Memory: Volume 3, How Far We Have Come, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (Memory: A Tale of Pride and Prejudice) (92 page)

“What do you wish for?”  He asked with a smile.  “Tell me and I . . .”

Hurst and Robinson cleared their throats and Bingley nudged Abbey from the doorway so that they could pass inside.  Looking around, he saw the open door to the darkened dining room and pulled her in.  “What are you doing?  We cannot . . .”  Abbey’s protest was stopped by the expression he wore; the light from the hallway just illuminated his face enough so she could see the longing in his eyes as they fixed on her mouth.  “Mr. Bingley . . .”   She whispered, feeling her heart begin to pound.

“Abbey . . .”  Grasping her hands tightly, he leaned forward; now close enough to feel the warmth of her blush, and her unsteady breaths over his face.  CRACK!  They jumped as the night sky lit up with a lightning strike and the heavens opened with a downpour.  They both blushed deeply and stepped apart.  “You cannot possibly go home in this weather.”

“It would be dangerous.”  She agreed nervously.  They stood in silence, staring at each other, then shaking his head, Bingley stepped forward to pull her into his arms . . .

“Bingley!”  Hurst said from the doorway.  They jumped apart again.  “Louisa asks what has become of you.  Miss Martin, it seems you will be spending the night.  My wife will lend you whatever you need.  As she will be retiring soon, she asks that you accompany her upstairs now.”

“Oh.”  Abbey nodded and looked to Bingley.  “I will go then.  Good night, Mr. Bingley.  Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It is my pleasure, Miss Martin.”  He bowed and watched her disappear.

“Charles.”  Hurst said softly to his focussed brother.  “I know what you are thinking; I know what you are feeling.  Please do not act upon it while she is here under your care.”  Seeing his brother startle then blush, he clapped his back.  “Come on, a good calming game of whist before we retire.  You will see her in the morning, that is a rare treat, don’t you think?”

“Yes, unexpected and wonderful.”  Bingley sighed.  “Thank you for stopping me.  I think.”  Hurst chuckled.  “Do you know we have known each other almost a year now?”

“That is a long time to think of a first kiss, for both of you.”  Bingley looked at him with surprise and then with a smile of pleasure.  Hurst shook his head and put his hand on Bingley’s shoulder.  “A little bit more of a wait will not hurt.  Maybe a ball is just the thing for that.  Hmm?”  He winked.  “Come on.”

15 NOVEMBER 1811

Elizabeth has spent the last week in a state of emotion that I can barely describe.  She goes about her duties, she plays with our daughter, she tries to be herself, but something is so wrong.  Sadness fills her, her eyes have lost their sparkle and her tears are so easily provoked.  It is killing me not to understand what is amiss; this is more than merely the emotions of an expectant mother.  It must be!  I search for the answers to something that she cannot or will not explain.  What could it be?  What is wrong, love, I have been loath to ask.  I do not like to see you this way and I hate being helpless to fight it.  Tell me what to do, Elizabeth.  I will make everything better, if I only knew what was wrong.

Setting the pen down, Darcy bit his lip and picked up the letter he had received.  He looked over to where Elizabeth sat staring out at the lake.  “Richard writes that they hope to arrive next Friday if we are willing to play host.” 

“Of course we are.”  Elizabeth wiped her cheek.  “It will be good to see everyone.”

“Perhaps the ladies will,” he paused, choosing his words carefully, “have advice . . .”  His voice trailed off when she turned to look at him through her red and swollen eyes, and saw the concern clearly etched over his face.  The journal lay under his hands and she nodded to it.

“Please show me what you wrote.” 

“I . . .”  Turning, he picked up the journal and handed her the open book.  Watching her read, he jumped up from his seat when she began to sob.  “Dearest, please.”  He wrapped his arms around her and held on tightly. “Please tell me.”  Closing his eyes, he rubbed her back, her belly was pressed against his stomach and he felt the baby kicking at him.  He could not help but smile to feel the movement, assuring them both that all was well.  “Elizabeth . . .”

“He would have been born today.”  Elizabeth’s voice cracked.  “This week, he would have come.”

“Dearest . . .”  Darcy let out a long breath, understanding at last.  “What can I do?”

“Nothing.”  She sniffed and hugged him.  “I am mourning a baby and I feel so guilty for missing him.  If he were not gone we would not have this one.  How can I wish this child away who is alive and kicking for one who never had the chance to do the same?”  She looked up at him for an answer.  Darcy’s eyes searched hers and he caressed her cheek, then taking both of her hands rested them over the baby. 

“Do you feel him?” 

“How can I not?”  She looked down at his hands resting over hers. 

“Do you remember our absolute joy when we realized he was coming?”  She nodded, still watching their hands.  “Do you remember how we loved each other to celebrate?”  Darcy rested his forehead to hers.  “I do not think that you are wishing him away, love.  Do not feel guilt for wishing that our lost baby had lived.  Your feelings are natural and just.  I think that you would feel the same even if you were not with child now, would you not?”

“Of course I would.”  She drew a breath and shook her head.  “Perhaps this baby makes me feel this date even more.”

“This baby makes you feel everything strongly, whether it is sadness for our loss or unreasonable desire to visit our trees during a driving rainstorm.”

“I thought it would be refreshing.”

“Not in November.”  He smiled a little and ran his fingers through her long curls.  “Do you feel better?”

“Not yet.”  She said honestly and watching his face fall, reached up to caress his cheek.  “What else does Richard say?”

“He says that he wants to see you be your lively, happy self.”  Darcy spoke directly to her eyes.  “You would not wish to disappoint him, would you?  You know how fragile his heart is.”

Elizabeth laughed and his eyes lit up.  “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, a fragile flower?   Somehow that seems incongruous.”

“Nevertheless it is true.”  He searched over her face.  “We are brothers, so I know how similar we are.”

“Oh Will.”  He drew her to his chest and kissed her forehead.  “I only just puzzled out what was saddening me, I would have told you sooner, but I did not wish to burden your fragile heart.”  His embrace tightened.  “Could we visit his tree?  I think that will make me feel better.”

“Of course.  I understand completely.”  Sighing, he held her as closely as he could and rubbed her back.  “Whenever you are sad, do not keep it to yourself, even if you do not know why.  Is there anything else that burdens you?”  Darcy drew back and searched over her face. She stared into his eyes and her hand went to her mouth.  “What is it?”

“I was just thinking of Lady Matlock fondly speaking of her children with their Fitzwilliam blue eyes, and what a mark it is of the family,” he nodded, “but have you noticed Rosalie’s eyes?  They are darkening.”

“What?”  He startled.  “How do you mean?”

“They used to be as clear and blue as yours, but . . . I would say they might be turning brown.” 

“Oh.”  Darcy gasped and beamed.  “Like yours!”

“Oh what a shame!”  She said mournfully, and caressed her hand over his temple.  “I love your blue eyes!”

“No, no, that is the only part that was missing, love.  She has your features, she has your hair, your personality, she is you in so many ways but the eyes . . .”   He laughed and hugged her.  “My baby is now complete!  Come, let us gaze upon her!”  Taking Elizabeth’s hand, he dragged her from the room.

“Fitzwilliam!”

“No!”  He laughed.  “Lizzy brown!”  Stopping for a moment, he leaned down to kiss her.  “Well, they are a bit red right now, but I think she will cheer us.  What do you say?”

She looked up to his hopeful happy face, felt the baby jump in her belly, and sighed, letting it go.  “Lead on, Papa.”  He kissed her and he took off again.  “Slow down!”

“WHO PENNED THAT?”  Fitzwilliam pointed at the letter in Darcy’s hand.  “Have you let Rosalie loose with an inkpot?”

“No.”  He chuckled and looked over the much-blotched envelope.  “I think though that Georgiana would be very upset with her student, he has clearly reverted back to his old habits.  He must have been excited about something.”  Darcy raised his brows and shrugged, “Well, let us see.”  He broke the seal and started to read, and laughing, handed the letter over to his cousin.  Fitzwilliam sat up to read and snorted.

26 November 1811

Netherfield

Hertfordshire

Dear Darcy,

I am delighted, thrilled, overjoyed, name the word, to write to you this glorious night, well technically morning, that I am an engaged man.  I proposed to Abbey as we danced the first set of the ball.  I could not hold back a moment longer.  Louisa had the house decorated like a palace, everything glowed.  I paced like a madman, watching from the windows for her to come.  It was torture Darcy, sheer torture!  At last Mr. Martin’s carriage arrived and I was down like a shot, and unfortunately forced to stand and receive the crush of guests.  Naturally, she had disappeared with her parents.  By the time I finally got away the music had begun and I found her waiting patiently, and laughing at me, cheeky, wonderful girl!  It was all I could do not to kiss her then and there!  But I controlled myself, I was calm, well as calm as a man violently in love can be, and I took her to the dance floor.  The first movement brought us nose to nose, the second her hand was in mine, the third, my hand was on her back, and the fourth, I had blurted my feelings.  By the fifth, I was an emotional mess, a blithering idiot, why on earth did I not wait for some place of privacy to do this?  Idiotic fool!  Thank heaven Lucas assures me that nobody could hear a word, I choose to believe him.  In any case, I gladly announce that she said yes, just as stupidly as I asked. 

Oh, to take her somewhere to kiss her as I have wished for so long!  But it was not to be, too many people, too cold of a night. It was not until we were retiring that I thought of the library.  How many times did I catch you and Elizabeth embraced there?  Idiot!  I have yet to kiss her.  I am dying!  Never propose and have to be host!  Not that I ever will have to propose again, but just a mental note to tell my son one day.  My son, listen to me, I have not kissed her, and I speak of children!  I am a blithering fool!  Ah well, tomorrow, no today, today I will find our moment, somewhere, somehow, and I will kiss the stuffing out of her!

Today I will go and speak to Mr. Martin at the Long’s home and we will get to the business of marriage. I have your notes on settlements and will visit your lawyer in town.  That is another thing, Hurst, Louisa and Robinson will all be leaving for London within the next few days, and I have business as well for the mills, I think that it would be best if we continued our engagement from there.  I cannot host her at Netherfield without Louisa here, and of course we will marry from her parish.  I think, yes, I have decided, I will close up Netherfield and return to London and work out the settlement there.  Write to me in Grosvenor Street.

I just read my last lines, can you believe how comprehensible they were!  I sounded almost as if I was in control!  Good for me! 

Please tell Elizabeth the news and embrace her for me, give her my love and a kiss worthy of making you jealous.  Get someone to shake your hand, Fitzwilliam is there, he can do it properly.  Thank you, both of you, for everything.  I am deeply indebted to you.  I will send you news soon.

Your friend and brother,

Charles Bingley

Fitzwilliam grinned and stood, extending his hand.  “Thank you, Darcy, from the bottom of my heart!”

Darcy laughed and shook it.  “It was my honour, good friend.”  They fell back into their chairs and Darcy picked the letter up, reading it through again.  “No more the puppy.”

“Are you sure?  He sounded excited enough to leave a puddle on the floor.”  He raised his glass to his lips.  “Well, I suppose it would not be Bingley without some measure of excitement would it?”

“No.”  Darcy looked up with a smile.  “I would not change a thing.  And this business he alludes to with the mills, it is no mere meeting to speak of profits.  It is serious work, and he is up to the task.  I am very proud of him.”

“I see that.”  Fitzwilliam raised his glass in the air.  “To the future Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley!”

“What is this?”  Lord Matlock strolled in and plopped into a chair.  “Bingley engaged?”

“Yes, sir.”  Darcy smiled.  “Wedding to be in London.”

“When?”  Layton poured out some port for himself and sighing, put the glass in his father’s outstretched hand then poured another before taking a seat.  “I imagine he will want to be married before the Season begins.  Are they doing presentations at court again yet?”

“I do not know.”  Lord Matlock thought.  “Haven’t paid much attention.  If they are you will have to take Elizabeth.”

“Not when she is great with child, can you imagine the poor woman trying to do her curtsey and back away from the Queen when her belly is so large?  She would tip over!”  Fitzwilliam chortled.  “Another year.”

“I could not care if it ever happens.”  Darcy smiled.  “But I suppose we must, perhaps when Georgiana is presented.  I miss her.”

“She will be home with you soon, and can help with the new babe.”  Lord Matlock noted.  “What of Catherine?  What are her plans, still at Longbourn with that mother of hers?”

“Excellent Father, hold back your opinion.”

“I did, Son, I did not call her a loud, abusive, uncouth, uneducated, overdressed, harridan wench, did I?”  He lifted his brow to Layton.  They laughed and he nodded.  “I did not think so.”