All Hallow's Eve (73 page)

“Will you walk into the house with me, or would you rather remain outdoors for a little while longer, sir?” she said, that mischievous grin spreading across her face once again.

He smiled back at her. “I think I would prefer to remain and work on the sketch before entering the house once again.”

“I thought so. I will see you at dinner, sir.” She curtsied and began to walk away, then stopped and turned back toward him. “Sketching
does
involve a great deal of concentration, does it not? I will explain to Mama that you cannot converse while sketching. I should tell you that Mama will direct Jane to sit by you and watch you sketch; please know that Jane does not chatter away like my mother did this afternoon, and she will not bother you. Have no fear; Jane is not interested in ‘catching’ you, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth smiled brilliantly, and, not waiting for an answer, she turned away and continued on to the house.

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Dreams & Expectations

Dreams & Expectations Sample

August 25, 1796

Have I not waited long enough?
Sighing deeply, the twelve-year-old boy made an effort to still his impatience. Surely being summoned to his mother’s bedside now was an assurance that better times would soon return! Nothing had been the same during the endless weeks of her recovery.

His gaze wandered over the sitting room—each corner and every piece of furniture conjured happy memories. Whenever he heard the word
home
, his thoughts made their way here, to his parents’ chambers.

This
is where he had always felt most loved.

When appearing in public as the Master and Mistress of this great estate, as well as the daughter and son-in-law of an earl, his parents’ behaviour was reserved and indifferent. But here, out of sight of the servants and far from the eyes of society, those masks were cast aside. After crossing the threshold to these rooms, the love and respect that each held for the other was openly displayed; their witty banter had always been a delight to observe. Those occasions always ended too soon.

His attention was caught by the door to his father’s rooms. Recollections took shape in his mind—great stretches of time had been devoted to examining the process of his father being shaved, observing the addition of the many layers of finely tailored clothing that was proper for a gentleman to wear, and dreaming of the day that
he
would undergo similar preparations to be considered presentable. While there, they discussed many subjects, ranging from the everyday management of the estate to politics or philosophy. Father had always shown an interest in his son’s opinion, challenging him to expand his mind.

The young man grinned, remembering the time that Father had allowed
him
to be shaved, even though he had not yet had whiskers! It had been a struggle to remain still as the valet requested. The amusement in his father's eyes as he looked on was a cherished memory. Afterward, he had even been permitted to splash on a bit of cologne.

A noise emanated from his mother’s chambers. He could almost hear his mother’s gentle voice reminding him, “A gentleman does not slouch, dear.” Automatically, he sat up straighter, anticipating a servant about to call him in. Still the door did not open.

The young man reclined against the cushions and sighed once again.

Oh, all the pleasant hours had he spent watching magic being performed as the maid had arranged his mother’s hair! They two would take advantage of that time to discuss any subject that came to mind. His mother would instruct him in the typically unspoken laws of their level of society—the highest circles of the
ton.

When once he had expressed his feelings that a rule seemed ridiculous to him, she had explained, “Even if we personally do not agree, we must follow these rules. If not, all of our relations shall suffer dire consequences! It is essential that we avoid catching the attention of the gossips whenever possible.”

One of his favourite pastimes had always been watching his mother brush out her waist-length hair before she tucked him in at night. He would marvel at the many different shades of gold that wound through her locks—as if each strand were a colour all its own.

The sound of the door to his mother’s bedchamber pulled the boy from his reverie. The housekeeper stepped aside, and the nurse to his sister exited the room, carrying the wiggling babe.

Smiling widely, he moved toward them and pulled the blanket away from his sister’s sweet face. Adoration welled up within his chest at the sight her. The blue of her eyes and the gold of the miniscule wisp of hair upon her head were similar to their mother’s, but that is not what endeared her to him so greatly. Though the adults told him she was yet too young, he was convinced that she smiled whenever she saw him.

He slipped his finger into her tiny hand, and she grasped it firmly. “Good morning, Georgiana! Have you been to visit with Mother?” Bending, he kissed the fist that tightened further around his finger.

Glancing at the housekeeper, his grin disappeared when he noticed her eyes were filled with tears. Before he could ask if all was well, she spoke. “Master Fitzwilliam, Mrs. Darcy will see you now.”

Young Darcy kissed his sister’s soft cheek before wrapping the blanket more securely around her. The nurse bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

Though he wished to throw open the door and rush into her arms, the boy caught himself. Determined to impress his mother with his gentleman-like conduct, he smoothed his coat, corrected his posture, and walked slowly to the door. He had almost passed through it when he recalled the wildflowers that he had collected for his mother.

A few steps into the room, he stopped, shocked at the dark and gloomy atmosphere. The scent that accosted him was frightening, though there were even more arrangements of roses than was usual.

Empty was her customary place at the dressing table, as was her favourite window seat where she would read at this time of day.

At a nudge from the housekeeper, he turned; she nodded toward the bed.

Mother is
still
unwell?
The
young man approached the bed, but the woman who rested there he did not recognize. About to order her from his mother’s rooms, he felt his heart stop when she opened her eyes. They sparkled like blue diamonds.

He gasped sharply.
No!
his thoughts screamed.
Why has no one informed me?!

Lady Anne tried her best to smile and lifted her hand, holding it out toward him.

Young Darcy’s hand lifted automatically in response. Only then did he realize that he had stopped several paces away from the bed. He moved quickly toward her, using care to be very gentle when taking her hand. Because her appearance was more pale and sickly than he had thought possible for anyone, he was afraid that he would crush her bones if he applied too much pressure.

She whispered hoarsely, “I have missed you, William.”

The young man swallowed hard past the tightness that had developed in his throat. “I missed you very much as well, Mother.”

“You have met your sister?”

He nodded. Her voice was so soft, more like a whisper—he had to hold his breath to hear it. “I cannot help but love her dearly already.”

Her smile widened. “I am happy to hear it.” She coughed, and he helped her take a sip from a glass of water that the maid handed to him. “Will you sit with me for a while? I wish to speak to you...”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed when her voice trailed off, and then pulled a chair closer. She held out her hand once again. Her skin was so fragile, almost like the outer layer of the onions the cook used.

Remembering the flowers in his other hand, he held them up.

“They are beautiful, William. Thank you.”

Lady Anne made a slight gesture, and the maid scurried off, returning with a vase. His flowers were displayed in a place of honour—upon the small table at the side of her bed. Her next motion sent the servants out of hearing range.

She spoke in short bursts. “My son, I have always been proud of your every accomplishment. You are so good, and so very kind. My love for you has grown stronger as each day passes.” She hesitated. “William... I – I will not have the opportunity to tell your sister...”

He could not breathe.
Mother is dying!

Lady Anne paused a few moments to catch her breath before she continued, her voice weaker than ever, “Will you explain to Georgiana? She and I have spent only a short a time together, but I love her very much.”

His throat had constricted to a point that would not allow speech. The young man nodded.

“Promise me, William... take good care of your father and sister.” Falling into a severe fit of coughing, she grasped his hand tighter than he thought possible. Her eyes communicated a desperate need to go on. She barely wheezed, “You
must
marry well! Promise me that you will marry well.”

Realizing that it would be better for her if she rested before he begged for an explanation of the meaning of the last promise, he decided to inquire the following day. Young Darcy vowed, “I promise that I will, Mother!”

Soon after, her cough quieted, and Lady Anne fell into a deep sleep. Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, caught his eye and motioned toward the door.

The boy tenderly kissed his mother’s cheek and gazed upon her for a few moments more before leaving her to rest.

Lady Anne Darcy
née
Fitzwilliam did not awaken again.

~%~

The day following Lady Anne’s death, her sister Lady Catherine de Bourgh entered the library in search of her brother-in-law. The room seemingly empty, she turned to continue her search elsewhere. A noise caused her to hesitate.

“Who is there?”

Something halfway between a gulp and a sob was heard, and then all fell silent. Lady Catherine moved in the direction from which she perceived the sound. “I demand that you show yourself this instant!”

The figure of a boy emerged from under a desk in a far corner of the room and swiped at his face with his sleeve.

“Fitzwilliam George Darcy! How
dare
you bring shame upon the memory of your mother?”

Wide-eyed, he gasped. “I did not mean to... I would never...”

Her eyes tightened. “Nephew! Are you so weak-minded that you cannot recall anything that you have learned? A
true
gentleman must
not
display his emotions for others to see.”

A crimson flush crept up young Darcy’s face.

Lady Catherine sat down; her form rigid, she folded her hands in her lap. With a slight nod of her head, the corners of her lips turned slightly upwards. She murmured under her breath, “Yes... I can see it!” Her eyes gleamed in a way that sent a chill down her nephew’s spine. The young man shrugged off a feeling of impending doom. Though he had no warm feelings for this aunt, he was certain that his mother’s sister would do nothing to harm him.

“Well then, nephew. It is lucky that it was
I
who came across you and not Mr. Darcy. If your father had found you crying, he would have been deeply ashamed—his son and heir behaving in such a disgraceful manner!” She shook her head from side to side. “A gentleman does
not
cry, ever!”

Mortified, young Darcy bowed his head and silently swore that he would never cry again.

“You must be properly directed in the customs of the
ton
... now, before you are too set in your ways.” She
nodded. “I shall see to it.”

Since his aunt seemed so well informed in the ways of society, he asked quietly, “Aunt Catherine? Perhaps you will...”

“This is precisely the type of situation in which I shall do you good. You must enunciate
clearly
, Fitzwilliam, or you will never garner the respect that your birthright deserves!”

Young Darcy straightened his frame. “Aunt, can you explain what my mother meant when she told me to marry well?”

Lady Catherine smiled strangely. Looking down her nose at him, she said in a voice full of condescension, “Of course I can! You must marry for wealth and consequence, Fitzwilliam. Your mother was confident that you will do your duty to all the family. You have been chosen for a noble task—to continue the alliance between three great families. The Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and de Bourgh lines will be irrevocably bound into the next generation through your marriage to your mother’s namesake, my daughter Anne.”

His brow furrowed. “But...”

“Your mother expected it of you, Fitzwilliam... as do we all.”

The young man spent much of that day wondering why his mother had gone to the trouble of saying “marry well” when she had really meant “marry Anne.” But, surely his aunt would not utter a falsehood!

Since he had no reason to distrust his aunt’s word, before the sun had set that day, he believed all that she had said.

~%~

Devastated by his wife’s passing, George Darcy was never quite the same thereafter. In his grief, he neglected those special moments the father had devoted to his heir in the past.