When they reached Carlisle, who stood near his father, Fitzwilliam bowed once more to the duchess before he relinquished her. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Fitzwilliam watched Carlisle lead the duchess away until his father startled him from his unknown reverie.
“What do you think of her?”
“She is intelligent and, much like my godfather, does not suffer fools gladly.”
His father smiled. “I believe you are correct.”
“Could he have married her because he took pleasure in her company?” He could not comprehend the duke’s decision to marry at all, much less someone so young.
His father shrugged and glanced over to where their cousin was speaking with Lord Vranes. “I am unsure of the considerations which induced him, though I am certain he will tell me after dinner next week.”
Fitzwilliam turned to him.
“He has invited us to dine with them.” His father placed a hand to his shoulder and stepped closer to speak in his ear. “You will be labelled as rude if you do not dance with one of the eligible young ladies tonight.” Disapproval laced his father’s tone.
He frowned and shifted on his feet. “Is it wrong to desire more than what society dictates is proper?” he asked in a low voice.
His father squeezed his shoulder. “No, son. Of course not.”
“I would like to abide my wife, Father. I shall not give false hope to any lady by dancing with her.”
His father’s eyebrows rose upon his forehead. “If you danced more often, you would not give any of these young ladies the impression you are interested in more than a dance.” He gestured to Richard, who currently danced with Lady Sarah. “Your cousin dances often without inciting expectation.”
He rolled his eyes. Richard did not excite any hope because no one wanted a penniless colonel—even if he was the son of an earl. His cousin sought a well-dowered bride, but most society families were aware of his excessive gambling. His father and mother still saw the entertaining little boy of years past. They did not see the reality of their son’s situation.
By the end of the ball, Fitzwilliam had escaped without standing up with any eligible young ladies. He stood with his father, waiting for their carriage when the duke and duchess emerged from the front doors.
“George,” called his godfather, happily. “I trust we shall see you next week for dinner?”
“We should be delighted.”
“If Georgiana accompanied you to town, please bring her along. I am certain Elizabeth would enjoy an introduction. They would be fast friends—I am sure of it.”
“Alas, she remained at Pemberley. We only planned to be in town for the month. I did not wish to disrupt her studies.”
“Then you must bring her to Worthstone for Easter.”
His father grinned widely. “I am certain she would be thrilled to join us. I believe she would also find great pleasure in making the acquaintance of her new cousin.”
“Wonderful!” Leeds said in a booming voice. “We shall look forward to it.”
His wife wore a small smile as she observed the conversation. “I anticipate making the acquaintance of Miss Darcy. I have been told of her many talents and accomplishments.”
“We are hardly impartial,” said Fitzwilliam. “We can only believe she is the best of young girls.” He cleared his throat while he glanced at his father, who stared at him out of the corner of his eye with a peculiar expression.
“Well, here is our carriage,” said the duke, shaking hands with both Fitzwilliam and his father. “We shall see you at dinner next week.”
The Darcys both nodded and watched as the duke handed his wife inside. The door closed, and the horses pulled the equipage away and into the night. He finally met the duchess that had all of the ton in an uproar, yet he found himself no more knowledgeable of her than before their introduction. How could that be?
Chapter 2
March 17th 1809
Worth House
London
Dearest Jane,
I do apologise most heartily for my lapse in correspondence, but in my defence, I have not had the time to put pen to paper. We have regularly attended balls and dinners since our arrival in London, which has caused me to woefully neglect you, my dear. I do hope you will forgive me since I cannot do without your regular correspondence!
Despite the hectic schedule, I did manage an afternoon with my Aunt Gardiner and the children. My husband had business in that part of town, so he delivered me personally to our aunt and uncle’s home during his trip.
How the children have grown! I so enjoyed their company. I have greatly missed Aunt Gardiner and her counsel, and I confess I quite enjoyed spending the day without the whispers and stares of society. The easy company at Gracechurch Street was just the respite I required.
Though I may sound bitter, I assure you, I am not. I have made a friend, Lady Vranes, who possesses an independent spirit I admire and strive to emulate. She scandalously befriends who she wishes and has included me in several outings to art exhibitions, which I have enjoyed immensely. She intends to sponsor a female artist—a Miss Geddes, who shows a great deal of promise with her portraits.
I penned a letter to Mama today. She has been upset at my lack of correspondence, so I do hope she has not been too insufferable to bear. I reported the particulars of my presentation at court to the minutest of details. I felt it a pretentious absurdity, but I know she will recount every bit to the neighbours while Papa rolls his eyes. I do understand it is considered necessary to my new position, yet I am relieved the ordeal is done. The monstrosity of a gown was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever been forced to wear—truly a travesty!
Tonight, we expect the Darcys of Pemberley for dinner. Mr. George Darcy, the duke’s first cousin on his mother’s side, seems a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. I must say my husband certainly favours that side of his family. Although his hair has a touch of grey, they boast the same dark curls and certain aspects of their features are identical. I see a great resemblance—more than to the portraits of his father at Worthstone.
Yet, I digress. The Darcys are to come for dinner. I met them at Lord and Lady Vranes’s ball, and they were amiable company. The elder, Mr. George Darcy, is very tall, and I believe a similar age to my husband.
His son, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, is likely to be near five and twenty. I must confess, my dear Jane, the son intrigued me at our first meeting. He appeared out of sorts and very proud, but upon further examination, I believe my first assumption incorrect. As a favour to my husband, the younger Mr. Darcy requested a set, and after our dance, I am more inclined to believe his behaviour is merely reserved.
My husband says their estate is worth ten-thousand pounds per annum, so I imagine the gentleman is much sought after by the ladies. Could you imagine Mama’s raptures should he find his way to Meryton? “Mr. Bennet, such a fine thing for one of our girls!” She would likely have you riding in the rain to take tea with his sister so you would be forced to spend the night!
Dearest Jane, I do hope you are well! I confess to melancholy in the absence of your company! You must pen me a letter soon and tell me all of the latest news from Hertfordshire. Pray limit it to the news and not the gossip Mama so delights in.
Yours affectionately,
Lizzy
The former Elizabeth Bennet considered herself in the full-length mirror. The last six months since the duke’s proposal still rendered her speechless. How had little Lizzy Bennet become a duchess? Yes, her father would have accepted her decision should she have refused, but her mother proved relentless. The woman made it no secret the duke would soon propose and her daughter would be his wife—his duchess. Mama’s only lament had been that he had neglected to choose Jane.
As a result, Elizabeth resigned herself to being the means of helping her sisters. Jane would have to dream enough for the both of them. Her elder sister would not be relegated to a marriage of convenience. No, Jane would marry for love, and nothing less
. All of her sisters would have that opportunity if they chose. Her father had been made to swear he would ensure Elizabeth’s wishes would be seen through to fruition, and she would hold him to his promise.
She turned to the side, smoothing her hand down the front of her white and sky-blue sprigged muslin. The fashion plate called it a “Costume Parisien,” which would impress her mother, though she would bemoan the decided lack of lace.
However, Elizabeth selected each of her new gowns herself, so they pleased her. The dressmaker ensured she only chose from the latest fashion with clean lines that accentuated her figure, as well as sumptuous fabrics. This gown boasted a trim of matching sky-blue satin roses to complement the fabric. A strand of pearls was interwoven into her curls and perfectly matched the floral seed pearl earrings and simple pearl necklace her husband had given her from the family heirlooms.
Her abigail, Lalande, tidied behind her taking her day gown to hang. Elizabeth slipped her wedding ring, an almost lilac-coloured sapphire accented on either side with diamonds, onto her finger.
“Your Grace,” said her maid in a thick French accent, “the Darcys should arrive any minute. The duke will expect you to greet them.”
“Of course, thank you.” With the ring secured, she departed and smiled at the footman stationed in the corridor.
“Good evening, Matthew. I hope you are well tonight.”
“Very well, Your Grace. I thank you.” He gave a slight bow.
When she and the duke first wed, she began learning her household duties at Worthstone, and the housekeeper at Worth House, Mrs. Grigg, now continued her education. Despite her mother’s teachings, Elizabeth found herself woefully ignorant of how to run such a grand home, but her most valuable lesson had been to always treat everyone with kindness. The staff’s patience proved greater when she cared for them as they did her.
As she entered the hall, the familiar hoofbeats and clanking of a carriage sounded from the front of the house, so she glanced to the footman at his post near the stairs. “Inform the duke our guests have arrived.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, rushing in the direction of her husband’s study.
Mr. Hughes, the butler, emerged from the dining room and opened the door to the Darcys standing at the front door. Her husband appeared by her side a moment later, a wide smile across his face.
“George!” Her husband strode forward as they entered. “I am so glad you could join us!”
Once Mr. Hughes and a footman helped relieve them of their greatcoats and hats, the gentlemen gave a quick bow. Elizabeth curtsied though the elder Mr. Darcy had already strode forward to shake his cousin’s hand. After, her husband stepped towards the younger Mr. Darcy to welcome him.
“Fitzwilliam, I know I say this every time we meet, but you remind me so much of your father.”
The younger Mr. Darcy had appeared so critical when they were introduced at Lord and Lady Vranes’s ball. Outgoing would not be a word used to describe him—he spoke little and smiled even less. Was he shy or simply uncomfortable in crowds? Regardless of the reason, he proved a fascinating character study.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said, acknowledging the father before she turned and nodded to the son. “Mr. Darcy, we are so pleased you could join us.”
“Your Grace,” George Darcy began carefully. “I hope you do not find me presumptuous, but I fear the evening will be rather confusing if you insist on addressing both me and my son as Mr. Darcy. Yet, if you call my son Mr. Fitzwilliam, I am sure he would search for Carlisle’s cousin, the curate, nearby.
The elder Darcy, thus far, had been amiable and had not appeared judgemental when she had made his acquaintance at the ball. Most assessed her gown, or they took the opportunity to look down upon her without furthering their acquaintance. Mr. Darcy had been pleasantly different.
“We are family now, so I would not object to you calling me George as your husband does. I believe my son would also consent to you using Fitzwilliam.”
His request for informality surprised her. The elder Mr. Darcy was nearly the same age as her husband, and she had yet to feel comfortable treating her husband in less than a formal manner. Both men were of a similar age to her father. She could never call her father Henry!
“I . . . ”
Her husband laughed and placed a hand to the elder Darcy’s shoulder. “I have explained to her that we have been like brothers since we were children and have always addressed each other by our Christian names. I also entreated her to call me Thomas while we are within our homes, but she will not hear of it. I daresay she will still call you Mr. Darcy whether you want her to or not.”
Mr. Darcy wore a warm smile. “Well, if that is true, then I would prefer you to address me as you are comfortable.”
The younger Mr. Darcy leaned forward a bit. One side of his lips curved, showing a dimple. “You may call me Fitzwilliam if it will make conversation less confusing.”
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “You are welcome to call me Lizzy, or Elizabeth, if you like. My husband uses Elizabeth, but my family has always used Lizzy. She glanced between the father and the son, who both nodded.
Her husband’s lips pressed together while he smiled, as though he held in laughter. “Shall we move into the drawing room until dinner is served?”
Elizabeth’s back and neck were so tightly strung they could have been plucked. She surveyed the table one last time before they sat down to the meal. Thus far, she and her husband had mostly attended dinners and balls at the homes of others. Tonight, she hosted her first dinner party. Whether it was her husband’s family or not, what if something went amiss?
It was not until the end of the meal that she allowed herself to relax. The food had been prepared to perfection, Mr. Hughes had ensured the wines matched each course perfectly, and if her guests’ appetites were any indication, the Darcys enjoyed the dishes she had requested.
The discussion veered towards various estate issues when the elder Darcy suddenly paused.
“We should apologise to you, Elizabeth. Farm yields and sheep cannot be interesting dinner conversation.”
She grinned as she set down her utensils. “I was raised in my father’s library, Mr. Darcy, and learnt at his knee. My mother, however, found my ability to discuss estate business unladylike. I learnt early on to listen and not comment outside of my father’s company, but I understand the topic well enough. I do not remain quiet out of a lack of interest.”
“During our time at Worthstone,” said her husband, “Elizabeth, who enjoys walking, came in from a few of her rambles to inform me of a problem here or there she noted around the estate. In one case, it was very lucky that she did too.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows lifted as he turned to her. “You should bring your wife to Pemberley, Thomas. I would be curious to hear her suggestions.”
Her gaze shifted from her husband to Mr. Darcy. “I am unsure if my observations would help, sir. I am certain you are not in need of my counsel.”
Mr. Darcy set down his utensils and leaned back in his seat. “If I am to believe the rumour mill, you are either from Herefordshire or Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth smiled and joined her hands in her lap. Identical whisperings reached her ears wherever they went—the modiste, the ball, the bookseller on Bond Street. “I am from Hertfordshire. My father’s estate, Longbourn, is near the town of Meryton.”
“A quaint property,” said the duke. “I offered a few suggestions to Mr. Bennet before the wedding. I believe he can increase his income substantially if he implements them.”
Mr. Darcy pivoted to face his cousin. “You have a property near Meryton, if I remember correctly.”
Her husband nodded. “I do. The great house at Stoke was a part of my grandmother’s portion. The property is not large, but I keep it in excellent repair. I rarely have a problem leasing it.”
“Do you have any siblings?” Mr. Darcy’s gaze returned to her, and despite the sudden return of her tight shoulders, she retu
rned his look steadily.
“I do. I am the second of five sisters. My eldest sister, Jane, is one year older, while my youngest sister, Lydia, is twelve.”
“Your youngest sister is of a similar age to our Georgiana,” he said. “Georgiana could use a sisterly influence, particularly after being cooped up in a house with two grown men for so long. I know Thomas has told you of her, but I do hope the two of you will become friends.”
Her bearing relaxed a great deal, and she could not help but beam. How dearly she missed Jane since her marriage! When her husband had mentioned Georgiana, the girl sounded lovely. Despite the difference in their ages, she hoped the young girl would accept her as, at the very least, a good friend. Moreover, Mr. Darcy had suggested they meet, so surely, he must welcome her to some extent.
“I would be honoured to make her acquaintance. My husband and I are hoping your family will pass Easter at Worthstone.”
Mr. Darcy rested his forearms upon the edge of the table, and after a quick peek at his son, he nodded. “Fitzwilliam and I discussed the prospect after last week’s ball. We would be delighted to spend the holiday with you.”
Her husband slapped the table with his hand as he grinned. “Excellent! We shall anticipate your company. If Georgiana and Elizabeth become close, perchance you might allow your daughter to stay for a time. They will have the company of each other while we work with our stewards on the spring planting.” He finished his last sip of wine and looked over to Mr. Hughes. “Hughes, the Darcys and I would prefer to drink our brandy in my study.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Everything has already been prepared.”
The duke stood with a large smile. “You have anticipated me again, Hughes. I believe I have become too predictable.”
The stoic servant gave a small, uncharacteristic lift to his lips. “I do not believe so, sir.”
Elizabeth and the Darcys followed her husband’s lead and stood. The gentlemen all briefly bowed to her before they departed the dining room with Mr. Hughes following behind.
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