A Spring Society

by Elizabeth Ann West

  “Mrs. Reynolds?” Mr. Darcy asked, granting the most senior household staff member a freedom to speak.

  “I suspect it’s the classes. Mrs. Darcy began the program of teaching the staff to read and write, and I’m afraid they soon realized they can earn a much better wage in Town. They ask for their reference, serve their notice, and take the first wagon to London or to the factories.”

  “I see.” Mr. Darcy dipped his quill into a bottle of ink and began scratching words on a new piece of parchment.

  For a time, the butler and housekeeper waited. Minutes passed, and finally, they were interrupted by Alistair Darcy.

  “Oh, I see that you are occupied, I shall return later,” the sly member of the Darcy family attempted to shirk his meeting, but Mr. Darcy objected.

  “We have just finished. Please, come in and help yourself to refreshment,” Fitzwilliam Darcy motioned to the cart in the back of his study as he stood with the parchment in his hands. He addressed Mrs. Reynolds, in a minor slight to Mr. Cowles, but the man had not yet proven himself to the master as leader of the household. He might hold the senior title, but it was unlikely anyone would unseat Mrs. Reynolds as the actual head of the staff.

  Mr. Darcy handed the note to Mrs. Reynolds. “Put a notice in the paper, make sure we are offering a good wage and send me a list of anyone here longer than one year that we might increase to match our new offer.”

  “And the classes, sir? Should we stop them?” Mr. Cowles asked.

  “No. Mrs. Darcy and I are agreed in that quarter. The lessons will continue, and the entire house will benefit from it. I will apprise Mrs. Darcy of the new budgets for the household.” Mr. Darcy rubbed the back of his neck as the housekeeper and butler thanked him and returned to their duties.

  Once they were alone, Mr. Darcy asked his uncle to pour him a drink as well. The corner of the elder Darcy’s mouth twitched at the impertinent request but complied. Fitzwilliam wrote a quick note to himself about the interview with Mr. Cowles and Mrs. Reynolds, before he left his desk and joined his uncle in the seating by the fireplace.

  “Are we drinking to tomorrow’s success?” Uncle Darcy offered.

  Mr. Darcy waited for his uncle to begin a sip and then he spoke. “I called you here to remove your welcome.”

  Uncle Darcy choked on his drink, but Mr. Darcy looked on with no sympathy.

  “You cannot be serious. Fanny mentioned I should expect your dismissal, but surely you will not dismiss your own flesh and blood to the cruel world. Your father would never . . .”

  “My father would have called the constable,” Mr. Darcy said. Finally, he took a drink, gulping down more than his fair share. Then he took a deep breath. “You were sloppy, Uncle. The reports from India are arson, and your name is listed as a person of question. The fires spread to our neighboring fields and the damages were extensive.”

  “So I do not go back to India! I have no intentions of leaving my homeland again!” Uncle Darcy did not deny the allegations out of hand, and his nephew raised his eyebrow.

  “So you do not deny your involvement.”

  “No, I do not recognize a threat of parchment from halfway around the world of fabricated events,” Uncle Darcy scoffed.

  Mr. Darcy laughed. He paused to look at his uncle who sat with an expression that reminded him so much of the late George Wickham when his schemes did not go to plan. And then his laughter resumed even louder.

  “You mock me.”

  “No, you mock yourself. Chasing penniless widows, burning an entire fortune for your own selfish wants.” With the last phrase, Mr. Darcy spoke with a solemn tone.

  Uncle Darcy finished his drink. “And what if I do not wish to leave? This is my childhood home.”

  “That is why I do not summon the footmen to throw you out. This conversation is the last consideration Pemberley will give its wayward son. Tell me where you wish to go, and I shall send you there, but never again darken my door for another farthing.”

  Uncle Darcy licked his lips. “What kind of settlement are we talking about? I couldn’t possibly accept less than” he paused, acting as though he were actually considering a pay-off, “say £20,000.”

  “But you shall. Much less. Or instead of a destination of your choosing, it will be back to India and their authority you will go.”

  “I will never board the ship.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled and held his glass up and considered the amber liquid left in the bottom third. “You never learned who owns the fields next to our holdings, did you?”

  Uncle Darcy snorted and adjusted his weight in the leather chair to look away. “I lived there you impertinent welp. The Amyand family is the reason the D’Arcy family bought a holding generations ago.”

  “Amyand is now Cornewall and included the family’s India holdings in his sister’s dowry to focus on his other properties. You burned Earl Minto’s lands.” Mr. Darcy finished his drink and stood as his uncle’s face drained of all color.

  Silence descended in Mr. Darcy’s study as the younger man again looked out the window, cheered to see the progress of a wagon and phaeton on the horizon. His wife would be home within the hour, and he suddenly felt an urge to go to the stables to have his horse saddled that he might meet them.

  “Will you turn me over to the Company?” Alistair Darcy asked quietly.

  The Darcy family had been careful to always remain on the right side of the East India Company, and in exchange, had prospered in India where other families that did not pay tribute found the lack of protection overran their lands to ruin. The whispers of the lengths to which the Company would go to recover losses hinged on the treachery of the individual governors. Earl Minto was now the Governor General of India and even Alistair Darcy could calculate the man might seek justice for his own lands as a point of policy.

  “I’ve not yet decided what I shall do. In the meantime, think about my offer, and you shall be leaving with the Matlocks and de Bourghs when they go to London. Your destination after that is up to you.”

  Uncle Darcy stood, his lips pursed in annoyance. Before he could leave, Mr. Darcy issued one more edict.

  “And while you are in my household, you will refrain from sleeping anywhere but your own bedchamber. Let Mother Bennet down gently, do not insult Mrs. Darcy’s mother. But your imposition on her good favor ends.”

  “As I last heard you say, Nephew, our world is changing. I must leave my old ways behind or be forgotten.”

  Alistair left the study without more than a nod to his nephew, and Mr. Darcy was unsure where he stood with the man. He would have to talk to his other uncle about additional solutions to the problem of Uncle Darcy. Restitution had already been paid to East India Company, and if Alistair learned that, there would be no check on his behavior. Yet, in his heart, Darcy did not feel his uncle truly feared. Like his departed son, Alistair Darcy was a master of manipulating authorities over him and slipping right through the chains.

  Angered and frustrated, Mr. Darcy abandoned the other items he wished to complete and made his way to the stables. A ride in the fresh air and seeing his wife would provide much-needed relief for the trials of society ahead of him.

  Chapter 12

  Catherine Bennet and Georgiana Darcy waved to each other from across the span of stairs arching the grand foyer of Pemberley. The two young women had planned their fashionable arrival just as the first neighbors arrived for the ball. Dressed in frocks of pale silver and gold, the two sisters by marriage even matched one another in jewels. Both had been presented a golden teardrop necklace from their brother, Mr. Darcy, for the occasion, accented with mother of pearl pendants. Down below, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy took in a collective gasp as the youngest members of their families elegantly descended the first set of stairs in unison, then joined together to take the last flight as a pair.

  "You were inspired to suggest matching necklaces," Mr. Darcy complimented his wife, finding himself suddenly second-guessing the arrangement for his sister to go to London
without him for a Season.

  "I wonder how they will do being separated," Mrs. Darcy mused, almost as if she had read her husband's thoughts. Truthfully, her conscience worried about the effect of losing another sister, this time to distance, would have on Kitty. She did not wish to see a repeat of the winter's blues plague her youngest sister now that they were so close to the joy of a new child.

  Their attention distracted by the arrivals, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy heartily greeted each invited guest into their home. The Matlocks and Lady Catherine had elected not to stand in the receiving line, as Elizabeth had requested, and to instead perform like any other guest and mingle in the ballroom. This arrangement suited the Matlocks just as well since the goal was to help debut Anne and Robert Fitzwilliam as a couple, and not foster any further gossip about an entrenchment. To the uninformed, the ball was a kind gesture by the Darcys for their cousin's upcoming nuptials, though the timing so close to Mrs. Darcy's delivery raised more than a few eyebrows.

  "I say, in my time, a woman in her condition ought to be in bed! Surely she cannot mean to dance!" Lady Chisholm, a childhood friend of Lady Catherine and the late Mrs. Darcy, complained freely once she and her husband had parted ways after entering.

  "It is an absolute disgrace. When I arrived, do you know there were already plans for this ball? They are so fortunate I have taken over the reins and brought a shred of dignity to the event," Lady Catherine sniffed as she grossly inflated her role in the planning of the ball. She had not noticed Lady Matlock edging closer to the conversation, enough to overhear Catherine's boast.

  "What a lovely frock, Lady Chisholm. I have admired that gown each time you've worn it!" Lady Matlock nonchalantly pointed out that the Chisholm's had long struggled to stay afloat thanks to Lord Chisholm's penchant for cards.

  Before the two gossiping ladies could further duel, a very dashing Mr. Darcy led his wife of little more than a year through the double doors to the applause of their grateful guests. Though some with memories of soirées decades ago noticed the smaller crowd, Mrs. Darcy felt no slight. Her complexion gave off the healthy glow only a woman in her condition could boast. She made eye contact with Lady Matlock and offered the woman an appreciative smile as a sign of respect the two women had developed.

  The first dancers took their places in two lines with Mr. and Mrs. Darcy at the lead. More whispers rippled through the guests of the older generation for yet another deviation from social expectations. But this ball was not planned to curry favor with aristocrats. Nor was it to properly introduce Mrs. Darcy to the surrounding neighbors.

  From the initial strains of the violins, the mischievous grins of both hosts belied the true reason for the evening to those who were present for initial planning. Mrs. Darcy needed a ball to dance with her husband as his wife, not his intended!

  Beyond the first set, the ball began a more conventional procedure of precedence for the patrons. Mrs. Darcy was asked to dance by her husband’s longtime friend, the Duke of Devonshire, as her husband performed his obligation to Lady Ponsonby, the Duke’s cousin, as the Duke’s sister Lady Morpeth was not in attendance.

  “I had so hoped to see my friend,” Mrs. Darcy managed, finding herself feeling slightly winded. She resolved to make this set her last one until she danced again with Fitzwilliam, feeling her desire to dance outstripped her stamina.

  The dashing duke nodded as he gently guided Mrs. Darcy in a turn, careful to avoid bumping into the couple next to them.

  “Georgiana had considered coming, but she is needed in London. Her child, a daughter, was safely delivered in January. The babe was early, and I am happy to say I am already besotted.” He waited as they obliged the movements required in the reel. Once they were returned to each other for a quick promenade, he continued. “She sends her well wishes for your safe delivery.”

  Elizabeth smiled. “Indeed, we are faithful correspondents. I’ve been ever so grateful for her advice and wisdom.” Elizabeth faltered a moment as a sharp pain cramped in her abdomen, reaching around to her lower back. He footwork stumbled but a step, and she forced her smile to remain in place, so nothing appeared amiss. The duke did not even remark or raise an eyebrow at his partner’s gaffe, so as not to draw further attention.

  More of the song continued. Elizabeth found it very difficult to concentrate as she and the duke were still in the middle of the line moving up and the pains continued at semi-regular intervals. She could almost time them by the sequence of the dance: step left, step right, curtsy, pain. Quarter turn, step left, step right, curtsy, no pain. Skip around her lady, turn to face her partner to repeat, pain.

  Swiftly, Elizabeth began to panic. She counted the steps and prayed she could make it through the line to the end. If she were to leave the dance now, the entire number would be disrupted and her evening spoiled as all attention would fall upon her. Plus, she did not wish to admit how very wrong she had been about holding such a foolish endeavor. Fitzwilliam’s voice echoed in her head about the entire evening was a mistake. Errantly, Elizabeth rubbed the back of her neck as she did when she had been younger and uncomfortable with her partner.

  To her surprise, after four more sequences, she and the duke were at the head of the line to begin their progress back down, her sister Kitty stepped into her place. Elizabeth stepped back, utterly surprised as Kitty discretely slipped into the dance and Elizabeth disappeared into the crowd. How her sister could have known of her distress, Elizabeth didn’t understand but held little time to worry about it. The pain returned, and she blew out a breath to keep from doubling over. Gingerly, she walked to the furniture along the walls to sit down and rest.

  With her husband occupied in the dance, to Elizabeth’s surprise, it was Uncle Darcy who attended his niece.

  “Might I fetch you some refreshment, Mrs. Darcy?” He gallantly offered to run her errand and feeling so poorly, Elizabeth did not even have the presence of mind to decline his assistance. She nodded, and he strolled away, and Elizabeth felt an even more intense pain make her gently cry out in shock. She covered her mouth as she began to perspire.

  Lady Matlock suddenly took a place next to Elizabeth on the settee and turned her torso to help block nosy onlookers.

  “Oh dear, I feared this might happen.”

  Elizabeth looked wildly into the eyes of her husband’s aunt. The new mother had suspected her time had come with the first pain but had felt unwilling to accept such a circumstance until another, more experienced, woman acknowledged the obvious. Mrs. Darcy was in labor.

  The duke dutifully escorted Kitty Bennet to her sister in the far corner as the younger sister had kept a keen eye for Elizabeth’s whereabouts. Immediately observing female distress, he walked away to fetch his friend, Darcy.

  Elizabeth recognized her sister as Kitty completed the semi-circle of privacy by standing across from the two seated women. As Elizabeth’s hands flew to her midsection, Catherine Bennet signaled to a footman.

  “Find Mrs. Reynolds, quickly, but discreetly,” the young woman ordered like a practiced grand woman.

  “Well done, Miss Catherine,” Lady Matlock complimented her one-time pupil in the arts of society. Then Lady Matlock cringed as Elizabeth seized her hand and squeezed.

  As the pain passed, Elizabeth caught her breath.

  “Elizabeth!” A panicked Fitzwilliam joined the sudden birthing party in the corner of the ballroom, his face was whiter than his cravat.

  Lady Matlock stood up and helped slow her nephew down.

  “She is well, Fitzwilliam. You and Miss Catherine must continue. Hold the follies. I shall retire with Mrs. Darcy and your housekeeper so we may see to the business at hand.”

  “I shall go with my wife!” He began to argue, but Elizabeth spoke up as another song had begun, and now people were noticing both she and her husband were sitting out the set.

  “No, please. Don’t spoil the ball on account of my foolishness. I shall go upstairs to rest and perhaps this is another false alarm . . .” Elizabeth’
s cry was caught in her throat as the worst pain yet crossed her abdomen, and she felt her waters break. A puddle began to pool at her slippers, and they all looked down in shock.

  Lady Matlock raised three fingers and three footmen immediately came to assist Mrs. Darcy to her suite.

  “Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy began, but his aunt and wife left. Kitty remained with her brother. Gently, she put a hand on his arm and took a deep breath.

  “I know you wish to be with her, but we must help her. Here. If we do not carry on, all will become curious. My sister will not want all and sundry waiting in the hall as she labors.”

  Numb, Mr. Darcy barely nodded as Kitty looped her arm into his and steered him back towards the Fitzwilliams. Behind them, maids cleaned the evidence of Mrs. Darcy’s distress, and to those who missed the swift choreography of removing a laboring woman from the ballroom, it signified as nothing more than someone careless with their drink. Alistair Darcy returned with two glasses of punch to the empty settee. As he carefully sipped one glass, he enjoyed the spectacle of the two maids on their hands and knees cleaning the floor before him.

  Kitty and Mr. Darcy discovered Lord Matlock and Viscount Ashbourne near the punch. As the soon-to-be-father was unable to speak, Kitty took the duty of explaining quietly what had transpired. Lord Matlock offered to take charge of Mr. Darcy, and the Viscount Ashbourne asked Kitty to dance.

  “I’m not certain if that’s such a good idea, we ought to prepare for our performance,” she tried to give an excuse.

  “Nonsense, I’ve danced with Anne. And Georgiana. If I do not dance a set with you, all shall notice and think we are quarreling,” he dismissed her objection and slipped his arm into hers. The gesture registered to both of them a startling bolt of energy, and Kitty looked up into Robert’s eyes. His light eyes gazed lovingly at her and Catherine felt her breath catch in her throat. She closed her eyes and shook her head, willing her body to calm from the troubled times besetting her family.

  The set was to be the last before the engagement was announced between Anne de Bourgh and Viscount Ashbourne, followed by a supper in their honor and then the follies. The stage had been refashioned in the formal drawing room, with far more seats for the proposed audience. Kitty’s insides began to turn somersaults as she could not isolate that which most vexed her; the performance for such a public crowd, her sister’s labor, or the one subject she had routinely told herself did NOT upset her which was the engagement.