The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (27 page)

“But I am not false? This is true, that she must be provided for? That the child must be provided for?” Giovanni insisted. “And it is my child, so I must do it. But she refused. She was so pious, a martyr. Like Saint Mary.”

“The virgin or the whore?” Darcy asked. “I would be very interested to know which biblical Mary you were considering to apply to ours.”

Giovanni bit his lip. He was caught. He paced the room like a caged animal, only harmless instead of being ferocious, the way Darcy usually was when he paced. “I do not—what do you want me to say? Within reason, Signore, please.”

Elizabeth touched Darcy on the arm and whispered. “Let me have a moment with him.”

“With
his
reputation?”

“On the balcony. I insist.”

Darcy sighed, allowed his wife to step out onto the pilaster balcony, and pointed for Giovanni to follow. They stepped out of earshot, facing out and leaning on the railing, but in perfect view of the ever-watchful Darcy.

“Some things in this life need a woman's touch,” Darcy said to his brother. “Perhaps some day you will discover that.”

“My apologies—”

“It is too hot and I am too tired, Mr. Mastai,” Elizabeth said. “Do you love my sister?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“But marriage is out of the question?”

“
Sì.
As much as… as I would want it to be. As soon as I finish my schooling, I will receive the tonsure. Only my illness has held me back from completing my studies.”

“I heard it was why you were in France.”

“
Sì.
Because of my fits. A doctor in France said he could cure me, but he was another charlatan.”

Elizabeth paused. “Do you find the prospect of married life so terrible?”

“It is not my path, though my decision has not been an easy one. I was struggling with my studies when I met Mary, and she made—it all come alive. I could understand things when she said them. Still, I did not feel very pious.”

“Obviously,” she could not help but remark.

“But—I did love her. Or came to love her. The feeling came over me like… how do you call… a lightning bolt. And I could not control myself. Things are different here, Signora Darcy. In Italia, what we did would not have been so terrible.”

“But, though we are in Italy, Mary is not. And cannot be expected to abandon her own family for you, especially since you will shortly be supposedly celibate.”

“So you do see… how terrible it is. But I am to do what?” He shook his head. “Every woman I had ever met was jeweled and made up to be perfect. Mary was perfect as she was, without adornments. Humble, pious, thinking little of herself, intelligent, studious… the very ideal of the church. The Virgin Mary.” He put his head down. “A terrible comparison, I know, Signora. But I cannot help it. And I ruined her. Tell me at least that she is not cast out.”

“No.” Elizabeth's voice was wavering, and she was having trouble hiding it. “Papa was upset, yes, but she is family, and we love her. But her position in society—that is terrible, beyond repair. There is little hope for the Bennet name when this becomes known, if that has not happened already.”

He sighed again. He was obviously in anguish, maybe in tears. It was hard to tell when he looked away, which was good for her as well, because she could hide her own tears. “If I go inside and offer your husband to deliver everything in my power to give, beyond my person as a husband, he will not kill me? Because he does—appear that way.”

“No, he most assuredly will not. He is just very intimidating.”

He bowed. “Thank you, Signora Darcy.”

“Do right by my sister, and I will be the one doing the thanking, Mr. Mastai.”

Inside, agreement was quickly reached, now that Elizabeth was there to make Darcy comply. Not that she
expected otherwise, but he took one look at her reddened eyes and softened.

“Tomorrow,” Giovanni said. “I can have a proposal for you tomorrow.”

“I have your word of honor as—whatever you are, a clergyman, an Italian, a Roman—that you will not flee again?”

“No, Signore.”

So, it was agreed. Attempts at further conversation would be too awkward, so they took their leave.

“He loves her,” Elizabeth said, both sad and relieved at the same time, “but they are too far apart in too many ways.”

“We will see tomorrow how much he loves her.”

Their next meeting was very formal and arranged. They sat at the dining table in Giovanni's apartment with an older man who spoke little and was obviously a banker. The Darcys sat across from them, and a paper was passed. Darcy glanced at the number, kept his look of concern and impatience, and passed it back without a word.

“Oh, and for the child.” Giovanni passed another paper. Darcy took a look at it, and passed it back again.

Without hesitation, he replied in an even voice, betraying neither disgust nor delight at whatever he had seen, “Mr. Bennet will, by law, receive any monies you wish to grant Miss Bennet. He may do as he pleases, though I have no doubt that he will give Mary access to the money in the fullest possible way. You may set up the trust fund for the child so that he cannot touch it. As I must deliver the check and set up the account, I will probably do so only with Mr. Bennet's approval, as I am only his son-in-law and here by proxy.”

“I put my full faith in you, Signore.”

“I will write to him by special courier, and we will wait to see if the terms are agreeable to him. If they are, I will take the checks immediately and return to England.”

“Of course.” Giovanni swallowed. “I ask only—a small favor. That you deliver a letter I have written to Mary.” He removed it from his robes and passed the envelope over. It was sealed, and Elizabeth took it. “Thank you. She should know I only wish her the best, but there shall be no further correspondence, for both of our sakes.”

“So it must be.”

They bowed and left. Darcy was too eager to leave and Elizabeth too eager to know what figures he had seen. As they stepped outside and turned the corner, Darcy going first with his wife and brother practically chasing after him, he turned to them with a smile.

“It went well?”

“Better than my own expectations. Though I did not get my chance to properly throttle him, but I suppose I'll have to let that pass.”

“That terribly much?”

“If your father accepts—and Mr. Bennet will have to have lost all reason not to do so immediately, your sister will be one of the wealthiest women in England.” He whispered the sum, and Elizabeth gaped. “But first, most pressing, I must find that damned Maddox. I am in need of a speedy courier who thinks he owes me his life.”

“So, you're not going to tell me the sum?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What kind of man do you take me for?”

Darcy's blunt stare was enough to get the point across. Brian Maddox took another long swig from his mug. “You're thinking I might run off with Miss Bennet to get the money. Well, I'll let you know I have only the highest respect for the institution of marriage. Hence why I, with my low moral character, have never entered into it. Left two girls at the altar… not at the same time, of course. Though the Turks do have some strange customs.”

“I don't think I even want the explanation,” Darcy said, “and I will willingly rob my wife of it. Now, the letter.” It sat, composed and sealed by Darcy, on the inn table before them. “How fast?”

“If I'm lucky, a month there, however long it takes him to decide, and then a month back. Two months, maybe three.”

“Three months!” Elizabeth said. “It took us two to get here!”

“You're not a professional courier who is very good at riding and even running with a limp,” Brian Maddox replied. “But— there is the business of me going to England. A risky venture.”

“Outstanding debts, of course.” Darcy did not even pretend to be surprised.

“Some have defaulted, since I haven't been spotted on British shores for two years. But some don't listen to rules, if you know what I mean. I would very much like to see my brother and the lovely Mrs. Maddox, if only in passing, but they're in Town. Where some—well, a
majority
—of my enemies are. But considering I'm otherwise offering to pay my own expenses for travel and do this actual job as a service to a family member, however distant, I'd say you'll be getting off easy by only insuring my safety while in England.”

“Or I could use a proper courier,” Darcy pointed out.

“Who'll pass France's embargo in that little time? He'd need a bribe for that, probably as much or more than I am asking. Which is two hundred pounds, by the way.”

Darcy replied, “All things considered, I do find that reasonable. But if you don't return within three months—”

“—then I'm dead on a roadside, and you should have hired someone proper after all. Not that a proper courier would go to England and upset Napoleon. And no, believe it or not, I don't gamble. Not while I'm on duty, anyway. Or when my brother's involved.”

“I have to admit, you and the doctor could not be further opposites.”

“And you are in quite a position to speak of brothers.”

Darcy gave a glance to Grégoire and then back at Brian. “And not a word of this.”

“Of course. None of my business. Well, about as much my business as the matter of Miss Bennet, but that's none of my business anyway. I'm just delivering a letter.” He smiled at them. “By the way, I have an address of a villa just outside Rome for you. You might find it more comfortable than the city itself, if you've had enough of the bugs and the heat and those awful smells.”

“I might have,” Darcy said. They shook hands, and Brian was gone, taking the letter with him in his rucksack.

“A pleasant man,” said Grégoire innocently.

“Certainly an enigma,” said Elizabeth. Darcy had no comment.

If there was one thing Brian Maddox was right about, it was Rome. It was a most unpleasant place in the summer, if one had no particular religious interest beyond sightseeing. The Darcys
took their leave and rented the villa at an extremely reasonable price. It was on a hill, and on a clear day, they could even see the ocean and feel a cool breeze. It was also not far from Rome, close enough that Grégoire could walk there as often as he pleased, which was very often. They saw little of him, except when they joined him, and Elizabeth saw the Sistine Chapel and The Last Supper in all their glory, though she was surprised to find the latter was merely a painting over an ordinary square doorway.