Father's Regret
by Rita H.
Chapter 1
One more week, thought Darcy. Just one more week and I will have them all to myself!
In the four months that he and Elizabeth had been married, they had only had the first two weeks to themselves, and never with just themselves and his sister Georgiana. She had insisted on staying in London for a few weeks after the wedding, to give the newlyweds some privacy. She had come up to Pemberley the day after Elizabeth's relations, the Gardiners, had arrived for the Christmas holidays. The party remained only a month in the North, then had all returned to London together, after a short stop at Longbourn to pick up Elizabeth's sister Mary Bennet.
Mary had been invited to stay with the Darcys while they were in town, and she had turned out to be an excellent companion for Georgiana. The two girls had become fast friends. Besides their common interest in music, Mary's self assurance had helped to decrease Georgiana's shyness somewhat, while Georgiana's friendship and their busy social schedule left Mary little time for her favorite pastime of moralizing. Her musical skills had also improved. After one day with Georgiana's music tutor, Mary was left no doubt about her vocal ability. He had blatantly pointed out her deficiencies, then gave her practical advice and exercises on how to strengthen her weak singing voice. And although Darcy had been forced to leave the house on more than one occasion while Mary was exercising her voice, even he had to admit by the end of the visit there had been a vast improvement.
Now their time in London was coming to an end. In three days they would return Mary safely to Longbourn, spend a few days catching up on Bennet family news, then the Darcys would return - alone - to Pemberley. Darcy could then selfishly enjoy his little family for a few months before the summer visitors arrived. He was still happily reflecting on this when a servant announced he had a caller.
A man in his late fifties was ushered into the study. He held a thick packet under his arm and took the seat Darcy offered him.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Stephens", Darcy greeted his attorney. "I trust there are no problems with the marriage amendments."
"Heavens no, sir, even with your family's extensive holdings, the paperwork done on Mrs. Darcy's behalf was quite straightforward; nothing compared to the tangle Young Wickham dragged us into last year. I must say I was a bit relieved on learning that the young lady involved was the sister of Mrs. Darcy. Prior to that information I was a bit puzzled by your involvement in the affair. Let us hope the young man behaves himself now that he is properly wed, and gives his late father some peace. Poor Old Wickham must have been rolling in his grave because of young George's indiscretions."
"No doubt," Darcy agreed.
Mr. Stephens sighed. "Old Wickham was a fine gentleman and a good attorney. 'Twas a great loss to the firm when your father spirited him away to the North."
"Perhaps, but it was a great gain for Pemberley. Both my father and I were indebted to Mr. Wickham for his valuable service and advice. He was an excellent steward and manager for the estate." Then, wishing the man would get on with whatever business brought him there, Darcy added, "Now, Mr. Stephens, how can I help you?"
"Quite simply sir, by allowing me to discharge one final duty to your father." Mr. Stephens stood and placed the packet on the desk in front of Darcy. Where the folds of the outer wrapping came together was the unbroken seal of the Darcy family crest. "Mr. Darcy, are you aware that today is the fifth anniversary of Old Mr. Wickham's death?"
"No sir, I was not."
"Shortly before his death, your father entrusted me with a number of documents and letters to be delivered to you five years after the death of Old Mr. Wickham."
"How odd, he arranged this while Mr. Wickham was still alive? I don't understand. They were on good terms right up to my father's death. Why would my father be concerned with a time after Mr. Wickham's death? This seems very strange."
"It was an unusual request, but not without precedence in my business; and you see Mr. Darcy, it is your father's hand." He pointed to the writing on the packet. Darcy recognized it immediately as his father's. It read simply 'Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley'. Below the name, presumably written in Mr. Stephen's hand were the words 'On or after' followed by the current date. Mr. Stephens apparently was very prompt.
"Are you aware of the contents?" Darcy asked.
"Only partially, sir. I know there are some personal letters addressed to family members, but not what they pertain to. I do have some additional documents in my office, which I am sure your father makes mention of here. I can go over those with you whenever it meets with your convenience."
"And the documents in your office concern...?"
"I am afraid I can not tell you that, Mr. Darcy, until you have reviewed the contents of this," he indicated the packet on the desk. "Your father was adamant about the order of the presentation of this material. I must insist you abide by your father's wishes, as he felt it was critical to your understanding."
Darcy reached for the packet and prepared to break the seal, but Mr. Stephens stopped him short. "He also suggested that you should open this in private." He paused. "I will be available to you, sir, when you are ready." Mr. Stephens abruptly bowed and left.
Darcy did not know what to feel. The wonder of a message from his father was offset by the distasteful inkling that it had something to do with George Wickham. Why else would Old Wickham's death be a stipulation? He sat back in his chair and regarded the package on his desk. An hour later Elizabeth found him in the same position.
Chapter 2
"There you are, darling! I've been looking for you," said Elizabeth as she entered the room.
"You seemed to have found me." Darcy turned to face his wife. "How was your afternoon?"
"Busy," she stopped as she noticed the package on the desk. "Did that come in the post?"
Darcy smiled. "In a manner of speaking. I'll tell you about it in a moment, first tell me about your day."
"If you insist. First we picked up the books Mary ordered for Father at the bookstore, and of course she had to pick out a few more for herself. Next we went to my Aunt Gardiner's and said our good byes. She gave me some letters to take home to Jane and Mama; by the way, she sends you her best. Then we stopped in on your aunt and uncle and found that the colonel had just arrived home on leave. Your aunt asked us all to dine this evening; I hope you don't mind, William, I declined for us; I have an evening's worth of farewell notes to write."
Darcy nodded his assent, Elizabeth continued. "Poor Georgiana, she looked so pitiful. It was obvious that she was dying to hear the colonel's latest news, but thought she shouldn't stay for dinner if you and I were not to be there, even though I said it would be all right. The colonel finally came to her rescue by insisting she and Mary stay for dinner, and promised to escort them home right afterward."
"Good, I was hoping to see Fitzwilliam before we left."
"Now will you tell me about the package you are trying so hard not to look at?" Elizabeth teased. Darcy smiled. Sometimes she knew him better than he knew himself.
"It is a package from my father. He left it in the keeping of our attorney until today."
"Your father? How exciting! Why haven't you opened it yet? Are you waiting for Georgiana?"
"Good God, no!" exclaimed Darcy, and then apologized when Elizabeth startled at his outburst. "It is just that this package was delivered today because it is the fifth anniversary of the elder Mr. Wickham's death. If there is even a chance that it involves George Wickham, I don't want Georgiana to know of it until I know the contents. It would just open up old wounds."
"Of course, I understand." Elizabeth paused, and then asked quietly, "So why haven't you opened it yet?"
"I'm not sure, I think I was waiting for you, for moral support. Besides, if it does involve Wickham, it involves your sister as well. You should be here."
She kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, darling. Now, shall we?"
Darcy broke the outer seal and unwrapped the package. It contained four letters of various sizes, each sealed with the Darcy crest. Elizabeth noticed a slight floral scent. She bent closer and sniffed.
"Honeysuckle," she said.
"It was one of my mother's favorite scents", Darcy murmured.
Elizabeth held up one of the thicker envelopes, it was addressed to Georgiana. "It's strongest with this one."
Darcy took the letter, closed his eyes, inhaled and smiled. For an instant he was eight years old again, receiving a bedtime hug.
"Father probably enclosed one of mother's handkerchiefs as a remembrance. After she died, he was never without one. He said they kept her close to him."
There were three other letters: the thinnest addressed to Richard Fitzwilliam, another slightly larger one addressed to George Wickham, and the largest, as expected, was addressed to Darcy.
He picked up his letter, hesitated a moment, smiled at Elizabeth for reassurance, then broke the seal. Taking a deep breath, he began to read aloud.
My dear William,
No father could ever be more proud of his children than I am of you and Georgiana. You have proved yourself over the last few months as more than capable of handling the estate and family businesses. I am sure Pemberley will flourish under your care.
I have been blessed during my life to share it for a time with a woman whom I loved and whom I knew loved me, although I never deserved such a gift. I pray that you and your sister may be so fortunate in your choice of marriage partners. I fear that I shall not be there to witness it, or even to see Georgiana grow to be the beautiful young woman she promises to be, but if that is the Almighty's will, so be it.
There is one regret I have, and an obligation that I must leave in your hands, my son. It was my deepest wish to acknowledge as my own another known to you. But time, circumstance, and my word of honor have not allow it to me in my lifetime, so the task must fall to you -- if it is your wish to do so. There is no easy way to tell you other than to put it plainly. George Wickham is more than my Godson, he is your brother."
Chapter 3
Posted on Thursday, 1 November 2001, at 10:04 p.m.
Darcy slowly put the letter down. He was stunned. He did not know what to think, except perhaps that he had misunderstood his father's meaning; if he were to take his father literally, the implications for Georgiana were...
But the manner in which the letter had been delivered and the number of pages remaining spoke volumes in themselves. Deep down he knew he did not misunderstand anything. How plainer could it be said: his bitterest enemy was his brother, his father's son. And the unsavory details of how it came about waited on the desk.
Elizabeth wanted to say something, but what could one say after such a revelation? She touched Darcy's arm to give him quiet support. He placed his hand over hers in response, then patted it as he stood up.
"You finish for me," he said, as he walked over to the window and looked out aimlessly. "Whatever else is in there has to sound better in your voice."
"He must be talking figuratively, William. Surely your father..." Elizabeth began.
"I am sure it will all be made clear in the letter. Lord knows I don't want to finish it, but it has to be done. Please continue for me."
Elizabeth picked up the letter, and began where Darcy had left off.
I do not tell you this to unburden myself of guilt; it is a burden even death will not rid me of. It would perhaps be easier for all concerned if the truth were never told, but I have an obligation to my children, and I am no less responsible for George's welfare than I am for yours and Georgiana's, despite the circumstances of his birth. Those circumstances, I fear, will cost me any esteem you may have held me in, but you must know the truth to determine how to act.
As you know, Miles Wickham and I have been dear friends, brothers could not have been closer. We became acquainted after the death of my father; Wickham's firm handled the transfer of the family's London holdings to my name. Later he oversaw many of our concerns in town. I was so impressed by his management abilities and sound judgement that I often sought his advice on estate business as well.
Despite his being 10 years my senior, we got on splendidly. Whenever I was in town, I often accompanied he and his wife Amelia to the theater and social events. It was Amelia who first introduced me to your mother. Anne was the most beautiful girl in London that season, and every young man vied for her favor. I could not believe my good fortune when she accepted my offer of marriage. Wickham was my groomsman. A few months later I was able to persuade him to accept a position as steward of Pemberley.
The first year with your mother was like a beautiful dream. No two people could be more in love and devoted to each other than were we. We knew nothing but happiness at Pemberley, until we suffered our first loss. Anne had only just begun to suspect that she was with child, then it was gone. Despite the doctor's assurances that these things happen from time to time, she blamed herself for losing the baby. She was devastated, and became quiet and withdrawn. She drew back from me, thinking I, too, blamed her. It took months for her to recover, and even then she was left with an air of sadness. What finally brought her back nearly to her old self was the news of her sister Catherine's engagement to Louis de Bourgh.
Your mother made several trips to Matlock and London to help her sister and sister-in-law with the wedding plans. It happily occupied her for months. Then, two weeks before the wedding, Anne pulled away again. She shied away from me, and I was at a loss as to why, though I thought it might be due to the approaching anniversary of the loss of the child. I decided to let things be until after the wedding to see if the celebration and time with her family at Matlock would brighten her spirits.
We arrived two days before the wedding, planning on staying for a week; I barely managed to stay for the ceremony. Shortly after our arrival, I overheard Catherine gloating to your mother about how fortunate she was to be marrying a nobleman, her tone implying she had made the better match. Your mother politely agreed that it was a grand match, but said nothing, as I hoped she would, about the fortune of her own marriage. It was then that I began to suspect that Anne regretted her decision to marry me. That evening she remained as quiet towards me as she had at Pemberley.
The next day the groom's party arrived. One particularly pale groomsmen was a former suitor of your mother's, an earl from Kent. He seemed intent on taking up the courtship where he had left off, regardless of the lady's marital status. Although Anne did not encourage his attentions, I saw little effort on her part to discourage them. He fawned over her, and made irritating remarks about titleless nobodies. My blood boiled; we would have come to blows had it not been for your uncle holding me back. In the end de Bourgh asked his dandy friend to leave, and your mother scolded me for being childish.
I stayed only until after the vows were said. Inventing business at Pemberley that needed my immediate attention, I left Anne to be escorted home by her brother when the last of the wedding guests departed. I arrived home by late afternoon, depressed and in desperate need of advice. I sent word to Wickham that I wanted to see him, dismissed the servants, and locked myself in the study with a bottle of brandy to sooth my wounded pride. After an hour or two I had convinced myself that Anne no longer loved me and probably would not even bother to return to Pemberley. I could not bear to think what life would be like without her, so I continued drinking in an attempt to drive any other coherent thoughts from my head.
A knock on the door startled me, and I remembered that I had sent for Wickham. I opened the door expecting to find Miles and found Mrs. Wickham there instead. She apologized, saying her husband was not expected back from York until the morrow, and asked if there was anything that she could do for me in his place.
I had forgotten that Wickham had gone away on estate business; now I had no one to talk to. I sat down, quite dejected and feeling abandoned. Seeing I was upset, Mrs. Wickham closed the door, sat down next to me, and asked if there was anything she could do. She said it in such a kind and solicitous manner, that before I knew it, I was pouring my heart out to the poor woman, telling her my fears about losing your mother, and crying on her shoulder.
It was a relief after so many weeks of frustration. She wore a soft vanilla scent which soothed me, and I was comforted in her arms. She spoke softly, telling me what a fine man I was and that no woman in her right mind would leave me. She went on about how thoughtful and caring I was with the estate and its tenants; her praise fed my ego like the brandy had fed my self-pity. The soft words soon turned to soft kisses, and the comforting arms of a friend became a passionate embrace. I did not think, I just reacted. Soon I was lost in a sea of warmth, want, and vanilla.
It was over before we knew it had begun. I sobered the instant I thought of Anne and got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had betrayed both my wife and my best friend in one drunken little tryst. I sat up and held my head in my hands and moaned 'What have we done?'
I must say Amelia took it much better than I did. She adjusted her garments and told me to relax while she poured me another drink. We had just given each other what we had needed at the moment, she said, there was no wrong in it. She handed me the glass and said not to worry about a thing. We got a bit of pleasure when we needed it the most, no one was hurt, so forget it. She leaned down, kissed my head and left; although her scent lingered behind her.
What I did not need at that moment was another drink; I threw the glass of brandy in the fireplace, then opened a window to air out that blasted vanilla smell. I paced the room for hours trying to make sense of the evening. I was furious with myself for my lack of control, but I was not about to try to justify it as Amelia had done. Finally I went up to bed.
In my chamber, I built a fire, burned my clothes and scrubbed myself raw in the washbasin. It did me no good; I still smelled of vanilla. The next morning my valet thought I had lost my mind when I insisted on bathing twice. Still, I swear that scent followed me the rest of that day and the next, no matter where I went.
Anne arrived home late in the evening. Her brother and his wife carried their sleeping boys up to the nursery, allowing us some privacy downstairs. Anne looked radiant, better than she had looked in weeks; then it struck me, she was happy.
Before I could tell her all, as I had resolved, she threw herself into my arms and blurted out that we were going to have a baby. Instantly the oppressiveness that I had carried for two days left me, and I was suddenly elated. Anne apologized for keeping her distance for the past weeks, but she had suspected she was with child and feared losing another. The day after the wedding she had confided in her sister-in-law, who had assured her, as the Matlock family doctor later did, that she had nothing to fear and that nothing a husband and wife could do would hurt the baby.
I also apologized for being a fool of late, but I stopped there; Anne was happier than I had ever seen her and I was not going to spoil it for her by confessing my infidelity. Now was not the time. Perhaps Amelia had been right when she said to forget about it.
All of Pemberley was excited with our news, and there was more excitement to be had, for less than two months later Wickham announced that Amelia was with child. He told me it was more than he had ever dreamed of, that after thirteen years they were finally being blessed.
I immediately suspected the worst, Amelia childless for thirteen years of marriage, then after our …indiscretion… she miraculously was expecting a baby. It would be divine irony that the betrayal of my best friend would result in his fondest wish being fulfilled, that of being blessed with a child. Still, I could not be sure I was the father until I spoke to Amelia.
A few days later I found an opportunity to be alone with her. Amelia did not beat around the bush. She was sure I had fathered the child, but that I was not going to be the child’s father, Miles was. And if she could convince Miles to move back to London, we could both get on with our own lives and forget about the child’s origins. I had no objections to that, although I hated to lose Miles, it would probably be for the best. I felt, however, that I should bear some responsibility for the baby, but Amelia refused all offers; a clean break would be better for all concerned, she said. Unfortunately Miles would not be persuaded.
Although born in London, Wickham hated the city and the thought of raising a child there appalled him. He loved Pemberley as much as I did and no amount of pleading by his wife could move him. Amelia begged me to force him to leave by dismissing him, and I should have, to put an end to it. But before I had the chance, Miles insisted that I agree to be the child’s godfather. This changed things, to my mind.
As godfather I could have a legitimate interest in the child’s welfare, see it grow up, love it -- to a degree -- almost as my own, and society could not say a thing against me. It was selfish, I know, and almost a betrayal to Anne and you, the child she carried, but the temptation was too great. I agreed.
Amelia was furious with this turn of events. She came to me the next day and asked if I had lost my mind. It wasn’t enough, she said, that I was going to have Anne’s child, I had to have a hold on hers, too! Deep down I knew she was right, but I tried to assure her that I would have very little to do with her child, that I would consider it Miles’, not my own. The child would grow up having all the benefits of living at Pemberley, with no one being the wiser. Amelia knew me better however, and made me swear on my honor that no one, especially the child, would ever learn of its origins until both she and Miles were long dead. I thought it was an unnecessary vow, as I could never have reason to expose my sin to the world, but I made it none the less. Amelia could not resist leaving me with a parting blow, however. As she left the room she asked what I would do if my connection with the child was obvious? I did not answer, I just prayed Amelia’s baby would not look like me.
Then you were born, my son, and I felt my life was complete. I doted on you. Your mother claimed you were the image of me. George was born less than two months later, the image of his mother, thank God.
Amelia kept her distance from our family, or as much as possible on the same estate. However, to Miles she became more and more demanding, and she suddenly developed a taste for the extravagant, which I took as her way of getting even for not being allowed to leave Pemberley. Although she had not convinced him to move back to London, she had gotten Miles to agree to let her and George spend winters there with her family. Whenever she returned, she brought much of the best of London’s shops with her. She seemed determined to spend every penny Miles earned.
George suffered by it, too. Summers the two of you played wonderfully together and were as close as brothers should be, but after spending the winter in town with his mother, George would come back spoiled and self centered. Miles did what he could with the boy by keeping him with him much of the time, and I tried to help steer George in the right direction, within the realm of propriety, but it often felt like a losing battle. Although his manners improved over the years, and became quite pleasing in fact, his character was seldom touched. And any progress that was made by the autumn months was bound to be lost once winter rolled around again.
I tried to love George as I did you and Georgiana, but George made it difficult for me. He tended to make his own trouble. Where you and Georgiana would stand back and see the lay of the land, as it were, think things through before taking action, George was more impulsive and would rush in before he knew what he was getting into, often with disastrous consequences. With such tendencies I feared for his future, especially if he inherited his mother’s spending habits. I could not provide for him in the same way as I could for you and Georgiana, but I felt obligated to help in any way that I could.
By the time Amelia died, Miles had very little to show for all his years of service. I had paid him better than most in his position, but his wife had thrown nearly all of it away. What little Miles was able to save would not have put George through University, and he was due to start the following year. Although I knew it was a tremendous blow to his pride, Miles allowed me to sponsor George through school.
I encouraged George to pursue a career in the Church, as I knew I would be able to provide a living for him in one of the many parishes surrounding Pemberley. Unfortunately, it has become obvious from the gambling debts George accumulated at school, and which I paid, unknown to Miles, that he is not cut out to be a clergyman. It is my hope, however, that the time and dedication required in running a parish will keep George occupied and out of trouble until my true intentions for him can come to pass. And that is why, my son, in my Will I have recommended George for the first available living that it is in your power, as master of Pemberley, to bestow.
As it appears I am leaving this world before Miles, and as I am still bound by my vow to Amelia, the plans I have made for George’s future must be left for you to fulfill. My attorney has been entrusted with a bequest for George, to be given to him some years after Wickham’s death. Miles is no fool. He felt it was more than a godfather’s place to provide for George’s education, but as it was in the boy’s best interest, he had little choice but to accept my offer. A large bequest to his son on my death, more than would be expected from even a doting godfather, would only serve to hurt Miles’ pride and raise suspicions that would be too close to the truth. Besides which, George is not yet ready for the responsibility that will come with this bequest.
My mother’s fool of an uncle inherited a small estate on the Wall from my grandfather, which he gambled away. The property fell into ruin until I was able to purchase it some years ago. It is being held by my attorney, separate from the rest of the family’s holdings, until the proper time. He does not know the reason that this bequest is not to be made to George at the time of my death, only that I have outlined certain conditions which must be met, to insure George will be able to handle the responsibility involved in running an estate. I leave it to you as to the best way to present the bequest to him.
In my letters to Georgiana and Richard I make no mention of any of this, so have no fear in delivering them. The letter to George reveals the facts of his birth, but as you are still in the world, you are best able to judge when, if ever, to make the truth known to him, either by my letter or in your own way. It may not be in his best interests to know the truth just yet. A clergyman may not welcome the knowledge of a sinful origin.
I am sorry if this revelation has hurt you, as I am sure it would have hurt your mother. Please know that I have always loved her, you and Georgiana above all others. God bless you.
Your loving father,
George Darcy
Darcy stood deep in thought by the window. Elizabeth put the letter down and went to him.
“Oh, William, what you must be feeling…”
He pulled her into a loose embrace, and rested his head against hers. “Anger, betrayal, imposition, curiosity, relief…”
Elizabeth was taken aback, “Relief?”
“Yes, that my mother never learned of this,” he said. “I dread to think what it would have done to her.”
“Or what it will do to Geogiana.”
Darcy shuttered. “She is never to know.”
“And this <i>estate on the Wall</i>, do you know what he is referring to? What Wall?”
“It must be Hadrian’s Wall*. I remember it, if it’s the same place. There was a large farm that bordered the Wall that Father took us to once when we were boys. He and Mr. Wickham toured the grounds with a caretaker while Wickham and I kept ourselves occupied. Part of the wall was crumbling so we climbed to the top and played soldier.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It was. Wickham and I did not always hate each other, you know.”
“I know.” She paused, “What are you going to do?”
He smiled. “Have dinner, I suppose, it must have been waiting for us for some time now. I need time to sort this out, and Fitzwilliam and the girls will be back soon”.
“Yes, I’d forgotten. And the letters?”
“Georgiana’s and Richard’s will be safe enough here.” Darcy refolded his and pocketed it, then as an afterthought, he picked up Wickham’s letter and put it in his pocket as well. “I’ll keep these for a bit.”
to be continued...maybe
Author’s Note: What little I know of Hadrian’s Wall comes from references in Mary Stewarts’s The Crystal Cave, a T.V. documentary, and tourist websites. I apologize to those in the UK if my references to it don’t match reality. It sounds like a cool place.
© 2001 Copyright held by the author.