A Spring Society

by Elizabeth Ann West

  The solicitor was impressed Mr. Gardiner had predicted the solution he was just about to suggest. As Mr. Sandbach arranged the three pieces of parchment to address later, he noticed his client making preparations to leave. So he politely interrupted him.

  "Edward, before you go, there is one matter I wish to address, and I hope I do not cause offense."

  Edward Gardiner slowly turned his head back to his solicitor, as he did not care for surprises.

  "Oh dear, as my wife would say, this sounds ominous." Mr. Gardiner offered the deadpan humor and made his solicitor nervously laugh.

  "No, though I have a feeling Mrs. Gardiner will greatly appreciate what I'm about to propose." John Sandbach stood up from his desk and walked over to his one window staring out over the bustling streets of London below. "Fifteen years ago, you came to me with my friend Bennet and employed our firm to handle your affairs. No one knew the Gardiner family, though all might suspect the roots, it was a name that would not open doors like say the name of Bennet." Mr. Sandbach reminisced but spoke frankly. He glanced at his client to see that Edward was nodding. "Have you given any thought to your legacy? No one could deny that your family is on the rise."

  Edward thought about his five children and his wife, crammed in their townhome near his warehouses. Mrs. Gardiner had never complained much about their ever-shrinking living accommodations, but with him taking up one room on the ground floor for his office, and the arrival of little Constance, even he had begun to recognize time was coming to change their living conditions.

  "Are you suggesting that perhaps I move my family to a larger home in London? Or perhaps we could make an offer to my neighbors, and I could expand our townhome into the neighboring one? I've heard they are doing such things over in Grosvenor Square where the front is maintained as though it is many residences, but inside through a series of connecting doors and hallways, the home is much larger." Mr. Gardiner tried to guess what his solicitor was suggesting, but John shook his head.

  "I would say the real estate market in London is far too speculative at the moment."

  Both men sagely nodded their heads in agreement as the solicitor made the extraordinary gesture of respect and poured Mr. Gardiner another cup of tea. "I was suggesting a country estate for your wife and children to enjoy, and yourself, to restore your health."

  Mr. Gardiner's hands shook slightly as he accepted the teacup. "I could hardly afford such an extravagance."

  John Sandbach collapsed in his chair and the grim expression held so often by a man of his profession returned. He opened a drawer and pulled out two portfolios to place them upon his desk.

  "In full disclosure, the two pieces of property here before me are not on the open market. I would need your assurances that it remains so. But as I represent these families as well, and knowing your assets, I believe either one of these homes would go a long way to raising the Gardiner name. Think of your children, Edward, think of your children the way Robert thought of his. You will have no difficulty setting aside for their futures, but we both know money is not all that makes a man respectable."

  Edward Gardiner sighed as he felt a slight discomfort in the reminder of his family's position in trade. While he had married within his sphere, his sister had found her way into a more elevated position -- the flexibility afforded women with large dowries when they could help support an old ancestral home like Longbourn. But Edward thought of his two sons and realized his solicitor was correct. Resigning himself to his fate of pursuing the identity of a country gentleman, he calmly asked his solicitor for a note be given to his driver that his meeting would run longer.

  "Certainly," Mr. Sandbach answered, ringing a bell that made a messenger appear almost immediately at the door. After instructions were dispatched for the Gardiner driver, John placed his hands over each portfolio and had a question for one of his favorite clients. "Before we begin, is there any feature you would prefer in a property of your own?"

  Mr. Gardiner finished his second cup of tea and leaned back in his chair, puffing his chest out with a sudden joy of something he had not given himself license to think about in many years.

  "Just one thing I would require, and that would be a stream or pond for fishing."

  Chapter 8

  Dressed and waiting in the morning parlor, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy grew more irritated with each passing moment. Tired of standing, Elizabeth took a seat on the settee and began to fan herself. Her husband stood stoically on the pale green Persian near the middle of the room, the late morning sun spilling over his shoulder from the high windows.

  “This is ridiculous. Why do we not go outside so we can cease this standstill?” Elizabeth said as her husband continued to stare at the closed double white doors.

  “Guests in this house are greeted on the steps when they have sent proper notification of their arrival. Those who come unannounced are not.”

  “But dearest, this is your family!”

  Fitzwilliam’s head turned mimicking the sharpness of a highly-trained army officer. “All the more reason to honor tradition. She knows better.”

  Elizabeth bowed her head to keep herself from laughing. The many traditions of Pemberley had been a stumbling block for her when she first arrived, but she held numerous plans for the ball to address, not to spend her day on the uncomfortable brink of proper etiquette.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Fitzwilliam called as Elizabeth pushed herself up again and waddled to the doors. A motion of her hands confused the poor footman who fumbled as he started, stopped, then began to open the doors for his mistress, only to cease once more at his master’s glare of disbelief.

  “Open them, or I can turn a door handle myself,” she said. As the doors opened, she looked over her shoulder. “We have better things to do today, husband. I am fetching your aunt from her carriage.”

  Fitzwilliam blustered his objections as he followed Elizabeth into the grand hall. Irritation had bested all of the parties as they nearly ran into Mr. Darcy’s aunt and cousin, looking slightly weary from travel.

  Lady Catherine de Bourgh peered down her nose at the woman she had never intended to take her sister’s place. “My, you’ve grown rather fat, Miss Bennet.”

  Darcy scowled, utterly shocked his aunt came with the poorest manners in speech as well as arrival. “My wife’s name is Mrs. Darcy. And she is lovely and expecting my heir. If you do not wish to be tossed out faster than you managed to enter, you will mind your tongue.”

  His wife reached out a calming hand to his forearm. “Husband, it’s quite alright. Your aunt’s eyesight must be failing her. That is a known suffering for those in old age.” Elizabeth clicked her tongue in sympathy as Darcy’s cousin Anne stifled a laugh behind her mother. Elizabeth greeted her personally with a warm smile.

  “Never mind all that, we’ve wasted enough time as it is. Where is my brother, the earl?”

  “Still asleep, likely. We had no notice of your arrival, and we hosted an entertaining night of follies last evening,” her nephew answered drolly, beginning to walk away with his wife on his arm.

  “Where are you going? Fitzwilliam! Come back here this instant! I demand an audience!”

  Fitzwilliam quickened his pace as Elizabeth looked at him bewildered. “My wife reminded me that we have better things to do today. Speak to the servants, they will help you, our apologies!”

  With the devilish grin of a schoolboy, Mr. Darcy led his wife down a back hall, through a door, and into a small room off the back of the library that Elizabeth had never been in.

  “Fitzwilliam! We were just so rude!”

  Mr. Darcy leaned forward and silenced his wife with a kiss. Then he deepened the kiss, and his hands gently caressed the smooth skin of her jaw. Ending his affections with his wife gasping for breath, he pressed his forehead to hers.

  “She wishes to see my uncle. Not me. Not you. Did you truly wish to spend the better part of two hours being insulted and aggravated? I did not.”

  “No
,” Elizabeth said, thoughtfully. “But Anne . . . it is beastly of us to abandon her.”

  Mr. Darcy shrugged and kissed his wife again. “You, lady, are madness. You scold me for weeks and weeks about too many people, too many demands. Then you order a ball and wish to welcome my estranged aunt . . .”

  “I shall dance with you. That is the only care I have at the moment. I’ve given up trying to please the others,” Elizabeth took a step back and began to take in the features of the room. Perhaps closet was a better description, as an odd array of long forgotten items lay jumbled around them. “Where are we?”

  “This is the old office of my tutor, Mr. Crane. My father never trusted me to be educated up in the nursery out of sight, so beginning at age seven, I took my lessons in the library.” Darcy joined his wife in her inspection and squinted his eyes. “I suppose we need to clean and ready this room as well.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “I have amused you?”

  She nodded. “He is not even born, and yet you plan his lessons? One step at a time, one step at a time.”

  Fitzwilliam reached down to gently brush his wife’s midsection then reached for her hand to bestow another kiss.

  “I shall peek and check the coast is clear. Then we shall sneak down to the kitchens, order ourselves a picnic, call for a wagon and abscond on an afternoon adventure. Do we have an accord?” Fitzwilliam whispered huskily to his wife’s further contentment.

  “It appears I am not the only one exhausted by our spring society,” she bemused.

  “Remember, it was not I who called for this ball,” he said jovially as he turned away swiftly and opened the door a crack. As most of the temporary and long-term guests of the house were otherwise occupied, Mr. Darcy followed through on his private mischief with his wife. With all that the two had endured, it was easy to forget they were only a few weeks from the first anniversary of their nuptials.

  An hour later, the spring breezes on the south side of the property cooled the back of Elizabeth Darcy’s neck. But they were not strong enough for a kite. As she reclined and allowed the sun’s warmth to beam down on her face, she imagined the scolding her mother would give if present. Even married, nothing stopped Mrs. Bennet from fussing at her daughters to safeguard their complexions.

  In the distance, Elizabeth heard the happy barks of her husband’s favorite hunter. Her cheeks began to feel pained from the heat, so she adjusted her bonnet. When she blinked her eyes to refocus, as even with her eyes closed the sun’s powerful light had marred her vision, she laughed at the hilarious tableau just a few yards away. Fitzwilliam tossed a stick for his canine companion with enough gusto that his boot slipped in the mud. He made a dashing turn to gain his balance and looked back at the picnic to spy his wife giggling.

  "Are you practicing without me, Husband?" Elizabeth shouted as she ungraciously rolled over to push to her knees and stand up. Fitzwilliam jaunted over to his wife to assist, scolding her for not calling a footman. But Elizabeth only gave him a look of annoyance as it was not her way to incessantly beckon a servant for her every need.

  The poor dog returned with the stick, but his Master was occupied. Wagging his tail, the animal tried to nudge the stick against Mr. Darcy’s leg, but he was too busy tending to his wife. So Elizabeth took pity and wrested the toy from the dog’s mouth and gave it a throw that barely made it half the distance of her husband’s attempts.

  "I fear a coming storm. Must we have this ball?" Darcy asked, admiring his wife’s aim.

  Elizabeth gazed at the horizon and sniffed. “I see no clouds," she remarked, then realized her husband spoke metaphorically.

  "I shall listen as you tell me your troubles." Elizabeth patted Fitzwilliam’s arm as she led him away from their small coterie of servants. With an expert flick of her wrist, she signaled that the food and refreshments be packed away.

  The couple began a circuit around the pond. Fitzwilliam asked his wife if she'd prefer his mildly distressing news, his severely distressing news, or his distressing prediction first?

  Elizabeth repeated the options. “Mildly distressing, severely distressing, or a distressing prediction?” She took a moment to consider as her husband nodded.

  They rounded a small break in the weeds along the bank and spied a small family of newly hatched ducklings. Darcy's hunter immediately began barking, but the fowl swam safely out of the animal’s reach as he responded to a command to heel.

  "Oh, thank you, Fitzwilliam, I couldn't bear to think that Marcellus might kill the hatchlings," Elizabeth said as Darcy rewarded the dog for obedience with a pat. They didn’t have to share any further words about such a situation feeling like a threatening omen and Elizabeth made her decision.

  "Let's begin with your prediction about your aunt as I suppose it matches mine. Then we shall work up to the severely distressing."

  The couple neared the halfway point of the pond’s perimeter, gaily watching the mother duck instruct her young in the finer arts of swimming in a line as they agreed that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was there to make a match between Anne and Robert Fitzwilliam.

  "Do you think they hold any regard for each other?" Elizabeth asked as her husband shrugged.

  "I'm not aware of them seeing each other in years...It is impossible to say."

  Elizabeth nodded. "But your cousin does not strike me as the type of man to accept interference in his life."

  "No," Darcy said as he pursed his lips, "but at least the wedding will help others."

  Elizabeth looked to her husband expectantly for an explanation.

  "Richard has written. He is to deploy."

  Elizabeth gasped as her husband’s grip tightened in support on her arm. "I'm well, I'm well,” she reassured him. “So Mary?"

  Again, he nodded while his mouth twisted into chagrin. "Eloping, I'm afraid. But I've instructed the staff at Starvet to take good care of the Hamiltons and Fitzwilliams."

  Elizabeth smirked. "Poor Kitty will be the only Bennet girl left." Elizabeth stopped in her trek causing her husband to fumble in his steps.

  "Poor Kitty, indeed!" Elizabeth repeated as she gasped.

  Regaining his balance, her husband shook his head, not following his wife's logic.

  "I fear she holds a tendre for Robert."

  "We can't marry all of your sisters to my cousins," Fitzwilliam said dryly.

  “But think of the convenience!”

  “Pray, you sound remarkably like Mother Bennet,” Fitzwilliam teased his wife as she gasped in horror. Unfortunately, bringing up Elizabeth’s mother reminded him of the severely distressing news he had to impart. Taking a deep breath, as they finished their circuit around the pond and only had to board the awaiting carriage for their journey back to the main house, Fitzwilliam finally worked up the courage to tell his wife what he saw that morning.

  “Perhaps he merely called upon her with attire very similar . . .” Elizabeth attempted an explanation, but her voice trailed off as her husband merely stared at her. Pressing her fingers to her temple, Elizabeth closed her eyes. “So what do we do?”

  Mr. Darcy cleared his throat as Marcellus excitedly circled around them. Up higher on the hill, he could spy the line of undergardeners leaving the rose gardens, a sure sign the day’s activities were steadily shifting. All around them, men and women who cared for Pemberley saw to their assignments with the dignity the estate commanded. Feeling a lump in his throat form as he remembered the values instilled in him by his own father and mother, guilt for the day’s folly began to cloud Mr. Darcy’s judgment. He ardently loved and cherished his wife, but the two members of their families that caused the most liability were now aligned in a way that could only bring ruin and scandal.

  “I can send him away,” Fitzwilliam declared.

  “Or they could marry?” his wife asked.

  Startled by such a solution he had never considered, Fitzwilliam Darcy looked down at his much shorter, but smarter wife.

  “An alliance?”

&
nbsp; Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders as she began to walk towards the carriage, forcing her husband to hasten after her. Even so far gone with child, she could still walk at a swift clip when she so chose, at least for short distances.

  “Come, our time is spent. We must duel in the drawing room and debate in the dining room, and perhaps, if we are lucky, some or all of them might become so irate that they pack themselves up and leave!” Elizabeth looked back and flashed her husband a devilish grin.

  “You provide false hope, Madam. None shall leave now that there is to be a ball.”

  “Then we must keep the peace. And then load their carriages the following morning!” Elizabeth laughed as she had the last word and returned to the carriage out of breath, but feeling full of energy.

  Once they were safely tucked inside and being driven back to the front of the house instead of the side by the kitchens where they had escaped, the husband and wife with so much burden on their shoulders found solace in each other through kisses and other affections.

  Chapter 9

  Despite being across the long dining table from each other, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy stole regular glances of solidarity. The rest of the table filled with their families and accompanying dramatic arts.

  Mrs. Darcy had smartly placed Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock on either side of her husband as was their due, and then the table seating deviated from rank into one of harmonious coexistence. Georgiana was placed between her two uncles, across the table from her cousin Robert. Anne was set next to Robert, and Lady Matlock was given the honor of sitting next to Mrs. Darcy at the other end of the table while Kitty, on the other side, separated her mother from Uncle Alistair Darcy.

  “The season is too early for only Pemberley’s gardens to provide all of the blooms. You must talk Mr. Darcy into allowing you to send for more arrangements from London,” Mrs. Bennet added yet another useless expense to the plans for the ball.