The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (49 page)

***

Darcy had refused to think of the housekeeper and her role in the abduction during the night. He did not ask George of her whereabouts until that morning after bathing and dressing, knowing that the incensed rage would interfere with the calm he needed for his family. Thus, it was mid-morning after talking with Richard and then spending time with his peacefully sleeping wife before he felt in control enough to broach the subject with his uncle and then confront the woman. The time allotted gave his mind the opportunity to rationalize the subject, deciding on the best course of action.

George had gleaned little of interest. Mrs. Smyth had been so shaken by her master’s threatening anger that she was a puddle of tears and incoherency. In disgust he had given up on any questioning, banishing her to her quarters and assigning a footman to ensure she stayed put until Mr. Darcy said otherwise.

In truth, Darcy could care less how Wickham had finagled his way into Mrs. Smyth’s good graces and thus into his house. Knowing the skill Wickham wielded at deception and charming women, he was not surprised and wondered why the possibility had not occurred to him. He might have been able to feel some pity for the obviously lonely, mislead woman, but the fact is that she had willingly allowed a stranger into his house and fornicated under his roof, rules that were broken in blatant disregard of his authority. Couple that with her ongoing, albeit suppressed hostility toward his wife and children, and his extensive patience was at an end.

What he was not prepared for, especially after George’s description of how distraught she was the day before, was the blaze of defiance he was greeted with.

She marched into his study, Mr. Travers trailing, her face set into a haughty pose with spine stiff and hands boldly clasping the chatelaine of keys indicative of her office. Darcy sat in his imposing leather chair, composed and coldly authoritative. His momentary startlement at her demeanor did not show outwardly, nor did it cause his disciplined core to waver. Rather, it steeled his resolve.

“Mrs. Smyth, I am no longer interested in the details of your involvement with Mr. Wickham. Your misjudgment which led to your crimes is for you to bear. The proofs of your transgressions against the rules of this household, my rules, are more than sufficient to warrant your immediate dismissal. I order you to pack your belongings and vacate my house by this afternoon. My only concession, my last act of kindness if you will, for years of service will be to offer the availability of a carriage and driver to take you to a destination of your choosing. Under the circumstances I judge that more than fair.”

“And what of my future livelihood? Am I to be given no recommendation for employment?”

Darcy’s brow rose reflexively. “You cannot be serious? Do you honestly anticipate that I would write a letter of recommendation after what has transpired here?”

“Indeed, I would think you might consider the wisdom in securing me another post. But I will accept a letter as just payment.”

Darcy was flabbergasted. But he was also irritated and perversely curious. “Please, do enlighten me as to why I should deem such absurdity ‘wisdom’ on my part.”

She took a step nearer the desk, the whiteness of her knuckles as they gripped the metal and the ridges of her compressed lips the only obvious indications that she was not as assured as her words intended.

“Mr. Darcy, I know you are a gentleman whose reputation for propriety is of the highest importance. Positive regard amongst Society is valued by you. I would never wish to see your excellent name sullied even further than it already has been.”

Darcy’s face was impassive, his hands resting on the polished surface of the desk with body erect in his chair. He stared at her calmly and in silence, finally replying dispassionately, “I shall ignore the inference that my ‘name’ has in some manner been sullied, at least in your opinion. Let us proceed to the insinuation that I can in some way be further besmirched. I am truly curious as to what you refer.”

She twitched, his relaxed query unnerving her. “People love to talk, Mr. Darcy, even if the facts are erroneous. Gossip can lead to scandal.”

His eyes, those piercing eyes of glacial blue, bore unwaveringly into her face. “Indeed, this can be true. However, I still do not see how this pertains to me or any member of my household.”

“Why… it is simple! Mrs. Darcy taken in the night, gone for hours with a man of the criminal element. One can easily imagine what probably transpired during that time!”

“And you have some sort of proof of this allegation?”

“I… I beg your pardon? Proof? But surely there will be inquiries?”

“Let me save your time and mine, Mrs. Smyth. Whatever you think happened yesterday may as well be a figment of your imagination. None shall utter a word of it to anyone. And if
you
do, no one will hearken to a disgruntled employee who has been discharged under disgrace for consorting immorally with one Geoffrey Wiseman, a known swindler who has disappeared.”

“But, you said he was this Wickham.”

“George Wickham is dead, madam.”

She gasped, staggering backward at that shocking revelation.

Darcy continued in his calm but flatly commanding tone. “Mr. Wickham died several days ago from a fall off his horse while returning to his wife in Devon. Geoffrey Wiseman, however, is a thief who was improperly admitted to the townhouse of a valued, well-regarded gentleman of London Society by his housekeeper. If need be, those will be the facts circulated. Tell me, Mrs. Smyth, who do you think will be believed?”

“Sir, please.”

“I will take the chatelaine now, Mrs. Smyth. You have two hours to gather your possessions. The carriage will be awaiting you in the mews for a destination of your choosing, outside of London. You are dismissed. Mr. Travers, see Mrs. Smyth to her quarters.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

And Life Continues On

Richard Fitzwilliam and George Darcy were practically clairvoyant in their assessments regarding Lizzy.

Two days passed before she was clear-headed enough to hear the entire tale of brave deeds and daring rescue. The death of Wickham and status of Lord Orman brought only relief and a suppressed glee that she knew was unattractive but could not hide from her husband. Darcy glossed over the more gruesome details, Lizzy not murderous enough to require a precise picture of Wickham’s broken, bloody body or Orman’s breakdown, but his theatrical tendencies emerged in recounting the exploits and suspense. Largely this was unconsciously done, but he did hope that inserting a fantastical element to the adventure would dilute the reality of how dangerous and terrifying it truly had been.

She was immeasurably proud of her spouse, extolling his courage with a wealth of glowing adjectives until he blushed and begged her to stop. He attempted to downplay his injuries, but naturally she saw through his dissembling and was not satisfied until personally examining the healing bruises and scalp wound.

“Now, if you are appeased with my health and vigor, I wanted your advice on how to proceed with the announcement of Wickham’s death.”

“You have notified no one?”

He shook his head, apprising her of Richard’s counsel on the subject. “I would have proceeded but was not sure how you felt about telling your father. Goodness knows your mother must not know the truth, but perhaps Mr. Bennet should. Yet I am unsure the wisdom of troubling him over your health when it no longer matters.”

“No, please do not tell him. There is no point, as you say. I am fine and do not wish to burden him unnecessarily.”

“Agreed. Then I shall write immediately, as if I have just been informed. I trust he will know how to contact Mrs. Wickham?”

“I have her address written in my directory, not that I have bothered corresponding in ages.”

“Oh, I did not know. Excellent. I shall dispatch a courier with the news and funds to transport her and whatever belongings she has to Longbourn.”

“That is more than you should do, William.”

“Let us pray she will mature through her grief and make wiser choices in the future.”

Lizzy shook her head sadly. “I fear your optimism destined to be disappointed. Most likely she will lament for as long as it takes to ensnare another man when he takes pity upon the poor widow, Lord forgive my uncharitable attitude.”

Darcy smiled, kissing her forehead before replying, “I forgive you if that counts, but then I am as uncharitable since I said much the same to Richard.”

“What is the current status of Lord Orman? He has said nothing of the abduction?” Her eyes were large and haunted, the shadows underneath darkening against the pallor his name increased.

“The Marquis is under evaluation at Bethlem and not saying anything worthwhile,” Darcy assured in a firm tone. “George has seen the patient daily and is keeping abreast of the situation. The diagnosis is not definitive, the doctors hoping to cure in time, as all doctors do, but that does not look to be imminent or probable. He raved bestially for over a day without ceasing, so I am informed. A straitjacket was required to prevent self-injury, as he was devil-possessed in his mania. His words were recorded, most indecipherable or nonsensical, and my name was mentioned. Or at least ‘Darcy’ was mentioned, but nothing beyond that. Then, yesterday afternoon he abruptly passed into a stuporous petrifaction. George calls it catalepsy or cataleptoid insanity. I have no idea what it means, but the prognosis is poor, he says, and the condition prevents any verbalization.”

Lizzy shuddered, Darcy drawing her closer against his side with a sturdy squeeze. They lounged on their bed, Lizzy yet weak and needing to recuperate further before moving outside their chambers. “I pray he never recovers,” she said with heated conviction. “It terrifies me to imagine him loose again, no matter how assured the doctors are of his revived mental state.”

Darcy agreed and prayed for the same without a shred of remorse. He did not vocalize his vengeful thoughts to his wife, settling for tender caresses to the raw rope burns on her wrists and gentle kisses to the fading bruises on her cheeks as a means to convey his protectiveness. His heart was stone where it concerned Lord Orman and his conviction firm that the madman would never take one step beyond the asylum’s walls. Whatever was required to ensure Orman’s incarceration and safe distance from his family would be done—legal or illegal.

Dr. Darcy, although not trained as a physician for mental ailments, had some experience with madmen of varied types. “Lord Orman’s condition is as horrible as I have ever seen, William,” he said the previous evening after returning from Bethlem and a conference with the physicians there. “Some patients reanimate, but not typically. Caring for their basic survival needs takes top priority over mental treatment, and maintaining physical health when they refuse to eat, drink, or move is extremely difficult. I suppose you can deduce what the common outcome is without my illuminating.”

Indeed Darcy could, mustering not an iota of sadness in the idea.

“Well,” he said to his wife, “if he ever does return to reality and coherency it will be far in the future. No need to fret about it at this point. And since there is no evidence of an abduction ever occurring, it does not matter what claims he asserts. You have been stricken with a nasty cold but are rapidly mending. That is all anyone need know, unless you chose to reveal otherwise.”

“Thank you, my darling.” She sighed deeply, closing her eyes as she wiggled into the warm mattress, her arms tight around his waist and head on his chest. “I trust you to manage as fitting.” And moments later she was asleep, Darcy holding her for nearly thirty minutes before pulling away to attend to the final disposition of Mr. Wickham’s body to Hertfordshire.

In the days that followed Darcy strived to create a façade of normalcy by conducting business as planned and keeping most of his appointments. It was difficult, as residual anxiety affected his concentration and produced an aversion to leaving the house. George calmed his fears, wisely pointing out that his appearance in public would quash any rumors that might be swirling about and that physical activity was the best balm for a wounded spirit. “Much like climbing back on the horse after a nasty fall,” he said with a wink.

Darcy did frown and equivocate some, but he knew the recommendation was sound. He was reassured by Georgiana’s steadying presence, trusting that she would inform him instantly if his family needed him. Therefore, he met with Mr. Daniels and other business associates, scheduled interviews with potential housekeepers, engaged in a rigorous bout at Angelo’s, and enjoyed one rousing race around the military horse track with Richard and several others. The constant activity did help restore his mental equilibrium and expend the residual anger coiled within his body. Nevertheless, his thoughts were never far from Darcy House and he returned home as quickly as possible. Evening engagements were canceled so he could spend the hours alone with wife and sons, the three needing his strength and comfort during the long hours of darkness where nightmares stalked.

The excuse of Lizzy suffering a spring cold was accepted since it was a common ailment. Of course her lady friends were worried, sending well wishes and colorful blooms to cheer her, but they understood her need to rest and preference for solitude. Jane and Mary came by with fresh soup, a special family recipe served when any of them were sick. After a heavy application of powder and rouge to hide the fading bruises and donning a long-sleeved gown to cover her healing wrists, Lizzy welcomed them with honest enthusiasm. She was delighted at the interruption to her bland convalescence. Yet, within seconds of asking about her illness, before speaking the rehearsed pretext, she burst into tears.