The Plight of the Darcy Brothers Page 19

  “You will refuse, and we will never speak of this again, or you will either fire me or have me killed. But yes, I will insist upon it, because I have not forgotten that a gentleman is always in the service of a lady.”

  “That woman is no lady. Do you remember that she stabbed me? Even when I continued to see her after she was obviously with child?”

  “I am aware. But that does not change her biological composition. She is, and shall die, a lady.”

  The prince laughed. The folly of youth, perhaps, but they were basically of about the same age. In many ways, Prince George reminded Dr. Maddox of his brother, not always in a good way, but he passed no judgments. Not knowing what to say, he pursed his hands behind his back to hide the fact that his stable surgeon's hands were shaking.

  “You are very… I don't know, knightly. Like those old legends about going through a terrible battle for a woman's honor. Even if the woman doesn't deserve it.” He chuckled. “Fine, I will send her something, but we shall never speak of this again. If Lilly ever approaches you again, tell her she is doing so against orders of the State, and that if she bothers you further, there will be no 'Miss Garrison.' Am I understood?”

  “Perfectly,” said the doctor, not quite believing what he was hearing. He bowed, deeper than he usually did. “Thank you, Your Most Gracious Highness.”

  “Your ridiculous sense of honor is going to get you in trouble one of these days, Doctor,” the prince said, slapping him on the arm. “But not today. You are quite a lucky man in that respect.”

  Indeed, he was. He had the whole way back to fathom the length to which the prince's mercy extended. Maybe Caroline was right, and the prince just liked him and the way he mixed the proper formality of a skilled physician with actual concern, but never an improper comment until today. He had survived, career and spinal column intact.

  He arrived home in time for supper and was to deliver the news to Caroline immediately when a maid stopped him and handed him a note. “We were handed this by the doorman after the post had already been delivered.”

  He tore open the seal of Maddox and read it.

  Dear Brother,

  I have some excessively hasty business carrying a letter to Mr. Bennet in the North. If you wish to catch me, you'd better head to Derbyshire immediately. Sorry for the rush.

  B. Maddox

  “Daniel? What's the matter?”

  “Brian,” he said. “He was—apparently in Town today, long enough to drop off this.” He passed it to his wife, who read it quickly. “I told you he was a courier these days. Apparently the Darcys have employed him.”

  “Then you must go at once!”

  “But I could not—”

  “Don't be ridiculous. I have nearly two months. Now, go to Chatton and see that beloved brother of yours. And try not to let him talk you into giving him too much money.”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Agreed.” He grabbed his sack again and instructed his footman to have a horse saddled and ready. “Oh, and the prince said yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “To Miss Garrison's request. Though we are never to speak of it again, and she is never to speak to me again. Those were his conditions, which I found very agreeable.”

  “Oh, Daniel!” she hugged him as best she could at her stage. “Congratulations.”

  “You were cheering for me?”

  “I am your wife. I pray for success in all of your endeavors, no matter how stupidly noble. Now go and see that rogue of a brother of yours.”

  “I'll tell him you said that.”

  “You would not dare.”

  About that, she was definitely right.

  The company of Chatton was sitting down to dinner when the bell for the front door rang. As they had not heard from the Darcys since they left France, Bingley ran past his servants and answered the door himself. He was not expecting a thoroughly soaked and muddied Brian Maddox. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Bingley,” Brian bowed to his brother-in-law. “Sorry for the intrusion, but I have a letter for Mr. Bennet.” He wiped his hands on his jacket, reached into his rucksack, and retrieved a formal, sealed envelope. “Express from Italy.”

  “Mr. Maddox, please do come in at once,” Bingley said, for it was pouring, and the man was obviously exhausted. “We'll see to your horse. Do you mind if I give it to Mr. Bennet myself so you can rest a bit before joining us for dinner?”

  “That would be lovely, Mr. Bingley,” Brian said, and handed over the letter as the servants rushed to help him out of his overcoat and escort him somewhere where he could be properly changed and cleaned.

  But Bingley wasn't concerned with that. He rushed back to the dining hall. “Mr. Bennet.” He handed him the letter with Darcy's seal on it.

  Mr. Bennet excused himself to Mr. Bingley's study, shutting the door behind him. Dinner halted entirely as the adult residents and guests of Chatton stood outside the door, including a very pregnant and confined Mary Bennet, listening to the silence within. Even though only a few minutes elapsed, it was an unbearably long time before he reappeared, a grave look on his face. “Mary.”

  She joined him inside, and the door was shut again. Jane hugged her husband, who whispered encouraging comments in her ear.

  “Now, enough of all this pretense of secrecy,” Mr. Bennet said, as he made his daughter sit in the chair beside him. His mood was entirely different when the door was closed. He was almost—content. “The letter is, obviously, from Mr. Darcy. I will read it to you, and then you may see it for yourself, if you wish, as you are, of course, his chief concern.”

  Dear Mr. Bennet,

  First, I must report that Elizabeth and I are well and safely in Rome. We are eager to hear that everything is well in England, when Mr. Maddox returns with your reply.

  To the matter at hand, we have located Mr. Mastai, who is residing in Rome. He has continued his insistence that he cannot move to England to marry Miss Bennet without abandoning his own family, to which he has heavy obligations, and she cannot be asked to abandon hers. Lacking other options, he has offered a settlement in ducats, which a banker has calculated to be in the area of 100,000 pounds, to go to you for the express purpose of providing for Miss Bennet. He has also asked that, upon my return to England, I supervise the arrangement of a trust fund starting at 40,000 pounds that will become accessible to the child at his age of majority. If the child is a girl, this will be her inheritance upon marriage or reaching the age of five and thirty, in accordance with British law. Mr. Mastai would do so only on the insistence that you see that the money does, in fact, go to Miss Bennet's welfare, and I assured him that it would.

  If you find these arrangements suitable, please reply with haste and send our courier back, as we are both eager to return to England and cannot do so without a reply. If you want to raise argument or refusal, it is your choice to do so, but as a son-in-law, I highly advise against it.

  Please give our love to Geoffrey and thank Mr. and Mrs. Bingley for caring for him in our absence, which hopefully is nearing its end.

  “Signed, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bennet finished, closing the letter and handing it to a shocked Mary, who was holding a protective hand over her sizable stomach. “Well…” He trailed off, because he could not contain his joyous laughter, which started as a chuckle and became louder as he embraced her. “It seems we are saved by Mr. Darcy once again.”

  “So you will accept?”

  “As he said, I would be a fool not to. While I do consider myself at times foolish, in this case, I can see the obvious quite well enough.”

  “And it is not a terrible thing to accept money for a sin?”

  “The sin has already been done, and I think any man will overlook it, even with a toddler at your feet. No obligations because you are under Longbourn's roof, no one to support… I cannot even fathom it. Though, as the custodian and official owner of this great wealth, you will perhaps allow me one discretion.”

  “Anything, Papa.”

  “I would
like to take aside ten thousand or so for Kitty and set it as her inheritance. And perhaps, repair that fallen piece of the roof in the barn at Longbourn for a few pounds.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Despite everything, I must say you've done well for yourself, Mary. Now, we must not keep them waiting, or I'll never hear the end of it from your mother.”

  She laughed. His daughter laughed, and it could only make Mr. Bennet happier, as they emerged into the awaiting crowd. “An arrangement has been made for Mary and the child, and I will agree to it, in writing, when Mr. Maddox is fit to travel again.”

  “Thank God! Oh, thank God! Mary!” Mrs. Bennet did not hide her enthusiasm. “We are all saved!”

  “If I may inquire—,” said Bingley.

  “If I tell you the amount, you may divorce my lovely Jane to marry my lovely Mary, no matter how noble you are,” Mr. Bennet replied, back to his usual humor, something they had not seen in three terrible months.

  “Never,” Bingley smiled, knowing he would hear the real amount soon enough, and hugged his wife.

  Their previous dinner, while not particularly gloomy, was returned to, this time in celebration. Mr. Maddox, now dressed in borrowed clothing and still looking exhausted but at least clean, shuffled in with his odd step and joined them.

  “The letter was not dated,” Mr. Bennet said. “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “Four weeks and two days,” Brian said. “And many, many different horses.”

  “Then we shan't keep you up,” Bingley said. “You may retire whenever you have eaten your fill, Mr. Maddox. We are very much in your debt.”

  “I can't even think of debts. All I can think of is… the back of heads of horses,” he said, and dove into his food.

  He did retire, though, immediately following the meal. The ladies took to their own place, and there was much squealing and discussion, probably because Mary told Mrs. Bennet the amount. Bingley heard it, too, privately from Mr. Bennet in his study after a glass of port. In front of him was a writing desk, where Mr. Bennet intended to begin drafting his reply.

  “My God,” Bingley said.

  “Yes, despite the circumstances, my daughter has done better for herself in a certain way than any of the others. I imagine knights and lords will be lining up to marry her now, after we decide how to make it known.”

  “Or the prince himself.”

  “He is married, I believe.”

  “I think they are estranged.”

  “Dr. Maddox told you that?”

  Bingley shrugged. “Dr. Maddox is fastidious in his confidentiality about his patients. I had merely heard it in Town.” He took a sip. “You may realize that if Mary does not marry soon or at all, if she so chooses, and she delivers a boy, he will have the name Bennet.”

  “I was so—overwhelmed, I hadn't even thought of it,” Mr. Bennet admitted. “You're right. Goodness, five daughters and I still might have a sort of son. Not that I don't treasure my sons-in-law, mind you.”

  Bingley happily raised his glass to that.

  “That is, of course, dependent on the gender. But my granddaughter will certainly have enough of an inheritance that any man would overlook her history—or might not even know it. Her husband may have 'died in a war' or something by then.” Mr. Bennet leaned on his hand, his thinking posture. “It may be best to cover up some of this, as indecorous as that might be, for Kitty's sake.”

  “Mary was married abroad, and her husband died on one of Napoleon's ridiculous campaigns,” Bingley suggested. “Meanwhile, your long investment in a company in Australia finally paid off in great sum, leaving a greater dowry for Kitty, or something to that effect.”

  “Precisely, Mr. Bingley.” They clinked glasses. “I am indebted to you, of course, almost as much as to Mr. Darcy, for putting up with us all of these months, and for the next few.”

  “It has had its pleasures. With her sister in confinement, Jane would, of course, have been with her anyway, so this arrangement is most convenient for me.”

  “Except that your sister is confined in Town.”

  “True. They have a target assumption of a date, so I may take leave of Chatton for that week. And now with this weight off our shoulders… Well, when the Darcys return, I will feel even better.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Bennet said. “They have been gone so very long. That, at least, can finally end, depending on how speedily they decide to return.”

  A doctor was able to confirm it.

  “If Mr. Maddox does not return shortly,” Darcy said, “I may get to strangle someone after all, because it will be him.”

  Elizabeth could only laugh. She did not feel his concerns, so barely did she feel with child, and because she was so happy to be so. He was happy as well, but consumed with the pressing matter of how to return to England quickly enough and yet safely enough for her health. Riding was out.

  “I will not have a French baby,” he said.

  “But darling, I thought you were French. Mr. deh'Aaarcy,” she giggled, trying her best to imitate Grégoire's accent.

  “I'm as French as Bingley is Irish,” he said, “which, by his accounts, is not at all.”

  Grégoire was unexpectedly overjoyed at the news, not that he should not be happy for his sister-in-law, but Darcy did not know until that moment that Elizabeth had told the monk about her miscarriages. Or maybe he liked the idea of being an uncle. He did not, however, have any ideas of the best way to return to England, being untraveled himself until the day he met them.

  “There is the other matter,” Darcy said out on the veranda, in the cool breeze of late afternoon while Elizabeth was absorbed in an English book she had found in a shop in Rome, “of you returning to England.”

  “I cannot abandon my order, Darcy.”

  “I know you will not abandon your vocation, but perhaps Mont Claire could do without you… for a while. You have not taken your final vows.”

  “This is true.”

  “And… I have been considering… there must be monasteries in Austria, different from your own experiences, but the same basic ridiculous principles of celibacy and obsessive amounts of prayer.”

  Grégoire, well used to Darcy's taunts at this point, was unaffected by them. “It still would not be England.”

  “No, but it would be safer. And I would wish you in a politically safer position than Mont Claire.”

  “Mont Claire has Napoleon's protection. It is safe.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Grégoire frowned. “I cannot abandon them.”

  “Then write them a letter that you are taking a leave of absence to visit your father's grave. There cannot be a biblical injunction against that. Have them direct their response to Pemberley, as we will, God willing, be there by the time they get the letter and respond.”

  “I would like to see my nephew,” Grégoire admitted, “and perhaps the newer one, eventually, and my sister.”

  “Austria would be much better. It would be different, but more established. And Elizabeth has never seen Austria. Nor have I, in fact. When she can eventually travel again…”

  “Do you think she will like me?”

  “Who?”

  “Georgiana. I mean—my presence, it won't upset her—”

  “The idea of our father being—not who he said he was, that onus is on him, Grégoire. Georgiana is the sweetest, most loving creature in the world, and she is your age. So I imagine you will get along just fine. In fact, I believe she has always wanted a brother—one closer to her age.”

  He did not say, at least out loud, that he had always wanted one, too.

  THE LAST JOURNEY

  UNDISTURBED, BRIAN MADDOX SLEPT right through breakfast and most of the morning. He had not stirred by the time his brother arrived. Dr. Maddox had clearly been traveling most of the night in order to get to Chatton within two days. “I apologize for my intrusion,” the doctor said, “but I heard my brother was here. Caroline, by the way, is fine.” He was already predicting Bingley'
s next question as his summer coat was removed and he was ushered into the sitting room for refreshment. “He left a note. I assumed the business was too urgent for a visit.”

  “It was,” Mr. Bennet said, and since Dr. Maddox had been a part of this from the beginning, he explained the nature of the letter and its delivery, including the settlement. Dr. Maddox did not inquire about the precise sum, unlike everyone else with whom Mr. Bennet had spoken since the wild-haired courier had arrived. The doctor was perfectly satisfied with “a considerable amount” and merely took his tea.

  “Happy news, then,” he said at last. “If I might inquire how Miss Bennet is doing—though you have no obligation to tell me—”

  “The midwife says she is fine,” Mr. Bennet said. “She keeps her distress to herself, but I think having other children about is a great comfort to her.”

  “They can be charming. And I may have heard something from a bird about a noodles incident—”

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Bennet said. “But we shan't talk about that, right? Forbidden topic, Mr. Bingley?”

  Mr. Bingley visibly colored. “No. That is over and done with and not to be discussed… ever.”

  “I will remark, though, that Geoffrey is getting most clever with his pranks,” Mr. Bennet said. “They are most amusing to the people not targeted.”

  “Yes,” Bingley said with some severity, and Maddox had enough sense not to further question his host. Fortunately he did not have to, because his hobbling brother joined them.

  “Danny!” Brian said, with no lack of enthusiasm, and they embraced. “Look at you. I'd think marriage had made you taller, if you weren't towering over me already.”

  “Maybe you're shrinking,” the doctor said. “How did you get back to England?”

  “Well, it is an island, so the same way everyone else does— by boat,” his brother said, and bowed to his hosts. “Mr. Bingley. Mr. Bennet.”

  “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.”