The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (30 page)

“Mr. Maddox,” Bingley said. “How are you?”

“I wouldn't say I'm quite ready to be back on the road, but now I can at least contemplate the idea,” he said, taking a seat with his brother and helping himself to some of the rolls that had been brought out. “To answer the question properly, I was
fortunate to find a man willing to pay off my still-standing debts in Town if I carried a letter for him. So, though I am not eager to go tromping about dark alleyways, I am legally free again. Besides, I must get back to Italy in all haste, so that the Darcys can return. I believe they are eager to do so. But—,” and he held up a free hand, holding another roll in the other, “if I can get a ride back with them, perhaps I can be in time to see if my nephew or niece has that Irish hair.”

“It's not Irish,” Bingley insisted.

“I didn't say it was bad. I have nothing against the wild, savage, Papist Gaels over the crossing. In fact, it's well known that Maddoxes go
mad
over them.”

The doctor just took off his glasses and sighed, and Mr. Bennet had a good laugh, all at poor Bingley's expense, of course.

“You can have more time, if you wish it,” the doctor said. “The child won't be going anywhere.”

“But I must be in the Carpathian Mountains by Christmas, before the hard snow sets in.”

“Work?”

“You could… call it that. But you would be wrong,” Brian said. “I am to be married.”

“
What?
” Both Maddox and Bingley rose in response to the news.

“Sorry not to mention it in the letters. I haven't entirely decided on it, but the date is set.”

“Then how, pray tell, is it not decided?” asked Mr. Bennet.

“Funny story—”

Dr. Maddox put his glasses back on and crossed his arms. “Somehow, I don't think this story is going to be very funny.”

“Depends on your perspective; you see, I sort of lost myself in a bet. Now, I thought it was going to be some kind of labor transaction, but apparently, this count or baron or whatever wants me to marry his daughter, for whom he has not found a husband to his liking. And for whatever reason, I am to his liking. Now if I had known
that
and had known what cards he was holding when I raised—”

It was impossible—Bingley could not help but laugh, though he did cover his mouth when he did it, while the doctor's expression was entirely unamused. “So you are to marry a Romany girl because of a bet?”

“Not Romani. Those are the gypsies. She speaks
Romanian
. And she's an Austrian princess.”

“A princess!” Mr. Bennet said. “My, my, this gets better all the time.”

“Have you even met her?” Daniel Maddox demanded.

“Once… no, twice, and to be honest, she isn't so terrible at all… a real jewel hidden away in that massive castle. She was very sweet to me, if a bit shy.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I'm quite serious. The question now is to never go back to Austria again or to go back and stay for the rest of my life, minus some traveling abroad. When the count—I believe he is a count—when he dies, I would inherit his estate. I could abandon it, if I pleased. So, you see my dilemma. Not that I am expecting an answer from you, though you probably would at least like to comment on my terrible habits and how much trouble they've gotten me into.

“To be honest, if I didn't appear, I don't think he would chase me. But it might break her poor heart. That's the real
issue. Certainly, I've run away from altars before, but usually I thought the woman deserved it. So go on now, make your condemning response to my insipidly stupid behavior.”

But the doctor had no response. He was standing there, gaping and towering over his brother but not saying anything. He scratched his head and after some time said, “… Congratulations?”

“You support it?”

“I don't know. I mean, do you know her? You only met her twice?”

“Yes,” Brian said. “That's double the amount of times a couple in her country normally meets before marriage, so one could say we know each other quite well. None of this business of slow courtship through balls, dinner invitations, letters—and more dinners and more letters and going on walks—when all you want to do is marry the poor girl. Plus, she expects an arranged marriage, so she seemed mildly surprised that I was so—I don't know,
nice
to her.”

No one could seem to gather any response to all this, even Mr. Bennet. It was Brian who had to continue, “But, enough about me. How is my sister-in-law?”

“She's fine,” Dr. Maddox stammered. “I think I need to sit down.”

“I told you I have the summer. Will you relax already? And I must go back to Italy and then come back here first. Plenty of time. What are you so worried about?”

“Your welfare and, apparently, your sanity,” his brother replied.

In utmost secrecy later that day, as his brother rested from the long ride from Town, Brian passed a letter to Mary Bennet in the hallway, quietly and with no one around. He had barely turned around when he was facing Bingley, who was trying to look as intimidating as possible. “Mr. Maddox.”

“Mr. Bingley.”

“My office?”

Brian Maddox rolled his eyes but followed Bingley into his study. “So—how is my sister-in-law? Danny is too modest.”

“She's fine. What was that?”

“Aren't you the noble guardian?”

“Mr. Maddox.”

Brian sat down. “It was a private letter from Mr. Mastai to Miss Bennet that I was asked to deliver along with the other one. Yes, yes, I know it's highly improper for an unmarried man and an unmarried woman to post and all that nonsense, but I do think they know each other well enough for one last correspondence. Or whatever it was. It was sealed, and despite the fact that I am perfectly capable of breaking a seal and then closing it up again without the appearance of having done so, I did not read it on the way.
That
letter, anyway. One hundred thousand pounds, huh? He must be one of those old noble families. Probably traces his roots to the Roman Imperials.”

“Darcy asked you to deliver this?”

“Yes. Isn't he the model of propriety or some such nonsense?”

Bingley found he could not openly contradict him. “So I suppose it should be permitted. I would certainly not want to upset Miss Bennet at this stage.”

“I'm not the doctor, but I would say yes to that. Anything else?”

“Since you are here,” Bingley said, “how are the Darcys?”

“Quite well, now that this is settled, or they seemed to be. They would have sent all kinds of presents, but they didn't want to weigh down my load. They are very eager to be back, I think. And you are probably eager to have young Mr. Darcy off your hands.”

“How are they intending to return?”

“They had not decided. Initially, when I met them on the road from Paris, they said they might come back more leisurely, but now they may have had enough of Europe and be missing their son.”

“Have they learned the language, or will they bring a guide all the way?”

Brian leaned back, his mood altered. “Odd thing for you to ask.”

“Why?”

“Just, thinking that.”

“Is there something you're not saying?”

“Is there something
you're
not saying?” Brian said. “God, I hate circular arguments, unless I'm winning them. Yes, Mr. Bingley, if it will satisfy you as my host, I will say graciously that I believe they intend to return with their monkish guide, and that is all I am permitted to say at this time.”

“Monkish guide?”

“Yes. The young man is a monk.”

“Oh,” Mr. Bingley said. “Very well, then.” He rose, which meant Brian was free to leave, and his guest excused himself.

Outside, Daniel Maddox was waiting, having just awoken from his nap. “What was that about?”

“Espionage, secrets, and lies,” Brian said dramatically. “Is there any food about?”

Two days later, Brian declared himself well enough to leave again, and his brother did not put up an argument. With the reply and some new clothes (having thoroughly ruined the old ones), he got back on his horse, and together with his brother, made for Town. Traveling at an exceptionally fast pace, they arrived in Town two days later, and only at the doctor's insistence did Brian agree to rest the night at his house before traveling to Dover.

“You've no pain in your back? When you ride?” the doctor finally inquired nervously.

“No, none at all.” Brian had been injured in his shoulder two years prior, but the nerves there affected his back and initially caused great discomfort.

“And running?”

“No pain, just that damned limp. The leg won't go in certain directions, that's all. I've gotten used to it. You already said you can't repair nerves.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Daniel Maddox said as they awaited the arrival of his wife, who was resting upstairs. “Surgery is a painful and dangerous procedure, even if I think I can fix something.”

“Maybe that was the attraction of the count. He might think I can't run away from him if I hurt his daughter, or him, to get his fortune. Not that I would.”

“Brian, you can't be serious.”

“Perhaps I am,” Brian smiled, making it impossible to tell if he was. “Perhaps I should settle down. I'm almost forty, Danny, and a cripple. Maybe I should recognize that God is handing me something, even if it is in the Carpathian Mountains.”
He turned. “But look, if it isn't the Gaelic goddess herself. Mrs. Maddox.”

“Mr. Maddox,” Caroline said, descending the stairs. How she had safely managed into a beautiful gown at her stage, neither had any idea. She was still, but for her midsection, the image of grace and female form. Her curtsey, however, was excusably minor. “How are you?”

“Quite well, all things considered and that you may hear otherwise. But I must be off in the morning, sadly. I have a most important letter to deliver.”

Only when things were fully explained and she was satisfied was he permitted to go to sleep, and in the morning, they saw him off in the carriage to Dover.

“Why is your brother so dutiful to the Darcys?”

“I believe the answer is obvious,” Daniel Maddox said. “Besides, he has always been a man of honor when not at a card table or in a gambling den. Unfortunately, he is usually at one of the two.”

After one month, many bribes, many horses, and a few close calls with authorities, Brian Maddox was back over the border and into the ancient hills of Italy. He instinctively headed towards the villa. His instincts were often very keen, except when it came to games of chance. Stopping to take a breather by a stream that must eventually have fed the Tiber and then the ocean, he washed his neck and sat in the shade. He knew if he just leaned against the tree, he would be fast asleep and lose the day, and he was not foolish or fast enough to travel this area at night.

He had lied a little to Daniel. He did, at times, have pains in his chest that a surgeon told him were phantom. He had lost weight. He had grey in his hair, coming in at the roots. He was becoming an old man before his time. Maybe settling down would not be such a terrible idea. Perhaps that very notion was why he had not gambled a penny since the day he met Nadezhda in private during their second meeting, when they were afforded some time alone on a balcony, out of sight of her overbearing, bearded hulk of a father.