Rose Cottage

by A K Madison

  Darcy led Elizabeth silently and surely to a door that opened to a delightful little retreat. “Oh, Fitzwilliam. It is so pleasant, and I had not the slightest idea it was here.”

  “You will prefer the garden at Darcy House, I promise you. But this one will suffice.”

  He led her down a sedate path until they came to a small garden bench set out of sight of the house and near a little fountain. “This is much like the garden at my aunt and uncle’s house in Gracechurch Street. You can hear the noise of the city, but it seems a thousand miles away.”

  Darcy said nothing but drew her down to sit on his lap, kissing her again and again. At length he said, “Lizzy, you are so precious to me. I will not allow those people, or anyone else, to harm you.”

  “Surely it will not come to that, dearest.” Elizabeth was seriously engaged in answering him kiss for kiss.

  “I will not permit it to come to that.”

  Elizabeth drew back, taking his face in both her hands and looking him straight in the eye. “We have the support of our families, Fitzwilliam. Your aunt and uncle, Georgiana—they are wholeheartedly in favor of this marriage. My mother is devoted to you, as are my sisters. Mr. Bingley is our friend, and he is married to Jane. My aunts and uncles, all of these good people wish us only the best. We will succeed, and we will prevail.”

  Darcy pulled her close and kissed her with anxious hunger, as if she might be snatched away from him at any moment. She was wearing a chemisette in dark gray netting, an addition that converted her gown into a high-necked version suitable for mourning. Darcy allowed his lips to stray to the soft spot behind her ear, thence to her neck, and finally to the edge where the chemisette was tucked into the bodice of her gown, as close to her bare flesh as he had ever been. It was a liberty he had never requested, much less taken, and judging from Elizabeth’s soft sighs she enjoyed it as much as he did. Eventually she released her hold on his hair, where her fingers had been entwined. She found the narrow ribbon that closed the lace at her neck and untied it, laying the soft, fragrant skin bare to his touch.

  “So sweet,” he murmured. “So beautiful,” as he allowed himself to taste her skin for the very first time. “I want to kiss you this way forever.” Finally, with a shuddering sigh, he laid his cheek on her breast and closed his eyes. “Lizzy, marry me this week while we are in London. Let me keep you safe forever. Let us not wait any longer.”

  “Dearest Fitzwilliam, I would marry you tonight if we could, or tomorrow, or any day. But something within me will not give in to these, these interlopers. Why should we allow them to dictate when, and whom, we should marry? They are wholly unconnected to me, and in your case, your aunt has thrown away her right to your affection.” Elizabeth stiffened in his arms. “I cannot allow myself to yield to them, for I wish to live my own life. I wish to live it with you, Fitzwilliam.”

  He placed one more lingering kiss on her breast and set her on her feet with a sigh. “Well said. I can do no less.”

  Chapter 24

  While the Matlocks, Darcys, and Bennets were attending Sunday services and enjoying their midday dinner at Matlock House, the Hursts and Caroline Bingley were having a quiet Sunday morning at home. Caroline had professed herself too tired to attend services, though in reality, she was still smarting from the misadventure at the Silver Spoon.

  A little later that afternoon, Caroline paced nervously in a parlor in her brother-in-law’s town house. She had been angry and annoyed after the encounter with the Countess and the Bennets the day before, but today’s note from Lady Linville had left her anxious and distressed. Delivered by a footman at midafternoon—unusual for a Sunday—the note had been brief, curt, and formal:

  Dear Miss Bingley,

  I regret that I will be unable to see you, or correspond with you, for the remainder of our stay in London. This prohibition has been ordered by my husband and father-in-law as a result of our encounter yesterday with the Countess at the Silver Spoon. I must ask that you refrain from contacting me in any way, either by letter or in person. Unfortunately, this will continue for the foreseeable future, as we leave for Linville Manor later this week.

  With every good wish for your future health and happiness, I remain,

  Yours sincerely,

  Alexandra, Lady Linville

  And there it was: Ten years of friendship completely wasted. Ten years of toad-eating the awkward, stupid girl who by virtue of her birth would eventually be the wife of an earl. It was so unfair. Caroline knew she was more accomplished, more intelligent, wealthier, and more fashionable than the former Miss Alexandra Morrell would ever be. All she had to do was make the right marriage, a marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.

  By the time her sister Louisa found her, Caroline had fretted herself into hysterics. All they could do was put her to bed with a draught of laudanum and hope that she would calm down enough eventually to relate the cause of her distress. Even in her drug-induced slumber, her body seemed to be racked with occasional sobs. Louisa came in to check on her before seeking her own bed for the night, and Caroline stirred into semi-wakefulness. “I will not give him up to Eliza Bennet. I will not. I cannot.” Louisa hushed her back into the realm of sleep.

  Alexandra, for her part, had mentally conceded defeat. Her husband and his father had been adamant that she give Caroline up, and at least she had the good sense to fall into line. A subdued Alexandra sat in her chamber with only her resentment and her supper-tray for company as the rest of the family gathered downstairs.

  The next morning, Monday, Caroline Bingley awoke with a slight headache, which she ignored, and with a renewed determination to become the bride of Fitzwilliam Darcy. Her dear friend Lady Linville might take herself to perdition so far as Caroline was concerned. For herself, Caroline had mapped out a campaign she considered perfectly obvious. She would go out immediately to bespeak several spring gowns at the height of fashion for wear during the events leading up to the wedding, the wedding she had decided would never take place. After all, she would be a guest at Netherfield during the festivities, and she would want to look her best. Eliza Bennet and all her family were in mourning, and mourning was dowdy and frumpish. Caroline would easily outshine them all, but Eliza in particular. She could then emphasize the natural contrast between her graceful town manners and Eliza’s country-bumpkin ways. And there was always the hope that Lady Catherine’s operative, whoever that might be, would find a way. In that case, why, a country wedding might be charming with the right bride.

  She sprang out of bed, made a hasty toilette, and prepared to visit Madame Marley’s. Of course, she had no appointment, but that had never interfered with her welcome. She had always spent liberally there. She found Louisa and Mr. Hurst in the breakfast room, but Louisa had no interest in accompanying her. In no time, she was on her way to the modiste’s, thinking how well a set of tall, matched footmen would look in the Darcy livery. She arrived at the shop before it grew crowded. Miss Herbert, the young woman who greeted visitors and managed appointments, greeted her with a brusque and unsmiling “Good morning.”

  “I should like to see Madame Marley today. I wish to bespeak several gowns.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Bingley. Mrs. Marley will be unable to see you today. Today or in the future. Good day.” With that, the chit had the effrontery to turn her back. Silent and mortified, Caroline turned to leave the shop, only to encounter Elizabeth’s aunt, Mrs. Gardiner. Caroline could practically smell the reek of Gracechurch Street on the woman, who had the temerity to nod pleasantly. Of course, Miss Bingley cut her, allowing the shop door to slam as she made her way outside.

  Caroline was shaking as she entered her carriage, and it took her a few minutes to collect herself. When she did, she gave the order to be driven to Gunter’s. She had decided she might as well attempt to assess the extent of the damage, and there was no better place to do that. The popular confectioner’s was beginning to fill with customers when she entered, and she waited for a few moments to be e
scorted to a table. It was as she feared. No one would so much as look at her, though she greeted several friends and nodded to several others, and she was given a table far in back, near the kitchen. She ordered only a lemonade, finished it quickly, and departed wordlessly.

  Once back at the Hursts’ home, she permitted herself to collapse, as she had the day before, in a flood of tears. Once again, Louisa put her to bed with a sleeping-draught, and this time she would not leave her bedchamber for several days.

  Of course, though unbeknownst to Caroline, Lady Matlock and her party had already been settled in a luxurious room at Mrs. Marley’s shop. Mrs. Gardiner had been hurrying to join them when Caroline attempted to snub her, and the girls’ aunt was fully aware of the younger woman’s poor manners. Monday was a mixture of adventure and tedium for Elizabeth, who was having her first experience with one of the finest dressmakers London had to offer. After an endless interlude in which every possible measurement was taken, every flaw called out and analyzed, however tactfully, and every facet of her form recorded with great care, Elizabeth sat with the group, poring over fashion plates and looking at sample gowns worn by live models. It took several hours, but eventually every last stitch had been bespoken. There were also undergarments-shifts, petticoats, and corsets both short and long. Elizabeth blushed at the nightgowns, dressing-gowns, peignoirs, and wrappers, which were a great deal less modest than those she had been accustomed to wearing.

  When four hours had flown by, Mrs. Marley announced that she had what she needed to begin the work. Moreover, one of her assistants handed the Countess two stacks consisting of slips of paper to which small swatches of fabric had been pinned. Each bore a brief description of the gown to be made from that cloth, and they would assist greatly in the ordering of shoes, gloves, fans, bonnets, and other necessities. Elizabeth was requested to return to Mrs. Marley on Wednesday, to review and approve the original design for the wedding gown and for preliminary fittings.

  “I fear I may perish if we do not get home for some luncheon,” said Lady Matlock. “And I have not endured all the standing about being stuck with pins.” They all stood in the shop, which had become much busier since their morning arrival. “Madeline, we shall look forward to seeing you and Mr. Gardiner this evening for dinner. We can take advantage of that time to plan our day tomorrow. It looks as though the milliner’s and the haberdasher’s will be at the top of the list.”

  “Indeed. Mrs. Marley’s habit of providing the little swatches will be most helpful,” replied that lady as they parted in front of the shop to enter their respective carriages. “We will see you this evening.”

  Elizabeth dressed for dinner in her best gown, the only one she had with even a slight décolletage. She had arranged her hair as she had for the ball at Netherfield so many months ago, with a little grouping of plump curls hanging at the nape of her neck. “I suppose I am feeling elegant after our day at the modiste,” she told her mother. They went downstairs arm in arm, finding most of the family already gathered in the drawing-room.

  Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine from the Viscount, who remained chatting to Mrs. Bennet. There was no sign of Lady Linville.

  When the ladies rose to leave the dining-room, Elizabeth took her aunt’s arm, and the two sat together in the drawing-room. “No ill effects from Saturday’s incident at the Silver Spoon, I take it?” Aunt Gardiner spoke quietly, but the other ladies were busy looking at the swatches.

  “None at all. There is more to that than meets the eye,” replied Elizabeth. “I have a theory, but I am not ready to expound on it yet.”

  “Ahh. Well, they will be gone soon. Miss Bingley passed me entering the modiste’s this morning, and she cut me dead. It struck me as amusing, since I have known Clara Marley for years. She was originally from Kympton, you know.”

  “I know you have been her client a great deal longer than Caroline Bingley has.”

  When the gentlemen rejoined them, the Earl proposed an evening of music. Georgiana and Elizabeth took their places in turn at the pianoforte, but the young ladies were so tired after their day of fittings that neither played very enthusiastically. The party broke up into small groups. Darcy gave his arm to Elizabeth and they strolled over to look out a window.

  The Earl of Matlock, looking across the drawing-room, saw the pair standing arm in arm, heads nearly touching, clearly intent on their conversation and on each other. He smiled to himself. This was a love match, but despite that, his nephew had chosen wisely. This girl could and probably would be the making of an already fine young man. Nothing must be allowed to come between them.

  ✽✽✽

  While Elizabeth shopped and stood for fittings and endured Caroline, Jane and Bingley were at Netherfield embarked on a voyage of discovery. On Saturday night, when the family retired, Jane came to bed in her husband’s room. The pair had abandoned the idea of separate beds on their first night together, and they shared Charles’ bed. The Bingleys shared a secret. On their wedding night, Charles had turned out to be as inexperienced as his bride. After some initial experimentation, their married life was blessed by playfulness, a sense of adventure, a willingness to experiment, and a deep tenderness. Each was devoted to pleasing the other, and this facet of their life together added immeasurably to their happiness. Thus, when Charles perceived that his wife seemed weary, he suggested that they simply curl up together and sleep. When Jane protested that she had been looking forward to him all day, his gentle attentiveness gave her great pleasure that deepened his own joy. Eventually, replete and sleepy, they had slept.

  Alas, their Sunday morning was not as pleasant. The maid brought their breakfast early so that they could dress for services. Jane grew violently ill, and it seemed to her anxious husband that her nausea was uncontrollable. He rang for her maid who in turn sent for Mrs. Nicholls, and he was banished from his own bedchamber to pace up and down in the hallway.

  Later, Mrs. Nicholls admitted him to Jane’s bedchamber, where he found his wife in bed, looking composed but as pale as the sheets. “I am so sorry, dearest,” she said. “I will not be able to accompany the family to church today.”

  “You must rest and regain your strength, Jane. Do you think it was something you had for dinner? No one else has become ill.”

  She reached out her hand and took his. “No, my darling. I have been talking to Mrs. Nicholls, and I believe there may be a happier cause for my indisposition. However, there is no way of knowing for sure just yet, and we should keep it a secret between the two of us.”

  Bingley’s face mirrored anxiety and confusion, followed by great joy as he smiled brilliantly at his wife. “Oh, my angel! Do you really think? Are you sure? Can I get you anything?”

  “I really think, but I am not sure, and the best thing you could do would be to have your own breakfast and accompany everyone else to church. I suspect I will feel better presently, and Brinklow will be staying here with me.”

  Brinklow, Jane’s maid, arrived shortly after Jane’s remark with her Testament in hand, ready to sit and keep watch over her lady. She smiled and took a seat, saying, “Mr. Bingley, Mrs. Bingley is right. Allow her to rest now, and she will feel much better soon. Mrs. Nicholls is preparing a soothing tea of ginger and lemon for her. And I can assure you, sir, that this discomfort will soon pass. It is generally of short duration.”

  So it was that Bingley announced to the rest of the family and guests that his wife was “indisposed.” Jane enjoyed a day of complete relaxation and resolved to capitalize on her mother’s absence to consult the midwife, who lived on Longbourn’s estate.

  Mrs. Fairleigh was delighted to confirm Jane’s suspicions. After a careful examination and some calculations, she announced that Jane was indeed increasing and that she and Mr. Bingley might look forward to a Christmas babe. She dismissed as nonsense the idea that anyone could predict the sex of a child before its birth and directed Jane to get plenty of rest and to take dry toast and ginger tea for the inevitable nausea.


  “My mother already suspects,” observed Jane.

  Mrs. Fairleigh laughed. “My mother was midwife for you and Elizabeth, Mrs. Bingley. And I myself delivered your three younger sisters. Mrs. Bennet is an experienced mother, and nothing escapes her notice when it comes to babies. I am sure she will be delighted.” Jane followed Mrs. Fairleigh’s instructions and felt well enough to supervise her three sisters as they embroidered a set of handkerchiefs as their gift to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth and Darcy, meanwhile, were much occupied in London. Each day brought some new whirlwind of shopping for Elizabeth as she visited the milliner’s, the haberdasher’s, and the shoemaker’s before returning to the modiste’s for her final fittings. A few of the finished gowns would be sent to Netherfield, including the all-important wedding dress. The remainder would be delivered to Darcy House. The latter part of the week was spent being fitted for not one, but two riding habits at the same gentlemen’s tailor patronized by Darcy. They were accustomed to fitting fine riding habits to ladies, and Elizabeth chose one in a practical wool for country wear and an imposing velvet for riding in the park in London at the fashionable hour.

  Darcy spent as much time as possible closeted with his uncle. The topic of their discussion was Lady Catherine and her possible influence over Mr. Collins. With his uncle, Darcy felt free to express his deepest fears and concerns for the immediate and long-term future, and his uncle offered a practical and sympathetic ear.

  “I do have plans, nephew,” he said one night as they sat at ease in his study. “I have consulted with my own physician, and he has said that my thoughts concerning the ravages of the French disease have a great deal of merit. Catherine is in Town, and I have set the wheels in motion to compel her to submit to an examination. If all goes as expected, I will be appointed her guardian and she will be cared for in—well, in an asylum where all the inmates are wealthy.” He sat back and puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. “My solicitors assure me that based on her behavior, she will be declared incompetent, a danger to herself and others. Her actions with respect to Anne are reason enough. Her actions toward you and Miss Bennet merely add fuel to the fire. Give me another week, and she should be eliminated as a problem. Richard has gone to Anne, and as soon as you and the Bennet ladies depart, Anne will be brought here, and I will move to confine my sister. Anne is malnourished and suffering from the effects of the nostrums Catherine has poured into her and the bumbling physicians who attended her. We will look after her.”