“Oho! A weighty question it must be indeed!” Fitzwilliam persisted. “Now what could it be?”
“Richard, desist!” Darcy commanded him in an undertone.
“Not a question, I think! No, that thunderous frown bespeaks something more warm than philosophy.”
“Philosophy!” D’Arcy exclaimed, joining them in the aisle. “Did I just hear Richard say the words think and philosophy almost in the same breath? Darcy, you must call for the Bishop, for surely a miracle has occurred within these walls. Praise Heaven, my brother has thought!”
“A talent of mine, Alex,” Fitzwilliam retorted. “Surprised you didn’t know, but I am confident Lady Felicia will keep you better informed.” D’Arcy immediately stiffened at the sally, his eyes darting between Darcy and his brother, his jaw locked in an alarming manner.
“Go to the Devil!” D’Arcy hissed at him, and turning sharply from his relatives, he strode down the aisle and out of the church, ignoring the many gestures of respect that those gathered offered him.
Incensed, Darcy turned then upon his remaining cousin and addressed him in a frigid tone. “I will thank you to keep your quarreling private, Richard, and not display it for all the world to see or my sister to overhear.”
Bridling at Darcy’s tone, Fitzwilliam threw back his shoulders, preparing to meet the surprise attack to his flank by heretofore friendly forces, when Georgiana’s large, troubled eyes met his own. “Your pardon, Georgiana.” He flushed guiltily. “I forgot myself — under great provocation I might add.” He glanced at Darcy. Turning back to Georgiana, he added, “But I should not have succumbed so easily to Alex’s goading. I beg your forgiveness, Cousin.”
“You are forgiven freely, Cousin,” Georgiana returned softly, “but I fear Cousin Alex is very distressed, and perhaps it is he whose forgiveness you would do better to seek.”
A gentle smile replaced the scowl on Fitzwilliam’s face, and taking her hand lightly, he bestowed a kiss on her gloved fingertips, confessing, “You are perfectly right, my dear girl, and I will do as you bid. Darcy, you will excuse me, I trust.” He bowed to his cousin and turned his step down the swath his brother had cut to the door.
Brother and sister looked after him a moment and then turned to each other, Darcy offering his arm. Georgiana took it gratefully, and together they strolled to the ancient church doors. “I am astonished at the behavior of our cousins and cannot think how they could so grievously forget themselves in your presence, Georgiana. But I must say, you handled it wonderfully!” Darcy almost laughed. “I have rarely seen Richard brought to contrition in such a short span of time. That was the true miracle!”
“Miracle?” Georgiana dimpled at his praise. “I thank you for the compliment, but whether within these holy walls or without, I cannot take the credit with any degree of complacency.”
“It does you honor that you say so,” Darcy replied quietly. They had left the church and now reached their carriage. Darcy handed her in and climbed in after her. After seeing to his sister’s comfort and giving the coachman the signal to be off, he settled back into the squabs. The carriage pulled forward slowly as James maneuvered the team down Church Hill and through the narrow streets of Lambton. In moments they were crossing the ancient stone bridge over the Ere and tooling along for the gates of Pemberley.
Although Georgiana’s face was turned to the carriage window, Darcy could see the set of her delicate jaw beneath the brim of her bonnet. He watched silently as she worked her way through whatever was disturbing her. Now and then he caught small sighs that he was not meant to hear but that sorely tested his resolve to hold his peace until she should speak.
Finally, she turned back to him, her manner hesitant. “Fitzwilliam, do you recall the words of the collect this morning?”
“Which ones, sweetling?” He regarded her earnestly.
“The prayer for the grace and mercy of our Lord in the course He has given us to run.” Her voice quavered a little, and Darcy could see she was greatly affected.
“Yes, I remember,” he answered simply.
“When you said I had caused Cousin Richard’s contrition, it was not of my doing. It was that — mercy, I mean. The mercy of forgiveness, freely received as it is freely given, was, I am certain, the motivation for his contrition.” She trembled so by the finish of her speech that Darcy removed his carriage robe and added it to hers.
He took her hands then, chafing them between his own. “But, Georgiana, mercy has its own power. It is above the ‘sceptered sway,’ if we are to believe the Bard, and of more effect than a ‘throned monarch.’ It is —”
“— ‘Twice blest,’” Georgiana quoted back to him. “‘It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.’ Fitzwilliam, I only gave to Richard what I have received, and even in that, I am as blessed as he.”
Darcy breathed out a heavy sigh and tucked her hands under the carriage robe much as he had done since she was quite a little girl. “I have a question, now, for you. The passage this morning that went, ‘And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding…’ Is that what you have been trying to tell me? That your recovery from…from everything is because…” He could go no further, for he did not have the words.
“Because of the mercy of God?” she supplied for him in tender tones. “Yes, my dear brother, exactly that.” The carriage slowed for the turn in to the lane that led to the gates, but the lessening of the noise of travel did not encourage the two within to further discourse. Instead, each regarded the other in a thoughtful silence that neither had the ability to break.
By the time they had gathered in the hall and Darcy had begged his aunt and uncle to be seated at table for the glorious repast his cook was so proud to offer Pemberley’s guests, it was clear that a repair in the breach between the Earl’s male issue had been effected. The conversation between them and the looks they exchanged bespoke a tolerance each of the other that caught the attention of all of those seated around the table and caused the eyebrow of their good father to hitch ever higher as the meal progressed.
“Darcy, please have the footman bring me a glass of soda and water, for I fear this surfeit of civility will put me quite out of digestion,” His Lordship requested finally, after yet another polite exchange between the brothers.
“Pater!” exclaimed Fitzwilliam. “I should think your digestion would be improved, now that Alex and I have cried ‘truce.’”
“Truce, is it?” His Lordship looked round the table to determine if anyone present believed his younger son’s explanation of this new accord. “D’Arcy, what do you say?”
“It is as Richard says, Your Lordship,” D’Arcy answered readily, taking a sip of wine. “At least for the present.” He set down his glass with a fine precision, a smirk playing upon his lips.
“Then may the present stretch into eternity” — Lady Matlock sighed — “for I have prayed for just such a thing. I sign my name as witness to your truce, Alex.” She regarded him piercingly and then, in a moment, transferred her gaze. “Richard, do you both uphold your terms at least until Epiphany, and I shall have my Christmas present!”
Both of her sons had the grace to flush, but it was Fitzwilliam who rose and took his mother’s hand into his own saying, “It shall be as you wish, Mater. The gentlemen of our family God will rest merry in honor of the season and of you.”
From under lowered lids, Darcy’s glance flitted to his sister for her reaction to the unprecedented scene playing out before them. Unshed tears brightening her eyes, she watched Richard bow over his mother’s hand and bestow a loving kiss upon it. When Alex joined the duo from the other side and leaned down to kiss the lady’s cheek, Georgiana’s eyes closed. Darcy watched as she mouthed silently what he took to be a small prayer of thanks, and the tear that had hovered on the brink of her lashes broke free to trace its solitary way down her cheek. He looked away before she might catch him at his observation.