The Plight of the Darcy Brothers (31 page)

Why was he turning his thoughts to her now? Wasn't he on an important mission? His brother would never grant his consent—not that he needed his brother's consent. He was a man and, besides, the older one. He just wanted Danny's look of approval for once, nodding just once in a way that said,
You have done something right. I know I'm as shocked as you are.
Only, Daniel Maddox wouldn't say it that way.

He got back on his horse and continued his journey. He made it to the villa, just outside Rome, in another two days. There he found an overeager Darcy shaking his hand and not doing the proper thing of reading the letter in private in whatever room he designated his study. He read it aloud to all present. Mr. Bennet accepted the terms. All that he wished was his daughter's happiness, of course. (And they knew Mr. Bennet meant it.)

Darcy turned unceremoniously to Brian and said, “What is the absolute fastest way to get to England without riding?”

“Without riding? By carriage.”

“We could not go fast by carriage.”

Brian shrugged, confused. “Then, I suppose, you could charter a boat that would go around France and take you to home. But it would be a monstrous expense and still take time.”

“How long?”

He was getting alarmed by the urgency in Darcy's voice. Darcy rarely laid his emotions so bare. “Between one to two months to sail all the way around France, depending on the weather. But we would have to be lucky with the barricades.”

“Can you arrange it for us immediately?”

“Of course,” he said. “What is this all about? What's wrong?”

“It's not—wrong,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing is wrong. I just cannot ride on a horse, and we need to return.”

“Even the carriage would be a bit bumpy,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Brian said. And then again, “
Oh.
Well, uhm, why don't I see about a ship then, a fast one.”

“Cost is not a concern,” Darcy stressed. “I will go to Rome now with the letter and see about the financial arrangements. They will probably take a day or two.”

“I will return as fast as possible from the port with arrangements in a day or two,” Brian said. I hope your brother has adapted to life at sea, Mr. Darcy, or we'll all be in a lot of trouble. Though, a man can survive without food for a time if he is kept properly watered.”

“Don't make Grégoire sound like a plant,” was all Darcy had to say to that. “You have made the assumption that I intend to take him back to England.”

“But I am probably correct.”

Darcy, it seemed, felt himself at a loss and only shrugged. They had more urgent business to attend to.

The Darcys, together and separately, said their good-byes to Rome. It was a pleasant place, but it was not home, not even to Grégoire, who spent the most time there. One night, he did not return at all, and Darcy stayed up in concern, long after his
wife had retired. He was sitting on the stairs, knowing Grégoire would have to climb them to get to his room. When his brother did reappear, the sun was rising, and he looked exhausted. He shambled up the steps, nodded to Darcy, and attempted to make his way to his room. Darcy grabbed his bloodied robes. “I thought we spoke of this.”

“The last time, Darcy. For Elizabeth.”

“Explain to me, in detail, how this will help my wife.”

“It is not a medical thing to be stated. It is a matter of faith, Brother, that the yoke of heaven can be pulled off one person and assigned to another.” He turned around, and despite his obvious extreme discomfort, stared right back up at his towering, intimidating brother. “I would not see her suffer. She deserves only happiness.”

“While I disagree with your methods, I agree with the notion, however misguided, that we both wish the best for Elizabeth. But, if this is truly the last time, then I will take your word as a solemn vow.”

“I vow it.” Grégoire crossed himself.

“Then,” Darcy said, “let me help you to your room. That is, I believe, not part of the program.”

Grégoire did not contradict him. As the birds chirped for early morning, Darcy bandaged his brother, lent him a shirt, and ordered the last remaining servant to wash out his robe with as much soap as possible. It was not until the monk was asleep on his mat on the floor that Darcy returned to his own bed, sliding next to Elizabeth, a hand on her stomach, and fell asleep. There was silence as he drifted off, and for the moment, that was enough.

THE TIME SPENT ON the ship was easily the most miserable of Darcy's entire life that did not involve some emotional disaster. In fact, despite the impending confrontation with Wickham— who he had decided would have to be told—hanging over his head, he was looking forward to returning to England now that their business was concluded as favorably as it could have been, beyond even his own expectations. He had gained a brother and, in some measure, restored a sister-in-law to a position in which she could live her life. He missed Geoffrey and the Bingleys terribly, and there was, of course, the exhilarating matter of Lizzy in delicate condition again. All of this put him in a good mood— until he stepped on that boat.

For now he had two sick people to deal with, not one. Grégoire had not overcome his seasickness and did not do so over the course of the trip. Elizabeth was ill as well, and the rocking of the boat made her maternal sufferings worse. They spent most of their time sick in their cabin after the sailors tired of them rushing to the edge of the deck.

“How can you even—Grégoire, I know for a fact you haven't eaten anything in two days now! It isn't even possible! I don't know biologics, but I know that!” Darcy protested helplessly, to which Elizabeth gave a very pale smile and Grégoire just collapsed from exhaustion, to be hoisted up again and helped back onto a bench by Darcy.

His only reprieve was when the ship took port briefly in France. Elizabeth and Grégoire had time to get off the boat and eat something, out of fear of starvation, and they were somewhat restored while on land. Then they got back on the boat, and his misery resumed.

He barely had time to take his exhausted brother aside. “When we return to England—obviously, there will be some shock, but I wanted to ask if you wished to be called Grégoire Bellamont or Grégoire Darcy.”

“Excuse my lack of knowledge of custom—”

“It is nothing. It is whatever you wish.”

Elizabeth, barely conscious herself but aware enough to listen in, knew it to be otherwise. What Darcy was offering was to acknowledge Grégoire as a Darcy, in direct opposite of convention for a bastard son. She doubted he would offer the same thing to Wickham.

Grégoire shook his head. “I am just a humble servant of the Lord. Please, Brother, call me whatever suits you.”

This was no help to Darcy, of course, and even Grégoire must have known that, but Elizabeth could not help but smile at Darcy's exasperation. She knew, in private, that his plans for his brother were comprehensive, that he hoped to convince Grégoire to at least switch to a monastery in Germany or somewhere safer than unstable France. Darcy could be as convincing
as Grégoire could be stubborn, but she figured she would glean what amusement she could from the situation.

Since they were moving faster than the mail, their arrival was unannounced. They received no reception at the docks at Dover, nor at the house in Town when the carriage brought them home. No one was expecting them home for at least a month, and they could only hope that Georgiana was in Town to receive them when they arrived at the Darcy townhouse. But first there was the matter of getting Grégoire across the long, sloped plank between the dreaded ship and the dock.

“How is a man who lives on a mountain afraid of heights?” Darcy said as he practically carried him down the plank.

“Mountains are not generally directly over water,” Elizabeth pointed out as she stepped onto the wood of the dock and then the cobbled stones above English soil.

The Darcys were back.

Though their desire to see Geoffrey was now immense, they could not go straight to Derbyshire. They took a carriage to the Darcy house in London. It was not practical or polite to disregard Georgiana, whom they found in the music room, at the piano. That she was surprised at their sudden arrival was an understatement. “Brother!” She ran to embrace him before the equally shocked servants could get his coat off and his manservant could be called. “Sister!”

“Oh, please don't,” Elizabeth said. “Or I will be ill. Please, I must sit.”

Darcy, ill only from exhaustion, said as politely as he could manage to the servants rushing to his side to greet their master,
“Please get some tea and food, and have it brought into the parlor immediately. And call for a courier.” After Georgiana released him, he helped the green-looking Elizabeth to a comfortable sofa. “Sit. We are home.”

In her state, she merely gestured to Grégoire, and Darcy realized the massive duty he now had, besides getting his brother back to health. “Georgiana,” he said softly, “please allow me to introduce Brother Grégoire Bellamont of the Cistercians, our half-brother.”

Grégoire bowed not the polite bow of a gentleman, but the deep bow of an exceedingly humble man.

“But—that means Father—”

“Yes, it does mean Father,” Darcy said, knowing the sentence made no sense. “I was as surprised as you are, but he is, in fact, our father's son. He is but five months younger than you.”

Georgiana looked hard at Grégoire, sizing up the young monk before her in his tattered robes and outright bizarre haircut, before running across the room to embrace him. Grégoire stiffened before accepting this and hesitantly put his arms around Georgiana.

“I've always wanted a brother,” she said. “I mean, my own age.” She pulled away so he had to look into her face. “Did Father really leave you so poor?”

“No, he was very kind to me,” Grégoire said in that bizarre, part French, part cultured English accent. Over their travels, he had picked up on the way Darcy and Elizabeth spoke, and now that they thought about it, the change was noticeable.

“In fact, Grégoire is one of the richer men in England,” Darcy said. “Father was indeed very kind. This is merely his own religious persuasion, and he is as stubborn as the rest of our
family about it. But while you get acquainted, I must send some couriers to let others know that we are here.”

“Yes,” she said as Darcy left, leaving the three of them. Georgiana turned to Elizabeth. “You are home quite early.”

“We decided rather abruptly to return by ship, which was faster than a land courier, so there was no way to send a message ahead.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes,” Elizabeth said as tea was served. “Just Darcy being his nervous self about getting home safely since we discovered I was with child.”

“Oh! Elizabeth!” Georgiana briefly abandoned her newfound brother to hug her sister-in-law, despite her modest protests. “How wonderful! When is your confinement?”

“Oh, I'm barely two months or so along. I haven't even thought about it. I was honestly just thinking of returning home. We will discuss everything later. And Grégoire,
eat something
; you're on land now.”

“Thank the Lord,” Grégoire said, as he crossed himself, and the servants appeared with platters of cakes and tea. “His Holiness may be a fisher of men, but I am no seaman.”

“I think we have proved that, yes,” Elizabeth said, grinning to Georgiana. “He has no sea legs at all. Between him and my feminine ills, Darcy had his hands full the whole voyage making sure we didn't fall off the ship. But, tell me, how is Geoffrey? How much trouble has he gotten into?”

“I wouldn't say a
lot
of trouble that I've heard of,” she said. “Or from what I've heard from Mr. Bingley, who is in Town every other week to check on his sister. Or at least, he has not said anything terrible of Geoffrey.”

“Mrs. Maddox—she's must be nearing the end of her confinement now, am I correct? Oh, I've terribly lost track of time.”

“She is. It would be at Chatton, but—Dr. Maddox is required in Town, and she will not leave him, or him, her. I dine there most nights. He won't talk about his royal patient, of course, but he has met the king! And he is insane!”