Mr. Darcy's Great Escape (33 page)

“Not a weakness,” she said. “A need. A want. I want you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you've been so paranoid to that end about your wife's concerns…
there
, you were quite correct. I won't stand for it any longer.” She kissed him again, more insistently, less wary of his own reaction, which this time was strong enough to illicit a response of shock. He was quite willing to be the recipient of several more, to be backed up against the rock wall, to let her hands wander and find his.

“Lizzy,” he said. “This isn't a good place.”

“Would it shock you to hear that I have little care of that?”

“Very little you could say… could shock me.”

They removed their overcoats and spread them on the ground, which would serve its purpose. This was not their first amorous adventure beyond the bed, but this was the first time she made it abundantly clear, in words, that she wanted him—
needed
him—and she would not wait a moment longer.

It didn't matter that it was cold, raining, and quite a bit damp, even on the high terrain, under the shelter. Nothing mattered beyond husband and wife, finally together after a long separation, first physical and then mental, but ultimately dissolved.

***

It was growing dark as the Darcys ran across the great lawn of Pemberley, Darcy holding his overcoat over his wife in a futile attempt to shield her from the rain. The door opened to a horrified Mrs. Reynolds. “Mr. Darcy! Mrs. Darcy! We've been looking for you all afternoon!” There was a slight and unintentional scolding tone to her voice, as if they were two children who had run off and gotten themselves all soaked and muddy. They certainly must have appeared that way. “I will call the maids.”

“Please do,” Darcy said. “We are quite exhausted, Mrs. Reynolds, and I believe my wife would like to retire for the evening. Will you have our meal sent up and have Georgiana informed of the arrangements?”

“Of course, Mr. Darcy. We shan't have you catching a cold. Either of you!”

“We were caught by the weather,” Elizabeth said, a bit amused at the way Mrs. Reynolds fretted about, as it seemed to bring out a smile from Darcy.

Her husband, smiling.

“Is Dr. Maddox still here?”

“He's in the library. Since he does not know the grounds, we discouraged him from following you.”

“Give him our thanks,” Darcy said.

“And serve the poor man some food,” Elizabeth said.

They did have an acute interest in returning to their chambers. As if being wetter was a good idea, both master and mistress submitted to a hot bath and then finally a dry change of clothes before the tray appeared, whereupon they dismissed everyone and shut the doors.

They were exhausted, as could only be expected from a physically and emotionally draining day, however well it had ended. Elizabeth found that, even after hastily finishing off the meal and retiring to bed with her husband, all of her fears and worries of the past months were not so easily discharged. Darcy stroked her hair, but said nothing, lost in his own thoughts as well.

“Did you consider sending me to Bedlam?” He sounded a bit worried, but not overly so.

“No,” she said, resting on his shoulder. “It was thought of but not seriously considered.”

“I do not mean to be the way I am,” Darcy said. “My father was not like this.”

“I did not fall in love with your father,” she replied. “All things considered, I might not have wanted to. You are willing to admit your faults. Though sometimes it takes a bit of badgering.”

She felt him laugh. Just a little, but it was enough to create a rumble in his chest.

“Perhaps I have not been… completely rational with Georgiana,” his voice was pained, “or—anyone. But allow me to at least concede to one person at a time.”

“Do you have any real objections to Lord Kincaid?”

“I have objections. They keep running through my head, and I cannot dismiss them. It is very hard for me to do.”

“Somehow you've already managed it. Darcy, you are stronger than you believe yourself to be. You have survived so many things—gunshot wounds, death duels, prison, and a headstrong wife—that you can survive Austria. Maybe you can survive the idea of Georgiana in love and happily married to a Scot.”

“He has your good opinion, apparently, and your good opinion is not so easily won—”

“It is to
polite
people with
social abilities
—”

“—that perhaps I will concede that your judgment is better than mine in the matter of Lord Kincaid.”

So. There it was.

“Let me sleep on it,” he said, as she hugged him tighter. “A momentous decision should be made after a good night's rest, preferably beside one's wife.”

To this, she put up no argument.

Christmas Returns to Pemberley

Caught between his desire not to leave Pemberley and his desire not to endure being the host of many guests, Darcy eventually mumbled to Elizabeth that she should decide with the Bingleys on the Christmas celebrations.

“What do you want?” she asked, knowing it was not a simple question.

“I don't know,” he admitted after a moment. “What do
you
want?”

“Well,” she said, repositioning herself on the pillows, “I think either would be good for you, and I love Christmas at Pemberley.” She leaned in. “It will be small. Just close family.”

“So, Pemberley will be overridden by a horde of small children.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Precisely.”

***

Before the decorations were up or any guests arrived, Darcy invited and entertained a visitor at Pemberley. The winter winds had set in, but it bothered neither man as they strolled around the dying gardens. Lord Kincaid was accustomed to the northern winters, and Darcy to a cold cell. For them this was a mild fall day. Darcy took off his gloves and wrung them out as he walked. “My behavior, however indirectly to you, was of course inexcusable.”

“The timing was poor,” Kincaid said politely, to soften it.

Darcy stopped in his tracks and turned to Kincaid. He stumbled over his words, his usual ability at words failing him. “Georgiana is everything to me. I mean—not everything, but she is my sister.”

“Miss Darcy has only the highest respect and admiration for you, Mr. Darcy.”

He liked that Lord Kincaid was formal and proper about it. It made him secure in what, he had been assured many times, had been a courtship within every boundary of propriety. “I was told the circumstances of your meeting, but I'm afraid I was told a lot of things upon my return—I'm really not normally so deficient in the retention of information.” He trailed off. He had come fairly close to destroying his gloves by now. “If you would indulge me, Lord Kincaid.”

“Happily,” he replied. “This spring I decided I could put it off no longer and came down to my session of the House. One day, I found myself quite lost in the West End, where I came upon the only familiar face I had seen since my arrival, that of Miss Darcy. It was a beautiful day, only her lady-maid escorted her, and she offered to show me on my way. I inquired as to your family and the Maddoxes, and that was our conversation. That might have been the end of it, but we ran into each other again, at the theater, where she was attending with Dr. and Mrs. Maddox, whom I got to talking to during intermission.” William Kincaid had, after all, been at their wedding. “It was on the way home that I realized that within the strictures of polite society I had no proper way of seeing her again without applying to you, but you were not in London, and so I fell into a state of despair. I asked my sister-in-law Fiona to come down, but she refuses to leave the Highlands, saying the one time she left it was to marry my brother, and what a disaster that came to be.”

“Yes, of course,” Darcy said.

“A few days later Dr. Maddox was good enough to invite me to dinner at his house. I did want to know how his brother was getting on—but of course, he had little idea. When Miss Darcy did come up in conversation, I said how nice it was to see her again and left it at that, even though I was eager to say more.”

Darcy just nodded.

“When I was invited a second time, as my home was no place to host anyone at the time, Miss Darcy was there, and we chatted. We came to a mutual understanding that we might see more of each other through the Maddoxes. We did wish to apply to you about this, but you were busy with your aunt, I believe, and she didn't wish to—”

“Yes, yes,” Darcy said, waving it off.

Kincaid continued, his walking stick making a soft sound on the stone pathway. “So, unfortunately, it was all kept very quiet until you abruptly left for the Continent and Miss Darcy went with Mrs. Darcy to Kent. Not being able to write her or even run into her, I was in despair.” He tried to meet Darcy's eyes, which was a challenge in that Darcy kept avoiding contact. “Your sister is the kindest, sweetest, most beautiful woman I have ever met. She is all goodness, and she is a great companion. It took me only a month to realize I could not do without her, and wrote to Mrs. Darcy that I happened to be in Kent. I hoped Miss Darcy would be informed, but if not, I was resigned to wait longer. I was invited to meet the new Lord Matlock and his wife, and that was when I applied to court your sister.”

“I never thought a Darcy would fall for a Scot,” Darcy said. He wasn't sure it was polite or why he said it, but he did.

“I never thought I would fall in love with an Englishwoman.”

The way Kincaid called Georgiana a woman again and again—it made Darcy stir. She was five and twenty, and out—she deserved to be considered a woman, not a child. She would always be his little sister (and she would always be shorter than he was), but she was not a child. Elizabeth was right—she deserved to be treated as an adult who could make her own choices. “Are you applying for a courtship or her hand?”

“I wish to ask her myself, first,” he said, “but I have not yet done so. This conversation should have happened in the summer and so had to happen first, did it not?”

“Do you believe she will accept?”

“I surely hope so. I will be heartbroken if she does not.”

Marrying an earl was not a bad prospect for Georgiana. She would bring wealth, and he would bring land and a title, provided his estate was not in complete disrepair—which, Elizabeth assured him, it was not—further fortune in investment. Derbyshire was not so terribly far from the Lowlands—he had many Scots servants and tenants. She could easily marry farther south, far away from him. But so young? Elizabeth had been twenty when she married
him
.

How long could he deny his sister something she truly wanted? She was not a little girl; this was not a flight of fancy, or did not appear so. Their courtship had apparently been long—nearly eight months—and arduous, with her moving about and his being unable to follow. All who knew him were willing to stand up and testify that he was genuinely interested in Georgiana, if not in love with her. He was young, but not too young—in his late twenties, as Darcy had been when he married. He had been an earl unofficially for almost a decade and officially under English law for several years, since the death of his brother. He was responsible, polite, and proper. He was probably within shooting distance if he ever hurt her. Despite everything that had happened in the last few months, the image of hunting down a wild Scots in a full kilt brought a smile to his face. “If she responds favorably to your query… I will consent to the marriage.”

The smile on William Kincaid's face could only be genuine. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy.”

Because he didn't want to be touched, Darcy bowed. When they returned to the warm house awaiting them, he discarded his torn gloves.

***

Elizabeth, as always, found him first as he headed up the stairs, her look a question.

“I will retire for a bit before dinner, for as long as there is peace in this house,” he said. “If you wish to join me, I think now would be a good time for Georgiana and Lord Kincaid to accidentally be alone.”

Only Elizabeth could embrace him so quickly and without warning, kissing him on the cheek. “I love you.”

He did not reply. He was tired, mentally. He did not want to sleep so much as rest. He dismissed his man, shed his waistcoat and scarf, sitting down on the settee with his head in his hands.

“He's a good man,” his wife said, sitting beside him. “You did the right thing.” She took one of his shaking hands in hers. It dwarfed hers; it was his scarred and numbed hand, but it didn't matter. “If you want to, you can practically shoot him from here.”

“At least we are thinking the same thoughts,” he mumbled.

***

“
Yes
,” Georgiana said, her height and weight being the only things that prevented her from tackling William Kincaid with her enthusiastic hug.

Overwhelmed himself, Kincaid blinked the tears out of his eyes and kissed her on her forehead. It was the first time they had really touched. He decided that he despised English propriety more than anything else about the country, if only for the frustration it had forced on him. He was sorely tempted to cart her off like a wild man and be married on a glen somewhere, just them and the vicar, like olden times. But if he had to wait for her brother to reappear, so be it. She was worth it.

Marriage hadn't been particularly on his mind when he went to London, though he was getting to be of age where the others around him were giving him that knowing look. He was so exhausted from the fight with his brother over Fiona's marriage—where he felt it was just to take her side—and then James's death that he put it aside. He was the younger brother and was busy running the estate in James's absence and then officially afterwards. He went to London, only most reluctantly, to find it as full of smog and soot as he had been told, but still very sophisticated, far more than Edinburgh, and he was so blindsided by city life until he met Georgiana. She was no longer the girl she had been when they had briefly met seven years earlier. She was a woman, she was out, and she was beautiful. Her brother was an extremely honorable man. William knew he was in love, but he also knew that it would be an uphill battle, and this time with no surprise entrances and quick resolution.

“I feel awful for leaving my brother,” she said, “especially now.”

“Your brother will want a formal engagement period, and there can be no proper wedding until the spring,” Kincaid assured her, however un-assuring that news was for other reasons. “By then, he will be much recovered, I am sure.”

“He did grant his consent?”

“Yes,” he said. “Though, technically, could I not have gone to your
other
brother?”

“Oh!” Georgiana laughed. “Oh, I have a terrible idea.”

“If it brings a smile to your face, it cannot be so terrible,” he said.

***

The first person to hear of the engagement of Lord Kincaid and Georgiana Darcy was not her beloved elder brother, resting upstairs, or her dear sister-in-law, also absconded. They found Grégoire in the chapel, where he spent most of the day. Beneath the altar was the reliquary of Saint Sebald, though they were hardly making it public knowledge.

“Grégoire!” Georgiana said as she rushed into the room, and he stood to greet her. William kept pace but stayed behind for a moment as she curtseyed formally to her confused younger brother. “May I have your consent to marry Lord Kincaid?”

The look of puzzlement on Grégoire's face was truly priceless. William bit his lip to hold his laughter and bowed. “…D-do you need my consent?”

“Well, you
are
my brother.”

“Oh. Yes. Uhm,” he scratched his head. “Yes, yes, of course.” He bowed again to Lord Kincaid. “You… have my consent to marry my sister.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, hugging her overwhelmed brother. That was approximately when William and Georgiana lost their composure, and their laughter only seemed to relieve Grégoire.

“Do you need me to perform the ceremony or something?” he said, still quite befuddled.

“No, thank you. I'm a heretical Presbyterian,” William Kincaid said.

“Oh. Well, I'm a Papist monk, but I shall enjoy attending the ceremony anyway.”

***

The guest list quickly became paramount to the preparations for the holiday. Lord Kincaid had other prior obligations; he would spend the holidays as he normally did with his family, in the north, to return as soon as it was possible.

Darcy entertained another guest the following day. Though they had been in correspondence, he had not actually seen Bingley since his arrival from the Continent, as neither was able to visit the other for different reasons. “My God, man.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I'm an idiot,” Bingley said. “Needlessly putting myself into danger. At least I managed to do it without leaving the country.”

Darcy managed a thin smile as Bingley was helped into an armchair. “It is good to see you.”

“The same. You scared the daylights out of me. I do not want to be steward of Pemberley
and
Rosings for the next ten years.” He gladly accepted the drink that was offered to him.

“Thank you for caring for my children. I hear they actually behaved themselves.”

“I was thinking Geoffrey was a bad influence on Georgie, but it may actually be the other way around. It's rather hard to tell,” he said. “I am willing to have Christmas at Chatton, if you wish it.”

Darcy refused. Bingley was perhaps the one person whom he had no concern about looking nervous around. “I'm very eager to be at home. We would just prefer to have a smaller list this year.”

“Understandably, but there is one matter—Brian and Princess Nadezhda.”

Darcy said nothing. He could think of nothing to say.

“I know—it is awkward. I believe Mr. Maddox is truly penitent about his disappearance and the havoc it caused. But he did save my life.”

“He has a strange habit of causing mischief and then making up for it in the most dramatic way possible.”

“He certainly does. Nonetheless, my sister and Dr. Maddox won't come without them. This is Nadezhda's first Christmas in England. They don't even have a house yet.”

Darcy knew the right decision. Why was he having so much trouble making it? “All right, but no swords. That is my only condition. Besides, it
is
Christmas.”

“I'll see to it myself,” Bingley said. “Oh, and Mugin would come with them.”

“Who?”

“The man who rescued you? In the tavern?”

Darcy shook his head. “I'm sorry, I—” He leaned on his hand. “Yes, him.”