To Teach the Admiring Multitude

by Eleanor Wilton

  “Something is clearly very much amiss.”

  “So it seems,” he replied.

  “It is a little strange. Lady Richmond writes that Colonel Fitzwilliam is not able to leave his regiment. But what of the Viscount; what of Mr. Norbury? What need can she have that she turns to you when she would seem to have other more natural sources of succour?”

  “I can only surmise that as Highpointe Manor is so much farther a distance from London than Pemberley there is some urgency of time; as for Mr. Norbury, Lady Richmond would never turn to him for assistance. Norbury is frankly unreliable in matters outside his more immediate interests.”

  “I should think his immediate interests would encompass his wife’s mother,” she replied with antipathy.

  “Whatever the case, she has need of me and I cannot disregard her call. The very unusualness of the same gives me pause.”

  “Then you must go,” she said.

  Darcy gathered Elizabeth’s hand into his own and looked out at the expansive lawn before him. In the distance he saw his friend Thorney walking back from the stream with his sons, imagined with glad anticipation the day he would do the same with his own. All the melancholy quiet that had hung over Pemberley for so many years was spent at last, and he appreciated his home with a renewed pleasure, a renewed awareness of its many beauties. “I have never been so averse to departing Pemberley,” he remarked to Elizabeth. “I do not wish to leave you.”

  Elizabeth smiled affectionately. “Lady Richmond requires your aid and I will be here when you return, to give whatever comfort or relief may be required after such a mysterious journey.”

  “That is the great joy of my life now. I will never again return to the emptiness of Pemberley’s rooms, the silence of its halls.” He laid his hand upon her growing belly, now plainly visible to all. “You asked me once what it was like as a boy, as an only child in this vast house. It was, in truth, often quite lonely. I hope we shall be blessed with many children, close in age, that they might not know the same.”

  Elizabeth placed her hand atop his, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I promise you, Fitzwilliam, be it one or many, our children will have always their full worth of affection. They will know the warmth of their mother’s love just as assuredly as the devotion of their father’s.”

  Darcy smiled, lifted her hand and kissed it warmly. “I am sorry to leave you with a house full of guests and Lady Catherine’s arrival imminent. I will do all I can to return before her expected arrival.”

  “Do what you must. I have Georgiana and Jane to assist with anything I need; and then, there is no one so very fierce among them.”

  When they returned into the house, they were greatly surprised to find Mr. Bennet just alighted from his carriage and inquiring of Mrs. Reynolds where he might find one of his daughters.

  “Ah, there you are, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet observed as though he lived just down the lane and had strolled over for a little tea. “What, are you surprised? I told you I should come back again when least expected. I received a most unusually thoughtful letter from Kitty. I thought it imperative to come and see what was occurring here in Derbyshire. You are looking very well, my child, very well,” he concluded as he kissed her tenderly on the brow. “I can see you will be just like your mother and have no troubles at all.”

  “Your timing is excellent, Mr. Bennet,” Darcy remarked as they shook hands amicably. “I have some business that takes me unexpectedly into town tomorrow morning. I shall be glad to know you are here with Elizabeth.”

  “How fortuitous my arrival then,” Mr. Bennet replied evenly.

  Darcy departed at first light. Elizabeth watched his carriage pull away down the drive and sighed. She had grown, she reflected, far more sentimental that she could have anticipated. She longed already for her husband’s return and he was not yet even beyond the park. She lifted her hand and placed her fingers upon her lips where his own had lingered on hers in silent farewell before he slipped into the carriage. What had caused Lady Richmond to summon him to London she could not imagine, but she was proud of his alacrity in responding to her mysterious need, proud of his steadiness, yet she lamented his absence already and wished for his speedy return.

  As she turned back into the house her father joined her. “I trust it is no serious business that takes your husband so suddenly to town, my dear child.”

  “His aunt sent for him with some urgency.”

  “Let us hope he is not being called upon to save another reckless soul as he was last summer.”

  “Let us hope, Papa.”

  “Whatever the business, no one more capable to resolve it, I am sure. Now come inside to breakfast, my dear. You must take good care that my grandchild might come healthy and strong.”

  “I am happy you have come.” Smiling, she slipped her arm through his as they walked together into the house.

  BOOK FOUR

  A Serious Business

  Chapter 31

  Lady Richmond in Need of Succour

  Mr. Darcy approached Richmond House with more irritation than trepidation. It was a hot and uncomfortable summer morning. Just the sort of unpleasant day that caused all those that could to happily leave London behind for the summer months. He hoped he had not been precipitous in departing Pemberley, but knew it was his irritation speaking. His aunt would not have written to him as she had, lamenting her son’s inability to leave his regiment and pleaded so openly for his assistance if the situation were not of some import. He had sent word to Colonel Fitzwilliam before departing Pemberley but found no response awaiting him when he arrived at Portman Square. He was no more enlightened than when he had received his aunt’s letter.

  Upon arriving to the house he was taken to Lady Richmond’s private sitting room and was shocked to find her in a state of greater anxiety than he had anticipated. Upon her mien was an expression of distress he had not seen since the days of Alice’s passing. She greeted him warmly.

  “Darcy, my dear nephew, you have come! And so quickly.”

  “Naturally, I will always come if you require assistance of me.”

  “What a truly fine gentleman you are. How proud your parents would have been to see you so fine,” she remarked with unusual sentimentality. Her tone was enough to alarm him.

  “I hope to always be of service to my family.”

  “Did Mrs. Darcy travel with you?”

  “She did not. As you are aware, Pemberley is presently filled with guests. Regardless, now she is with child she is disinclined to travel any great distance if not entirely necessary.”

  “She is not unwell I trust?” Lady Richmond replied with real alarm.

  “Quite the contrary. She is in excellent health.”

  Lady Richmond grasped his hand warmly. “We were so pleased to receive the news, and more so in the midst of these new, surprising troubles.”

  “What are these troubles? What has caused you to seek my coming into London? Why are you still in London at all at this time of year? Last you wrote to my wife you had plans to depart for Covingford Abbey.”

  “Your uncle has been very indisposed. His health is quite altered and he dare not travel. What is more, we could not leave without first attempting to find some resolution to the unfortunate situation.”

  “What is the situation? You were not explicit in your letter.”

  “Some things ought not to be committed to paper,” she replied, turning away her gaze, staring absently at the painting on her wall. She looked suddenly vulnerable. He rose from the chair opposite her and sat at her side, took her hand gently into his own.

  “I am here for whatever you require. Whatever it is your sons cannot presently provide you have from me.”

  She sighed with remorse. “You never disappoint, Darcy. Yet when you came to us with your happy news, that you were to be married, we did not receive you with the kindness you deserved, the generosity of spirit you deserved. I regret our error.”

  “Perhaps when I was first engaged, but
that is all in the past. I have learnt to not hold on to resentments, to be more forgiving and forbearing. That is all forgotten. I have even gone so far as to invite Lady Catherine to Pemberley.”

  “Your wife’s influence?”

  “Yes.”

  “Such mortification we made her suffer.”

  “She felt none.”

  “No, she would not. She is too generous hearted; too independent to be affected by such unjust censure; too sensible a young lady to indulge pettiness and resentment.”

  “Why such ruminations? You certainly did not call me to London for this.”

  “No indeed,” she replied. Looking to him at last with her customary forthrightness, she continued. “Your uncle has been greatly misled.”

  “He is a very discerning man, on what matter has he been misled that has you both so altered?”

  “A matter of the utmost importance. Your cousin Edward’s wife, her character, we have been entirely deceived. In so short a time it has become manifest.”

  “You must be more explicit. Do they not get on?” Darcy was growing impatient with the ambiguity of her conversation. It would hardly be a surprise if they were not getting on and he wondered if he had been brought into London on a fool’s errand.

  “If it were only such a trifle as amiability and compatibility, something that can be managed with some judicious domestic arrangements.” She paused again and seemed at last determined to be clear. She spoke coldly to disguise her utter shame. “The Viscountess is a common, practiced, enthusiastic gambler. There have been debts; there are debts.”

  “A gambler!” Darcy cried. “I am indeed shocked! There are few vices so pernicious.”

  “What is worse, she has taken up with the Harrels of all people. You can well imagine the rest.”

  “Forgive me, your ladyship, but what has this to do with me that you should call me from Pemberley? Terrible as this is, it is a matter to be resolved between Edward and his wife.”

  “You do not understand the whole of it. Edward has of course been susceptible to extravagance and idleness, but he has never been a gambler. I am afraid the Viscountess has with great speed begun to corrupt my son. He now spends all his time with her at the Harrels’ in drink and cards. I have brought you here to entreat you to work on him. Even should his health have allowed it, your uncle can certainly not be seen in an establishment with such a deplorable reputation. I am unclear as to all the particulars. We have seen Edward but once. I know what I do from Mrs. Greystock. She has been most invaluable and discreet.”

  Lady Richmond then proceeded to detail all her friend had learnt. The Viscount and the Viscountess left Highpointe Manor without fixed plans, returning to London in search of distractions and a degree of anonymity. They did not lodge at Grosvenor Square when they arrived and had quickly taken up with the Harrels who were of the few people still in town, and had become inseparable.

  “Edward no longer takes the trouble to even leave their house. He lodges there entirely susceptible to whatever dissolution is offered in such an establishment. I am afraid he is under their entire influence. You know their reputation. If nothing is done it will end in misery and disgrace.”

  “But you are quite certain? Edward has no taste for the Harrels or their ilk. He finds them as distasteful and objectionable as do I, indeed as any decently principled person must.”

  “Nevertheless, there he is and I am desperate to see him removed from such perilous influences. You understand it cannot delay.”

  “I will go the Harrels to see him.”

  “I know how distasteful it will be, how much I am importuning you, how much I have already importuned you. If Henry could but leave his regiment, I would not have sought your assistance. You comprehend Mr. Norbury would never deign to become entangled in such a distasteful matter. You will give me such peace of mind if you can simply see him and extract him from that place. Once removed from such influences, the rest can be managed by your uncle.”

  “I cannot promise you anything. I have no authority over him.”

  “But you will go and you will see him, if only to relieve my anxiety.”

  “I will,” he affirmed. “I will do all I can, my dear aunt, to relieve your anxiety.”

  With equal parts displeasure and aggravation, Darcy went forthwith to that same house he had so assiduously avoided throughout his years in London society. The Harrels were not people with whom he had ever chosen to associate, nor had they ever been to his cousin’s liking. Edward was extravagant and pleasure seeking, but he frequented circles and establishments of the utmost discretion. The Harrels’ circle was entirely contrary and his connection to them seemed to indicate his cousin was in as great distress and peril as Lady Richmond feared.

  Mr. Darcy arrived to a house that was exactly as he would have imagined: pretentious and expensive, with too much gilding and gold for good taste. He asked to be taken to a private room where he might meet with his cousin, but found him unavailable. Instead he was required to see Mr. Harrel, who assured him that his cousin was well and content, resting now, and if he returned that evening he could join them all in a pleasant evening of cards and music. “There will be some here you might wish to become reacquainted with,” Mr. Harrel offered.

  “I wish only to have an interview with the Viscount,” Darcy replied flatly. “I will return this evening and expect to find him available.”

  He left the house immediately and returned to his own in a terrible temper. It had not been since the prior summer—when he had similarly found himself in London acting to preserve a very different person’s reputation—that he had felt himself in so foul a mood. He hoped time spent quietly in his home would cool his temper, but it only made him restless, for in every room he found a memory of his wife that served to increase his desire to be returned to her side. He was no longer accustomed to the solitude that had for so long been his familiar companion.

  Darcy hoped to extract Edward quickly from the influence of the Harrels but when he returned to the house that evening found they had all gone out. He refused to chase his cousin across London and resolved to return again on the morrow. He was profoundly irritated to have been taken away from his home and so gravely inconvenienced to assist a cousin well past the age of such trying recklessness.

  In the morning his ill humour was improved with the arrival of a letter from Elizabeth.

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  My dearest Fitzwilliam, You have only just yesterday departed for London and I send this letter chasing after you that you may feel you are not alone whilst you attend whatever mysterious circumstances caused Lady Richmond to call you to her aide. I trust it is of lesser concern than we imagined and that you will be swiftly en route to Pemberley where your wife is already impatient for your return.

  Do not fret of anything here at home. Everyone remains on their very best behaviour and the sunny days we have enjoyed promise they will continue to do so. Georgiana is all sweetness and care and has begun to knit a blanket for the babe; Kitty is displaying such real decorum and seriousness that even Papa has acknowledged her improvement, to Kitty’s great satisfaction and delight. Earlier they went off to the library together; a sight never before seen, I can assure you! The ladies are at the moment happily planning a picnic by the lake and the gentlemen have promised most faithfully to take turns exercising Trajan daily whilst you are gone.

  So you see, all is well here, just as you left it. All that is missing for a perfectly delightful summer day is you, my darling, beloved husband. Do not be wounded when I confess that I could not have anticipated missing you so powerfully, so quickly. It seems you have become my every waking moments delight. I am forever turning to share a thought with you, to inquire your opinion on a matter, or simply to look upon your handsome face illuminated by that warm, affectionate smile that is my private, daily gift. Alas, you are not to be found, though I feel you so near. Darling Fitzwilliam, I will not attempt to put into words what can only be felt by the hear
t. You understand, I am sure, all I hope to express when I tell you simply that I feel your absence most keenly. I will only add that I sleep in my customary place and patiently await your return to my loving embrace.

  Your own dearest, Elizabeth

  Darcy leaned back his head, rested it against the back of his chair, closed his eyes and smiled. She was such a balm to his spirit and he wondered how he had lived before without her joyful, warm companionship.

  He opened his eyes and looked across the room to the empty settee, recalled her sitting there on a rainy winter afternoon spent quietly in this room when they were but a few days married. He had been sitting in the same chair trying valiantly to read a book and not simply gaze upon her utterly besotted when he heard her singing softly, a pretty, melancholy tune. He had closed his book, let it lay unattended upon his lap, and watched her as she went about the business of organizing her basket of needlework. Her hands moved gracefully amongst her threads, her head was slightly bent and her lips were slightly parted as she sang distractedly. She had been a picture of loveliness and he recalled how his gaze had lingered on the bend of her neck, the even rise and fall of her bosom, her slightly parted lips.

  Perhaps sensing his attention she had at last looked up and smiled warmly, lifting her brows inquisitively. In that unremarkable moment he had comprehended the unprofessed loneliness his life had been; surrounded by people and fully occupied, but always alone in his thoughts, his sentiments, his desires, his burdens and ambitions; at the end of each day always returned to a solitude where there was no warmth to be found, no gentle repose to be shared.

  “Do I disturb your reading?” she had inquired gently.

  “Most happily you do,” he had replied, laying aside his book. “Do not stop singing. It is charming. But why so melancholy a tune?”