Chapter 7

Posted on Sunday, 15 October 2006

Overnight Pemberley was transformed from a quiet estate into a storm of frenzied yet orderly activity. With little more than two weeks before Elizabeth’s grand Twelfth Night celebration, hardly anyone in the house was permitted to do anything other than prepare for the festivities. The guest list needed to be compiled, invitations sent out, menus planned, guest rooms prepared, seating arrangements calculated on top of countless other tasks. Darcy and Fitzwilliam were allowed to be excused from the fray, their input on appropriate guests being the only duty required of them. While Mary desired to be part of the planning for such a special event, as the guest of honor she was forbidden from lifting a finger. Elizabeth was surprised to find Georgiana as her willing assistant. Georgiana had never been very enthusiastic about planning such elaborate parties, much less one on such short notice. She had always seemed to prefer quieter affairs whose guests were limited to a circle of intimate family friends. However, Georgiana was determined to do her utmost to make this Twelfth Night celebration the best that Pemberley had seen in years.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took full advantage of being exempted from the house party preparations, spending most of his time in the company of Mary and young William. When he discovered that Mary had never been ice skating, he took it upon himself to be her teacher. For her part, Mary could not fathom why one would willingly strap blades to one’s feet and scoot about on a sheet of ice for merriment. She infinitely preferred an un-bruised bottom and a cup of hot cocoa to that sort of reckless amusement. However, Fitzwilliam proved to be a rather persistent and persuasive advocate of the sport. He employed all of his rhetorical skills and the gentle persuasions of a lover to coax Mary out of the warmth of Pemberley’s halls and onto the frozen lake. Much to his chagrin, his most powerful and successful tactic proved not to be his wooing, but the doe eyed pleading of little William. Mary could not long prove resistant when such youthful exuberance was before her.

So, Mary found herself wrapped in blankets and furs riding in an open carriage with Fitzwilliam, young master William, Georgiana and her maid as companions. Another carriage followed behind them with a few more servants who brought hot cocoa and treats.

“Come Miss Mary,” Fitzwilliam coaxed, “you’ll never learn how to skate properly if you never get out of the carriage.”

“I still cannot believe you convinced me to come out here, Richard,” Mary grumbled in a voice loud enough for only Fitzwilliam to hear.

Fitzwilliam smiled before whispering conspiratorially, “This is the first time I have seen you pout so dramatically, Mary. I must admit that I find it rather charming.”

Mary’s pout only increased at this pronouncement, causing Fitzwilliam to laugh in earnest.

“You would not want to disappoint little William, would you?” Fitzwilliam replied, deciding to change his tactics. “He has been waiting for so long to show his Princess his skills on the ice.”

Mary looked over to where William was standing on the ice with Georgiana, his skates already strapped on and a bright expectant look on his face. Mary bit her lip. She could not disappoint her Little Bits. When she had finally agreed to learn to ice skate, he had spoken of nothing else for three days straight. Mary turned to look at Fitzwilliam. He was grinning at her most impudently, one eyebrow arched high in a manner that could make Mary agree to almost anything.

Mary sighed dramatically, “You must promise me that you will not let me fall, Richard. If I should bruise my bottom, I will never forgive you.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile grew as he handed Mary down. Once she was on solid ground, he bowed deeply over her gloved hand and whispered saucily.

“I promise that I will do my best so that your bottom remains unbruised. I shall guard it with my life.”

Mary gasped at Fitzwilliam’s bold remark, which only caused Fitzwilliam to smile in satisfaction. He took great delight in shocking Mary’s sensibilities, especially as their courtship was still unofficial. He had yet to speak to Mr. Darcy of his intentions towards her and had asked her to withhold telling the news to others until he had spoken with her guardian. Mary wondered at the necessity for such secrecy, but agreed to the scheme nonetheless.

Mary’s maid assisted her in strapping on her skates and within minutes Mary found herself clutching to Fitzwilliam’s arm with all of her strength. Fitzwilliam chuckled and spoke reassuring words to her as they slowly made their way out onto the ice. Mary held her breath as their pace increased from a slow shuffle to a glide.

“There, Miss Mary. You have not fallen and are doing quite well.” Fitzwilliam announced once they were well out onto the ice.

“Yes,” Georgiana concurred as she skated towards them with little William in tow. “You will soon discover that skating can be great fun. We’ll have you skating as if you were born with skates attached to your feet come Twelfth Night.”

“I will be more than satisfied with merely remaining upright,” Mary replied with a smile before being distracted by an urgent tugging at her skirt.

“Yes, Sir Little Bits?”

“May I do my tricks for you, Princess Mary?” little William pleaded, a huge smile stretching from one rosy cheek to another as he looked up to her with wide eyes.

“Why, you have never offered to show your Aunt Georgiana or I these tricks, Master William.” Fitzwilliam replied, attempting to sound offended.

“You can watch too, Uncle Richard. I will show you how to do tricks for Mary!”

Mary laughed as she watched little William hurriedly skate out farther onto the ice in preparation for his tricks.

“Sir Little Bits?” Fitzwilliam questioned with a look of amusement.

“Well, William was quite insistent that every knight aught to have a proper name given to him by his lady and that Sir William would not suffice. So, I dubbed him Sir Little Bits, which was surprisingly met with much satisfaction on his part.”

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana chuckled in reply before their attention was called away by William’s cries that his tricks were about to begin. Mary made sure to clap and cheer loudly after William skated backwards, twirled about in a lopsided circle and performed a few simple jumps. Little William beamed with pride before skating back towards Mary and taking her hand to lead her out on the ice. Fitzwilliam relinquished her other arm and watched bemusedly as a nervous Mary skated with only Sir Little Bits for guidance.

“Miss Darcy?” Fitzwilliam queried, turning his gaze from Mary to his cousin as he offered her his arm.

Georgiana took his arm with gratitude before setting off at a slow pace.

“I am happy to have this opportunity to talk with you,” Georgiana began. “I have had little opportunity to chat with you since you arrived.”

“Yes,” Richard replied, as he slowly turned from observing Mary and William to focus on his cousin. “It would appear that much has changed since I was last at Pemberley. William has become quite the little gentleman and you have a new friend in Miss Mary.”

“Yes,” Georgiana replied with a faint smile. “Mary and I have become fast friends. I am quite happy she has come to Pemberley. It is very nice having someone closer to my age with whom to converse.”

“Yes, Miss Farthington is quite delightful. William is quite taken with her as well. One can hardly blame him for being so besotted with one so charming and pretty.” Fitzwilliam replied wistfully as he returned his attention to Mary and William.

The pair skated for a few minutes, chatting disjointedly about Fitzwilliam’s tour in America and time in the West Indies and about Georgiana’s first season in London. Georgiana found herself growing more annoyed by her cousin’s inattentiveness as the conversation wore on. His eyes were frequently fixed on Mary and his replies to her queries were short and rather perfunctory in comparison with their usual ease of conversation. The needling worry that had plagued Georgiana since finding Fitzwilliam and Mary in a somewhat compromising position a few days before now gained strength as she observed her cousin’s countenance.

“No,” Georgiana thought to herself. “He cannot have serious designs on Mary, I am sure. Fitzwilliam has always been amiable and given to admire anyone of his acquaintance. Yes, his interest is merely friendly. I am sure of it.”

Having thus rationalized her suspicions away, Georgiana endeavored to be more lenient toward her cousin. Just as she turned toward him to enquire after her Aunt Josephine, her cousin came to an abrupt stop, causing Georgiana to momentarily loose her footing.

“Cousin, whatever is the matter?” Georgiana cried out as she regained her equilibrium.
Georgiana looked up to find that her cousin had already left her side and was skating with great haste toward Mary who was in danger of taking a rather nasty spill on the ice. Fitzwilliam managed to skate to her aide just in time to catch her as her efforts at remaining upright had failed.

Concern for her friend overcame Georgiana’s annoyance at her cousin’s abandonment. She skated toward them enquiring after Mary’s safety.

“I am quite alright now, Georgiana.” Mary smiled at her warmly. “Just as I was beginning to think I had gotten the hang of things, I found myself in danger of landing on my bottom! Well, at least I hope I would have landed on my bottom.”

“Well, as you say, you are quite safe now.” Fitzwilliam smiled down at her before blushing slightly. Fitzwilliam had forgotten to relinquish his hold of her and still held her protectively in his arms. He apologized briefly before setting her upright and offering his arm.

“If you do not mind, Sir Little Bits, I shall take over escorting the Princess.” Fitzwilliam saluted William, dismissing him from his duties.

William returned the salute before offering his services to his Aunt Georgiana. She gladly accepted his hand and resumed her turn about the lake. Once the pair was some distance away, Fitzwilliam leaned over to whisper in Mary’s ear.

“Did I not promise to guard your bottom with my life?”

Mary bit back a smile and attempted to look at him disapprovingly. Fitzwilliam grinned in satisfaction, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

They skated for most of the afternoon, Mary rarely relinquishing her hold on Fitzwilliam’s arm after her near fall. She found that she grew to like ice skating, despite her earlier disparaging comments on the sport. While she was not a true proficient, Mary managed to loose her footing only twice more. True to his word, Fitzwilliam was there to catch her both times.

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Having bathed and dressed rather quickly, Mary found herself in the pleasant position of having a nearly an hour to herself before dinner. Taking advantage of the solitude, Mary retrieved her journal from her trunk and made her way towards the solarium. She was accustomed to writing in her journal on the beach in New Sussex, the gentle sound of the waves inducing her to dream and write freely. The sea had indeed been her muse and companion. How she missed it! However, Mary found that Pemberley’s library was an adequate spot to do her journaling. While there were no waves to calm her spirits and stir her imagination, there was always a large fire to warm her and comfortable chairs in which to curl-up.

Mary perched on one such chair and opened her journal. She had but a few pages left in the well worn leather book. As she searched to find an unused page, she could not help but pause and read her entries from the past few years and admire her sketches and drawings. Her fingers stilled over a charcoal drawing of her father. She had drawn the picture a few days before he had fallen ill to the disease that would eventually claim his life. She smiled down at the picture. She had drawn it as they sat together by their favorite rock on the beach. He had just returned from one of his long trips to America where he had spoken on the abolitionist cause to sympathetic audiences in the North. As was their habit, they had taken a long stroll along the beach to get reacquainted with one another. During their walk, Mary had begun to notice that his steps were a little slower than before and that he leaned on his walking stick often. She had commented on his slow steps only for him to reassure her that he was indeed well, just a little more fatigued from his journey than he had thought. However, the following morning confirmed Mary’s fears. A fever had come upon him in the wee hours of the morning, sending the house into a frenzy. The doctor was sent for and had managed to break the fever easily. Despite the alarming nature of the fever, the doctor had assured Mary that her father would recover with a few days bed rest. He had a stout constitution and was very fit for a man of three and fifty. The doctor assured her that a trifling cold would not bring such a man down. Lord Farthington had been optimistic as well, even to the point of ignoring the doctor’s orders and escaping his chambers to join Mary on her evening walks. He would not listen to Mary’s protests, claiming that the exercise made him feel better.

However, Lord Farthington had been gravely mistaken. A few days later he could not even be roused out of bed. The doctor had little hope for her father’s recovery, finding that he had consumption. Mary knew that this was a death sentence and decided to devote all of her energy to her father’s comfort and care. She had her father’s bed moved towards the balcony so that he could look out over the ocean and all of the windows to his quarters thrown open so that he could breathe fresh air. During the last two weeks of his life, Mary hardly slept in her own room, preferring the settee in her father’s chambers when she wanted for rest and spending most of her time in an armchair by his bed. At night she would sing him to sleep and during the day she would read to him from Paradise Lost or simply sit and hold his hand.

The night he died he was struck with a persistent and violent fever, which Mary toiled tirelessly to break. After hours of his restless tossing and moaning, her father had lay surprisingly still, exhaustion providing him some semblance of sleep. Ignoring the pleas of her governess and the head maid, Mary decided to keep watch over her father, unwilling to leave his side for a moment.

Mary awoke late the next morning in her own bed, confused and disoriented. In a panic, she quit her bed and ran to her father’s room. The house that morning was strangely silent. Gathered before her father’s door in a somber mood was the doctor, the head maid and her governess. Ignoring their pleas for her to stay without, Mary pushed past them and into her father’s room. She would never forget the feeling of anguish that overcame her at the sight of her father’s body. He had passed in the night alone and without her comfort. Her sorrow was too deep for words or tears. Mary felt bruised and too weak to stand. She was grateful for the presence of the doctor behind her when she sank to the ground insensible to all around her.

Mary set aside her journal, the task of writing another entry completely forgotten as her eyes filled with tears. Mary did not know how many minutes she sat lost to her tears before she heard her name being called.

“Mary? What has happened? Are you ill?” Darcy asked as he picked up the journal and took a seat beside Mary. Looking at the open page, he soon guessed the cause of her tears.

“Ah, you are missing your father, are you not?”

Mary nodded in response, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her bare hands. Darcy handed her his handkerchief and silently watched as she sought to regain her composure.

“My own excellent father died around this time of year. I too often think on him as Christmas draws near.”

“I am sorry.” Mary offered as she returned his handkerchief to him. “Was it very long ago?”

“It will be eight years this January. Long enough for the wounds to heal. However, one never forgets those who are dear to you.”

“Yes, one never does. Sometimes I can go several days without thinking on his passing, while other days the simplest thing will remind me of him.”

“I can tell you this, Mary. The mourning does get easier. Wounds begin to heal with time and one can begin to think on the loved one that has been lost with fondness absent of tears. Yet the wounds never fully heal. It is only natural that you should think on your father. With his passing you have also lost a small bit of yourself.”

Mary smiled sadly, turning her gaze from Darcy to look towards the fire. “I wonder how preparations for Christmas are coming on New Sussex,” Mary offered in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. “It was always such a festive time on the island! Father always made sure to be home during Christmastide and it was always a time of joy.”

Darcy regarded her thoughtfully. “While I fully realize that Christmas here at Pemberley can never be the same as it was at your home, I do hope that you can find some joy with us here this season. We are certainly happy to have you here to share it with us.” Darcy smiled warmly at Mary before rising and offering her his arm to escort her to dinner. Mary returned his smile, and taking the offered arm made her way out of the library and down to dinner.

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The next morning found Pemberley a buzz with activity in preparation for the next days’ Christmas Eve festivities. Servants busied themselves in nearly every room of Pemberley hanging greenery and decorations while the kitchen staff was busily preparing for tomorrow’s Servant’s Ball. Mary, Georgiana and Elizabeth were busily employed in the wrapping of presents for all the servants and their children, a momentous task that lasted them well into the afternoon.

The ladies found their time together to be most agreeable, as it was a day spent mostly to themselves. Mr. Darcy was engaged with estate business for most of the morning and late afternoon. Fitzwilliam chose to spend his day exclusively in the company of his young cousin. After the morning lessons were done, he spirited the young lad outside to engage in some winter sport. The pair planned to spend their afternoon ice skating to be followed by a delicious repast of hot chocolate and cake.

Fitzwilliam laughed gaily as he watched his little cousin perform a simple jump and twirl about the ice, unabashed joy written all over his rosy cheeks. He could not recall a time when he had so much pleasure on the ice, save for his time teaching Miss Mary how to skate. That had been a pleasant time indeed. A skating lesson was an excellent excuse to be near her, her timidity at the new sport causing her to cling to his side for support. He remembered her grumblings and dramatic pouting with amusement, especially given her delight at the sport by the end of the afternoon.

The sound of cracking ice abruptly drew him out of his reverie and reminded him of the task at hand.

“William! William!” Fitzwilliam called as he scanned the ice in a panic. His little cousin was no where to be found. Fitzwilliam’s eyes grew wide as he spied the cause of the sound that had alerted him. A large crack and hole in the ice had appeared on the lake.

Fitzwilliam’s heart sank into his gut as he realized what had happened. Shouting for the aide of the servants that had accompanied them, Fitzwilliam sprinted toward the hole in the ice. Upon reaching the edge, he quickly pulled off his skates, shoes and great coat before leaping into the frigid waters in search of his cousin. The shock of the cold water hitting his skin as he drove in was great, yet his fear for the life of little William dulled his sensation. He swam deeper and deeper finding no sign of his cousin. The dimness of the light under the ice rendered his search difficult and he began to despair of finding his young charge. Just as he thought his lungs would burst from the lack of oxygen, he spotted William floating lifelessly a few feet away from him. Fitzwilliam swam toward him, clutching the young child to his chest before kicking his way to the surface.

With a great gasp, Fitzwilliam surfaced with young William tight in his grasp. Suddenly, many hands were upon them, pulling William and himself out of the water and hurrying them towards the bank of the lake where they were shrouded in blankets. Fitzwilliam hurried to William’s side. The young boy lay motionless, his face a shade of pale blue against the white blankets. Acting quickly, Fitzwilliam turned the boy on his back, tilting back his head and placing his mouth over the boy’s forcing air into his lungs while alternatively applying light pressure to his torso. After a few moments, the boy began to cough. Fitzwilliam turned William onto his side while striking his back to help him expel the water he had taken in. Fitzwilliam’s elation that William had begun to breathe again was soon dampened by the realization that he had not regained consciousness. Swaddling the boy in more blankets, Fitzwilliam barked out orders to the servants and ordered a horse to be brought to him. Troubled by the lightness of his small burden, he hurried in stocking feet through the snow toward the horse that had been brought to him and raced towards Pemberley.

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As the ladies of Pemberley finished up the last of their wrapping, a great commotion drew their attention. A flustered maid soon burst into the drawing room startling all with her announcement.

“Ma’am, there has been an accident with Master William. Colonel Fitzwilliam is bringing him inside this instant. You are needed at once.”

Her task forgotten and her face growing pale, Elizabeth leapt from her seat and quickly followed the maid. Mary and Georgiana followed, both dreading what they would find. They all ran towards the main stairwell to see a greatly disheveled Fitzwilliam at the base of the steps clutching an unconscious William to his chest. Elizabeth let out a cry of her son’s name before racing down the stairs to meet Fitzwilliam.

“We were skating and he fell through the ice,” Fitzwilliam explained breathlessly as he handed his precious burden to Elizabeth.

“My son,” Elizabeth chocked out as she nuzzled her son’s cheek with her own. “He is oh so cold. We must get him warm.” Elizabeth began to run back up the stairs and toward her son’s rooms, shouting for Mrs. Reynolds and for the doctor to be summoned at once. Georgiana followed in her wake, tears already streaming down her face.

Mary made to follow after them, until saw the state Fitzwilliam was in. His hair and clothes were quite wet and he was in quite a state of undress, wearing only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His feet were devoid of shoes and covered only in wet stockings. His skin was deathly pale and he trembled as he mounted the stairs. Mary flew to him, throwing her arms about him once he reached the top of the stairs. In their panic over William, the servants had followed Elizabeth and Georgiana, leaving Fitzwilliam unattended and forgotten.

“The fault is mine, Mary. If I had only been by his side,” Fitzwilliam mumbled as he buried his face in her hair.

“No, Richard. You mustn’t blame yourself,” Mary soothed as she cupped his face in her hands and brought him round to face her. “You were there to save him. All will be well, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam wrapped his arms around her, drawing Mary towards him. Mary began to be afraid as she felt the dampness of his clothes and the coldness of his skin against her own. A shiver ran through Fitzwilliam’s body so strongly that Mary could feel it in her own.

“Come, we must get you out of these clothes and warm. You will catch your death in this state.”

“I must see after William. I will be fine,” Fitzwilliam replied as he released her and began to make his way towards William’s rooms.

After a few steps, he began to sway precariously and had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. Mary resumed her place at his side, draping his arm over her shoulder and assisting him to his rooms. Fitzwilliam leaned heavily upon her, feeling his tiredness keenly as the adrenaline that propelled him began to diminish. Mary helped Fitzwilliam into his room, heedless of all notions of propriety as she helped him to his bed. Leaving his side for but a moment, Mary rang for his valet. Mary was soon back at his side, working determinedly as Fitzwilliam’s strength waned. Silently, she removed his wet stockings before moving to remove his waistcoat and shirt. Fitzwilliam made to stop her, grasping her hands as she reached for his cravat.

“We must get your warm, Richard.” Mary replied as she suppressed a blush. “I’ll leave your breeches to your valet, but until he surfaces I am determined to see to you. I will not have you fall ill.”

At any other time, Mary’s persistence in divesting him of clothing would have amused him greatly, but observing the sincere worry in her eyes and acknowledging the tremors and weakness of his own body, Fitzwilliam acquiesced. As his drowsiness became too much to fight off, the searing heat of her hands upon the bare skin of his chest was the last thing he felt before darkness overcame him.

For her part, Mary was momentarily distracted by the sight of Richard’s masculine figure as she worked, but the coldness of his skin soon abused her of all notions of maidenly reserve. She had just thrown a blanket over his sleeping form when his valet finally arrived. If the older gentleman was shocked by the presence of a young lady in his master’s bedroom, he did not betray those feelings. Mary instructed the valet to see that the fire was restored and his master was made as warm and dry as possible before quickly leaving the room.

Once outside, Mary leaned heavily on the door and breathed deeply. She fought the urge to return to Fitzwilliam’s side. She knew she did not have the right to be by his side, but she wished she could be there all the same. In deed, his appearance had shaken her deeply, more deeply than she imagined it would. Images of another man she cared for that had been taken from her too soon came unbidden to her mind. Mary said a silent prayer before hurrying toward William’s room.