My intellectual property is the storyline, all new characters, new character development, and new developments. Glorioux
Chapter 8 Missing Lizzie - nightmares
"Miss Reynolds, send for your cousin, the Scott Reverend; I need to see him." Mr. Darcy asked, looking troubled.
That Pastor knew of such beings. Darcy went to the library and into the hidden area. Nobody knew exactly where the books came from. His father said they were not from this world. They were not written in English, but his father, uncle, and Darcy could read them.
He found a reference and decided to go to Pemberley, though he still failed to see the error of his ways. He had not taken care of her, that was true, but a husband had rights. He did. However, something nagged him; the idea that he might have done wrong. The idea was but a fleeting thought because he didn't want to think about it, afraid to remember a nasty, ugly memory hidden deep inside his mind. The one he was scared to believe it could have been true.
Already, he had forgotten the reason he married. All in his mind was his wife, his Elizabeth, his Lizzie. He had her pillow, which kept her unique scent. He breathed deeply; it was all he had of her. He kept it; he remembered his father saying that when you loved someone, nothing else mattered. Maybe he loved his wife, his. She was his by law.
The more he thought, the more he decided it was the awful woman's fault. She had scared his wife out of her mind. She was very receptive until she saw him naked. He could only imagine. Had he been a fool? He should have asked her what the mother had said; he didn't know.
When he went to sleep that night, he had an awful dream. His screams woke his valet and his guards. They could hear, "I won't do it. Quit, stop it. Beatrice, nooo." His people broke into the room; he was rolled into a ball, shivering, screaming, covering his face with his hand.
They tried to wake him up, but he was deep asleep, cold as ice, and screaming. His face contorted in terror. Miss Reynolds, bring a wet cloth." Darcy was crying; it was heartbreaking. When she put the cold cloth on his face, Darcy finally woke up.
He looked scared, "Water, a glass; light candles, more wood on the fireplace. Everyone can leave but Fergus. Please sleep on the divan and keep your pistol ready."
When they left, Darcy couldn't remember his dreams, only that they were awful. He was afraid to close his eyes again. He only remembered his twin sister screaming with him. He wanted to ask someone what happened that day. He knew his beast was related to that day; he wished the beast would go away. He checked to make sure Fergus was there with him. He woke up during the night and would check if Fergus was there.
Weeks Later
Weeks had gone by, and William Darcy was going out of his mind. His sister's problem wouldn't go away. How could his young sister be with a child? She didn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation. He needed to find out who the father was; he didn't see any other way.
Darcy had called Georgiana to his study. He had tried compelling her, but he wasn't able to. He guessed that compelling was a Fitzwilliam trait, but maybe not because neither his two male cousins nor his Aunt Catherine had inherited it. Who knew?
Georgina was sullen, "I will tell you the truth, it was George. Make him marry me. I don't want to go to Scotland nor marry the Vicar there."
"You might not have to marry if my wife is back, but you must go away for at least a year. You'll wait there; we will make something up." Darcy didn't look well; his eyes were sunken. I have someone who wants to see us."
When George came into the room, she paled. George gave her a dirt look, "Tell her or I will. I was wounded at the time, ask the doctors. I couldn't have fathered your child. I was out for one month from a lower stomach wound next to my, ahem. For a while, I have been unable to, ahem."
"When was it?" Darcy asked.
"Nearly four months ago. Besides, there is something that you should know. William, you tell her." George asked him.
"George is our half-brother; he always knew, and I verified it. He shares many of my traits, plus I saw my father's letters. George's father ironically was left, ahem, not able to father children after he took a bullet. You are now old enough to know that George's mother was our father's beloved," he cleared his throat.
"Father wanted George near him. He comes into an inheritance, a large one when he marries. So, you know, he is no longer in the Army. I asked him to resign because I needed him around." Darcy looked at his sister.
Horrified, Georgina cried copious tears.
George was angry. "You did wrong, and you are not telling the truth. Tell your brother how you used Younge to see whoever. While following you, I saw you climbing into a fancy carriage. The man must have seen me because just hours later, he had someone shot me and left me for dead."
She refused to tell them who the man was, and finally, they gave up.
"George will take you to Scotland; don't think of running away. Why won't you say who the father is." Darcy tried again.
"I don't want to get married. He, err, cannot marry me." Georgina said.
"Is he married? Who is he? Did he force his attention on you?" William was aghast.
"He didn't force me. I was willing." She closed her lips; no more would be said. Not good enough, Darcy wanted to know the father's identity and kill the bastard. Georgiana was so young. Who had been the one?
George had observed Georgiana for the last two years. She had allowed the footmen to touch her; she was wild. He was partly at fault; after all, he had been wrong to suggest Miss Younge, but he had been bamboozled. Although George had been her lover, he suspected Younge had seduced him so that he would recommend her. It was all planned; she must have been in cahoots with whoever the lover was.
He had talked to Mrs. Reynolds, and both thought that Georgiana was like Lady Darcy and many of the other Fitzwilliam; though he was not so sure about his uncle, sometimes he thought he was all talk. Catherine, Bartlett, and Richard were the exceptions. The latter was odd because their two sisters were like the rest of the Fitzwilliam; George should know. Something didn't make sense.
Darcy was misguided. The past had damaged him, and his uncle was partly responsible. Peddling flesh to all the male cousins was wrong; he wanted to blame everyone. Sadly, his uncle had done it to help ease his pain, bad as it was.
William Darcy had doted on his young sister; she couldn't do anything wrong. That was before. He knew he needed to take a hard stand, mainly when George told him about a few footmen incidents; it started when she was 13.
"Georgie, you should have thought about it before you made such a rash decision. Your choices are clear, the Vicar. He is young, if not handsome, he is presentable. He is of a good family, dresses well, and has good manners. Or go to Scotland or the continent to pass for a widow." Darcy set his foot down.
She left for Scotland. Now paid by Darcy, George helped to find out who Georgina's lover was and whether to marry her or take care of him.
After Georgina left, he went to London to find a new mistress. The problem was that he could see Lizzie, smell her, feel her around his sex. He was brooding day and night. He had returned to London to find a new mistress, though he couldn't perform. His bride's memory had poisoned him. Or so he thought.
The three women he was introduced to were young and desirable but seemed tawdry and cheap. Their naked bodies left him indifferent; it was hopeless because he only hungered for his wife.
Darcy didn't look well. The findings in his library had upset him. According to them, he was never going to see her again. The reverend confirmed it. What he knew thus far told him he was lucky to be alive.
He had Richard go to talk to Aunt Catherine, but he was in trouble because Bennet refused to see him. Aunt Catherine had closed the doors to her family. She was already married to Bennet, who had reclaimed his title. The dissolution of the marriage was swift. He was gone with his daughters and lived away from society, so the scandal was minimal. Who could have imagined Bennet's father had also been an Earl? How could he have guessed?
The letter he received from Bennet said it all. He had seen his niece and wanted to end his worthless life. Bennet had called him, " You are a criminal. Yes, you have no honor. You are nothing but a rotten apple —I won't help you.—watch your back because sooner or later, I will find a way to end your miserable life. Damn, the day the Fitzwilliam met my family—" The letter was clear, no help would come from him.
Richard told him that a solicitor had contacted his father; it would seem that their Fitzwilliam's grandfather had more than given bad advice but stolen from Bennet's father, and Aunt Catherine had the evidence. It was a royal mess.
Darcy was angry; how could the, hmm, the whatever being he was, bring his Elizabeth for others to see? It was a private matter; the alleged father, the being, had no right. Now, his passion excesses were known to many without the benefit of hearing his explanation. Darcy went into a dark place every time. Indeed, Fitzwilliam Darcy refused to accept responsibility for a wedding night gone wrong. Whereas it was true that he had little, if any, control, he could have at least waited.
His life was hell; he could see her all the time and could only come with his hand, with the pillow that held her scent on his face. And not always, to date only twice. He could recall her as if she were there and wanted her. He was angry at himself for caring and lately for the possibility he had wronged her, but he was more upset with those who took her. Besides, he had nightmares, and Fergus slept in the receiving room, with the door open, to wake him up. The next day, he would be exhausted; he was pale and had permanent dark circles under his eyes.
Besides, Georgiana was driving him mad. He suspected she carried the Fitzwilliam's taint. His life was in shambles, but he still didn't regret his actions—or not much. He blamed everyone but himself, but he was no longer sure. He no longer knew what was right; he only knew he wanted to have her back.
As the days passed, he slept less and hardly ate, and society lost its shine. He turned into a wraith who had lost what he wanted the most. He listened for the smallest noises at night, hoping beyond hope, but nobody appeared. He often cried when nobody saw him, but Fergus could hear him sobbing.
Fergus knew Mr. Darcy's tragedy. He had been at Pemberley that day 14 years ago and wished he could console him. Everyone in the know wondered who had committed such a heinous crime. They knew there might have been other young victims, but the rich hid their secrets.
But still, Darcy refused to accept full responsibility. However, sometimes, there was the occasional tap on the closed door of bad memories, trying to tell him something about how he behaved. Those times, he wished that he knew and that maybe he could stop the beast. He knew his nightmares were about the memories, but when he woke up, he couldn't remember.
Charles would arrive this evening. He didn't want to see them but had little choice. He had spotted the Hurst relatives renting a small estate near his. Darcy didn't trust them. He had asked Fergus not to stay in his room; he didn't want Charles to know. Hopefully, the nightmares would go away.
Home Coming?
Finally, his unwelcome guests, the Bingley, had gone to bed. He didn't want society, except he had invited Charles and company long ago. Caroline made him ill, flirting and staring.
He was dreaming of her the night he saw her, but this time, she turned him down. She danced with Charles and kissed him right on the dance floor.
The room filled with light, and he heard dog growls. His nose could smell his wife's fragrance. He opened his eyes slowly, his heart about to burst. He had company, so he reached for his dressing gown, put it on, and stood up.
In front of him, Darcy saw several beings, but they weren't human. One was a beautiful young woman who looked like his wife, dressed in a tunic with men's trousers and a cloak; the being, her father, from that fateful wedding night, was dressed the same. Three females and three males wore similar garments and similar helmets; there were also a few animals: a large hound, a smaller one, and a large bird that might have been a white owl.
But most importantly, his wife was there, or one who resembled her. Maybe he was wrong because she was much paler than his wife, but she was still stunning; her long, wavy, shiny hair fell in cascades down her back.
She stood between her father and, he guessed, her mother, the one who looked like her. Goodness, his wife wasn't wearing a cloak, but instead, she had wings like her father's that disappeared in minutes; it was her, his Elizabeth. His heart rejoiced and nearly cried in gratitude; she was back, his wife. It was an odd feeling.
Darcy was tongue-tied; he believed to know her father's identity; he was one of several half-brothers. Darcy was aware of the danger he was facing. Hopefully, what he knew was right; he read that the brothers didn't end human life unless it was in either self-defense or defense of others.
The powerful beings in his father's secret books lived in realities, or he would say universes, that some called the underworlds, the worlds where some dead souls go after death. The books didn't say whether the brothers were good or bad but spoke of their might and powers not known to humanity. They were fierce and feared warriors who fought the dark hordes, commonly known as armies of demons, demons that took over worlds.
The brothers were emperors over many worlds; indeed, Elizabeth's father was an emperor who ruled over many. Ironic how badly he had messed up. He had married Elizabeth, who was a princess like none on Earth, and what? Was something the matter with him? He knew there was, but what?
He wasn't entirely repentant for marrying her. Here, in his world, he had a more significant advantage, and in his arrogant view, they shouldn't have left her alone. She was his. Thus, he would claim her. Except, what? Except something bothered him, the increasing feeling of wrongness.
"Look at my wife before you say anything. Did you know that your miserable uncle violated my wife? He was an adult, and she was but a child who recently had her first blood," he stared at Darcy hard.
"I am sorry, but that is not my fault," Darcy answered. Although he was still somewhat proud and arrogant, bile rose to his throat just thinking about it. He didn't want to believe all he said about his uncle; it made his head start to hurt, and breathing was becoming difficult; fragments of the forgotten nightmare threatened to break through the surface of his consciousness.
"His transgression wasn't without consequences." Lizzie's father stopped to kiss his wife's brow; she was visibly upset. He leaned and whispered something, and she nodded her head.
"In any case, your uncle's father had tried the same with my wife's mother; it happened before she married her young sweetheart, his best friend; may I add, he married not knowing what had happened to his young bride. She was ashamed and kept it a secret. Your grandfather went after them with a vengeance; he even ruined them financially."
Darcy was dumbfounded; now he believed all he had heard thus far, "I didn't know." That was all he said. The new knowledge had planted a seed of doubt and awareness, a key to open the door of locked memories, and his headache intensified. He heard Lizzie's father and wasn't sure what was so troublesome.
"Did you know that my wife's father was an earl, just like your uncle. Her grandmother's father was a duke; I would say he comes from great stock, don't you agree?"
An Earl, Mr. Bennet, was one, Richard had told him. Darcy nodded; what an arrogant fool he had been, thinking his wife was beneath him. How many mistakes had he made? Hopefully, not too many, and his Lizzie was staying.
A/N Something bad happened to Darcy when he was 14. It is no excuse, but as someone pointed out, women were possessions. Let's see what happens- I will a reference at the end w/Character names-