Author's note:
I want to thank all of you for reading my story, and for your kind comments. I appreciate them very much!
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The house was very quiet when she stepped on the hall, and she was glad that she had thought to take a candle with her.
Suddenly, somebody moved in the dark, startling her.
"Forgive me," came the voice of General Fitzwilliam, a little heavy with sleep. A moment later, he stepped into the light emanating from the candle she held. "I did not mean to alarm you. I have been waiting for some time in the hope of learning how Alexander fares."
His face was drawn and pale, even the unharmed side of it seemed creased.
Desdemona shrugged her shoulders. "He is well, given the circumstances. He ate heartily, which is always a good sign. He might still develop a fever, but if he does not by tomorrow morning, he will be truly well."
General Fitzwilliam seemed to deflate at the news, as if suddenly vacated by a great tension. "I am relieved to hear that," he breathed.
"General, let me thank you-" Desdemona began, but was interrupted.
"No, Mrs Evans, do not thank me," the General said, his voice harsh and his face suddenly grim. "For it was me who brought your son into this dangerous situation in the first place."
"You?" Desdemona's voice rose to heights formerly unknown.
"Yes, me. You will remember that a few days ago, I took the boys for a walk along the stream. I told them stories of how Darce and I would fish there as boys, and how the current would sometimes dig holes into the bank. When the servants would then regulate the brook, little caves would remain, which served as the perfect hiding places to me and my cousin."
He ran a hand through his already very dishelved hair, and looked at Desdemona to gauge her reaction. She remained very still however, not moving a muscle.
"I had no idea that he would go and look for those little caves. When the children played hide and seek today, he used one of them to hide himself. Of course, I told Darcy of our walk along the stream, and we searched the banks, but we did not find him, neither did he answer our calls. He had fallen asleep, and only woke hours later, finding he was soaking wet and shivering. I cannot describe the relieve I felt when we finally heard a tiny shivering voice answer our calls."
For a moment, they looked at each other in silence.
The General did not see Desdemona's hand before he felt it connect with his face, it came quickly and stealthily out of the shadows the little flame in her other hand conjured.
"I think I deserved this," he conceded.
She hit him again, harder now, and because she held the candle in her left hand, her right one connected very painfully with the mangled side of his face.
Desdemona took two measured steps forward, until they stood close enough for him to feel the folds of her dress brush against his legs. Menacingly, she brought the candle up and held it very close to his face, the flickering light painting fleeting, grotesque shadows on both their faces. Her eyes however, the General noticed, needed no light to sparkle. They held a frightening glow of their own.
"If you ever, ever endanger a child of mine again," she said, her voice pressed as if striving for control, "I will not answer for my actions." It was not a threat, it was a declaration.
She made to brush past him, but his voice stilled her.
"You do not order me to stay away from him?" His astonishment was palpable.
Her eyes blazed. "Alexander seems, for reasons unknown, to consider you his friend. And I would not want to punish him!"
Richards scar twitched. It was the only movement between them.
All of a sudden, his lips were on hers, with neither of them knowing, or caring, how they had gotten there. Instantly, she answered the kiss, and willingly bent her body to his, when his hands grabbed her waist to pull her closer.
Then next moment, they were in his chamber, the candle forgotten on the bedside table.
Her still wet dress was not flexible enough to withstand the urgency with which she was peeled out of it, and tore in several places. Neither of them paid it any heed. The General's clothes were made short work of, as well.
Finally on the bed, they came together with a desperation, a longing born from emotions pent up far too long. The events of the day had made their carefully erected protections burst.
–
The next morning, General Fitzwilliam woke from a pounding sound in his head. Sleepily, he turned around, and almost fell out of bed. He had slept dangerously close to the edge.
The reason why he had not slept in the middle as was his habit, came back to him with a rush. He whipped around, but found the other half of his bed unoccupied. Richard Fitzwilliam stared hard while the pounding in his head was doubled, but the linens stayed empty.
"Richard, I am coming in now!"
Darcy's voice, muffled by the heavy wooden door, made Fitzwilliam aware that the pounding was not at all in his head, but at the door to this chamber.
Hounded, he looked around for tell tale signs of Desdemona's presence in his chambers, but there were none, which was well as Mr Darcy opened the door this very moment.
"Richard," he said to his cousin sitting up in bed, "an express rider arrived from Matlock this morning. Tyndale has had an accident with his horse in the rain yesterday, they want you present."
If he found it odd that his cousin would sleep bare-chested, Mr Darcy did not show it.
He did show some embarrassment, however, when said cousin jumped out from under the covers, wearing nothing but the shock which registered on his face.
"Is he badly hurt?" the General asked, and began looking for his cane.
"The letter only said that he is hurt, and that you should come as quickly as possible. Richard, do get dressed!" Darcy added, with a blush rising on his neck, when his cousin stopped to look at him. Closing his eyes, so that he would not longer have to try to not stare at Fitzwilliam, he said, "I have already given order to have a carriage prepared, Elizabeth is packing a breakfast basket for you. If you want, you can be on the road immediately – immediately after you found yourself some clothes, that is."
Slowly, as if waking from a dream, General Fitzwilliam looked down at himself, hastily gave up the search for his cane, and grabbed his shirt from where it hung on the bedpost. It was long enough to cover at least the most important parts of his body.
"That is better," Darcy sighed. "I will see you downstairs," he added, already almost out of the door.
Shaking his head, General Fitzwilliam finally rang the bell for his valet, and prepared for the journey to Matlock.
His mind was torn between worry about his brother, and thoughts of Desdemona.
–
When Desdemona woke, it was still dark outside. Fully aware of the mistake she had made, she snuggled closer to the General's sleeping form, breathed his fragrance, felt his skin touch hers.
Whatever had possessed her? Whatever had possessed her to behave in such a way? Anne's suggestion that she may consider the General her own came to mind.
Well, whatever her hopes and dreams might have been, she dared not explore. After her actions during the night, she could not expect the General to be favourably disposed towards her, so it was better not to dig too deep into her own feelings. Should she find that she would like the General very much to be favourably disposed towards her, her heart must certainly break.
With a determination she did not feel, Desdemona placed one last, gentle kiss on the General's skin, and wriggled out of the bed, mindful not to wake him.
The darkness was no help in searching her clothes, her candle had long since burned down. At last, however, she believed that nothing was left, and crept to the door.
For a second, her heart constricted with fear that somebody might be out in the hall, but she could definitely not stay. So she left.
Thankfully, the hall was empty, the soft ray of moonlight coming in from a window at the far end helped her finding her own room. Quickly, without ringing for her maid, she threw on a dress, found a candle and softly walked down to Alexander's room.
Full of self-reproach, she opened the door just wide enough to squeeze in. Alexander was sleeping deeply, and Anne was still sitting in the armchair she had occupied the night before. She, too had fallen asleep, with a book open in her lap, a candle burning beside her.
At Desdemona's entrance she woke with a little start, and opened her mouth to fling something impertinent at her friend, in return for her lengthened absence. The look on Desdemona's face, however, made her close her mouth again, words unsaid. She half rose out of her chair, raising an enquiring eyebrow.
Desdemona only shook her head, and crawled into the bed, embracing her son. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and Anne made as if to speak again at the sight. With a sad smile that did not quite reach her eyes, however, Desdemona shook her head one more time. She drew her son closer to her, and placed her head on the pillow next to his.
Though Anne was at a total loss to explain the state Desdemona was in, she understood the need to be with her son. Assuming correctly that Desdemona wanted privacy, Anne quietly left the room.
Upon her return to her chamber she found no sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she was haunted by pictures of Desdemona's drawn face, and her sad smile.
Thus, she was already up and about when General Fitzwilliam came down to the breakfast room, where he collected the basket Elizabeth had prepared for him.
To Anne, he looked drawn as well, and tired. He definitely had not gotten much sleep last night. Could he and Desdemona somehow have met in the hall, when she went to change her dress? Could they have argued? But how? And about what?
Her questions were to be left unanswered for the moment, however, as her cousin was presently taking his leave, sent on his way with wishes of a speedy recovery for the Viscount, curtsey of Elizabeth. Darcy showed up then, taking the General out to the front, where a carriage was waiting.
"Elizabeth," Anne said with urgency in her voice when the door of the breakfast room had closed behind the two men, "do you not think Richard looked exceptionally ill this morning?"
"I attributed it to the worry he must feel for his brother," Elizabeth said lightly, choosing her own breakfast from the buffet. "However, now that you mention it..."
"Desdemona-" Anne began, but was interrupted by the entrance of her Cousin Darcy. What she had to relate was not for a man's ears, so she left the rest unsaid. Elizabeth seemed to understand, however, and almost imperceptibly nodded at Anne, before she turned to her husband.
"Have you seen Richard off?" she said to dissolve the awkwardness Anne's abrupt silence had caused.
"I closed the carriage door on him," Mr Darcy answered, with a strange look at Anne, which was duly ignored. Trusting that his wife would inform him if anything was truly amiss, he decided not to comment on his cousin's odd behaviour. "I am under the impression that he would prefer to ride, as he would be much faster on horseback than in the carriage. Alas, his leg does not allow for it." He stood next to his wife, plate in hand, and viewed the selection.
"He cannot ride at all any more?" Anne asked, not having moved from where she stood, halfway between the table and the buffet.
"He can ride," her Cousin Darcy answered, without turning around. "But only at a slow pace, a trot is almost more than Richard can manage, and a gallop is completely out of the question."
"If you put it that way, he will be faster by carriage," Elizabeth said, taking her now full plate to the table.
"He could not ride all the way to Matlock, even at a walk. He cannot stay in a saddle for long," Darcy informed her, also taking a seat. "Anne, will you not eat something?"
"Huh? Oh, yes." Anne picked up a plate and tried to decide between toast and muffins.
"Poor Richard," she continued, finally taking both. "I think I remember that he went for a good, long ride often when you visited Rosings together." She took her place at the table with her cousins.
Mr Darcy nodded. "Richard was an avid horseman. It nearly broke my heart when he asked me to come to the stables with him, as he did not want to be alone when he went to try what was left of his ability to ride. Sometimes I think this was the moment he realised how far exactly the consequences of his injuries reached."
"I remember that he was close to despair when you returned to the house that day," Elisabeth mentioned. "I had never seen him such before, and not after."
Darcy nodded. "You must understand," he said, looking first at his wife and then at his cousin, "that the ability to ride a horse means some measure of freedom for a man. It is a sign of his independence, his being a man of his own. When we were finally old enough to ride our horses where we wanted, without being accompanied by an adult, or at least a footman, Richard relished the feeling. As a second son, and knowing that his family could not do much about a settlement for him, he knew he would never enjoy the freedom Tyndale or I would eventually grow into."
"He must have felt truly crippled when it was clear that he would be a horseman no longer." Anne's voice was quiet.
They said nothing for a few moments.
"Forgive me," Anne exclaimed suddenly, "how is Michael?"
Elizabeth smiled and sighed at the same time. "He is well, but I am afraid he has caught a cold. He was sneezing violently when he woke up this morning. His temperature is high, but I do not think it will rise to a real fever. I meant to ask Mrs Evans to have a look at him, and perhaps we could send for the apothecary later. I also meant to ask about Alexander. Do you know something of him?"
"I sat with him for some time tonight," Anne answered, careful not to let slip any details, "when Desdemona changed out of her wet dress. I left him sleeping peacefully when she returned. I do not know how he fares this morning, but Desdemona did not seem overly concerned with his state, once the initial excitement was over."
"This is good to hear. I think I will go to her now, I can as well ask her if she would like to have a tray sent up."
"Let me go," Anne offered hastily, when Elizabeth made to rise. She did not know if Desdemona had had the opportunity to collect herself, and did not want to expose her friend, not even to Elizabeth. Her cousin would be treated to an abbreviated version of the events, there would be time for this later. "If you do not mind, I will take something to eat with me directly."
"Not at all," Elizabeth conceded, properly sitting down again.
Quickly, Anne prepared a tray for Desdemona and put some things for Alexander on top of it.
"What exactly was this about?" Darcy asked of his wife when the door of the breakfast room had been closed behind his cousin.
–
Anne found Desdemona and Alexander awake, the latter greeting the prospect of food with alacrity.
Desdemona seemed quiet, but the torrent of feelings so apparent in her face last night was under good regulation now.
"How are we this morning, Mr Adventurer?" Anne asked lightly.
"Fine!" Alexander cried, followed by a mighty sneeze.
"Ah, I see," Anne laughed, "you seem to be stricken by the same illness your cousin Michael suffers from. Do you have a fever?"
"Fortunately not," Desdemona answered for her son, who had turned his attention to the tray Anne had placed on his lap. "He is a little warm, though."
"Elizabeth reported exactly the same of Michael over breakfast. She wondered if she should call for the apothecary later."
Desdemona shrugged her shoulders. "If nothing changes for the worse, Alexander will be fine with a few days in bed, and some herbal tea." Alexander grimaced at that, but did not comment as his mouth was full of toast.
"I cannot say for Michael, though, without having seen him. If Elizabeth agrees, I can have a look at him."
"She meant to ask you if you would." Anne said.
Desdemona nodded.
"Why do you not go now? I will keep this one company if you wish."
A haunted look crossed Desdemona's face. What if she met him? It was inconceivable.
"Darcy and Elizabeth are downstairs in the breakfast room," Anne said conversationally, while stealing a bit of muffin from her nephew's plate. "Richard has left for Matlock. Apparently, a messenger arrived this morning with a note from his mother, asking him to come home. Tyndale has suffered a fall from his horse."
For a moment, Desdemona let an acute feeling of relief wash through her, which was promptly followed by longing. Resolutely, she repressed it. He was gone, which was just as well. She would have melted into the floor out of sheer embarrassment, had she been forced to face him again. Now she would have time to compose herself, and prepare for an eventual meeting, where they could treat each other as the common, indifferent acquaintances they were.
With a thankful smile at Anne, Desdemona left the room in search of Elizabeth.
She found her at Michael's bedside. The boy was sneezing as she entered, but did not feel any warmer than Alexander. It seemed that both of the boys would be getting off cheaply.
After a brief discussion, they decided not to call the apothecary. Mrs Reynolds was advised to prepare certain herbal teas for them, and a few days of bed rest should do the trick.
As both of the boys were not at all amused by the prospect of staying in bed for the next few days, the two mothers laughingly decided that their sons should share the sickroom. Needless to say, Alexander and Michael were thrilled.
"You do realise that they will get no sleep at all," Elizabeth said to Desdemona, when finally everything was arranged.
"Of course not," Desdemona agreed. "But hopefully a few days of happy companionship will dampen the memories of being lost in the forest, so that they remember their escapade as nothing worse than a great adventure."
Elizabeth smiled. "I think they are already on a very good way."
Desdemona nodded.
–
The following days passed quietly, without any greater tragedies happening. Though the rain stopped soon, the ladies could not return to their habit of taking tea in the garden, however. Autumn had finally arrived in its full force, and strong winds blew over the hills and valleys.
They stayed in the parlour now, and put a blanket on the floor for little Helena to crawl around to her heart's content. Frequently, one of them had to jump up and catch her before she could get too far away, or become stuck under a piece of furniture.
"Michael was much more sedate," Elizabeth commented on one such occasion, when Desdemona had just pulled the girl out from under a display cabinet.
"If I am not completely mistaken," Desdemona answered, placing Helena back on her blanket, "this one will walk in no time."
"I am all astonishment that she learned to crawl so fast," Anne said, when Desdemona took her place at the sofa again. "Just think, a week ago she had yet to figure out how to lift her belly from the floor, and now she is up and gone before you know it!"
Carefully, she extended a dainty foot to block the baby's path. "See?" The ladies laughed.
News from Matlock had also been good. The Viscount Tyndale had been out riding when he, too, had been surprised by the rain. He immediately headed home, but his stallion lost its footing on a rather steep and rocky passage. Horse and rider fell together, landing in a tangled mess of limbs and leather.
Luckily, a carter passing at the foot of the hill had seen it all, and was able to help immediately. He loaded the Viscount on his cart, and conveyed him to Matlock. The apothecary who was hastily called found a badly sprained ankle, and possibly a broken rib or two, and strict bed rest was administered.
For the time being, General Fitzwilliam stayed with his family, and Mr Darcy had ridden over to visit with his injured cousin.
Although Alexander and Michael were recovering nicely from the after-effects of their adventure in the rain, and their days were spent in peaceful employment, Desdemona had not seemed anything close to calm.
Anne was worried about her friend, to the extent that she had confided in Elizabeth two days ago. Desdemona seemed absent most of the time, even though she took an obvious effort to behave normally. At times, she would do nothing but stand at a window and look over the beautiful, but rather wet Pemberley gardens. If addressed, she would answer brusquely on such occasions, always apologising immediately afterwards. She spent a lot of time with her children, and was more than restless if unoccupied.
Anne was of the opinion that Desdemona tried very hard to forget about something, something very important.
In their quiet conversation, Elizabeth and Anne had decided to ask Desdemona over tea outright about what had her so preoccupied. Even to Elizabeth, who did not know her very well, her distraction was just as obvious as the fact that Desdemona was not happy.
Anne threw Elizabeth a prompting look, earning nothing but a shrug. Anne sighed, obviously, they should have discussed who should open the conversation, and how.
Well, someone had to do it, Anne decided, and once more gave proof of her parentage. "I will no longer bear with your mood, Desdemona. You will tell us this instant what bothers you so."
Elizabeth coughed into her tea cup.
Desdemona said nothing at first, but set her cup back on the saucer and placed both on the table at her right. With a smile fixed to her face, she turned to Anne. "I do not have the pleasure of understanding you," she said, unnaturally sedate.
"You cannot be at a loss to know what I am talking about!" Anne exclaimed, eliciting an unladylike snort from Elizabeth. Anne, not seeing the joke, shot her a look designed to call her to order.
Desdemona looked from one to the other. "I do not know what you are up to, but you can leave off now. I am well."
"Look into my eyes and say that again!" Anne challenged.
Still very calm, Desdemona turned her upper body to Anne, fixed her eyes on her and said, "I am well." She managed to hold Anne's stare without a blink.
"Barefaced liar!" Anne shot back.
"Anne!" Desdemona's armour had the first crack, Elizabeth noted, pleased.
"Desdemona," she said, her tone of voice a lot calmer than Anne's, "we are worried about you."
"You need not be," Desdemona answered promptly, turning her back to Anne. "I am truly well."
"Desdemona! I can see that you are not!" Anne threw in, put out by her friend's continued denial.
"You have lately become an expert for other people's feelings? I am sorry, I did not know." Desdemona's voice cut the air like a knife. "I think I will check on the boys now." With that, she stood from the sofa.
"Desdemona Pratt Evans!" Anne jumped to her feet as well, and clasped Desdemona's arm. Desdemona froze, still with her back to Anne.
"Ever since you left Alexander's room that night, you are not yourself."
"I am as much of myself as I ever was!" Desdemona tore away, stooped to pick up a protesting Helena and was headed for the window before she was fully upright again. At least, her instinct to flee was silenced for the moment.
Before Anne could issue another reproach, Elizabeth asked, "Is it something to do with Richard?"
They heard Desdemona sharply draw breath, but no other reaction was forthcoming.
"Desdemona please!" Anne's formerly commanding voice was now dangerously close to wailing.
With a momentum which made her skirts fly, Desdemona turned around. Both ladies were taken aback by her fury, the grim set of her mouth and the fire blazing in her eyes.
"I met him in the hall that night." Desdemona's voice was a low growl. "He had the audacity to apologise for endangering Alexander, apparently it was him who told my son of the holes which sometimes form in the banks of the stream. I slapped him, twice, very hard."
"And there I thought you liked each other," Elizabeth commented.
"Suddenly we kissed, and then we went to his room. We were together like husband and wife that night!"
Dead silence dropped between them, Desdemona's laboured breathing was the only sound in the room, even baby Helena kept very still in Desdemona's arms.
"Are you content now?" Desdemona asked, hurt paramount in her voice. "It no longer matters whether I like him or not. He will have nothing to do with me after I behaved so abominably."
The three women looked at each other, two shocked, and one determined. Suddenly, without a word of warning, Desdemona turned and walked out the door.
This time, neither Anne nor Elizabeth tried to stop her. Desdemona had spoken in utter desperation.
–
"Pardon me?" General Fitzwilliam had not known, prior to this day, that his Cousin Darcy's voice could hit such high notes.
"We spent half the night in my room."
"But you did not... you did NOT...!"
"Darcy, of course we did!"
In a rare moment of weakness, Fitzwilliam Darcy sunk down on a chair.
Impatiently shaking his head, General Fitzwilliam turned to pour Darcy some of the Earl's fine brandy, which always sat ready on a side table in Matlock's library, whither the two of them had withdrawn for private conversation. He placed the glass into Darcy's hands and prepared a second one for himself.
The cousins, always as close as brothers, looked at each other wordlessly for a split second, and simultaneously drowned the contents of their glasses in one gulp.
The General promptly refilled their glasses, and then sat down in a chair opposite his cousin. This time, the gentlemen took the time to enjoy their drinks.
"Whatever did you think that night?" Darcy finally asked, incredulous.
Richard shook his head. "Nothing much, I must admit."
"Well, that certainly explains your state of undress when I came to wake you the next morning."
The General only nodded.
"How in the world did that happen?" Darcy asked, urgently. "It goes without saying that I never expected something like that from you of all people, but neither does the Widow Evans strike me as such a woman."
"You will not insult her!" the General exclaimed, half rising out of his chair.
Darcy stilled him with a raised hand. "I did not mean to," he said, in a placatory tone. "It is just- Well, it is hard to imagine either of you would... Oh goodness, and under my own roof!"
"I am certainly prepared to do the honourable thing," the General stated, a little put out.
Darcy nodded. "That might be best."
"I am not quite sure, Darce." The Generals gaze was fixed on the twirling liquid in his glass as he spoke. "I do not know if, in tying her to me, I would do her an actual favour. She intends to consider a second marriage only for reasons of the deepest love."
"That sounds exactly like something the Widow Evans would say," interrupted a third voice.
Darcy and the General turned to the speaker, shock evident on their faces.
"Tyndale!" Darcy found his voice first. "Are you sure you should be up and about?"
The Viscount waved his cousin's concern away. "I was growing bored alone in my room, so I borrowed one of Richard's canes and here I am!" Despite his brave words, he plopped into a winged chair with audible relief.
"Will one of you get me a drink, please?"
Darcy rose to perform the service.
"How long have you been listening?" General Fitzwilliam did not look at his brother.
"Long enough. Thank you Darcy."
When all three of them were seated again, he continued, "I know that you and I have never been close, little brother, whereas the two of you were always inseparable."
Darcy as well as Fitzwilliam made to speak, but Tyndale shook his head. "No, it is all right. I admit that I envied your closeness at some point, but I realise now that we were simply too different in personality to be really close, Richard. However, this does not mean that I do not care about you, little brother."
He turned to Darcy. "You know why he insisted on going to Spain himself?"
Before Darcy could answer, Fitzwilliam interjected, "No, Edward!" but the Viscount shook his head. "I am trying to help you, Richard. Well, Darcy?"
"I must admit that I never really understood why you left England, Richard."
"He was in love with your wife."
"What?!" Darcy was at his feet in no time.
"Do sit down, Darcy, you stand awfully tall," the Viscount ordered. Darcy sat.
"It is all over now, am I not right? You went to Spain to banish her from your thoughts, and it worked, did it not?"
"I fell in love with Elizabeth at Rosings," the General explained to his brandy, "but I could not afford her, so I did not court her. I thought nothing much of it, an infatuation, certainly nothing serious. I only realized how much I loved her when your engagement was announced."
"Richard..."
"No, Darcy, all is well. You are perfect for her, and she for you."
"Pity that you had to have yourself halfway shot to death before you came to that conclusion," Tyndale put in.
The General shrugged. "Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had actually died in Spain, but then everything in me revolts against that thought." He shrugged again, helplessly.
"Why ever should you think that?" Darcy asked, perplexed.
The General shrugged again. "Look at me, Darce. You are the only person to have seen me unclad in years.-"
"I do NOT want to know how that came about!" Viscount Tyndale seemed scandalized.
Matching grins appeared on the faces of Darcy and Fitzwilliam. "Actually," the former said, "it was you who made it happen."
The Viscount's eyes widened, until his brother was sure that they must fall out of their sockets this instant.
"Be that as it may," the General picked up his tale again, "just think, Darcy. Before the war I was a poor second son of an Earl, with nothing but his name to give. I know that I never had your looks either, Darcy, but now I am a poor second son of an Earl with nothing to give but his name, and a marred body on top of that. Say that I am not, Darcy," he challenged, when Darcy looked as if he would protest.
Darcy opened his mouth, but closed it without saying a word, which the General acknowledged with a nod.
"I know that Mother and Father would like to see me married, but I cannot imagine forcing this wreck of a man on a young, innocent girl."
"You had no such trouble with the Widow Evans," Tyndale pointed out.
Shaking his head impatiently, the General answered, "I admit I have been thinking along those lines. After all, as a widow with children, she knows what is expected of a wife."
"What made you stop thinking along those lines?" Tyndale was only minimally faster than Darcy.
"As I said, she will only marry for love."
"But you love her!" Darcy was fast enough this time. "You may say that marriage to Elizabeth made me sentimental, but I have seen how you look at her! And this one evening in the drawing room, you told her about Spain, did you not?"
Fitzwilliam nodded.
"You never speak about the Peninsula, to nobody, even I do not know everything."
With a sigh, Fitzwilliam emptied the last of his brandy. "Well, I like her very much, I grant you that. But that does not say that she likes me."
"I think she does."
Fitzwilliam gave an inarticulate little cry, and rose from his seat.
"Have you not been listening, Edward? Where is that damned cane? I cannot even pace at will, without aid! Where is it? Thank you, Darce. See? How could she possibly-"
Pausing, the General walked away a few steps. "How could I possibly tie her to such a cripple?" he said, much softer.
"If I have learned one thing," Darcy said and took the decanter from the side table, "it is that one should not presume, least of all when women are involved."
The Viscount nearly laughed out loud at that.
"Hold still, Tyndale, I want to top off your glass. What I am saying is that you should give Mrs Evans a chance to decide. Maybe she would be amendable to being tied to you." He would not call his cousin a cripple. "Will you take another one?"
"Yes, he will," Tyndale answered for his brother. "By the way, I gather that you did not actually force her into your chambers, little brother, so I must say Darcy is right. And this is why I think that you are wrong in your supposition that you proposing would not actually be doing her a favour."
"You might be correct, but before you two become all smug, how can her supposed regard for me have survived that night?"
Tyndale and Darcy looked at each other.
"He might just be right here," the Viscount informed Darcy, who nodded.
"Yet, if he does not offer to do the honourable thing, she might be lost to him beyond a chance."
"Hello, you two, I am right here," Fitzwilliam said sarcastically.
"Imagine what she might feel if Richard does not show himself prepared to take on responsibility for the consequences of his actions?"
They all sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, until their eyes widened simultaneously.
"Consequences!" The Viscount's cry was dangerously close to a squeak.
Overcome by a sudden weakness, the General sunk into the winged chair he had previously vacated. "What if I got her with child?"
"Who is with child?" the Earl boomed from the library door.
"I suggest we reconsider our decision to retire to the library for confidential conversation, Richard," Darcy stated dryly.
The General was too shocked to speak. He simply stared at his father, eyes wide.
"Well?" asked the Earl, turning to his eldest son, as his youngest seemed occupied with imitating a fish, presently.
"Mrs Evans," the Viscount answered automatically, sounding like a small boy who was in for trouble, and knew it.
"The Widow Evans? How so?" the Earl wanted to know, visibly confused.
"Well, apparently, Richard and Mrs Evans..." Darcy now.
Viscount Tyndale was very astonished about the shade of red his father's head was able to assume without bursting. Heavily, the Earl sunk into the fourth chair.
"Do hand me some of that brandy, Darcy, my boy," he breathed. Darcy promptly did as bid, the Earl accepted the glass, knocked it back and held it out for more.
"While I would not," he spoke at last, "consider the Widow Evans a proper wife for my son, I was of the opinion that you knew better than to take advantage of somebody of her standing. What have you to say in your defence?"
General Fitzwilliam finally looked his father in the eye. "I love her, sir."
"Awfully strange way of showing love, that. You will have to propose marriage to her now, even though you could have done better. A widow-"
"You will not insult her, sir, in my presence." The General's voice was firm now. "I will not stand for it." Piqued, he strode out of the room, head held high, trying not to show his limp overly much.
"Sir," Viscount Tyndale engaged the attention of his father, "I can understand why you are not thinking of her as suitable, however, I would like to present another point of view to you."
The Earl nodded, graciously. There was no denying his relation to Lady Catherine.
"Simply taken as the widow of Dr Evans of London, Mrs Evans might not be what you have hoped for in Richard's wife. Yet, she is not as unsuitable as you think. Her dowry was substantial upon her marriage, and has been augmented by her husband upon his death, as Dr Evans was not at all a poor army doctor. He had enough money at his disposal to call himself "gentleman of leisure" had he wished to do so, his son may definitely be a gentlemen."
"In understand from Anne," Darcy put in, "that Dr Evans did not intend for his son to take up a profession. Mrs Evans has employed a master for her son, as well as a governess for her daughter. Alexander is supposed to go to Eton when he is old enough, and later to Cambridge. Mrs Evans acts much as my friend Bingley's father did."
"She intends to give her son a gentlemen's education, and is having her daughter raised as a gentlewoman. Of course, the bulk of the Evans fortune will go to the son, and a respectable dowry has been set aside for the daughter, yet Mrs Evans herself has fifty thousand pounds to her name. And she is a Pratt. Whatever the scum that married Anne might have been, the Pratts are an old, respectable family; have been, at least."
"How do you know all this? She is the daughter of an actress!"
"Richard shared the findings of his man in London, when we had her investigated. Besides, that actress was properly married to old Mr Pratt, long before Mrs Evans came along. No, sir," he said, when the Earl wanted to disagree, "please let me finish."
At the Earl's nod he continued. "Secondly, there is Richard. He no longer sees himself as a good marriage prospect, and I understand his point: He can hardly be comfortable with a young wife, innocent in the ways of the world."
"Oh, please, not you, too!" The Earl could not keep still. "A son of an Earl is very well worth a few scars!"
"Pardon me, sir, but have you seen your son without a shirt, lately?" Darcy asked, in his usual rational way. "No? I thought so. I did, not a week ago, and I, too can understand his concern."
With a gesture, Lord Matlock bade his son continue, no longer arguing the point.
"Mrs Evans is not only a skilled nurse, who has seen much in Spain, she is also a widow with children, one can suppose she knows quite well what is expected of her."
"And apparently," the Earl mused sarcastically, "she has not objected to the rehearsal of her wifely duties."
"Apparently not," Edward conceded. "Thirdly-"
"There is more?!" the Earl exclaimed.
"Yes sir, one last point. I have the strongest reason to believe Richard in love with Mrs Evans."
"Love is fleeting."
"As fleeting as the love between my parents?" Darcy asked. "To be frank, I took their marriage as something to aspire to in my choice of partner in life."
The Earl smiled a small smile, even after all those years. It was a well-known secret that his sister's marriage had been a love match, Anne had once vowed to never even think about entering the married state with a man who was not George Darcy of Pemberley. Fortune and family of the man in question were adequate, and even though the late Earl of Matlock had hoped for a titled husband for his youngest, he had yielded to the wishes of his favourite child. When Anne Darcy was laid to rest a little over a decade after her wedding, her husband's love was undiminished.
"Well, boys, I will think about it." With that, the present Earl of Matlock pulled his thoughts together, emptied his glass and left the younger men to their own devices.
"Now there is only one question left," the Viscount said to Mr Darcy. "How in the Deuce's name did you come to see Richard naked?"
–
"Richard?" the Earl asked, entering his youngest son's chamber without knocking. In his opinion, a little rudeness was excusable, as long as it made Richard talk to him.
"Father," came the emotionless answer from the vicinity of the fireplace.
"May I come in?"
General Fitzwilliam shrugged. "As you already are come in, the question is moot."
The Earl sighed. Dinner had been a subdued affair, even though his eldest, together with Darcy, had tried their best to lighten the mood.
"I have come to talk to you," the Earl said, putting the decanter and glasses he had brought on the table strategically placed between the two winged chairs in front of the mantelpiece. With a small sigh, he sat in the second chair, and began to serve the amber liquid.
"Here, son, take a glass."
Richard accepted the drink with a nod, but kept silent.
"Edward and Darcy assure me that you like Mrs Evans." Lord Matlock opened the conversation, after each of them had taken a sip. "They also assure me that she will make you a very suitable wife, in more than one respect."
General Fitzwilliam leaned his head back against his chair, and opened his mouth to speak, but his father was quicker.
"I have come to apologise, Richard." The Earls voice was very quiet, with an earnest undertone. Fitzwilliam's head shot up, he stared at his father, too surprised to speak.
Seeing his son's reaction, Lord Matlock gave a small humourless chuckle. "You did not expect this of your old man, did you? No, do not speak, I know you did not. How could you?" Pausing in his speech, he took another sip.
"I apologise for not paying more attention to you. Until you have children of your own, you cannot imagine what the message that you had been injured on the Peninsula did to your parents. The cursed letter did not say much, only that you would be brought to London, that you were fighting for your life, and that we should organize medical treatment for you. We had no idea, that by the time the letter reached us here at Matlock, you had already arrived in London, and that your health had already improved considerably. That trip down to Town was the worst in my life, and I do not care for a repetition. I never knew that your mother had so many tears."
Richard had become very pale at his father's words. "Why are you telling me this, now?"
"I hope to make you understand. When we finally found you in that military hospital, we were more than relieved to see you alive, and mending. However," Lord Matlock hid a sigh with another sip, "it broke your mother's heart that you were so changed. Physically, you recovered nicely, but your character seemed irrevocably altered."
He gave another flat laugh. "You might reproach me for being overbearing since you were breeched, but I realise now that I have become worse after your return from Spain. Had I been more attentive to your interactions with Mrs Evans, I would have known how you became attached to her. It is all so very clear now, in hindsight. Instead, I brushed her away. I am sorry, son."
Silence descended as father and son nursed their brandies, each of them lost in their own thoughts.
"What are you going to do now?" The Earl asked finally, questioningly holding the decanter in Richard's direction before topping off his own drink.
The General shrugged. "I will do the honourable thing. I will go to Pemberley and ask her to become my wife. I am wondering, however, whether or not I should speak to her of love."
"You should, son. Call me soft, but a good marriage must be built on honesty, and nothing else. I hear she intends to marry for love, so you should let her know that you are not indifferent to her."
General Fitzwilliam nodded, but kept silent.
"Darcy will return home tomorrow. Go with him, I will wait for an express rider with good news."
"So you will accept her as your daughter-in-law? You and mother will receive her?"
"We will. After my discussion with your brother and cousin I went to speak to the only person on earth who would not baulk before me – your mother. Strictly, Mrs Evans's station in life is not what we would have hoped for in your wife, there is no denying that fact. However, she is far from nobody, and if she can make you happy, if she can bring back your joie de vivre, she is good enough for us. Yes, we will receive her, with all honours due to your wife."
"Let us hope I am good enough for her." The Generals loop sided grin twitched, "for I have nothing more to give."
"And here you are wrong, son." At the General's raised eyebrow, the Earl smiled an enigmatic smile.
"Unfortunately, there is hardly anything I can do for you in terms of a monetary settlement, you know the terms of the entail of the Matlock estate as well as I do. However, there is a back door. Your cousin Darcy helped me to find it, he is a very shrewd businessman. You might remember that I took your mother on a journey, shortly after you were well enough to leave your sickbed? We went to look at a small estate. It is called Glassmere, located approximately half a day's carriage ride from either Matlock and Pemberley. We intended to settle it on you upon your marriage."
"You will give me an estate as a wedding present?"
"Do not get your hopes up too far, Richard. The back door Darcy found in the entail does not allow for much, so Glassmere is in a rather sad state, the main house is tiny, and the tenants need a firm hand, as there has been no master for too long. Still, the soil is fertile, and if you take an effort, Glassmere might earn a clear two thousand pounds per annum after a few years of hard work."
"You will give me an estate as a wedding present?" The General repeated.
His father smiled. "I always found it more than unfair that things were settled so oddly, we could not even forward your mother's initial dowry to you." The Earl shrugged. "Now we can give you at least something."
"A home, which has not to be financed by my wife's money."
"Exactly. Please keep in mind that Glassmere is nothing grand at all. If all goes well, you might be a country squire just like Mr Bennet, come time.
The General nodded silently. The news had given him very much to think about.
"So tomorrow, you will leave for Pemberley with Darcy, and Glassmere will not only finally gain a master, but also a mistress. Good luck, son."
The Earl stood, emptied the last of his brandy, and went to the door.
"Father?"
The Earl paused, his hand already on the handle. "Richard?"
"Thank you."
The Earl nodded, and in a moment of genuine male understanding which necessitated no words, he left his son's chambers.
–
"What do you mean, she left?" Darcy cried, when his wife Elizabeth and his cousin Anne broke the news to General Fitzwilliam and him, upon their arrival at Pemberley.
"She quit Pemberley on the day before yesterday," Elizabeth said, wringing her hands.
"She would not be detained!" Anne exclaimed, clearly displeased. "She simply packed up her things one evening, and announced that her carriage had been ordered over breakfast the next day!"
"What the hell happened?" Fitzwilliam wanted to know.
Anne and Elizabeth kept silent, looking at each other.
"What have you done to her?" Darcy asked sharply, instantly wary. The look which had passed between his cousin and wife could not have been a good sign.
"Well," Anne began, but did not finish.
"We tried to find out what was had caused her altered behaviour," Elizabeth said, finally.
"Apparently, without success," Darcy stated drily.
"Oh, we were very successful," Anne exclaimed, "we found out what bothered her well enough!" She shot her Fitzwilliam cousin a tell tale glance, which made him pale.
"We might have been a tad bit insensitive, though," Elizabeth hedged, throwing Anne a sideways glance.
"You forced her confidence," Darcy sighed, suddenly understanding.
"Well, I would not so use so strong an expression, but all in all, your assumption is correct," Anne answered, contrite.
"Where is she now?" The General asked into the sudden silence.
"She would not tell, but we think she might be gone to London. She has no other home, after all," Elizabeth said.
"We discussed following her, but came to the conclusion that she should not be followed by one of us," Anne explained, this time with a significant glance at General Fitzwilliam.
"This might be best," Darcy said, pensively. "You can have no hope of catching up with her still on the road, but you might call on her in London."
"I will," the General said, with determination in his voice.
–
When the General arrived in London, however, all his determination came to naught. Mrs Evans was not at home, had not been since she left for Derbyshire.
None of the extended Fitzwilliam clan had any idea where she might be, so all that was left to do was wait. Anne returned to London in November, the Darcys followed by early December, only days after Lord and Lady Matlock had settled in their town house. Of Mrs Evans, however, there was no trace.
To say that Anne was worried, would be an understatement, and come January, she was frantic. Tyndale had long since made enquiries all over Town, after all, nobody simply vanished unobserved in a place like London, at least not when they were as well known as Mrs Evans. Yet, all his investigators came up with nothing.
–
The weather in Kent was mild, for a February, as Anne de Bourgh Pratt was handed down from the carriage by her cousin the Viscount Tyndale. Curiously, she looked up the grand façade, and unwillingly counted the windows. Her mother, Lady Catherine, had always boasted of the sheer number of windows of an estate others had built decades ago.
"How do you feel?" the Viscount asked, when she did not move.
"I cannot say," Anne answered, pensively. "Somehow, I was waiting for a great onslaught of emotion, instead, I am feeling strangely empty."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tyndale was clearly worried.
Anne smiled. "Of course. I have to, one of these days, and our reason to come here today is as good as any other."
She finally retrieved her hand from his, and took up her skirts. "Shall we go?"
With a nod and a gallant bow, Viscount Tyndale bade her precede him.
Anne entered her ancestral home, and for the first time in her life saw it through the eyes of an adult, not a child. Her gaze flew over the décor, recognising every article, but yet seeing everything for the first time. After some moments of contemplation, she shook herself out of her reverie and strode in the direction of the west sitting room, where the light would be best in the afternoon. When a servant unknown to her, presumably her butler, approached her, she bade him say nothing of her arrival for the time being.
"You were very sly to come here," Anne announced to the figure on the settee close to the fireplace.
Desdemona looked up, uncurled her legs, and stood. "So you found me out," she sated the obvious with a wry smile. "It was about time."
The two women laughed, and embraced heartily.
"How did you find me?" Desdemona asked, when they finally released each other.
"Once the thought came to mind, it was all very logical. There is no place where you have friends which is not in London, had you gone anywhere else you would be entirely friendless there, and as tales about curiosities and newcomers tend to spread, we would have heard about you. We employed a small army of investigators, you know." Anne giggled. "No, you are hiding in the last place we would look for you, literally. However have you convinced my household not to let a word slip? No body informed me that you had installed yourself here, with your children, a master and a governess!"
"There are those among your staff who kindly remembered me from the previous time I was here." Desdemona smiled faintly. "You do understand why I had to leave?"
"Yes, perfectly. But you will understand why I have to end this."
"Anne?"
"Come to London with me, Desdemona. Please."
Desdemona looked away, finally turned completely and went to look out of the window.
"You might not know," Anne began, "but Richard does an awful lot of that, too."
In the reflection of the windowpane Anne could just make out Desdemona's raised eyebrow.
"Staring out of windows, I mean," she explained, when no other reaction was forthcoming.
The other woman sighed. "I seem to do nothing else, lately. You are right," she said, with growing determination in her voice, "it is time to end this. The children have longed for their friends longer than I dare to admit. I must not keep them secluded here any longer, it is time I went to face London again. Time I went to face Richard again, as common and indifferent acquaintance."
"Are you sure about that?" Anne asked, still to Desdemona's back.
"How can it be otherwise? I will not allow him to do the honourable thing, I promised myself only to marry for love, and I intend to keep that promise."
Slowly, tenderly, Anne slid her hands over Desdemona's shoulders.
"But you do love him."
"I do," came the admission without hesitation. "However, it does not follow that he returns the sentiment."
"Have you ever thought that it might have been wiser to stay and find out?" Anne's voice was gentle.
"Every single day since I came here." Desdemona still had not budged. "I know I am a terrible coward, to hide here as I do. But no longer." She turned to her friend, slowly. "I will accompany you to London when you leave."
Without a word, Anne pulled her friend into a forceful embrace. Just as could be expected, Desdemona broke down in tears almost instantly, as emotions which had been pent up for months broke forth.
–
Anne took her time to reacquaint herself with her ancestral home, and with the help of her best friend and her cousin managed to chase away all the demons which still lurked in the grand house.
Nevertheless, she heaved a sigh of relief when the carriage bringing them back to London had quit the borders of Rosings Park.
"Do you regret that you came?" her cousin asked.
"Not at all," Anne answered, "indeed I am glad that I came. Still, I do not want to live here, nor can I imagine to live here at any point of time in the future."
"One day you will have to introduce Marianne to the estate, or rather the other way round," Desdemona pointed out.
Anne nodded. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Very sensible." Now it was the Viscount's turn to nod.
Desdemona put an arm around each of her children, in an attempt to calm them. The prospect of going back to London and to all their friends made them fidgety. Once they reached the outskirts of the town, however, there was no making them stay seated. The both knelt on the upholstery and pressed their nosed to the windows. Needless to say, their disappointment knew no bounds when they were not allowed to go directly to the Darcys' but had to go home first.
The next day Elizabeth Darcy, wise woman that she was, came for a morning call on Desdemona and brought Michael and Helena along. Not long after, Anne came and directly deposited Marianne into the care of her cousins.
In light of the last encounter the three women had shared amongst themselves, today's meeting started off a little awkwardly, but the strange mood soon dissolved and by the time the visitors had to leave, the easy companionship they had formerly known was re-established.
–
When the carriage came to a halt, Desdemona took a deep breath in an attempt to make her courage rise. This evening, at an informal little dinner party the Darcy's gave for family and friends, she would see Richard again. Up to now, she had been able to avoid meeting him, but today would be the day.
When have I become such a coward? Desdemona wryly wondered, when she walked up the stairs to the entrance of Darcy house.
As she had been expected, the door opened before she could even knock, and a very friendly maid relieved her of her outer garments before the butler conducted her to the drawing room.
No formal announcement was made upon her entrance, Mrs Darcy had deemed it unnecessary at such an informal gathering. Yet, Desdemona was greeted by her hostess directly upon her entrance, but not before she had located him where he stood at the mantle, deep in conversation with his host.
Mindful that this was their first meeting after that fateful night at Pemberley, Elizabeth had not placed them together at dinner. They were seated half a table away from each other, far enough not to be able to converse, but close enough to be able to observe.
Thus, the first opportunity for conversation came by only after the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.
"Mrs Evans," General Fitzwilliam said behind her, when she stood admiring one of the latest paintings Georgiana had produced, a little away from the others.
"General Fitzwilliam," she answered his greeting, proud that her voice was almost even.
She turned and curtsied, he bowed.
"May I ask how you are faring?" the General spoke at length.
"I am well, sir, thank you. I hope I find you in good health?" Of all the inane answers!
The General shrugged. "I am as well as can be expected. Mrs Evans," he paused, awkwardly, shooting glances in all directions to make sure that they could not be overheard. "I realize that this is neither the right time, nor the right place, but I have to know -"he interrupted himself again.
There was no need for him to continue, however, as Desdemona knew exactly which question he could not make himself ask. She had been full of worry herself, for weeks, until she could be sure. Mrs Evans opened her mouth, but before she could say a single word, Georgiana came skipping over to where they stood.
"Richard," she called, "I am going to open the instrument on the special request of a certain unnamed sister of mine, will you come and turn pages for me? You know," she continued in youthful exuberance, not understanding the covert angry glances her brother as well as said sister shot her, "you know that you are my favourite page turner!"
There was no possible way General Fitzwilliam could extract himself from his cousin without making a scene, so he let Georgiana snatch up his arm and drag him away.
Desdemona looked after him, not sure if the feeling in her chest was gladness because she was spared a little longer, or the same anguish as she had seen in his eyes when he was led away.
–
Of course, she did not have to wait long until they could finish their conversation.
General Fitzwilliam found her at his cousin Anne's house, where he had originally come to ask for advice. He could not know that Desdemona had come just for the same reason.
"Well," Anne said when Richard was ushered into the parlour where she sat over tea with Desdemona, "it seems as if we cannot have tea in this parlour without my relatives intruding upon us in various numbers." With a gesture, she bade Richard take a seat.
"As I do not have to perform any introductions, I believe I will go and ask for more tea. And more biscuits, I think," she added, already from the vicinity of the door. "And I might take my time, I will have to choose only the best biscuits!" With a flourish of skirts, she closed the door behind her.
"And we all know that choosing biscuits is long and weary business," Desdemona said under her breath. Slowly, she lowered herself on the chaise she had occupied before she had risen at the General's entrance.
At last, the General took a seat, too.
"Please, will you tell me if there were any... consequences of our last meeting?" General Fitzwilliam finally blurted out. Probably not the best way to open the conversation, but the question had burned in his mind for months now. Being a Fitzwilliam, he was nothing of not direct.
Desdemona shook her head. "There were none, General," she answered with more calm than she felt.
A series of emotions played across his mangled face, even though he tried to suppress them. Agitated, Desdemona stood, and began to move to the window. Halfway there, she turned. "You can be sure, General," she said, with a formerly unknown tone in her voice, "that I am truthful in my statement. There were no consequences of the nature you have in mind, never."
With a start that brought him to his feet, very belatedly so, he realised that the unidentified emotion in her voice was hurt.
"Mrs Evans!" he exclaimed, snatching his cane and advancing towards her, "you must not think that I thought..." Helplessly, he came to a halt no more than three paces away from her.
They both stood, motionless, in Anne's sunlit morning parlour, the tension palpable between them, their eyes locked.
At long last, Desdemona lowered her gaze. "I am sorry, General Fitzwilliam, I should not have supposed..." The sentence hung between them, unfinished.
General Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. "I am aware," he said, clearing his throat, "that some women take measures when they are desperate..." another unfinished sentence rose up to the ceiling, and the General cleared his throat again. "Please, be assured that there would have been no need to – that is to say that I would have -"
Relief, greater than she had ever known, washed through Desdemona, flooded her whole being, almost swept her off her feet. Glad that she could repay him in kind, she said, "I know. I never thought you were one of those men who just..."
Richard Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and allowed himself a rare moment of intense feeling, and let everything he had held back since September flow freely.
Still, none of them made any move to cover the distance between them.
"Thank you," the General finally said, with his voice caught in his throat, "for being frank with me."
Desdemona shook her head. "No, General, it is me who has to thank you. For your openness and concern."
"We are even, then," he ventured, half a smile making his scar twitch.
Before Desdemona had the chance to react in any way, the parlour door was opened, and in flounced Georgiana.
"Oh no!" she exclaimed by way of greeting, covering her mouth with a dainty gloved hand, "not again!"
Desdemona smiled, finally shaking off the numbness and effectively breaking the mood. "This time your cousin and I had enough time to discuss every thing of importance. In fact," she added lightly, "it is good that you came, you can keep your cousin Fitzwilliam company until Anne returns. I must be on my way, I have another appointment."
Awkward polite nothings were exchanged as farewell between them, and Desdemona Evans fled again.
Later, when he had sat down with Georgiana and Anne had joined them, when the women were busy with their tea and lively conversation, the General realised that he had not offered to do the honourable thing in spite of the lack of consequences.
Abruptly, without any provocation visible to his cousins, General Fitzwilliam stood, stomped his cane on the floor and strode from the room without a word.
Georgiana looked at him askance, Anne with eyes full of worry.