Friends and Enemies Page 4

  “Georgiana!” Darcy exhaled. As bad as the past four and twenty hours had been, this was far worse. His sister, his sweet, innocent sister had been defiled by that vile man. Darcy had wondered, but he had been afraid to ask upon witnessing her mental state after Ramsgate. He had not known how to ask.

  “The end of July and it is now the end of October. Three months. She must have felt the quickening,” the colonel mused. “You need to get her away from Pemberley. Get her out of England, Darce. If you want to protect her reputation, you cannot let anyone know or she will be ruined.”

  “Yes,” he whispered as options filled his mind. Standing, he left the room. Before he ran upstairs to tell his valet to pack, he turned to the footman.

  “Tell the rider I will leave for Pemberley immediately.”

  Thrusting the problems of the Bennets and Meryton’s society to the depths of his mind, he had a mission—a goal. He would use the travel time to Derbyshire to determine the course of the next year. The Bennets and Wickham would have to fend for themselves. May God have mercy on their souls.

  CHAPTER 5

  Three long days on the road gave Darcy plenty of opportunity to make plans for his and Georgiana’s future. With that said, he had yet to make a final decision. Vacillating between choices was most unlike him, and he gave himself a firm talking-to at least once during the day and several times at night when he should have been sleeping. Any remnants of family pride had been left in a puddle in Bingley’s study with the receipt of the message. If he gave any consideration to his conduct, shame threatened to overwhelm him so, by sheer force of will, he stoically refused to resurrect his actions in Hertfordshire. He thought only of his sister…unless he thought of Miss Elizabeth.

  By the time he arrived at Pemberley, he had narrowed his choices to his estate in Ireland, travel to Italy, which should be beyond the reach of the war with Napoleon, or a lengthy journey to the colonies. He had no clue how his sister was faring, how she would make the trip. Was she sick each morning like his mother had been? Was she vibrantly healthy as she imagined Mrs. Bennet had been as she delivered one daughter after another?

  He shook off the thought. Imagining one Bennet led him to think of the second born, and the mental image of Wickham having the right to kiss Miss Elizabeth’s hand—and more—tortured him beyond measure. Although her status was far below the Darcys’, she was as far as the sunrise from the sunset to the former steward’s son. She deserved better.

  Stop! Think of Georgiana. Think of Pemberley. Count sheep! Anything.

  ***

  “Have you spoken with Georgiana?” he enquired of his housekeeper.

  He had been surprised at his sister’s happy greeting upon his arrival at their ancestral home. She had run down the front steps and launched herself into his arms. Horrified, his eyes had been drawn to her chest area to find she had blossomed with a womanly figure. Had she not noticed? He was deeply ashamed that he had. Little sisters were not supposed to have those…those…breasts.

  “I have not.” Mrs. Reynolds was the soul of discretion. “She seems unaware of her difficulty and I did not feel it was my place to confront her with the new changes to her life.”

  Darcy shook his head. “How can she not know?”

  Red tinged his housekeeper’s cheeks, and he knew he would share her embarrassment with the discussion. He was right.

  “Your sister has never been regular with her courses, sir. She has had some bleeding over the last month so has not expressed concern.” His housekeeper swallowed. “The first two months after her return from Ramsgate, she was disconsolate and inconsolable. The staff, her maid in particular, believed her early morning sickness was a result of being distraught. For the past two weeks, Miss Darcy’s illness has stopped and her appetite has increased substantially, which has resulted in her maid having to let out the seams on her dresses. I have heard no questions or rumours other than concern expressed for the tender heart of your sister.”

  “But the bleeding. This is a serious consideration.” The ache in his stomach increased in intensity. Their mother had died in childbirth. He remembered clearly his father cursing his own selfish inclinations for getting his wife with child after her difficulty with his delivery. At twelve years of age, he did not understand his father’s bitter anger or why this happened. He recalled the number of doctors and midwives who had attended the mistress of Pemberley. His sister’s figure was tall and slender, the same as their mother’s. This was the worst of news.

  “To bring in a physician would be to invite curiosity, sir. I could not take that chance without you knowing.” Mrs. Reynolds wrung her hands and refused to look at him.

  “You did well. I thank you for your care for my sister and for protecting the family name,” Darcy was quick to reassure her.

  Mrs. Reynolds had worked at Pemberley for the past twenty-four years and was loyal. Her decisions for the household when he was absent were mature and intelligent. When Mr. Reynolds had passed on, the housekeeper became fully devoted to the Darcy children, and he was eternally grateful for her actions so far.

  “I will speak to my sister. Pray, prepare her trunks for a lengthy journey, Mrs. Reynolds.” He had to act quickly. “I had thought to take her to Ireland, but the estate is isolated and the medical care primitive. Wintering in Italy would be a better option, but the language might be a barrier if there was an emergency. Though the journey will be longer, I believe our best option is the colonies. They are no longer rustic, and I am confident we can set up house in a situation beneficial for both Georgiana and the babe.”

  “I will do as you direct, sir. When might you depart from Pemberley?”

  Darcy wiped his hand over his face. He was exhausted, but could not allow that minor detail to slow his momentum.

  “We leave at first light.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds looked him in the eye. “You are a good man. Pardon me for speaking out, sir, but your parents would be proud.”

  He knew she meant it as a compliment. Nevertheless, he felt his failures deeply. Had he not sent her to Ramsgate, had he not hired Mrs. Younge as her companion, had he not hidden from her the long list of crimes of her former childhood companion, they would be staying at home for the winter season, looking forward to a new year and a fresh start. Yes, his failures were many.

  ***

  “A baby? I cannot possibly be having a baby, Brother. I am not married.” Georgiana scoffed at his question. “George told me we had nothing to worry about until we reached Scotland. Since we did not follow through with the elopement, it is an impossibility. He was quite clear when he told me a couple needs to be wed before there is a child.”

  “He lied to you as he has lied to many others, Georgiana.” He could not believe he was having this discussion with his sister. His hatred for his nemesis burst from him as he heard his own voice growing louder and louder. Getting himself back under good regulation was critical. He slowly took in a few breaths. He could see her fear, and they did not need hearing ears outside his sister’s sitting room to spread the subject of their discussion. “Coming together as a male and female is what creates a child, whether they are dogs, horses, or people. The act of mating, that special joining, is how babies come into existence—not marriage.”

  “But he said it was merely a way to prove to him how much I loved him.” By now the tears were pouring down her face as she realised the extent of her fall. “Oh, William, what am I to do?”

  Reaching out, he stopped his hand before he could touch her arm. He was not ashamed of her. Nonetheless, he had no clue if physical comfort would be welcomed, though he longed to have her arms around him to ease the distress in his own heart.

  “We will get through this, Georgiana.” When she collapsed against him, he wrapped her in his embrace as she sobbed. “We will, I promise.”

  ***

  Five days later, they pulled up to Darcy House in London. An express had been sent to his man of business to wait upon him before the da
y was out. A sturdy ship would need to be found and transport arranged.

  “Mr. Darcy, I have two options available for travel to Boston.” The solicitor pulled a stack of papers from his portfolio. “I do need to point out the danger of travelling the rough seas going into the harsh winter months. The weather upon arrival will likely be frigid with deep snow and freezing temperatures.”

  They had been his concerns as well. “Do you have something else in mind?”

  “I do, sir.” Passing a weathered newspaper across the desk, he waited while Darcy read the article.

  “A steamboat. I have heard of such.” He pondered the information. “Travel to New Orleans will take considerably longer.”

  “Yes, you are correct. However, the weather is much more temperate, which might be a consideration for Miss Darcy.”

  “But the conditions in the Louisiana territory. We get reports of piracy, impressment, and disease from that part of the world. I cannot imagine taking my sister into danger.”

  “Sir, your plans to travel to the colonies is fraught with danger, no matter which port you choose.” The solicitor paused, before pulling out a long sheet of paper covered with figures. “There is a ship built in the Americas departing from England in two days. Currently, there is a fairly large percentage of passengers from the merchant class who will be travelling on this journey. I happened to overhear one of London’s wealthiest exporters, Mr. Edward Gardiner, speak of his interest in the new steamboat as an outstanding investment opportunity. He will be making the voyage.”

  The man continued, his enthusiasm growing with each word. “One of the principle steamboat owners, Mr. Robert Fulton, will be attempting to travel from the interior of Pennsylvania down the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers to New Orleans in less than one month, a feat unheard of, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I see the potential.” He studied the calculations and predictions and was intrigued. “Nevertheless, I do not know if this is the best choice for us at this time.”

  “Then allow me to provide you a report I also overheard.” He waited for Darcy to nod before he spoke. “Mr. Gardiner has a wife and four young children, boys of ages four and ten and twin daughters, aged six. He will be taking them with him to New Orleans and up the Mississippi River. He is an informed man who is reputed to be cautious. Surely, he would not take his family into a situation where they would be in peril.”

  “I would hope you are correct.”

  “There is a physician and a cleric on the manifest, sir.”

  It was this last information that convinced him of his decision.

  Darcy was pleased with the information. For a certainty, he would rather not try to set up an establishment in heavy winter conditions, such as in Boston, Philadelphia, or New York. Saying a quick, silent prayer, he chose their course. They would be leaving England for the wilds of the southern portion of the Americas in two days.

  At the thought, he felt a twinge in his heart at what he would leave behind. In forty-eight hours he would sail into the unfamiliar. His favourite cousin, his homes, and his familiar staff would be left on English soil. The Darcys would need to be gone for nine months to a year. Richard Fitzwilliam, Charles Bingley, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet would likely be long married by the time he returned. He felt the same twinge again at the thought and rubbed his chest to make it go away. Miss Elizabeth would be Mrs. George Wickham. He wanted to break something or break into tears. Instead, he signed a bank note to purchase their passage. By the time they came back to England, Miss Elizabeth would be a distant memory he would be unable to recall.

  CHAPTER 6

  The hustle and bustle of the London dockyards made Georgiana cry. Of course, so had an oak leaf when it had fallen from a tree, a bowl of her formerly favourite beef soup, and a song she remembered learning from her first music master. It seemed as if every single moment he had spent in her company since their talk had involved her sobbing until her nose ran and Darcy trying to get her under control as well as produce an endless supply of clean handkerchiefs out of mid-air.

  The newly-constructed hull of the clipper was sleek and would slice through the waves, cutting days and possibly weeks from their journey. The captain had predicted their arrival in New Orleans six weeks from the day they left England if the weather held. Darcy had gone the day before to Billingsgate to speak with the crew and to gain a glimpse of the quarters he and his sister would be sharing. While the captain was larger-than-life, the room was small. The stateroom had two bunks attached to opposite walls, a narrow aisle, and a small curtain-less window between them. At the end of each bed was a wooden trunk for storage. Along the wall with the door was a stand with high railings for holding a pitcher of water in rough seas. A basin rested below. The only other item of interest was a wedge of wood which could be pulled down from the wall for use as a writing desk. It was primitive, but serviceable.

  As they neared the wharf, he mentally checked off the tasks he had scrambled to get done before their departure: his solicitor had filed and received his “protections” from being impressed into service on a British navy vessel, an updated Last Will and Testament naming Richard as heir to the Darcy holdings should something happen to both his sister and himself, a purse full of coins and a draught from his bank to establish an account in the Americas, as well as letters of introductions he could use to make their way in the limited society they would encounter in New Orleans. He had sorted through items of clothing, choosing those which would stand the wear and tear of the length of time they would be gone, directing his valet in packing as lightly as possible for the limited space on board. He had obtained several blank leather-bound journals to record the trip and their unique experiences in a new land. Finally, he had explained over and over to his Fitzwilliam aunt and uncle his fictitious reasons for travelling at this dangerous time of year. He was exhausted.

  Since they had left Darcy House, Georgiana had become quieter and quieter. At one point, she had pressed herself into the far corner of the carriage with her arms tight across her waist, as if she was holding herself away from him. He did not understand her at all.

  Certainly, the smell from the fishmonger’s stands, the noise of the quack-medicine hawkers, and the swift movements of the porters as they rushed from carriages to the ships was probably a first for his sensitive sister. Though she had spent several years in London learning from the masters, he doubted she ever had reason to visit this portion of the city.

  “Are you well, Georgiana?” A sheen of perspiration covered her brow and beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. “Are you anxious about the trip?”

  “I am.” His sister nodded, though she did not meet his eyes. Nor did she expound as to whether she was well or anxious.

  “Please rest assured that the next month and a half will pass before you know it. We have an adventure awaiting us, my dear.” Was he reassuring her or himself? He shrugged. It mattered not. Being an optimist did not come naturally to Darcy, and he knew it. Little in his life had gone well. They were orphans who gave their trust sparingly because of the ever-present vultures ready to prey on their wealth and reputation.

  He breathed in deeply and held it for a moment until his own heart calmed. His solicitor was correct: it was a treacherous time to be travelling anywhere, but they had no choice, no other options.

  They had been in the carriage almost two hours before pulling as close to the wharf as possible. Teeming with humanity, he determined to hold tightly on to Georgiana as Parker made his way to the ship with their belongings. Stepping out, he noted the number of families gathered to wave off a loved one. Children scampered dangerously close to the water, then were roughly pulled back by their nannies or their mothers.

  He heard her before he saw her. Her rich laughter floated over the clanging of the rigging on the bare masts, the squeaky wheels of the merchant’s carts, and the yelling of the fishmongers. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was here.

  How was this possible? He had left Longbourn knowing of her impending betrot
hal to Wickham. Was she in Town purchasing her wedding clothes? He shook his head. It mattered not. Georgiana’s pregnancy by Miss Elizabeth’s future husband terminated any possibility of ever being in her company again. The inevitable had happened. All dreams and imaginings of her must be let go.

  He huffed out his breath, trying very hard not to be angry at his sister’s foolishness. It was far easier to place all blame with Wickham. He turned to where Miss Elizabeth stood. She looks happy. Then she cannot have come to know Wickham’s character.

  Again, he shook his head. Thinking on this was fruitless. Turning back to the carriage, he again extended his hand to his sister. When she did not respond, he peered at her closely and, to his chagrin and horror, found her writhing in pain. She was in agony and he had no clue what to do.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted his valet departing from the carriage behind him, undoubtedly in readiness to assign the care of their possessions to a porter. He stopped him.