Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (38 page)

Dear Brother Grégoire of the Order of Saint Benedict,

As you have surmised, Nicoleta has delivered. It is a beautiful boy. We have named him Sebald, and wish you much luck and joy in your own earthly (and heavenly) endeavors.

Count Olaf
of Sibiu.

He was laughing somewhat hysterically when Thomas entered. “Brother Grégoire, I—”

“It's over. Thank you,” he said. He leaned over and kissed the reliquary. “And thank you. And thank God. Thank everyone!”

With that, he left the chapel, returning to his quarters, not far away, where he laid down on the mattress. He was still clutching the letter when he fell asleep.

***

Grégoire woke ravenously hungry the next morning, after sleeping some twenty hours. Still rubbing his eyes from sleep, he put on his sandals and headed straight for the breakfast room, where Darcy and Elizabeth were having a quiet breakfast.

“Grégoire,” Elizabeth said, rising to greet him. “We weren't sure when you would awaken. The apothecary told us to just let you keep sleeping.”

“Yes,” Darcy said as his brother sat down next to him. “Despite appearances, I was concerned for you. But now, it seems, you are well and, this time around, have done no permanent damage to yourself—except that you might possibly choke.”

“I feel fine,” Grégoire said between mouthfuls of the muffins he was stuffing into his mouth.

“We were just discussing the Fitzwilliams,” Elizabeth said. “Richard and Anne would like very much to visit us. They would like to be here for the wedding.”

“Of course,” Grégoire said. “Excuse me—did you say Richard and
Anne
Fitzwilliam?” Something struck him, like a person emerging from a haze that was really an idea.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Do you know any other Fitzwilliams beside myself?”

“No,” Grégoire said, taking a mouthful of juice and swallowing soundly before answering, “I would love to see them.”

***

Lord Richard and Lady Anne Matlock's intention was to arrive early in February, since such a mild winter made the roads passable. They came later, however, by a few days. Elizabeth was now nearing her last week or two of confinement, or so they estimated, and they were relieved for the distraction from the usual anxiety surrounding a birth.

“I'm so sorry we are late,” Fitzwilliam said as he shook Darcy's hand. “You wouldn't possibly have a doctor on hand, would you?”

“Dr. Maddox should be up later this week—do you need one now? I have our local doctor, and he is very good.”

“It is probably nothing,” Fitzwilliam said, but his voice didn't sound like it was. “The road made Anne a bit ill. I'm sure she would do fine with rest—”

But Darcy would hear nothing of it. “The doctor will be called immediately.”

Lady Anne Matlock was helped out of the carriage, but insisted on walking up the steps to Pemberley's doors herself, with her shawl wrapped tightly around her and her husband following very closely by her side. She did look a little pale. “I am fine. It is nothing to fuss over.”

But a few minutes later, she was upstairs, ill in her quarters. Elizabeth got out of bed, despite her sister's protests, to greet her own guest. “I need to walk around, anyway.”

“I'll get the doctor,” Darcy said and excused himself from the company of Fitzwilliam and Grégoire to do so.

Fitzwilliam was about to go join his wife when Grégoire stopped him. “She's been ill for about three weeks now, hasn't she? Lost weight, loss of appetite? And now this?”

“Y-yes,” Lord Matlock said, caught off-guard by Grégoire's tone of certainty. “How did you know?”

“The doctor will confirm it,” Grégoire said, “but congratulations. Your wife is with child.”

***

Grégoire insisted on digging the grave himself. In an unused corner of Pemberley's cemetery, he broke into the ground that was now just beginning to soften and unfreeze. He was still doing the job when they brought forth the light wooden coffin. Geoffrey squirmed impatiently and everyone else (besides Elizabeth, who had to watch from a window) withheld their laughter at the sight of Darcy, wearing a white frock over his clothing, swinging the golden incense-bearer that represented the host as an altar boy. His expression said perfectly,
Not smiling—it is not funny
. “I'll kill him for this,” he mumbled, so softly that only Bingley next to him heard it.

“Pass him to me,” Grégoire said from inside the grave pit, as Fitzwilliam and the newly arrived Dr. Maddox, designated as pallbearers, brought forth the coffin, unadorned but for a cross carved on the lid. With Grégoire's help, it was set in the ground, and the four men (aside from Darcy, who was still stuck with host-bearing duty) quickly covered the relatively shallow grave made for the saint. The tombstone, already prepared with a few days' notice, said, “Saint Sebald the Saxon.”

The funeral service was short and entirely in Latin. Too many tears had been shed in the past few days—tears of joy, at the confirmation of Anne's state—for any to be spared now, as the old bones of Saint Sebald were laid to rest. In fact, it was almost a joyful service, even though no words to that effect were spoken, but even Grégoire was smiling as he finished the service and blessed the grave. “Amen.”

They stood there, momentarily out of wit for what to do, when a servant came running up to them. “Mr. Darcy—Mrs. Darcy has requested the midwife.”

For Mrs. Darcy's fourth set of labor pains had begun.

Birth, Marriage, and the Grave

“This is always a fascinating experience,” Bingley explained to Lord Kincaid.

“I would not dare to call it
fascinating
,” Darcy said from the corner of his study.

Bingley, brandy already in hand, continued unabated, “Since Darcy is prohibited from overindulging in spirits for the sake of his health, we all sit around to comfort him by getting drunk ourselves, while he grows increasingly angry and we grow increasingly insensible.”

“Yes, 'tis all terrific fun,” Darcy sneered, pacing frantically in his little corner, “for the rest of you.”

The brandy and whiskey was passed around, and only Dr. Maddox restricted himself to a single glass that he nursed over time, as he might be called on if there was an emergency. As the hours passed, and Elizabeth's cries increased, Lord Matlock looked increasingly pale and took more brandy.

“Buck up,” said a very smiley Bingley.

“He can say that because his wife is not currently known to be with child,” Darcy said. “If this were Jane's confinement, he would have his head on the desk by now.”

“That is true,” Dr. Maddox said.

“Hey!” Bingley said, and turned to Kincaid, who didn't seem at all affected by the vast quantities of whiskey he was drinking. “You know, Miss Darcy was meant to be
my
wife.
You
should thank
me
that I did not care for her… in that way.”

“What?”

“Careful, Charles,” Dr. Maddox said. “While being strangled by Darcy may be a suitable distraction from his wife's travails, it will also be adverse to your health.”

Bingley turned around to face Darcy's cold stare, which was more intense than usual.

“What's all this business?” Kincaid repeated.

“Some past, irrelevant nonsense,” Darcy said, and continued pacing. “Where is Mrs. Maddox? Is she with the children?”

“She is one of Elizabeth's nursemaids, I believe,” Dr. Maddox said.

“Really? My sister?” Charles said before Darcy could say anything. “
My
sister?”

“There is only one Mrs. Ma—Well, now I suppose there are two. But yes, I do mean my wife.” Dr. Maddox answered.

“I would assume, then, that all previous animosities have been forgotten,” Darcy ventured.

“A strange thing indeed, happenstance is,” Fitzwilliam said.

***

Elizabeth's labor was relatively brief. Each one had decreased in length, or so Darcy was wont to notice. It was barely midnight, and only some of the guests had retired—Bingley and Fitzwilliam mainly, because otherwise they would have slumped into some chair and been sleeping anyway. Darcy was called upstairs, bowing politely to his sisters-in-law and the midwife as he entered the mistress's chambers and sat down (as was now family custom) to receive his new child, so tiny and wrapped so heavily in cloth that he had to inquire as to its gender. He was so happy that he was not marred by drunkenness to experience this, to hold his new child, so small and perfect.

“A daughter,” Elizabeth said.

A daughter. Another little girl to lavish his attention and love on, to hold in his arms until she was too big to do so, to give her the best clothes and ribbons for her hair, and then to stress about her coming of age and being out—another addition to his wonderful life. Even though it was night, there was no darkness in his world. “She is perfect.” It was as if she was made of light. She squirmed as if she found her new surroundings too strange, her tiny, pink fingers slowly flailing until he offered his pinky finger for her hand to rest on. “So perfect,” he laughed. He could not remember such joy. He was sure he had felt it for his other children, but that was all so distant, so marred by time that it was like a new experience, all wonderful all over again. “I am at a loss. What shall we name her?”

Elizabeth replied, “Nothing that starts with a ‘G.'”

***

The Bennets arrived in good time, as there seemed to be an entire month of celebrations. The christening of Cassandra Darcy in Pemberley's chapel was followed a week later by Georgiana Bingley's eighth birthday, and then two weeks later by Geoffrey Darcy's. According to tradition, Georgie spent the two weeks lording it over Geoffrey that she was “a year older than him.” The Bennets were housed at Pemberley and all of the Maddoxes (now including Brian and Nadezhda, and Mugin) at Chatton.

On the last day of March, a beautiful spring day, Lord William Kincaid and Georgiana Darcy were united in marriage in the Parsonage church. The Kincaids (and other relatives) who arrived to see William married were not the kilted rabble that the Englishmen generally imagined all Scots to be. In fact they looked very much the same as them, even if they spoke differently, to the point where some of their accents were almost incomprehensible to a southern Englishman like Mr. Bennet. “I'm afraid my hearing's gone out, sir. What did you say?”

It was with no small emotion that Fitzwilliam Darcy gave away his sister. He endured through the ceremony in his usual manner of smoldering emotion hidden behind an expression of calm stiffness, but his eyes betrayed him to Elizabeth as he rejoined her. She slid her hand over his, squeezing it as the vows were said. He returned her gesture with a smile.

Georgiana, the former mistress of Pemberley from her father's death to her brother's wedding, went out in style. The wedding breakfast at Pemberley was unparalleled, mainly because not only had Darcy spared no expense, but he had also invited many tenants and workers who had served Georgiana over the years, or to whom she had paid sick visits. Lord Kincaid was anything but a snob himself and welcomed all of the well-wishers in whatever form they appeared, and Derbyshire had its own party for Lady Kincaid.

There was one last family member to whom the blushing bride wished to say her good-byes before departing for the north. Lord and Lady Kincaid paid their respects to her parents—to the father she remembered fondly but vaguely and the mother she knew only from her portrait. Darcy and Grégoire caught up with them, and they stood silently in front of the grave, mainly because no one could think of quite what to say of or to George Wickham. Kincaid knew him not at all, Grégoire, barely. To Darcy and Georgiana he had been a maelstrom, but he had been their brother, however unwittingly.

“One of the last things he said was that he loved me,” she said, “as a person, as a sister. That he should have acted like a Darcy and been a good brother.”

“If he had known, maybe that would have happened,” Darcy said, not unkindly. He turned to see his sister leaning on her husband. Darcy was no longer her main support—William Kincaid was. That was what the giving away someone meant, he supposed. The way the earl held her, Darcy thought it might not be such a bad thing.

***

The wedding preparations had been Elizabeth's first major venture from bed in the few weeks since Cassandra's birth. Two babies in little more than a year, taking over Rosings, a rushed trip to rescue her husband, caring for him, watching him descend into darkness and emerge only with her insistence and Dr. Maddox's help had finally caught up with her. She was not ill so much as exhausted and, after the wedding, slowed back down for the next month, for what sleep was afforded to a mother with a newborn who insisted upon nursing herself. Sarah, fortunately, had been weaned. Elizabeth was still Elizabeth, however, and not content to sit inside. She sat out on the terrace, watching her children play with her nieces and nephews, often with Jane by her side. Grégoire, for the moment resolved to the fact that he was stuck in England for as long as the war continued, worked in the garden, and Darcy plunged himself into estate matters. He still had moments where he seemed lost, or where he needed a cup of that special tea to find sleep, but his heart seemed to warm with the sun.

Jane Bingley and her children were often at Pemberley for meals, as Charles was back and forth to Town, where he had taken Brian Maddox on as a partner in exchange for his stock. No one but the two of them (and maybe Nadezhda) knew the actual numbers, but the Chinese silk Brian returned with was worth no small fortune, and as long as the embargo lasted, retail prices continued to soar. After hiring some slightly more reputable workers, the business was back in high profits, with plans to have a ship sail to Nagasaki within the next two years. Brian and Nadezhda comfortably selected a country house but ten miles from Town, and got a very good price because it was relatively small and one section was in complete disrepair. This they had immediately torn down and begun to rebuild in a fashion to their specifications, and would spend years perfecting the Japanese wing of their home. They also had wide grounds, which they kept empty and wild, and lived in some isolation. The local market did quickly become accustomed to the Oriental in a basket of a hat running in for supplies. Mugin would leave in the fall or late summer—whenever the Dutch ship sailed again for the east.

The Bennets, who so rarely traveled, remained at Pemberley for two months, happily overlapping Elizabeth's convalescence. Even though Mrs. Bennet's nerves could wear on anyone, they were now directed at the children, who laughed at their grandmother and took no offense. Kitty Townsend was now two months with child, and Mr. Townsend was a polite companion who enjoyed fishing and talking business with Bingley, as he had made his own fortune in trade. Mary Bennet conversed with Grégoire (which Mr. Bennet was more than happy about, as it was a load off his ears), and Joseph Bennet was beginning to learn his letters, even if he only knew a few of them. He had black hair and a slightly darker complexion than most of his relatives, but nothing as bizarre as some of their other guests of late. Joseph Bennet was used to the company only of George Wickham, almost four significant years his senior, and enjoyed Charles and Geoffrey. The company was not decidedly divided by gender yet, as Georgie and Eliza Bingley were still in the mix and apparently delighted their mother in their disputes, and Anne followed her brother Geoffrey around as if candy was attached to his back. Only Frederick and Emily were missing, as their father had returned to work, and therefore they remained largely in Town.

When the Bennets departed in May, Brian and Nadezhda came up to Chatton. Their relationship with Darcy was still awkward. Dr. Maddox had always been close to his brother despite their understandably rocky relationship, and was quick to be understanding about the steps Brian had taken to secure the safety of himself and his wife. Darcy, more removed and with less invested in the physical person of Brian Maddox, was still uneasy, no matter how Brian apologized or how much Elizabeth badgered her husband. That bridge remained unmended, though he was not uncivil to his guest when the Maddoxes did dine at Pemberley.

Princess Nadezhda Maddox was universally loved by the children and the adults. She was kind, resourceful, and wise in many ways. That Brian was utterly devoted to her was something that even Darcy saw as a shining quality. She did not plan to make the social rounds during the Season, though she would have been the talk of the town and Mr. Maddox's money now restored him to good standing. While not afraid or shy, she was modest, always covered up in either Eastern European or Japanese styles, and carried herself with a hardened dignity. With the children, she was wonderful and kept them out of a good deal of trouble.

Mugin was another matter. He remained a rogue, unwilling to conform to anything foreign to him (which was just about everything) beyond the basic necessities of life, but still amused by their “barbarian” behavior. Only Brian and Nadezhda seemed to be unruffled by anything he said, and he rarely spoke in English except when absolutely necessary, often using them as translators when it didn't seem necessary. He spent his time mainly outdoors, and despite his weaponry and his obvious tendency towards (or appreciation of) violence, he was a gentle giant to the children, even though without his shoes he was shorter than every other adult, even the women. When they weren't afraid of him, they loved him. If he made anyone uncomfortable, they wisely kept their mouths closed in front of him.