The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (2 page)

When he finally came inside, it was nearing midnight. His wife was sound asleep, so he only kissed her on the cheek, but he could not find the lack of energy required for his own retirement. Instead he went to the nursery, where his son was also asleep. Darcy began to conjure what he was to say to him in the morning, but nothing came, and Geoffrey Darcy slept on. All he could think of, and that he said out of earshot as to not wake his son, was, “You have no idea, the burden on your shoulders someday.” To be Master of Pemberley was to inflict a horrible circumstance on his wife, however unintentionally. Everything was colored by the circumstance; Darcy had in him still enough sense to see that.

Georgiana, again, found him first. “The Bingleys are staying the night.”

He just nodded numbly.

“Mr. Bingley is in the drawing room, but he said he doesn't require anything. Jane went to her room, and the dogs are still outside.”
Because how they'd howled; it was unnerving when they knew something was wrong. “
I'm sorry, Brother.”

“I am, too,” was all he could think to say as Georgiana embraced him.

“As much as I love my sister, I am so sorry someone as nice as Elizabeth has the fate of being
Mrs.
Darcy,” she said, and then added quickly, “Oh, I didn't mean—”

“It's fine.”

“No, I meant Mrs. Darcy. As in our mother.”

This lowered his guilt and self-pity and raised his curiosity enough for him to say, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, you know—surely you know.”

“No,” he said. “I don't know.”

She put her hand over her mouth. “Then maybe I shouldn't have said. Certainly now isn't the time.”

“Actually, you haven't said anything,” he said, “as to what this is about. What do you know about our mother that I do not?” After all, Lady Anne Darcy had died shortly after giving birth to Georgiana. “Please. I insist.”

“I suppose you should know. It's just—ill-timed,” Georgiana whispered. “Our mother lost more babies than she bore, Brother.”

She gave him the time to properly sort it out. She was nearly thirteen years his junior, and he had no other siblings. So, with the years of marriage between his parents, who as far as he remembered cared for each other at least decently, either periods of barrenness or failed pregnancies made some sense. But the subject had never been openly discussed with
him
. “How did—”

“Mrs. Reynolds. Before I was to go
out
, she thought it prudent for me to know what to expect. Oh, please do not blame her.”

“Not in the least.” Mrs. Reynolds had been in the employ of his father since his own childhood and had been head of the household since his adolescence. It was no surprise that she knew more of the personal family history of the Darcys than he did—when it came to women's issues, at least. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I hope it was… some comfort.”

He smiled sadly at her, which was enough of an assurance
that it was; she said her good-nights and disappeared. Most of his staff had retired, and he was inclined to wander for a bit. The halls had always given him comfort, even though now they just seemed empty and… barren.

The lights were still lit in the sitting room. Bingley was reading by the fire. Darcy took a seat by his side, and his friend nodded but said nothing. One of the things that Darcy valued very highly about their friendship was that, despite Bingley's reputation for being oblivious and talkative, he knew precisely when to be quiet—at least around Darcy. He was there, but he did not puncture the silence for a very long time, as his friend and brother stared numbly into the fire.

It was only after Darcy had began to play with it using the poker and made some noise that Bingley said softly, “It was never a competition.”

“I know,” Darcy replied.

And that was all that needed to be said.

The letter posted to the Maddox townhouse in exceedingly good time, but the doctor knew from the description that his arrival would be too late, and shrugged sadly. When his wife inquired as to the letter's contents, he told her the unhappy news. Even though he would never hold back from Caroline Maddox (neé Bingley) unless absolutely necessary, especially on family matters, Elizabeth was not her favorite person, and it could have been concluded at one time that she had wished Elizabeth ill. He doubted that was still true, but he still found himself surprised at Caroline's emotions, as she did seem saddened by the news.

They were in bed when the letter came, but he knew he would be getting up and racing to Pemberley. He ordered the carriage ready but stayed in bed nonetheless, at least for the moment.

“I suppose there's no reason to rush,” Caroline said.

“No,” he said. “I mean, I will go, but not this instant. By now, she may well be fully recovered physically, though not fully emotionally.” He sighed. “Mr. Darcy wants me to work a miracle, I suppose. Or he did when he was writing this letter. Mr. Darcy does not seem likely to remain insensible for an entire day. I doubt I could have done anything, even if I was standing there. I am not an expert on womanly issues, but I know that much.”

“Perhaps you should become an expert.”

He smiled, but then he looked at her in the lamplight and realized she hadn't meant her comment to be a joke. He took her hand and found it trembling. While he was processing what he was going to say to Darcy, he hadn't even considered… He kissed her palm, as if that would placate her fears. “Everything will be all right.”

“And if it's not?”

“These things are not of our control,” he said. “Perhaps something is wrong, and the body just… rejects it. Instinctually.” He cracked a weak smile. “I tend to be one for trusting a woman's instincts.” His hand strayed to her stomach, feeling under the bed robe.

“It's what makes you a good doctor,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “That and your skill with a needle. If we have a daughter, you can teach her how to embroider cushions and tablecloths, and turn her into a proper little lady.”

“I do believe I've just been insulted,” he said. “And I think I am going to ignore it.” He eventually heaved himself up off the bed and began to stumble around for his clothing.

“I want to come. I mean, to Chatton, where I imagine you'll be staying. Unless you think—”

“Not at all. You could ride to France if you wanted.”

“Darling, you
can't ride
to France.”

“I meant it
metaphorically
,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her again. “You will be fine if you come along.”

She needed reassuring.

On the pretense of visiting Jane, the three available Bennets made their way to Derbyshire. Since officially nothing had happened, or nothing to be spoken of except in privacy, the only family gathering was at Chatton, the Bingleys' home, and those who were wont to visit Elizabeth could easily do so.

Mrs. Bennet was the first to appear, fortunately with Jane. Darcy took Mrs. Bingley aside and said quite quietly and clearly, “If she says something that upsets Elizabeth, I will cast her out of Pemberley. Not to be rude to my mother-in-law, but you understand?”

“Perfectly,” said Jane, and followed her mother.

Elizabeth Darcy was still in bed. She had not left her chambers in several days and was rarely upright. The shades were drawn even though it was past noon, putting the room further into stupor right along with her.

“This… this won't do,” said Mrs. Bennet nervously, as if she didn't know how to act around her own daughter, and she pulled open the curtains, filling the room with light. “Two
hundred servants, and you can't have someone opening your own curtains?”

To this, her shocked daughter had no response. Mrs. Bennet ran around the bed again and sat beside her daughter, embracing her, and with this, she was silent. Jane sat down on the chaise, somewhat bemused.

“Now, now, Lizzy, we're all very sorry, and I am sorry to be the first one to tell you this, but as mothers we are to suffer some unhappiness in our lives.”

“Mama,” Elizabeth said incredulously, “I do know
that
.”

“No, nothing compares, then, to the trials of motherhood. No matter how happy or well settled or loved we are, we will all suffer a bit in our turn. I spent far too many years wracking myself with guilt to watch you do it. Do you wish your wonderful Mr. Darcy to have suddenly married someone like
me
?”

“Mama,” Jane said in Elizabeth's place, “what do you mean?”

“You know precisely what I mean. You're both women with children. But you had the great ability to bear sons, and I did not. So you have already succeeded where I failed, and that itself is cause for joy, no?” She stroked her second daughter's hair. “It may not feel this way now—we women have a tendency to lose perspective, even
you
, Lizzy, but you have all the treasures of the world in front of you—a loving husband, a wonderful home, and a beautiful son.”

“Are you telling me to cheer up?”

“No, I'm barely in control of my own nerves… I hardly see how I could give advice about other people's.” And yet, Mrs. Bennet seemed perfectly calm, if appropriately sad at the situation, and that left her two daughters utterly put off. “You will be your old self in no time. You will see.”

Darcy did not invade the privacy of his wife's bedroom, usually very much his own domain as well as hers, until his mother-in-law and sister were done and gone, and by then it was getting late. Elizabeth did not eat with the rest of them, her appetite being sparse, and so he did not see her again until he could be properly excused from his guests.

“Lizzy,” he said as he entered, surprised to find her sitting up and reading, something he hadn't seen in a while. He kissed her and climbed into bed beside her. She had never shooed him away since the incident, as would have been her right, certainly, and he had not been at all desirous to be apart from her. “What are you reading?”

“
A Midsummer Night's Dream
.”

“You have not read it?”

“It was my first Bard, actually. I haven't read it since childhood. At the time, I thought a man with the head of an ass was the most amusing thing in the world.”

“And now?”

“And now, what?”

“What do you think is the most amusing thing the world?”

“I could tell you, but it might insult your considerable dignity.”

“So you mean
me
, with the head of a donkey. Perhaps opiated, saying ridiculous things, or drunk and punching people.”

His wife laughed. He could not remember when the sound had made him feel better, like a weight lifting off his chest. “I love you,” he said, “and I might venture a strange guess that your mother did not say anything too terrible.”

“On the contrary. She might even have been encouraging.
It was so bizarre… it was hard to tell. You may have to get Jane's opinion for any perspective.”

“Your mother? Are you sure it wasn't Mrs. Reynolds in Mrs. Bennet's dress?”

Lizzy giggled again. “Stop insulting my mother. She was very comforting.”

“Then I owe her a great debt. Perhaps I should marry one of her daughters.”