The Price of Family
A sequel to "A Bit of Advice" and "The Question of Consent"
By DJ Clawson
Author's Note: I debated a bit before putting up this chapter, considering its ending, and the fact that I have a very serious operation tomorrow that will prevent me from posting for at least a couple days. Then I realized that many fanfic authors are dorks who never finish their stories or post chapters like once every couple months. And I like reading comments, even in a post-anesthesia haze. So, here it is.
Chapter 24 – The Last Bennet
Maddox did make it up in time, because Mary was a week late, and with him came Caroline and her two children. "As long as your brother doesn't loot us out of house and home while we're gone, we should be fine," Caroline said as they stepped out of the carriage.
"I think Brian will do just fine."
"That's what I'm worried about."
Caroline would not leave her infants, and Bingley welcomed them both, saying that now that his children were nearing their first birthday it was starting to become eerily quiet at Kirkland. Of course, there was some shock at the lesser-informed of his guests about the children, who were not actually twins, and did not look a bit like they were, as tiny Frederick had hair unlike both his parents or his sister. At any questioning about the peculiar timing of the adoption, Doctor Maddox just shrugged. Though obviously happy to be back in her grand gowns, Caroline surprised the Kirkland crowd with her overwhelming affection for her infants, having taken to motherhood with unexpected vigor.
"It's positively endearing," Jane said to Lizzy when she came in. "And a little bizarre."
While not an abnormal occurrence, each day that Mary was late was of increasing tension, and it was even harder to corner her than it normally was.
When Elizabeth finally did, it was in Mary room, all set up with a cradle for the baby. Mary was staring out the window, fingering a beautiful locket that Elizabeth did not remember seeing before. "Mary? Are you all right?"
"I am fine."
"I meant it more generally." Elizabeth gasped. "Oh! I completely forgot! Miss Talbot says her regards. She says she very much wishes to visit when she returns from the Continent."
Mary turned around. "She does?"
"Yes, very much so. In fact, she was instrumental in locating Mr. Ferretti, so we owe her a great debt. Though, I will say, she was not a gossip. I did have to pry the information out of her." He joined Mary by the window. Since her pregnancy, Mary had been keeping her distance from everyone, shriveling away from contact. "She said there was genuine affection. And Mr. Ferretti did say he loved you, most truthfully, whatever the circumstances that resulted."
"I know," Mary said. "He wrote it in his letter, that Mr. Maddox delivered. And he was never once insincere, so I don't doubt it now."
"Did he give you the locket?"
"Yes. So the child will know its father, even if some things cannot be." Even though there was heaviness to her voice, it was not all sadness. "I love him, but it is not as though I cannot imagine life without him. I would be so desperately lonely for all of you in Italy, even if he quit the church. And he would be adrift here, as Grégoire is, even though he is half-English."
"Grégoire will not stay," Elizabeth said. "Darcy will find him a monastery to his liking in Ireland and he will leave us, but he will visit. But you're right, in that he is a blood relative with no other standing family, and so it is entirely different." She sighed. "Some people apparently do wish the contemplative life."
"Giovanni does not, but he will hardly be a monk, and he has obligations," she said.
"Mary, there are others out there. In fact, you will find many a man in England who has not promised his life to the Catholic Church."
"But this is not about me," Mary said. "Not entirely. I should not be so selfish." She stroked her stomach. "Nine months is so long, and I was so horrible with worry, and now I realize I have something to look forward to." She smiled. "Excuse me, Lizzy, but I must sit."
"Oh, yes," Elizabeth helped her into the armchair. She was surprised she had been standing that long. "Please."
"Did you fancy Rome?"
"It had its spectacles, but it was terribly hot, and of a rather bad stench in the late afternoon," Elizabeth said. "I would not want to spend more time there than I did. The food though was amazing. It is better to live outside, in a villa. Mary?" For she noticed her sister had gone pale. "Mary!"
"It – is probably not nothing. But please, I would appreciate Mama being in a different room from me when you tell her."
It was nearly two cruel days ahead for Mary, to the point where her health became a serious concern, and Doctor Maddox was called in to take a look. "I think the child is merely taking its time. Everything appears fine, Miss Bennet."
"You useless – " and then Mary let loose a stream of Italian unknown in nature to the crowd of women that surrounded her, for Mrs. Maddox had opted out of being at her side, but from Doctor Maddox's reaction what she had said was not particularly polite, because he went red-faced out of the room and did not return.
He was correct in his estimation, for without any complications except the exhausting length of the labor, Mary delivered a healthy baby boy, who she immediately named Joseph, the allusion being obvious. Doctor Maddox insisted that she drink more than she was inclined and be washed, but made no other important medical notations.
With the lack of anyone else, Mr. Bennet knocked on the door and asked to see his grandson, and took the seat beside his daughter. Little Joseph Bennet wailed in his arms as he wiped his chin, and the room was emptied by Elizabeth of everyone but the mother, the grandfather, and she about to excuse herself, but she thought the look on her father's face was too memorable. He loved all of his grandchildren, but the look was positively radiant. Mary was partially asleep and could only have been minimally aware of anything, much less his gentle laughter and tears of joy as he held the boy he would raise in his own roof, the boy who would take his name, his legacy. Of all of the girls, only Mary had given that to him.
Elizabeth did excuse herself, but neither person notice, and she ran right to her room, and found Darcy inside, being dressed for the celebratory dinner. She gave his manservant a look and as he bowed himself away, and Elizabeth ran to her husband and hugged him, who was towering over her more than usual on his dressing stand. "Lizzy?"
"Nothing. I'm just – so happy. For Mary," she said. "And Papa."
"I must admit myself that my opinion of relations beyond marriage have been raised considerably over the last few months." Darcy said, and looking at his wife's expression, immediately added, "Ahem. The relations beyond marriage of other people."
After Mary was out of danger, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy made a trip to Town to settle all of the accounts, and Mr. Bennet went from there to open up Longbourn from his longest absence since the birth of Jane. There he found some of his servants had found other work, and together with his son-in-law saw about hiring new ones and fixing the roof. Mr. Bennet was in such a good mood that he even traveled back to Derbyshire to escort the family home that would be returning.
"You could do some renovations," Darcy suggested.
"Only if Mary requests. It is, after all, her money. Though, I doubt she nor I are equipped to deal with it."
"It should be properly invested," Darcy said. "I would be happy to offer the services of my steward, who is most trustworthy. In addition, the trust fund for Mr. Bennet – Mr. Joseph Bennet – will mature considerably in the seventeen years before he gains access to it. It may be as much as fifty thousand by then."
"Fifty thousand pounds," he said. "Plus Longbourn. All depending on whether Mary remarries, but she has already agreed to raise him as a Bennet despite the name of her future husband, should he ever exist."
"They will be waiting in line, once they hear of her inheritance, however gotten and whatever baggage it brings."
Mr. Bennet could not seem to fathom it all. He shook his head. "Mary merely does not seem the marrying type, or at least, is not willing to put herself on the market just yet, certainly. Maybe in a few years. My pressing concern is now Kitty, who herself is now a prize, to be honest, with ten thousand pounds. Perhaps I should buy her an apartment in Town. She and Georgiana do get along well."
"They do. And Mrs. Maddox's temperance has improved tremendously since her marriage."
To this, Mr. Bennet only smirked in reply.
When they returned to Kirkland, preparations were underway to somehow get all of the infants back to their homes, for anyone had had enough of newborn squealing, except perhaps Lydia, who had finally arrived to greet her new nephew. Joseph was christened in the same chapel as his cousins, as the vicar gave Grégoire a disapproving look for just existing in his bizarre medieval way of his.
After the brunch, Darcy and his brother excused themselves while Elizabeth was still absorbed in her new godson and nephew. They had something to do at Pemberley that concerned no one else.
"Is there something ... we should say? At this point?"
Darcy and Grégoire stood on that bright fall afternoon in front of the gravestone of Geoffrey Darcy, who had died on that very day, seven years before. In the graveyard behind Pemberley, no one would disturb them.
"I'm not a priest, and therefore cannot say a Mass," said Grégoire. "Nor do I have the implements to do so."
"He was ... a wonderful man."
"A loving father."
"An excellent gentlemen. In ... most respects. He did everything in his power to steer me correctly. And you are a hopeless cause anyway."
Grégoire smiled.
"And he did do what was in his power to ... bring us together." Darcy knelt beside the grave. "He taught me everything he knew. Except, how to deal with Mr. Wickham."
"No one told me I was invited."
They turned to the approaching figure, the person in question. Just getting off his horse, still in partial regimental uniforms, was George Wickham.
George Wickham did not consider himself a selfish man. By definition, it would imply that he thought only of himself, and he did not. There were many other people on his mind. Granted, he wasn't always handing out money to others, but he liked to interpret the word to mean he never thought of other people – which he did, quite a lot. For one, his wife was a talker, though he blamed Darcy for that one. Not for making her the country horse that she was, but for forever tying her to him in some kind of sadistic plan of revenge for some perceived slight. Sure, he had courted Darcy's later beau, but he had also been responsible for turning Darcy into the man he was, quite literally, in one night with a fancy lady in Cambridge. And he paid for that out of his own pocket! Never asked for it back! Ungrateful little brat!
All right, so he envied Darcy of Pemberley and Derbyshire. The most prim and proper of men, except when he was drunk, or locked in a room with a whore while drunk, but honestly, most of the stories Wickham knew, he couldn't tell out of fear of self-incrimination. There was one dirty evening Darcy had after Wickham left Cambridge that he had heard of in passing, but never knew the full story, and the only one who knew it was Charles Bingley, the First Mate on the Darcy Ship, and stupidly, stupidly loyal. Emphasis on stupid. He would never get a word from him.
And since, upon becoming Master Darcy of Pemberley, Darcy had been the most upstanding and proper man to the point where Wickham wondered the precise height and width of the stick up his arse. He waited until he was eight and twenty to marry Elizabeth Bennet, a courtship behind it that had such traditional Darcy secrecy that not even that squealing, gossipy wife of his could account for it. Wickham had tried to learn the truth of it himself on the wedding day, only to be rewarded with his last remaining fine suit stained with cow droppings. Darcy would have nothing to do with him, and that was that.
But not everything on Wickham's end could be severed. While technically they were brothers-in-law, he was never permitted entrance to anywhere near Pemberley, even when his wife was, and she so rarely was that it was barely worth trying. And he did, he begrudgedly admitted to himself when he was drunk enough to do so, miss Pemberley. And it was not just the money practically dripping from its ancient walls, either. There had been the happiest years of his life, even after the death of his father, when Mr. Darcy had taken him in and treated him like a king. His son did not show the same kindness. Yes, he'd given him the worth of the living, but surely Darcy had enough intelligence to know he'd lose it all and be crawling back? Why couldn't he just shut up and beg his way back into Pemberley? The plan with Georgiana was a last resort. The plan with Mary King was a last resort of a ... last resort.
Maybe he should have taken the church living. It wasn't as if celibacy was expected of a vicar. But then, he would have to deliver boring sermons. Caught between a rock and a hard place. As if Darcy ever found himself in that position.
He was nibbling on that piece of gristle – and an actual piece of gristle – when a letter arrived from Lydia. She did love to gab, but sometimes it was for his benefit, especially when it involved the Darcys. And this time, it did. It seemed when Lydia had gone to Kirkland to see to the birth of her unmarried sister's bastard child (scandal enough, but not worth a penny in Newcastle), she had also been introduced to a monk who was Darcy's bastard brother. It seemed the senior Mr. Darcy, that they both regarded so highly, had had his own little extramarital dalliances. Perhaps that was why, Wickham pondered as he sped to Pemberley, Mr. Darcy had been gone enough to turn a blind eye to all of the maids he fired for mysteriously becoming "with child" as soon as Wickham learned of the bounty of feminine delights. The old fool was no fool, but he was apparently not practicing what he preached. Mr. Darcy would have made a terrible vicar, as well.
With that consolation, Wickham expertly bypassed the guards and the field workers. He would not be admitted to Pemberley itself. His only hope was to catch Darcy visiting his father's gave on the anniversary of his death. If not, at least he would visit the graves of his own parents, as the private graveyard also included the beloved Wickhams. He hadn't been bothered in years – in fact, he couldn't think of a time he'd seen the stones since the one for his father had gone on, and he'd never known his mother – but it seemed a good a time as any.
But, to his great luck, Darcy was there. He was not alone, but he was not flanked by guards, either. Beside him was a young man, barely more than a boy, in grey monk robes and sandals, his long string of beads hanging off his rope belt, his brown Darcy hair in a ridiculous tonsure. They were probably implemented to make the balding abbots feel better about their hair loss. But the familial resemblance was undeniable, especially when Darcy put his arm over his shoulders as they mourned their father, a rare gesture of affection which made it all the more affectionate. A pang of jealousy struck Wickham. When they were boys, they had been friends, even like brothers. Very young boys, before all the jealousy and rivalry set in. This stupid Papist missed all of the taunts and the spars and the rides and instead had the affection bestowed on him that Darcy probably did with Georgiana. He looked that age, too.
They had not noticed him, but his name showed up in their conversation, and he felt obligated to announce his presence, "No one told me I was invited."
Shock and alarm described Darcy's reaction as Wickham de-horsed and approached him.
"Darcy," Wickham bowed, and turned to the monk. "And I do not believe we have been introduced."
And he did believe, unless Darcy chose to lie outright, the scandal would be revealed now, in front of the grave of the man who had wrecked the family. Or, had potential to. Surely Darcy would put up a sum of money just to keep Wickham's mouth shut about a stain on the house of Pemberley.
By his estimations, it was a great sum of money. And he intended to get every shilling of it.
...Next Chapter - The Darcy Brotherhood