22

Caroline Darcy had been happy to escape the chaos at Pemberley to attend her step-brother’s wedding. She had not understood what all the fuss was about. Of course, it was a pity that Georgiana did not wish to marry more advantageously, but the family had always thought well of the charming vicar, and it was outrageous that her husband’s late father had not done more to set Mr. Wickham up properly so that he might support a society bride. But Lady Anne was prone to fits of hysteria over something new every day, and so Caroline’s travels could not be more happily timed.

She took the opportunity to remind Jane, on the eve of the wedding, of their schemes to advance themselves socially, and was pleased when Jane confessed that she had just gotten her courses, and could not immediately consummate the marriage. “Abstain for as long as you can manage,” had been her advice. “You are not in the full bloom of youth, but clearly that was no deterrent for your mother. There will be time for making heirs once we have established ourselves in the Ton.

It was not long before Caroline had occasion to regret following her own advice, for by the end of the wedding breakfast, she found herself a widow. The black rimmed letter was delivered express to her at Netherfield while Mrs. Bennet held court, boasting of what fine clothes and jewels, what carriages and pin money her newly married daughter would soon have.

The tears Caroline shed were genuine, for Marcus Darcy had fought George Wickham in a duel the day before; the latter had been imprisoned and her husband was dead. She had bled the week before, and she was not carrying his heir. It would have been her salvation, the preservation of her claim to Pemberley, to bear Marcus’s son even after his death. But she had been sensible to wish to wait; anybody could see that it was prudent, even simple Jane. No, the blame for this lay entirely with her husband. Damn the man for getting himself killed before her position was secured!

These recriminations plagued her as she travelled north with Captain Darcy, who had arrived an hour after his letter. Charles and Jane accompanied them, having decided to postpone their wedding trip in favour of accompanying the grieving widow back to Pemberley.

The journey was painfully slow, made worse by the intemperate weather and the sullen severity of her companions. Charles wept like a baby the first two days, and recounted every inane memory of Marcus to her on the third and final day. By the time she reached Pemberley, Caroline was sure she could go a month complete without hearing another word from her step-brother, but the way his prattling on grated her nerves did help her maintain the proper appearance of despair.

About a week after her return home, Charles came to her bedchamber, where she had been sequestered for several days, desperately trying to cobble together some scheme for her future.

The marriage settlement was generous enough that she might remain comfortable until she could catch another eligible suitor, and Captain Darcy had even offered her the use of Darcy House in London until her year of mourning was complete.

This was not at all satisfactory. The house would undoubtedly be full of his spies, and what good would it do her to be in London when she could not enjoy its diversions? No, he meant to remove her from Pemberley hastily and permanently, and everything she had striven for would be lost. It was not to be borne!

Caroline brushed aside her pitiful ruminations as she regarded her step-brother. His face was red, either from weeping or drinking – as she observed him, she suspected it was both. He took an unsteady step toward her, wiping at his face. “I saw a sliver of light from underneath your door,” he said, drinking directly from a decanter of whiskey. “I could not bear to cry in front of Will and Richard – Marcus was their kin, and they have not shed a tear. I know I must look a fool.”

Caroline could not disagree with this, though she knew she ought to weeping for Marcus, too.

“Surely you must seek the comfort of your wife,” she said, bristling with annoyance. His display of despair must make her appear heartless in comparison; if he had wept in front of Captain Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Caroline needed to conjure up some tears at breakfast the next morning.

“Jane retired after dinner,” he replied, taking another swig from the decanter. “And she did not know him as we did.”

He was already too inebriated for further drinking to be advisable. But Caroline smiled. “Well then, bring a couple glasses from the sideboard and come sit beside me for a little while. I have been reflecting in silence.”

He did as he was bid, and poured them each a finger of whiskey. She had no wish to hear about Marcus. The fool had dashed off to his death and left her with nothing but a settlement that Lady Anne had the audacity to call generous.

For a minute they each sipped at their drinks, but the silence Caroline desired did not last long. “I thought I would ask Marcus to be godfather to my first child someday.”

Caroline looked away and rolled her eyes before turning back to him. “That is a lovely sentiment, and one you should share with your wife. It is her responsibility to speak with you of such weighty matters. Surely she can sit up with you for a few hours – or better still, go and make your heir.”

He downed his drink and poured himself another, blushing crimson. “She has not been able to… to enjoy such activities as I imagined would follow our wedding.”

This was just what she had suspected. Still, she smiled innocently. “You need not have canceled your honeymoon.”

“No – we were happy to do so – that is, I am too wretched to enjoy the trip we had planned. What I need at present is simply comfort.” He took Caroline’s hand in his and looked beseechingly at her.

She nodded, considering what she needed at present. “I am sorry that you cannot speak to Jane, though of course you shall always have my love, dear Charles.”

Caroline draped an arm around his shoulder, letting the dressing gown fall away to reveal her thin nightdress. His gaze fell over her just as she had intended, and she leaned closer. “But I feel dreadful that my situation should keep you from your bride, especially at this hour.”

He nodded, shifting nervously as he sipped at the whiskey. “Jane is unwell this week, anyhow – her female troubles plague her.”

“Indeed? So you have not had the opportunity to….”

“No,” he said sadly, downing another drink.

Caroline lifted the decanter to refill his glass, and then did the same to her own. “I confess, I was neglected in much the same manner. From the time we arrived at Pemberley, and in the months that followed, Marcus was not as keen to visit me at night as I am sure you must be with Jane.”

He gave another sheepish blush and continued drinking. Caroline smiled; the dreadful and delightful idea that had taken root in her mind now seemed an easy feat. “I hope you shall not find her as indifferent in that aspect as my marriage partner was. I know I ought not speak ill of Marcus at such a time, but I so wished to give him an heir – a little Charles Darcy would have been wonderfully fitting. Oh, I do hope Jane will not do as he did, and make one excuse after another to avoid that activity which I quite enjoyed that night at Netherfield.”

She looked away demurely, swirling the whiskey in her glass as Charles again sipped at his own.

“I had not thought of that – oh dear. If she is so shy in conversation, I hope she is not equally so in… other matters. But we ought not speak of such indelicate things.”

“We shall keep it just between us.” She gave a coy smile. “Surely you are not uncomfortable with me; we have known one another nearly all our lives. True, we share no blood, but I am fond of you, and I know you are of me, for you have shown it in your attentiveness this last week.”

Caroline shifted her position so that their entwined hands slid along her thigh. “I am glad you came to me tonight, for my spirits are very low. In truth, my mind had already turned in the same direction as our present conversation. It breaks my heart that I had not the chance to bear Marcus a son.”

“Is it not possible that you may be… that you may expect… it would certainly be miraculous.”

“Not to mention what comfort a child would give me, especially a son.” Caroline fixed him with a bright smile as her hip pressed against his and her bare foot grazed his calf. “If I were so fortunate, I should wish him to be just like you, Charlie. Kind and affable, devoted to me, of course, and so very handsome.”

Charles squeezed her hand before releasing it to pour yet another finger of whiskey for himself, his movement sloppy. “As I say, it is not impossible.”

“There is but one way it could ever be possible.” A tendril of doubt encircled her, holding her body still as she gazed at him, but she forced herself to press on, extending her own glass to be filled once more.

“That is generally how it works, or so I am told.” He chuckled, then hiccuped.

Caroline giggled. “So you are told – do you not know? Oh, Charlie, you are far too dashing to still be a maid!”

“Not a maid,” he laughed. “But I have not – I never….”

“That must make the sting of Jane’s rejection far worse,” she mused. How fortuitous it was, after all, that she had advised Jane to abstain! “Perhaps I ought not to say – but I am well and truly in my cups – oh dear….”

He leaned against her, finishing another drink and pouring them each a much more generous one. “I am properly foxed, so you may as well say what you will.”

“Well, as I am a little half-sprung as well…. Jane confided in me that she had her monthly courses on the eve of your wedding. Nobody’s bleeding lasts that long; unless she is some medical marvel, I suspect she may be putting you off – deceiving you.”

Charles groaned. “But why would she do such a thing?”

Caroline shrugged. “Perhaps she married you for your fortune, and not your fine looks. I think it is mad of her not to give you a warmer welcome to her bed. Forgive me – I hope I might state the perfectly obvious – we are not so much brother and sister.”

“No indeed,” he slurred in agreement. “Damn, but this is some fine whiskey Marcus kept.”

“Marcus did enjoy having the finest of everything. A sad irony, for I like to think he had a very fine bride, and one quite eager to please him, but for that activity he has cared for little in recent months.”

“Is it not… enjoyable?”

Knowing she had him just where she wanted him, Caroline smiled again. She allowed her lashes to hood her eyes in a sultry expression and rested her knee against his as she replied, “Indeed it is.”

“Then why should Jane wish to avoid it? Why should Marcus not… he seemed very keen that night at Netherfield.”

“I swear to you, I cannot make sense of such a mystery.” Caroline lifted Charles’s hand and placed it over her heart, her own resting gently atop his. “I swear to you, I did my best to please him, and thought that I had. But I have failed him, failed myself, and I have even failed Pemberley in not producing an heir. It was my greatest desire.”

As her final word hung in the air between them, Caroline slowly removed her hand from his, brushing her fingers over his skin and guiding his fingers downward. Again his eyes landed just where she wished them to, and she leaned herself into his touch.

He had ever been a weak man, so easily led; she knew he would capitulate, and so he did. He stroked her, tentatively at first, his breath shaking as she gave a little moan of pleasure at his hungry ministrations. And just when his curiosity might have given way to better judgment, she leaned in and kissed him.

The empty glass slid from his hand as he drew her closer, and she gave a drunken, dizzy sigh before careening them backward into the pillows. In another instant he was on top of her, utterly ravenous.

***

Fitzwilliam Darcy had returned from his years abroad a man of the world in every sense. Though he did not frequent brothels, neither was he as chaste as he might have been had he taken up the profession his parents preferred for him. He was, therefore, experienced enough to instantly recognize the sounds he heard from within as he stalked past the mistress’s chambers on his way to the library.

Richard was at his side. After Bingley left the room weeping, the two cousins had elected to play a drunken and messy game of chess until sleep ceased to be so elusive. He, too, halted at the moan, his hand on Darcy’s shoulder to stay him. “Did you hear that?”

The sound was repeated, this time in a more masculine timbre. A sobering chill went down Darcy’s spine, dizzying dread mingling with a sense of duty no amount of drink could dispel. He took a step toward the room, steeled himself for what he might discover, and then threw open the door and strode into the room. His cousin followed, and they gasped in unison.

Darcy took in the damning tableau, the decanter spilling onto the carpet beside a shattered glass, the single flickering candle, and Caroline scrambling to cover herself with a discarded shirt. Nearly covered by the shadows in the room was Charles Bingley, stark naked. For a long minute, nobody said a word, and Darcy was not surprised that the lady had the good sense not to cry out at such a moment. Bingley appeared so intoxicated that he might be incapable of it.

Richard gave a bark of astonished laughter; Darcy clenched his arm to stay his cousin before he could say something crass. Instead, Darcy spoke first. His voice was cold, and he knew not how he managed to express himself with the necessary severity.

“Tomorrow morning, Caroline, you will sign a document I shall draft, forfeiting any claim to Pemberley for whatever child may result from your insidious tryst. You need not name your step-brother as that offspring’s sire, but you will sign a confession that you have taken a lover, and any male issue – or female, for that matter – will be confirmed a bastard, and not a Darcy. And then you and your ilk will leave my house immediately and in perpetuity. I do not care where you go, but it will certainly not be to Darcy House. Our connection – both of you – will henceforth be severed, forever.”

Before either of the wretches could speak, he turned and left the room, dragging Richard along with him. Darcy made it to the end of the corridor before casting up his accounts into a potted fern.