The Ballad of Gregoire Darcy (30 page)

“Was he?” Mrs. Darcy said before Mary could respond. “Dr. Bertrand, I trust your patient is doing well?”

“He is.”

“The patient is eager to return to Pemberley.”

“I think it will be possible in the next week or two,” he said. “Excuse Dr. Maddox's absence, he was on an errand—”

“That's quite all right,” Mrs. Bingley said.

“Will you join us for luncheon? It seems no one else will be home in time,” Mrs. Darcy offered.

Mary shot her a look, which Bertrand intercepted. The look wasn't cold, but perhaps she did not want to be in his presence. Or was she afraid? He could diagnose patients better than people. He decided to chance it. “I'd love to.”

“Really, Mary. I've never seen someone so intent on chasing off a perfectly amiable gentleman,” Elizabeth said when they returned to her sitting room.

Truly, Mary had done nothing to chase him off. She had not been rude at the meal. She had not ignored him. She had contributed to the conversation. She had not, however, rushed to return his affections, which, although discreet, were enough to indicate a preference. In fact, she had announced that she was leaving for Longbourn as soon as the Darcys returned to Pemberley and the Bingleys to Kirkland.

“I am not a romantic, Lizzy.”

“I do not believe this is a situation calling for a romantic gesture.”

Mary looked down at her knitting. “It is all ridiculous. I will return to Longbourn, where I shall remain while Papa still lives. And Dr. Bertrand is tied to town. Am I supposed to indicate that I am to remain here indefinitely when it is not true?”

“Hertfordshire is not so terribly far from town if one is a good rider,” Jane said. “Especially since they have redone the roads.There is no reason to call off a courtship because of thirty miles.”

“It is not a courtship!”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “Tell us what you find so displeasing about him, and that shall be the end of the matter.”

“He has no reason to court me.”

“That is not a character fault. Nor is your argument logical.”

Mary stared at her sister. “Must I state the obvious?”

“Mary,” Jane said kindly, “he seems to like Joseph very much. Mr. Bradley was not discouraged by the presence of not one, but two, children. And he does not have to provide for Joseph, because Joseph has a trust. If he saw any reason to hesitate, he would have done so.”

“He could be a fortune hunter.”

“Then he is an inadequate one,” Elizabeth said, “for no one has said a thing about money, and even if they had, Papa controls your inheritance and would refuse it to a rake.”

The younger Bennet sister looked down; apparently, she could think of no more to say.

“Did you speak to Joseph?” Jane asked.

“I will if I need to, but not before. Speaking of him, I must make sure he is not bothering Mr. Grégoire. Excuse me.” And she abruptly left her sisters, taking her needles with her.

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged glances. “Why is she so cold to the idea?” Jane asked. “Perhaps she does not wish to be married at all. Some women don't.”

“I am not convinced. She would have had no reason to continue a charade of pleasantry with a man she did not like.” She sighed. “Perhaps her heart still belongs to another person.”

“Can you mean two people?”

“I do. And one of them is gone and never to return,” Elizabeth said.

Grégoire's health improved steadily, partly because he was able to eat more and more. He could walk on his own, and one day he ventured outside the townhouse. The next day, Darcy took him to a bookshop, where, with his own money, Grégoire purchased a number of books in Latin, Greek, English, and French—whatever suited him that they were sure Pemberley did not have.

As soon as they were given leave to return to Pemberley, they made ready to depart. Dr. Bertrand called a final time to advise them to go slowly. It happened that Mary was set to depart later that afternoon, and somehow, with all of the servants and children running about, she encountered him alone in the library. Or perhaps the meeting had been carefully arranged behind their backs.

“May I call on you in Hertfordshire?” he asked bluntly.

“Why?”

He blushed. “For all of the reasons a man normally calls on a woman, Miss Bennet. And I would like to see Master Joseph.” When she did not answer, he lowered his voice. “Are you really so averse to me?”

She clutched her locket. “No.”

“Then may I ask you a question?”

She looked up at him nervously. “You may, Dr. Bertrand.”

“Did Joseph's father give you that locket?”

Her response was a look of horror, but she did relinquish her tight clutch on the locket. “Yes.”

“Are you still in love with him?”

“I don't know—I knew him only briefly.” She added, “But he
is
Joseph's father.”

“So he is alive, then, with no intention to return to you.”

She was caught in her own lie. She hadn't actually said Joseph's father was dead, but it was the official story. “No, he is not coming back.” She continued, “His family meant him for the church. He may well be a bishop by now for all I know.” She looked up to find no horror or disgust on his face.

“You are not the only one to have done something that has since plagued you,” he said. “I was a surgeon at Waterloo.”

“That is a very noble task!”

“For the French.”

There was a silence.

“My parents were nobility. They came here to hide during the Revolution. My relatives stayed and were slaughtered. I was born and raised here, but in the final years of Napoleon's reign, my parents repatriated, and so did I, to finish my education. I served in the army because I needed the clinical experience.”

“Does Dr. Maddox know?”

“He is the only one—except for my family—who does.”

There was another silence.

“My parents will be somewhat disappointed if I tell them I am courting an English girl from the country,” he said, “but as we
are
in England, they cannot be all that surprised.”

She murmured, “I have some money. Giov—Joseph's father provided him with a trust and me with living expenses. My father keeps hold of it. It is to be my inheritance. If you want it, you will have to impress him.”

“I do not want it,” he said, “but I will try to impress him anyway.”

Dr. Bertrand left and was not there to see Mary off, but judging from her expression, no great rift had occurred between them. She even admitted, after much inquisition by her sisters, that he had asked to call on her, but made them swear not to say a word. And with that, and all the good-byes, Mary and Joseph were gone.

The next day began early; the Maddoxes called—all of them, actually—as the doctor gave Darcy various powders to be mixed with water if Grégoire lost his health on the road.

The Kincaids would return with the Darcys to Pemberley. It was on the way and Georgiana was eager to spend more time with
both her brothers, and William was eager to please his wife. It took three full coaches to fit everyone and then other vehicles for the servants and nurses, but they were off. The passage took four days, instead of three (it could be done in two, with luck and speed). Dr. Maddox's instincts had been right—the bumping of the carriage tired Grégoire easily, and made him ill by the side of the road, for which he was embarrassed. Darcy shooed away the coachman and attended to his brother personally. They spent three nights at the inns along the way, encountering one innkeeper's wife who knew Grégoire from his previous wanderings but did not recognize him; he had to be reintroduced.

Darcy sent a rider ahead to inform Mrs. Reynolds of Grégoire's return. Mrs. Reynolds was to instruct the servants not to fuss over him, even though they had all heard something of his poor health and return to England. Instead, they were to focus on the former mistress of Pemberley and her husband. He was also just Mr. Grégoire now—or Mr. Bellamont if they were uncomfortable with that name (with his irregular parentage, he could not truly claim the Darcy name). His old servant, Thomas, was there to greet him and help him out of the carriage. Even without his monastic appearance, Grégoire was recognizable. They got him inside without incident, and he rested until dinner while Viscount Robert Kincaid was admired by the maids who had once attended Georgiana. The rest of the servants welcomed their master and mistress, and the heirs to Pemberley who followed them, eager to be home and not uneager to show it.

The Darcys always found a wonderful solace in returning to their own apartments, bathing in their own tubs, and having the luxury and privacy that Pemberley afforded them. It was only then that the two of them could fully acknowledge (without words, which were unnecessary) that London had been an ordeal. They retreated in peace until Thomas came knocking at their door to tell them, with impressive tact, that his charge had gone to the chapel and perhaps could use a “visit.”

Darcy found Grégoire weeping on the stone before the altar that he had restored himself a decade ago, when he had first come to Pemberley.Why Grégoire would so readily subject himself to so many memories, Darcy had no idea, but thinking on it clearly, he imagined he would do the same. He knelt beside his brother, letting him lean on him as he sobbed.

“I have been abandoned.”

“You were turned away from the church, Grégoire. Not God. The abbot made specific mention of that.”

“Where is the Lord to be found outside the church?”

Darcy said, “Our Lord and Savior had no church. He went on journeys and spoke to the people.”

“Like St. Patrick.”

Darcy had no idea but he said, “Yes.”

“I want to visit our family—and the saint, if I can bear to show my face to him.”

Darcy just nodded, and escorted him to the graveyard. He had not been there himself in quite a while. Though he loved his parents and did his best to honor their memories, it was not one of his regular stops when traversing the grounds. They had gone long ago, and he had made his peace with that. Grégoire had known his father only in the barest terms, and his mother was buried at Mon-Claire. The only graves of people he knew were ones he had dug himself or had overseen the completion of. They passed by Wickham's grave and nodded.

“You would be proud of your children,” Grégoire said to the headstone.

“Believe it or not, I agree,” Darcy said, which served to lighten the mood. And it was true.

They came to St. Sebald's grave, relatively unadorned compared with some of the others and hidden away in a corner. Grégoire said something in Latin, and when Darcy requested a translation, he replied, “‘Forgive this poor sinner.'” They also visited their father's
grave, where Grégoire seemed to ask very much the same thing, despite his father not being a stolen Bavarian saint.