impose like that." Darcy snapped, fixing his cravat to his liking.
"Impose, My Lord? It is my duty to help you run this house as your father would see fit. I'm only guiding you as I did your father, dear Master Darcy." Darcy put on his riding coat slowly, savouring the fact he wasn't allowing Winston to finish his duties that he held so close to his heart. He took his hat and left.
"You want to guide me as you did my father, Winston? You'll guide me into an early grave." Darcy murmured to himself.
~0~
In the drawing room, Georgiana had scoffed down the sweet cakes presented in front of her in a matter of minutes. Darcy imagined letting fruit flies gather around his uneaten plum cake.
"You shouldn't eat so fast, Sister. It's unladylike."
"Brother, I'm only eating in front of you." She said with her mouthful, sticking her fork into a honey cake, but with the help of her fingers - causing the juices to drip down her delicate fingers.
"And what if we had guests? Would you like to gain the reputation of a slob?"
"At least I wouldn't go hungry, Brother." She mumbled, shoving another piece of cake in her mouth indignantly. Crumbs fell onto the blue dress she prized so much.
"Papa, let me have seconds."
"And what did Mama say to that?" Georgiana went silent. He felt a twinge of guilt but wanted to read in the morning in peace.
The newspaper Darcy desperately tried to concentrate on became a muddle of white and black as Georgiana sniffed. He wondered if his words were too harsh. It wasn't acceptable for a lady to not sit up straight, to not naturally follow the rules of female etiquette without someone to constantly correct her. He worried about the stain on Georgiana's reputation and, by extension, his own. He imagined the gossip, the shame of a family with an orphan girl raised by her orphan brother. In the silence, he didn't bother to bat an eyelid at her taking out a book, although she was told it was rude. It leaned tentatively against a mountain of cakes in front of her.
"Is that a book assigned by your governess?" Darcy asked, attempting to make polite conversation.
"No.' Georgiana huffed.
Knowing his sister, Darcy tried to focus on the words in front of him. But his mind was occupied with what she might have stolen from the library. Was it the bible, he thought. Poetry by Byron, he wondered. Or, heaven forbid, something written by the Marquis de Sade.
"Sister, in polite conversation, the topic of literature is appealing. It can display your accomplishments when looking for… suitors." She ignored him and continued to read.
"Why don't you tell me about what you are reading?"
"Something that would not interest you."
"And why ever not?"
"Because it's about love." His heart sank, and he blinked at her.
"Love? What kind of love?"
"The most tragic love imaginable."
"Georgiana, we've discussed you reading poetry by Lord Byron."
"It's Romeo and Juliet!" She declared, pointing at the front cover. Relieved, Darcy indulged in the rest of his cake.
"Some say it's the most tragic love story ever told, but I think it's so much more than that." She continued, lifting up her chin as if she thought what she had said was incredibly profound.
"Yes, Sister, it's very tragic."
"I think it's about young love, the urgency of it, the passion."
Darcy's cake lodged in his throat, "Excuse me?" He demanded, choking.
"Have you never read it, Brother? Oh, you must. Their love for each other burns with the light of a thousand suns -"
"Enough! What kind of polite conversation is that for the breakfast table?"
"It's true! And George thinks I'm very mature for thinking that way." The name of anyone he didn't know Georgiana to interact with raised the alarm. But the boy's name ran a stake through her older brother's heart.
"Who did you say?"
"No one, I- "
"Georgiana, if you say another word, I'll have you locked in your room and throw away the key."
She stood up. "I'd like to see you try. There's nothing that can stand between true love."
Darcy felt sick. "George? The reverend's son? Did you have a chaperone?" He demanded.
"We were by the oak tree, where the sheep are."
"A sheep isn't an appropriate chaperone!" He whispered aggressively.
"Well, the sheep are better company than you! And better yet, Brother, why don't you read this. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two about true love." Georgiana tucked her book under her arm and stormed off.
Her feet echoed in the hallway. Darcy could only imagine the sound of her feet walking through the streets - lost and alone without a penny because her brother couldn't raise her as a proper lady. He stared at the cakes in front of him. He quickly looked around and scoffed it faster than he could swallow.
~0~
Mr. Darcy waded through his paperwork. Skimming through documents, he could barely focus on. He mumbled a stern speech to Georgiana's governess, Mrs. Younge, about the types of books his sister should be reading. He had a word with Hannah to keep an eye on her like a hawk from now on. Outside, the manor's gardens were eerily still; not a branch or bit of green moved in sight as if the wind had left forever. The high windows displayed fully the tall white walls and marble bannisters leading down to the garden of swirling bushes and green. He imagined his sister whispering the words of Shakespeare into that boy's ear. He imagined the innocent sheep watching in horror as he did. His spiralling thoughts were stamped out like a paperweight being pressed on documents at the sound of his own mantra.
"I am the man of the house." He uttered to himself, thinking it was pathetic. He has a few moments to remind himself of his duty.
"Darce!" A booming voice from his childhood arrived, the one that never allowed him to stay hidden from his governess as he hid outside the garden's high walls. The one that pushed him into situations he hated – dancing with ladies he had no interest in, attending balls he had no interest in. The sound grabbed onto his brain like a fishhook - enticing but painful in the long run. The former Colonel Fitzwilliam bounced in, his red tailcoat waving behind him like the tail of an excited dog.
"I hope you don't mind, Darce, I was at Matlock, so I thought I would pay a visit. Apologies for the lack of warning," he slumped down into a chair, his robust shape deflating like a ridiculous balloon.
"Good God, you really live a secluded life, don't you?" His jolly banter took every part of Darcy to stay as calm as possible, but every word hit his nerves.
"You know how to make an entrance, don't you, Richard?"
"Well, Darce, you're so isolated from civilised society that any entrance would be extravagant." Richard pours a generous glass from a decanter of whiskey on the desk.
"I've estate business to wade through. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Coincidently, my friend, I am here to discuss matters of such, financial, not estate,"
Darcy knew where this would lead to. It's not the first time he's had an unexpected visit, from friends or acquaintances, for a proposal he was supposed not to say no to.
"You could give old Winston a run for his money," said Darcy, flicking through papers mindlessly to seem busy.
"I don't suppose that in all that paperwork, you found an invitation at all?"
Of course, Darcy had. But with every formal occasion, he tended to avoid it like the bubonic plague. "I have more important matters to attend to."
"Darce, what is missing here? You have the titles, the land — but your reputation precedes you. Imagine a well-bred landowner from a titled family without a wide-hipped, firm-bosomed, childbearing —"
"Enough, Richard." Darcy helped himself to a glass of whiskey and turned his back to him. Behind the robust, flamboyance of Richard, he'd always resented his infatuation with what was expected. He was so preoccupied with the pageantry of it all that nothing else seemed to matter.
"A young, impressionable woman like your sister needs a guardian who respects how things are run. Most of all, she deserves a female figure in her life to guide her,"
"She doesn't need that."
"I don't suppose you'll grow a pair of bosoms anytime soon —"
"I am all she has!" Darcy slammed his fist on the oak desk. As he felt his fingers tingling, he could feel Richard's frustration swell. "She's my responsibility, and until she's of age, I must look after her until…"
"She's married." Unshaded by his outburst, Richard was pleased that his point had been made. Richard's towering stature dwarfed Darcy, and he felt what he had always felt from him since childhood - like he was being scolded.
"On another matter, I've already made you a guest of honour. My wife would be extremely disappointed if she did not get at least one dance. You know how fond she is of you."
"So I have to grin and bear the pompous pageantry? The polite conversations so dull they make me want to bash my head against the wall?"
Richard raised an eyebrow as a warning but smiled. "I'll see you in a few weeks, Darce," he tipped his hat politely.
"Oh, and wear something more colourful, chap. We don't want you blending into the walls, do we?"
~0~
Darcy dreamt of his parents, as he did most nights. Their faces faded in and out of obscurity, the colours of their hair, face and eyes fitting into block shapes, barely resembling their body. It was their voices he remembered the most in his dreams. The dreams were so vivid but happened so often that they stopped disturbing him since they'd died. Winston drew the curtains to let the light shine in. Darcy shook his head to wake himself and to get rid of his parents' faces, their voices, like draining water from his ears.
The morning was quiet. Darcy told Winston to give him a moment before getting dressed. The window welcomed him into the warm light of the day. He could have stayed in those peaceful moments in the morning all day. Like clockwork, a knock came.
"I thought I told that girl to behave herself," Winston bellowed, face like a beetroot. Darcy put his hand up to silence him.
"My Lord, Sir, please open the door!" The frantic sound of maid Hannah called out.
The two men exchanged worried glances.
"My Lord, you need to come quick, Lady Georgiana is missing. She wasn't in her bed this morning." Without thinking, Darcy scrambled for his clothes, strapping on each layer, ignoring Winston's protestations.
He tripped down the hallway with his riding boots not properly pulled up; a distraught Hannah dashing behind him.
"What are you going to do, My Lord? Where are you going to go? I swear she was in her room earlier this morning. Maybe she…"
"Hannah please quiet down. I know where to go." Perhaps that was too harsh, but Darcy didn't care, and like a springbok, he raced out of the house, he stumbled onto the front.
"Go to Reverend Wickham's house, ask if he has any idea where she might be." Hannah was perplexed.
"Go!" He turned and ran.
The adrenaline running through his body was next to nothing. His front shirt was half-buttoned, opened to the elements, but he didn't care. If the circumstances were different, he would be concerned about who might see him in that state. His worst dreams had been turned into a reality - he had let his parents down in the worst way he could. Winston stumbled after him.
"My Lord, shall I check in the town?" The old man struggled to keep up, horrified by Darcy's unruly appearance.
"Yes, go and ask anyone there - bring an illustration of her likeness." They ran to the end of the garden. The edge of the woods triggered something inside of Darcy, its vast openness. He had a feeling it may be where his sister resided.
"But, My Lord, people will talk. Best not to cause alarm." Darcy wondered how Winston was so obsessed with appearances at a time like this. He wondered in these moments if he cared for appearances more than he and his sister as people.
Winston's breath was so loud Darcy could scarcely hear anything else, his fat jowls panting. Darcy cursed to himself. He knew Winston was right.
"Take care of it," Darcy demanded.
"Yes, I shall. But My Lord! Your buttons,"
"Just go!" He lurched for the garden, his boots squelching into the soft ground. The adrenaline had brought him beyond the garden and into the shallow woods behind the grounds. He bounced by brambles and tree branches, seeing nothing beyond but a field of green and brown. He called and called her name until his throat was raw.
"Georgiana!" Perhaps she had escaped with that stupid boy after filling her head with the nonsense of love.
Of ideas of passion and lust he detested. He damned himself under his breath for allowing Georgiana to escape from under his nose so easily. By the stream, he could hear sobbing. Darcy looked around frantically, finding nothing as if the forest was purposefully hiding his sister.
He saw a figure, and his heart jolted with momentary relief for a moment. Soon this nightmare would be over. The closer he approached, the more his sister's curls faded into jet-black hair; like a mirage in the desert, her likeness fell away to a pathetic figure.
"Georgiana!" The sobbing came from a young boy, eyes red and puffy.
"Lord Ripley," George Wickham choked back his tears and fixed himself. As if that would make up for almost ruining his sister's reputation forever. The seventeen-year-old boy deepened his voice and puffed his chest out. Darcy lunged for him as his pathetic sobs returned, heavy with shame.
"Where is my sister, you pathetic boy!"
Dear Sunday friends, thank you for the lovely comments for the epilogue of The Encumbrance of Mystery. That was fun to write. I hope you enjoyed my new offering, written together with A.C.
I'm not 100% sure about the title and the blurb. I welcome your suggestion. I promise that there is no mystery in this story. It contains mostly fluff. But there are quite a lot of changes in JA characters, such as Colonel Fitzwilliam is married, George Wickham is younger, Darcy has a beard, etc. Hehe. I will try to post every Sunday Sydney time. Hugs, Enid.