The Price of Family

A sequel to "A Bit of Advice" and "The Question of Consent"

By DJ Clawson

Author's Note: So, everyone's figured out that when I get diludged with comments, I tend to push the next update faster, right? Also, I'm trying to keep to a schedule here of not leaving a huge cliffhanger for when I know I'm going to be away. That's just unfair.

Chapter 12 – The Longest Night

Darcy did not reappear until mid-morning, when Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep after trying to stay up, and then too exhausted from sobbing, had allowed herself to crawl into bed. When she closed her eyes, Grégoire was still standing vigil, but when she opened them, it was her husband, sitting on the bed next to her. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, and for him to do the same, but he just sat there, as if in a daze, his clothing from the day before thoroughly soaked in the morning due and the mud from the road. Had he spent the whole night walking?

"Darcy."

He look off his waistcoat and boats, which was a considerable process, before silently climbing into bed next to her. His body alone was a comfort, the way he slid his fingers along her side before collapsing on his pillow. Clearly, he had not slept at all. She thought might go right to sleep, and continue her torment, but instead he spoke.

"I cannot do it."

She turned over so she was facing him. She wanted to feel his breath, know he was alive and breathing and smell his scent. They had been separated before, when he was on an errand or such, but never was she so bothered by the absence of his physical person. "I did not ask you to," she said softly.

"I cannot accept him. Or these actions of my father, truth or lies. It is too much."

She took his hand, and he returned the grip, even tightened it, seeking her comfort as much as she sought his. "I will not ask you to. We can never speak of it again, if you wish."

"I tried – all night. It was not until the sun was rising that I realized how late it was and how far I had wandered. But I cannot turn it over in my head and make it fit. On a logical level, yes. But the mind is not very logical."

"No, it is not."

"Wickham could not know. He would have pressed that advantage long ago." He sighed. "I have decided that perhaps, my father was not perfect in everything he did in his life. We have enough proof of that in the next room. But this is different. I am not prepared for it. Lizzy, I cannot bare the thought."

"I hardly can fathom it, either," she said. "But that is life and men – and perhaps, sometimes, women – err in their ways."

"You are too good a woman for Pemberley," he said, and kissed her knuckles. "I do not deserve you."

"You are not your father's son in every respect, Darcy. Don't take this burden on yourself."

"But it seems, I must," he sighed, turning onto his back. "But ... when we return to England. For now, let us let the matter rest, and no more talk of Wickham. Agreed?"

"Happily agreed," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

There was one other person who had Wickham on his mind. Charles Bingley sat in his office at Kirkland, the papers on his desk untouched. Idly he glanced out the window, where Geoffrey and Georgie were playing with Darcy's dogs, also in his care. His contemplation was only broken by the servant's entrance. "Mr. Bennet, sir."

"Of course. And have my son brought in."

The servant nodded and Mr. Bennet appeared. Bingley rose to greet his father-in-law, who merely nodded and went to the window. Mr. Bennet had calmed considerably since Darcys were on their way, but had not settled in to the library as he usually had during his visits to Kirkland or Pemberley. He was not at ease, and there was no wonder in that, but Bingley could think of nothing to say to him that would be further comfort. What he could do, however, was provide him with his grandchildren, whom Mr. Bennet had obvious affection for. Fortunately little Charles Bingley the Third appeared, bundled up by Nurse, and was handed to his father. "Please, Mr. Bennet, do have a seat."

"In a moment," Mr. Bennet said. He did lean over and kiss little Charles on his blond head. Then he returned to the window, leaning one arm on it, watching his other grandchildren. "I was always a bit partial to daughters, myself. Perhaps that is why I had so many of them." He looked over. "What in the world are you reading?"

"It is some papers I've collected on the Hindi language."

"Hindi?"

"The language of the Indians. I'm learning it," he said.

"I'll be sure to send Kitty to India for her studies, then," Mr. Bennet said. So he had not lost all of his humor after all. "And don't you dare go taking my Jane to India. I have my own concerns, of course, but I would have to listen to my wife's ranting about diseases and danger for the entire duration of your travels. Though I am thoroughly accustomed to such things, so I suppose it would not be so bad. Still, my request stands."

"With three young children, you can hardly expect me to go venturing across the world, Mr. Bennet."

"My sons are always surprising me," he replied. "As are my daughters. I will say that I am certainly not bored in my old age. That much, I have to be grateful for, but I do not feel very grateful."

"'These things, too, shall pass,'" Bingley quoted, though he did not know from where. In response, his son babbled in his arms.

Mr. Bennet paused before sighing and saying, "I do hope you will do a better job of raising your children than I did. Certainly, I have great faith that you will."

"I must disagree with you in the first respect, Mr. Bennet," Bingley said. "I have no complaints of any of your daughters, certainly. In fact, I am especially fond of at least two of them. And exceedingly fond of one."

Mr. Bennet did crack a smile, but his mood would not be stirred. "I am serious, sadly. I was – I suppose, too fond of my daughters, in a certain way. I did not want to see them go. I put them out as early as possible because they wanted to go out, but I did not take them to Town or go with them to public balls, where the gentlemen would have been a plenty, or be stern enough with some of them about their behavior, because I could deny them nothing, except perhaps a suitable dowry. I left it all to poor Mrs. Bennet, who became a mess because of the stress, because I could not give her sons. That two daughters managed fine marriages beyond all expectations I can assign only to happenstance."

"I would not agree, again, sir," Bingley said, more insistent this time. "Jane and Elizabeth are your daughters in every respect, Mary is exceedingly intelligent and was only foolish once in her entire life, and there is much hope for Kitty. Mrs. Wickham was a victim of circumstance."

But this pill seemed too large for Mr. Bennet to swallow, at least for the moment. "I think of Lydia every day and wonder how she is doing. Perhaps I may make the request of you that you do invite her to Kirkland, even if it is to bring Mr. Wickham as well? Perhaps marriage has softened him, who knows. But I confess a desire to see them together."

"Done," Bingley answered without hesitation. "Allow me the time to compose the letter, and they are invited." He added, "Oh, and please also allow me to consult with my wife, as she is the more sensible one of us."

Finally Mr. Bennet laughed. "I think you will do well enough in this life, son."

When they finally rose from their delayed rest, Elizabeth was quick to remind her husband that he owned someone a significant apology. Darcy found he could not disagree, and with his temper thoroughly cooled, he sought after Grégoire, and found him kneeling on the floor of his room. "Excuse me."

"Monsieur," Grégoire said, rising and closing his prayer book. His bed was unused.

"I do hope I'm at the point of beyond being Monsieur Darcy," Darcy replied. "And I've come to apologize for my unsuitable behavior last night. My fury was designed for someone else." He bowed. "I hope you will forgive me."

"It is not for me to judge any man," said Grégoire, "but if it gives you peace, I do offer forgiveness on my own part."

"Thank you. And, as a gentleman, I am obliged to fully explain myself and my actions. Though, it is a rather long story, and a terrible reflection on our family, but you must here it. Have you eaten?"

"No, I have been fasting."

Darcy decided it was best to not inquire as to why. "Then come. I've not had a thing since last night myself, and we will break the fast together."

He put his arm around him, and Grégoire winced. Maybe he had shoved him up against that wall a bit too hard. They sat down in the inn together, now late in the afternoon, and took a seat in the back corner. Slowly and carefully, Darcy told him the story of his youth, his experiences with Wickham, the attempted elopement, and the scandal with Lydia Wickham (nee Bennet). He told it with what he attempted was a voice of calm, even lacking in emotion, and ended with his own wedding day, the last time he had seen the person in question, who until the day before, he had never had a desire to ever see again, and now still had little desire. "Now tell me, please, if our father mentioned any other children to you, so that there may be no more awful surprises."

"None." During the entire tale, Grégoire had something, his face all concentration, but looking down and not at Darcy. He was often, they had noticed, even afraid to look people in the eye. "None that he mentioned, and I do not believe he was holding back."

"Then we must conjecture he had only four children, two known, and he must have told Mrs. Reynolds about the other two before his death. This, sadly, did not prevent the courting of Georgiana, as it was done in secret from all of us, including the one person who would have put a definite stop to it beyond myself. And since I am so rarely abroad, perhaps that explains why she now directed me to you, without saying it outright."

"I would have stayed hidden to not bring this shame on the family," Grégoire said.

It was a very Darcy family thing to say, Darcy had to admit to himself. "The Darcy family has taken a few blows over the years, as has every good and proper family, and none of this was our doing, so we have nothing to be regretful for." He said it for Grégoire's sake, as the poor boy obvious tortured himself with the very idea. He himself had a ton of regrets, most of them involving not seeing the obvious earlier. He had grown up with Wickham, himself remarking that his father had treated him "as his own son." But he was blind to it because it was his father, and Mr. Geoffrey Darcy was a proper gentlemen in all manners. Or so, he had thought. But that was not problem, not this young man's, who was so thrown out of his only element. "But, if you would, no more of Wickham. I – we, if you agree to return with me and see Pemberley – will deal with upon my return. At the moment, there are more pressing matters."

"Of course," Grégoire nodded, and returned to his food.

Bingley found Jane sitting in the drawing room, reading a letter. "Darling," she said, as he joined her on the couch. With no relatives in evidence, he sat next her and kissed her on the cheek. "I've received a letter from Lizzy."

"Is it private?"

"No. They've not had much time to write, so she wrote it for both of them, and it is for you as well, but it just arrived."

"Give me the summary. I will read it in full later."

"They are traveling to Paris, to speak with the headmistress of Mary's seminary and to make sure they are not missing Mr. Ferretti by going all the way down to Italy. They have hired a translator – a monk from Mon-Claire. And they are utterly exhausted, so the whole of it is quite brief, for Lizzy. They should be in Paris by the week's end, but the roads are very muddy and unpredictable. Beyond that, there is nothing else of major import." She handed it to him, and he tucked it into his waistcoat. "They will probably have to go all the way to Italy, will they not?"

"It is most likely. But Italy is a lovely country, and if they have good weather, they may have a pleasant trip back, after running themselves ragged getting there."

"Perhaps." Jane seemed to take comfort in the idea that the trip was good for her sister, so he said it often. "The other mail has arrived, but it has not been sent to your study yet, as I intercepted it when I saw my sister's handwriting. It is there," she gestured towards a pile on the table.

Bingley got up and sifted through it, retrieving a letter with a return from the Maddox townhouse and in his sister's handwriting. "From Caroline. Probably about the ball, though I don't know what she'd wish to tell me." He broke the seal and sat back down next to his wife, who leaned on his side as he read it. "My goodness."

"What is it?"

"It seems the good doctor has received an offer from the Regent to become part of the staff of royal physicians! Apparently he is better known than he esteems himself to be."

"How wonderful! But has he accepted?"

"He would be a fool not to," Bingley said, still reading. "He is still debating it, as it would tie him to Windsor and Town. Caroline derides him for being foolish about it for a while here. Something about patient lists. But she says she will talk to him and he will eventually accept, which means he undoubtedly will."

"Your sister seems to have a certain – effect on him."

"What wife does not?" he said, patting her on the knee. "Though it is true that it would tie him to the Crown and Caroline would have to probably have her Confinement in Town. Which, considering Mary's Confinement is but a month off hers, would be ill-timed. But in the long run it would be an exceptionally good position for him, and probably end in knighthood." He set the letter aside. "I will write a congratulations for them. But first, what I came to see you about."

"Pray?"

"Our proposed guest. Your father has requested it."

"He has? He has nothing but contempt for Wickham."

Bingley shrugged. "But Wickham is still his son-in-law, and Lydia still his daughter, and he is concerned for her. And it is true that he so rarely gets to see her, and this is the only time I can think of that we could easily invite him to Kirkland without having to make sure Darcy isn't outside of Derbyshire."

"What you do with your own estate is your business, Charles."

"Still, I have not been rushing to have him at my table. But you would agree that this may be an acceptable arrangement?"

Jane hesitated before answering. "If my father has requested to see Wickham, then I see no reason to not immediately see to his request."

"Then we are on the same page. I will write up the invitation at haste." He rose to do so. "Though, if things do go ill ... well, we don't have Darcy to sock him, and I'm rather terrible at it, so we ought to have a servant picked out ahead of time. One of the burlier ones. Maybe the under-gardener. Wallace is rather large. Seems like he could do the job."

"Charles!" Jane said, her voice half indignant, half laughing.

"See? Darcy is not the only one in this family who can think up clever plans," he said with a smile before leaving his wife to her laughter.

With a relative calm reached and the most disturbing matter set aside, the Darcys were on the road again, and though much was unspoken between them, with each day, Grégoire became more at ease and they with him, odd habits as he had. They decided to push hard for Paris and rest there, as finding all the right people in such a massive city would take some time, and Darcy expressed a great desire for "proper lodgings." Elizabeth admitted to being a bit sick of the inside of their carriage as well, and had exhausted the collection of books that Darcy had purchased once they were over the channel, and English books were impossible to come by in such remote areas. Grégoire had only a book of hours, and it was in Latin, but if she found a French book to her liking, he offered to read it to her, translating as he went.

She had yet to take him up on the noble offer when they found themselves stuck again, not twenty miles from the outskirts of Paris, by intolerable mud. When they were not stopped entirely, the carriage moved so slowly that Grégoire took to walking again alongside the road, and had no trouble keeping up with them. Their only consolation was that they were heading into a drier season and region, and this was merely a literal bump in the road. They had, theoretically, an opening of three months to get to Italy, allowing the same to return before Mary delivered, if she did deliver at all. (This Darcy did not mention to Elizabeth, and asked Grégoire not to, but did not explain the circumstances. The look he got from the monk regarding Mary's 'condition' was blank enough and he wondered if the poor boy knew the facts of life at all)

They still were beyond any sight of Paris when, after a long silence during which Darcy could have easily fallen asleep if not for all of the bumping up and down, he was wrestled into full consciousness by his wife. "Darcy!" She pointed to the window.

On the grass beside the road, Grégoire was staggering, and right before their eyes, he passed out. The carriage came to an immediate stop before Darcy could attempt to give the order, and he climbed out and ran to his brother, who was lying on his side, the color gone from him, his breathing unsteady.

"Grégoire?" Darcy said, and then yelled at the coachmen. "Get a doctor. Doctor! Uhm, Le Doctore!" He turned to his wife. "Elizabeth, please. If he's sick, let you not catch it." This seemed to stay her some distance away, and he turned his attentions back to Grégoire, whose eyes were half-open. "Can you speak? What is wrong?"

But the monk was in too much pain to speak. That much, he was able to discern, when Darcy saw the blood on his back, soaking through those grey robes.

...Next Chapter - Proper Discipline