embraced in this man who had, to some degree, always lived in her soul. If it all seemed a bit dreamlike, she was gradually overcoming those doubts as well. It was impossible to cling to uncertainties when gazing into eyes brimming with purest love.
The kiss ended, both recognizing the escalating ardor and needing to withdraw before crossing permanent lines. Simone was nearly virginal in the surprising vibrations that raced through her body when he kissed her. Yet her innocence was not complete and she shivered and suppressed a moan of pure need. Richard smiled and pulled her close, nestling her head against his shoulder, and caressing lightly.
Silence fell for a time, broken by her dulcet tones from within the depths of his neck. “It was important that I see you tonight for another reason as well. I received a letter from my father today. He has invited me to our family estate in Hampshire. It really was more of a command, but he misses the grandchildren and we usually do spend some time there in the summer. I have evaded his requests thus far, but am running out of excuses.”
His grip had instinctively tightened, heart falling through the floor. For a frantic moment he experienced a violent stab of fear, a piercing pain followed by a vivid premonition that if she left his presence he would lose her forever. It was irrational and fleeting, but the aftermath lingered and caused him to shudder.
“Simone, must we continue this charade? I love you and you love me! What are a few weeks? Let me come with you and talk to your father now.”
She pulled away, staring into his dear face with a sunny smile and touching his cheek. “I thought of this very thing all afternoon, in between caring for Oliver. You are correct. There is no point in waiting any longer.”
“Excellent!” He interrupted. “When shall we leave? I can request time away easily…”
Her chuckle and light kiss halted his words. “Let me finish, silly man. My, you are like one of my children running away with yourself so! I do not wish to tarry in our decision to be together any longer than you do. But please allow me to speak with my father first.”
He frowned. “This is not the first time I have sensed a hesitation with you on the topic of our marriage, Simone. Do you think your father will be opposed to me?”
“I do not know, Richard, honestly.” She rose, hands wringing while pacing before him. “My father has always been obsessed with rank and situation. All four of us girls were auctioned off to the highest bidder.” She spoke bitterly. Richard knew from her sharing that she alone of the four daughters was fortunate in her marriage, her siblings wealthy and with titles equal to or above what they possessed prior, but none blessed with a kindly man. “You cannot imagine his glee when the Marquess of Fotherby agreed to marry me.”
He bristled, unable to hide his offense at the perceived slight. “I am the son of an Earl. And a colonel in His Majesty’s Armed Forces.”
“Yes, of course you are right. I am being silly. Worrying for nothing, I am sure.” She returned hastily to his side, taking his hands. “I love you, Richard Fitzwilliam. Surely that is all that will truly matter. But please grant me this one concession. I will send for you when the timing is right. And then I will be yours forever. I
“I will be anticipating far more than a kiss, my dear, so you be prepared.”
She blushed, again nestling into his shoulder. Warmth returned to his body but could not entirely dissipate the icy chill buried deep inside.
A week passed without word. Busy with his duties, Richard nevertheless marked the passage of each day with growing excitement. Certain that Simone merely needed time to accustom her father to the fact that she planned to remarry so soon after her famous husband’s death, he was not concerned at the delay. Instead, he waited semi-patiently, attending to his work with no outward sign of expectation unless one noted how he subtly started every time a messenger arrived. He laughed at himself each time, as it was unlikely that a letter from the Marchioness of Fotherby would be delivered to company barracks! Rather he anticipated that an invitation would be waiting for him at home. Yet, as the week swiftly approached a fortnight with the stack of mail sitting upon his desk devoid of a parchment addressed in her delicate handwriting, his excitement turned to mild disquiet.
But nothing prepared him for the shock he received one morning as he sipped on his coffee and nibbled on a toasted slice of thick bread with cheese melted atop, that day’s edition of the
On a windy day in mid-October, after two weeks of pain worse than anything suffered as a result of battle wounds, Colonel Fitzwilliam rode up the long drive toward Pemberley. The mansion beckoned to him with inviting hominess as it always had from the earliest memories of his childhood. No one expected him, the footman Rothchilde hiding his surprise with typical formality.
“Welcome to Pemberley, Colonel,” he greeted, as if unexpected visitors were a daily occurrence, taking the offered coat with an impassive expression. “I will inform Miss Darcy that you have arrived.”
“Are Mr. and Mrs. Darcy out?”
“They are away at this time, sir. Dr. Darcy is at the hospital in Matlock, but Miss Darcy is in residence.”
Richard managed to hide his dismay at that undesirable news. He nodded, heading unerringly for the parlor and liquor cabinet.
“Cousin Richard, what a pleasant surprise.”
He turned at the voice, glass of brandy halting midway to his mouth, stunned at the vision before him. It was Georgiana, yet not Georgiana. The woman who was once his child ward strolled gracefully toward him with a beatific smile, blue eyes shimmering with happiness. She wore a gown of rich purple velvet, clinging to her tall, willowy, but curvaceous form with perfection, golden hair piled elegantly atop her regal head, face stunningly beautiful above a slender neck and delicate shoulders. She drew close, raising one fine-boned hand to his cheek as her eyes clouded with concern. “What is it Richard? You look sad.”
He would never be able to explain how it happened, but never would he be ashamed at the comfort he sought. With lithe dexterity she captured the glass as it began to fall, gathering his brokenhearted body into her firm, sympathetic embrace, crooning soothingly as she gently rocked the silently weeping man.
They ended up on the settee with him telling her everything as she held tight to one hand. She listened attentively without interjecting once until he had exhausted himself of words.
“I had to come here,” he finished, breathing deeply. “Pemberley has always stilled my soul in a way even Rivallain never did. Of course, I was intending to burden your brother with my woes. Forgive me, little mouse, for laying this on your slim shoulders.”
He smiled weakly, Georgiana shaking her head slowly. “Do not be ridiculous. This is what friends are for.”
“Where are Darcy and Lizzy by the way?”
“They went to the Lake District with the Lathrops, Sitwells, and Vernors. You just missed them as they departed three days ago. They expect to return in a month.”
“Were you not invited?”
She laughed. “No, but I would not have wished to spend three weeks with a group of young married couples.” She paused, the mournful cast to his face at the reference to marriage too awful to ignore. “Oh, Richard! I am sorry! Is there anything that can be done?”
He stood, walking the gait of an old man to retrieve the forgotten glass of brandy, drinking deeply before answering. “No. She has made her decision apparently and the date is set. A Christmas wedding,” he finished bitterly. He drained the drink in one swallow, crashing the glass onto the table’s surface. “Why? I keep asking myself why! I know her father is pressuring her into this! It is the only explanation. But it makes no sense! She is an independent woman now. Lord Fotherby made sure of that with a more than adequate jointure to add to her engagement settlement. Seeking her father’s permission was merely a formality. One I was more than willing to bow to, as it is only proper, but still just a formality. And to choose Lord Wellson! My God, Georgie! The man is disgusting! Obese, crude, in his late fifties, a reputation of mistresses and illegitimate children scattered all over England. The thought of him with Simone…” He paced furiously and although there was not the slightest hint of humor in the realization, Georgiana could not help but note that he, for the first time in memory, reminded her of her brother when he was dismayed or agitated.
“I waited and waited for her to send word for me to join her,” he continued brokenly, voice rising and falling
