AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I could not help but smile. “What if someone enters?”
“Then they die,” he answered. “A murderous reputation must be worth something.” But he heaved a sigh, and carefully helped me up. There were several moments of straightening and rearranging of clothing. His neckcloth was wrecked, as was my aforementioned hair—and most of our mutual dignity. Nevertheless, neither of us could summon much embarrassment. I glanced at his great coat, flung carelessly onto the floor in a way certain to give his valet an apoplexy.
“May I throw your coat over my head to return to my rooms?”
He ceased trying to make something of his cravat, turning to look at me. After examining me for a long moment, he moved to stand before me, tilting my chin up. “Have I told you how exquisitely beautiful you are, Mrs Darcy?”
I laughed. “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, and know I am a degree better than ‘tolerable’, perhaps your compliment is motivated more by gratitude than truth.”
“It is many years since I have considered you as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”
I found this an affectionate exaggeration, but asked the question it prompted. “Did you know I was at Rosings? Did you come there…for me, specifically?”
“Of course,” he replied, as if this were the most obvious answer ever.
“But this is unbelievable! How did you even know I was there?”
“I do try to keep in touch with Lord Matlock,” he said.
His expression shuttered, I was certain of it, but I smiled, wagging a finger at him. “It would have served you right if I had increased by five stone and two chins,” I teased.
He dropped his forehead to mine. “My dear, there is very little you could have done to avoid a proposal from me, if you were at all the same here.” He put his large hand upon my chest, where my heart beat strongly beneath his fingers.
And it was to find us in that intimate attitude, that Mrs de Bourgh entered. Her disapproval was immediate and cold.
“Well! Is the reputation of Pemberley to be thus polluted by cavorting and excess? You ought to be ashamed, both—”
“Not another word,” Mr Darcy said, his voice low, but with an inherent authority impossible to ignore. “As you are well aware, your own daughter cared very little for a moral code you now espouse. This is my home, and this is my wife. We shall do as we see fit. If you cannot respect us, another home will be provided for you.”
“Why should she have cared?” de Bourgh hissed, as if she did not hear him. “You were fortunate to ever have obtained her notice! A spirited girl, always the prettiest in the room, always the centre of attention. To look at her was to fall in love. She was too good for any man!”
I glanced at my husband during this tirade, expecting to see his ire ignite; instead, he merely looked fatigued. “Perhaps you believe so, but you digress from the point. You allowed Mr Wickham here, and exposed my wife to him. You know he is not welcome at Pemberley and have disobeyed my express wishes. Give me your word that you shall never do so again, else pack your things.”
“He loved her! Which is more than you can ever say!” she accused. The words poured out of her, vicious and mean-spirited. “He worshipped her, while you were the poorest husband to ever wed a woman. She deserved so much better than you! She hated you!” My husband did not interrupt, bearing her charges stoically. I was not so restrained.
“Wickham is a vile, disgusting worm! How can you defend him?” I cried.
“You only say that because he cannot be controlled by the likes of you! He is not bound by the decrees of others so wholly unimportant to him. He is brave and free, and you fear him—as well you should! He does as he likes, and he will punish my daughter’s murderer. He has sworn it.” Hatred blazed from her eyes, but it was self-righteousness burning in her voice.
My fury was choking me. I looked at my husband, but he maintained an impassivity I found frustrating. I wanted him to return her vicious words with his own, but he only sighed.
“You shall be removed to the Ramsgate property,” was all he said.
“No!” she screamed. “She is here! She will not allow it! Shestays and so do I!” She began to cry—noisy, racking sobs, so the opposite of my own conditioned restraint, I was taken aback. I think I took a step towards her, but she ran. Not towards me or Mr Darcy but—to my horror and disbelief—past us, with all speed, directly into the large windows behind us.
I flung up my arms, thinking she aimed for us, but still saw what happened next with perfect clarity. Longbourn’s windows were made up of such small, thick panes as to require an axe, at least, to even chip at them. This, however, was Pemberley, and Anne Darcy had redesigned this parlour by adding tall sash windows to what had been a too-dark room; thinner crown ‘lights’ had been employed within them to avoid paying excessive glass tax. The panel lights were, unfortunately, large enough for de Bourgh’s momentum and the impact of her body to impel her head and hand through it, shattered glass and blood spraying.
The next moments remain a blur in my mind. I screamed and suddenly the parlour began filling with servants, followed by Mrs Reynolds, Morton, and a half-dozen others. A young footman fainted. A maidservant was ill. Mr Darcy, splattered in a gruesome red, called for both physician and surgeon. Mr Williams entered from somewhere, helping my husband staunch the blood which seemed to be everywhere, coating everything.
I regained control of my own horror when Nancy, an upstairs maid, began to sob hysterically. “He’s done it, he’s done it again. We’ll all be killed in our beds!” she moaned. Everyone who was not working over de Bourgh turned to stare.
I looked at her with a steely expression worthy of Grandmother Bennet. “Mr Darcy never laid a hand on her, and as long as you avoid dashing yourself against the windows, you need not fear a like fate. You will take yourself to your rooms, please, until you can be sensible.” She shut her mouth, but I saw that some—especially the younger servants—looked fearfully in the direction of the fallen woman. An icy gust blew through the broken panes at that moment, chilling us all.
Nora prevented any further outbreak of hysteria, quickly going to Nancy’s side. “Come, Nan—you know the old lady is dicked in the nob since the mistress died. Don’t you be joinin’ her in Bedlam,” she said, leading her from the room. Mrs Reynolds took charge then, herding the rest of them away. Two footmen were assigned to carry Mrs de Bourgh up to her chamber to await medical assistance; others were charged with boarding up the broken panes until a glazier could be called. I escaped to my rooms, where I could pace and fret without an audience.
I could hardly credit the events of the afternoon. Wickham’s horrible threats, his wicked revelations, and extortion demands. Mr Darcy’s incredible report of Lydia’s salvation, and even his confession of attraction to me, so long ago. He had referenced it before, briefly. It seemed just as incredible then as it did now. And as if all that were not enough, there were Mrs de Bourgh’s furious words and insane conduct.
Except—I did not agree with Nora’s conclusion. I had seen de Bourgh’s face as she flung herself against the window. There had been determination, cunning, and hatred—but a loss of mind, the absence of reason? No. If she was mad, it was a devious sort of madness, perhaps motivated by her grief, but not consumed by it.
I would be willing to wager that before confronting us, she had ensured many in the house knew of Wickham’s visit, as well as my husband’s subsequent expulsion of him. I was certain she embellished the encounter—making much of wondering whether I was ‘safe’ alone with Mr Darcy afterwards. And now, of course, she would lie to anyone who would listen as to exactly how her injury had occurred.
That is, if she lived to tell the story to anyone at all.
