Suddenly Mrs. Darcy

by Jenetta James

  “I believe she did, yes. I never discussed the matter with her, of course, and never would have done so. As it was, I did not know myself until after her death. My father informed me himself when I was one and twenty. He was in ill health by that time and, I believe, was feeling his own mortality keenly. In addition, he thought that, as a man, I should know. I cannot approve of it, but as I said to you before, I believe he loved Esther. I cannot know of what my mother was aware. It seems likely she knew some, if not all, of the truth. It was a lamentably well-known state of affairs amongst society generally. And of course, other family members certainly knew. Lord and Lady Matlock know who the Lovelaces are, and I know they would not consort with them. Aunt Mary did notice Alice at the Standenton Park ball, and she was appalled. She upbraided me for not preventing your dancing with Woodham and for not walking away from Alice when she accosted us. She said I was not protecting you as I should. They certainly are not the only ones who know. I can only think that the truth of my father’s situation inspired Lady Catherine to say what she said to you. Fitzwilliam knows of course, but he would have no objection to meeting any of them. He is, as you know, a man of easy attitudes, and he takes people as he finds them.”

  “Yes, yes, he does. What does the colonel think about this business of introducing Georgiana to her sisters?”

  “I regret to say, Elizabeth, that he is all in favour of it.”

  “Really?” What a sensible man my husband’s cousin is.

  “Yes, really. I am astounded at him. He who knows how sensitive Georgiana is. I believe it would be quite disturbing for her.”

  I let the matter pass, believing I would be more persuasive once I had met properly with Mrs Lovelace and corrected my mistake. And so, it was resolved that Fitzwilliam and I would call at Queen Anne’s Gate together in two days’ time. He looked at me doubtfully as he sat down at his desk to pen Mrs Lovelace a warning, but he did it all the same, and I was glad.

  While he worked, I passed the time reading by his side then arranging new summer flowers in the parlour and the music room. A flurry of letters arrived from Longbourn announcing Jane’s engagement to Mr Bingley, and even Charlotte wrote to assure me that Meryton, as one, spoke of little else. I was curled up on the chaise, my silk slippers discarded on the floor as I laughed at Charlotte’s letter, when James entered and bowed.

  “Lady Matlock, madam.”

  “Good morning, Elizabeth,” said the same as she bustled into the room.

  “Aunt Mary! What a surprise. I did not even know you were in town.” We kissed, and she embraced me with great firmness.

  “Well, we were not, but we are visiting Catherine and Anne. And when I heard you had been unwell, I insisted we stop here that I might see you.” She stroked my cheek and held my gaze in a searching manner. I did not think Fitzwilliam would have confided any of the details of my ill health to his aunt, but maybe I did not yet have the measure of their closeness.

  “Thank you. I have been unwell, but I am quite recovered now. It is very solicitous of you to call. I am touched. I hope you will stay to luncheon. Fitzwilliam will be very pleased to see you.”

  “He had better be. I imagine he will be surprised. I did not tell him I was coming, and he does not like surprises. Still, it would be no good for him to have matters exactly as he wishes the whole time, now would it?”

  She winked, and I called for tea. Lord Matlock, I was told, was currently with his solicitor on a matter of business. After some conversation about Derbyshire and the Matlock’s journey south, she leaned towards me and seemed to grow slightly grave. “My dear, I hope I do not speak out of place or too hastily. I can see you are looking very well, and I hope you are properly recovered… You are one of five sisters, are you not? And so your mother must have borne her children with ease. Maybe you are not aware that losing children early in your time is a trial known to many women. I lost two children before James was born and another between him and Richard. My sister Darcy also lost a child early in her marriage… Do I say too much?”

  “No. No, you do not say too much.” I looked away, shocked at how much she must have been told.

  “And do not fear that this matter is widely known; it is not. I saw you were most particular about food at the Standenton Park ball. You avoided lamb, but you had eaten it without complaint when we visited Pemberley, so that gave me suspicion. I also thought you looked even more beautiful that night than you had before.” She smiled sweetly and took my shaky hand in hers.

  “When Richard reported that he had called here and been turned away by Darcy because you were grievously ill and kept to your bed, I feared things had not progressed as one would hope.”

  It was a relief to me to know her knowledge did not extend to my own rash behaviour, for I liked Aunt Mary very much and did not want her to disapprove of me. “You are quite the detective, Aunt Mary. Have you considered writing novels?”

  “I have not the patience, my dear. In any case, Lord Matlock would never countenance my having anything in print! He would fancy me a revolutionary and live in fear of being defamed in some scurrilous story!”

  We laughed, and I was surprised to be comforted by her presence. She had taken me lovingly and unnecessarily into her confidence. To feel her hand upon my knee and know she, too, had suffered as I had, was vastly moving. Before long, Fitzwilliam joined us, expressed great astonishment at his aunt’s presence, and welcomed her warmly. To him, she said nothing of my state of health but said she was between stops on the way to Rosings and simply wished to see us. We dined on fish and sweet breads and talked of the Bellamys and the highwaymen who had never been apprehended.

  “How pleasant this has been. You make me quite pleased I called. Tell me, do you have plans for this afternoon?” asked Aunt Mary brightly, turning a small spoon in her tea.

  “Erm, yes. I am afraid we do.” Fitzwilliam answered in a nervous manner. “We have made arrangements to call upon an acquaintance.”

  “‘An acquaintance’? Come now, Fitzwilliam, there is no need to be coy, for you know nobody who is unknown to me, I’ll be bound! Who is to have the joy of your company?”

  I could see Fitzwilliam was searching for words, and so I precipitated him. “We are to call on Mrs Lovelace, Aunt Mary.”

  She looked at me and then at Fitzwilliam. She flushed and coloured. After a moment of silence, she recovered herself. “Mrs Lovelace? Surely not, Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam? I cannot approve of your subjecting your wife to such a person, and I am sure Lord Matlock would say likewise. Particularly as Elizabeth has recently been…unwell. It is too much; it really is. It was bad enough you were confronted by one of the daughters at Standenton Park. Lord Matlock and I agreed on the way home that evening that, had we known she would be there, we never would have attended. Good gracious, you will be bringing her to Pemberley next!”

  “Now, Aunt, you know I would not. I know my responsibilities, thank you.”

  “In any case, Aunt Mary, it is I who wish to meet her…properly. I am sorry if it shocks you, but there it is. We would never dream of inflicting company on you that you did not deem appropriate. I cannot have you blaming Fitzwilliam for our familiarity in calling on her since it is all my own doing.”

  She exhaled, placed her saucer on the table, and looked about her. “Well, if you are resolved, then you are resolved. But you should know, Elizabeth, you do her a great and, I might say, unwarranted honour in recognising her. There are not many wives who would do so. What I say now, I say knowing I may shame your husband, but I shall say it in any case. I hope you do not think Fitzwilliam’s family, by which I mean Lord Matlock, our sons, and I, would ever see you so disrespected.”

  “Aunt! I object—” Fitzwilliam’s colour was rising, and his fingers were running through his hair in the agitated manner I had come to know well.

  “It is all right, Fitzwilliam. Thank you, A
unt Mary. I appreciate your saying that, but I hope you know it is quite unnecessary. I am a most fortunate wife, you see. I know Mr Darcy is an honourable husband and…well…Mrs Lovelace and ladies like her hold no fear for me, so please do not be troubled on my behalf.”

  She looked at me enquiringly and, I believe, was satisfied. For my husband’s dignity, I was glad the conversation had been brought to an end, for I do not believe he could have coped with any further discussion of our marriage before a third party, however much beloved. He was and is a very private man.

  In the carriage on the way to Queen Anne’s Gate, I felt a surge of violent energy. Mr Darcy, I knew, was uneasy, and I smiled at him from across the carriage, hoping his courage would rise as mine always did in me. I believe it did, and we passed a happy visit with Mrs Lovelace.

  I had feared she may disobey Fitzwilliam and invite one or more of her daughters to join us, but she did not. We arrived to find her in much the same pose as I had found her upon my first visit. She was a small lady with a lined face, and her eyesight was better than her hearing. She told me she embroidered, read a little for diversion, and prayed her faculties would allow this to continue for as long as possible. Her ears, she regretted, did not allow her to enjoy music as she had in her youth. Her dog, it transpired, was also a friendly beast, and he and I became friends with little preamble. We three spoke of tea, novels, and Napoleon, and she was most solicitous of our comfort. After a fashion, even Fitzwilliam appeared at ease. She made no reference, in her lively and kindly conversation, to my previous visit, and she asked not why we had passed the hot, humid summer in town rather than at Pemberley. Neither did she, or anyone else present, mention her relationship to my husband’s family. An ignorant witness to our visit would simply have taken her for a friend.

  “I understand, Mrs Darcy, that you have been introduced to my eldest daughter, Mrs Woodham. She is newly married and still very excited with it. I hope she did not importune you. Alice is a good-hearted and loving creature, but to a new acquaintance, she can be…well…rather enthusiastic.”

  “I found her very agreeable, Mrs Lovelace—she and her husband.”

  “Yes, Mr Woodham is a very good man and a most steadying influence.”

  “Do you have any other family?”

  “Yes, I have two other daughters. Sophia is next to Alice. She is seventeen years old and a wonderful pianist and singer. We all love to listen to her. My youngest is Frances. She is twelve and a lovely, quiet girl. Sophia and Frances both live here with me although they are presently away at Ramsgate, enjoying the sea air. Do you have brothers and sisters, Mrs Darcy?”

  “No brothers but four sisters.” I was careful not to mention Georgiana. “So I know all about living in a household full of girls!”

  She smiled at my smile, and I glanced at Fitzwilliam, who did not seem discomforted by the turn of our conversation. I amused myself with thoughts of how he would fare in a household full of women. When it was time for us to depart, we stood, said our goodbyes, and thanked her. As we turned to leave the room, she surprised me slightly with her candour. “Thank you very much for your visit, Mrs Darcy, Mr Darcy. I lead a very quiet life and have enjoyed your company greatly.”

  I nodded in return and knew she had thanked me for my willingness to meet with her, knowing who she was and who she had been. Exiting her home, I felt quite undone. My hands shook slightly, and I experienced that strange blend of hunger and dizziness that often accompanies significant events. I found the dignity of Mrs Lovelace quite disturbing, but I was glad I had visited her. In the carriage, Fitzwilliam sat beside me and pulled the blinds down.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Not many days later, Fitzwilliam asked me if I felt well enough to return to Pemberley, and I answered him with pleasure in the affirmative. He was sorry to have passed most of the summer in the stifling heat of town and assured me that Derbyshire was at its best before the autumn set in. Dr Tranter visited me for the last time and said, as I knew he would, that there was no reason I could not undertake the journey. Georgiana, I believe acting on Fitzwilliam’s behest, dragged me to the modiste to be fitted for several new gowns, many of them very comely. Last visits were paid to us and by us, and trunks were packed and loaded. We were to set off immediately after church and break our journey for two days in Hertfordshire, staying with Mr Bingley at Netherfield. Fitzwilliam had offered to stay at Longbourn, hoping, I believe, to assure me he held nothing against my family. Seeing his sacrifice and considering it unnecessary, I suggested Netherfield would be more convenient and less cramped, particularly as we would have Georgiana in tow. He agreed, likely with relief, and ’twas settled. And so it was as we entered the entrance hall of Darcy House on a Sunday morning, ready to be gone.

  “Mr Darcy, Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy.” Parker, our butler, nodded sagely in greeting.

  “Thank you, Parker. Is everything ready for our departure?”

  “Yes, sir. Everything is prepared. But…well, while you were at church, the house has had a visitor. Mrs Darcy’s sister is in the drawing room, sir.” Astonishment was writ large on our faces—mine in particular.

  “My sister? But Jane is certainly in Hertfordshire for I heard from her only yesterday.” I led the charge to the drawing room. Opening the door, my eyes rested with alarm on my sister Lydia, who had established herself on my favoured chaise and was eating a piece of cake, a cup of tea in hand.

  “Lizzy!” The teacup clattered against saucer as she bounded towards me with her arms outstretched. “I began to think you would never return. What awfully long services you attend! Well, are you not surprised to see me, Sister?”

  “Indeed I am, Lydia. I—”

  “And Mr Darcy, good morning. How tall you are in close quarters! I had quite forgotten—”

  “Lydia, this is Miss Darcy, my new sister. And Georgiana, this is my youngest sister, Miss Lydia Bennet.” Curtseys were made and pleasantries exchanged while my mind swam with questions. I could not begin to account for Lydia’s presence in our drawing room, alone and without warning.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet. We have so enjoyed having the eldest Miss Bennet here.” I could see Georgiana trying to keep up her confident bearing in the face of Lydia’s great brashness, and I was proud of her effort.

  “Yes, Jane will have been an excellent caregiver, although I am not sure that I would have been. How confusing for you to have so many Bennets drifting about…well…it shall not be for long! What do you think, Lizzy? I shall tell you, for you shall never guess. I am to be married!”

  “Married? Are you? Lydia, would you like to come to my chamber so we can discuss this? Have you been staying with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner? I am surprised they did not send me a message, but maybe poor Aunt has been too busy with all of the children—”

  “Oh no, Lizzy. I had not even thought of our aunt and uncle. But now you say it, Aunt Gardiner may be able to help me with wedding clothes, do you not think? She is such a sage with that sort of thing. I have been in London not two days, and I walked here from our lodgings, for I knew you would be just the sister to help!”

  “Our lodgings…Lydia?” Desperate to remove her from Fitzwilliam and Georgiana, I said, “Let us discuss this above stairs.”

  “Yes, of course, Lizzy, if you wish, but I have not finished my tea. And in any case, surely you wish to know to whom I am to be wed? I know you must be quite undone with the mystery of it! Well, maybe it would have been more fun if I had simply waited and visited you when it was done. How shocked you would have been to learn that Mrs George Wickham sat in your parlour!”

  Mortification, astonishment, and distress overtook me at such speed that I hardly knew how to act. Any dilemma I was facing, however, was soon removed when Georgiana, quite against my expectations, shrieked and fell in a faint upon the floor. There then followed a period of significant confusion. I sank to
the floor and held Georgiana’s face between my hands. Lydia cried, “Oh Lord,” and Fitzwilliam rang the bell for help, hardly looking at me as he studied his sister’s face. Servants flooded the room, and it was decided that Georgiana, who had substantially recovered herself at this point, should withdraw to her chamber and receive a sweet cup of tea. Fitzwilliam’s expression was most serious.

  “Elizabeth, would you step into the music room with me for a moment, please?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, following close behind him. “But then I really must go to Georgiana. Whatever can have caused her to faint in that way? I hope she is not ill.”

  He closed the door behind me, looking deeply troubled. “No, you must talk to Lydia and find out what the situation is with Wickham. I will deal with Georgiana. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, of course…but…what are you keeping from me, Mr Darcy?”

  “There isn’t time, Elizabeth. I will tell you everything, but we need to find out where Wickham is and what his intentions are. Do you understand why we must be quick?”

  “No, sir. But if you wish it, I will be.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. I promise to explain the matter regarding Georgiana later. We will not be able to depart until we have resolved this. We cannot leave with Lydia here and Georgiana unwell, so I will ask Parker to have the carriage unloaded. Will you come to me after you have spoken with Lydia?”

  I nodded my assent; he kissed my forehead and then was gone. The scene had done nothing to calm Lydia’s spirits. “Poor Miss Darcy! I am so relieved I do not have a fainting disposition. Imagine falling down like that in front of one’s acquaintances. I do hope she shall recover. She looked awfully pale.”